Erick’s stubble is a little scruffier and his mood has definitely soured.
“Hey, I thought I’d stop by with your lunch and give you an update.”
He nods. “There isn’t one.”
I maneuver his takeout through the bars and set the trade paperback on top.
He doesn’t budge.
“It’s meatloaf from the diner, and I got you some reading material. Also, I’m supposed to let you know they’re all pulling for you.” I withdraw my hand and offer a weak smile. “There might not technically be an update on the autopsy, but Silas has agreed to represent you and I’m going undercover at the community college to see if I can find any additional suspects.”
Erick is too exhausted to muster appreciation.
I happen to know firsthand how frustrating it is to be accused of a crime you didn’t commit, but I’m a little surprised he’s so depressed. “Erick, why are you letting this get to you? You’re the sheriff. You’re on the right side of the law. You know how this works. We get the medical examiner’s report, we confirm the time of death, and your alibi takes you off the list. You’re in the clear, and Paulsen will be forced to do some actual investigating and find another suspect.”
He leans against the bland beige bricks and the muscles in his jaw flex with tension. “It’s not gonna be that easy, Moon.”
“Why not? Of course it will be that easy.”
“I don’t have an alibi.”
“What? I’m sure your mom heard you come home last night, right?”
His silence is unsettling.
Quick side note: he bought his mom a house when he got back from his second tour in Afghanistan to repay her for all her years of hard work as a single parent, making sacrifices to raise him right. Now he lives with her and takes care of her. It’s extremely sweet and seems like a built-in alibi. I’m confused by his lack of faith in his mother’s hearing. “Erick, what aren’t you telling me? You dropped me off, and then what?”
“I went out to the icehouse to fish. I was upset about the fight with Klang, and knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I lost track of time. There was a bottle of bourbon in the ice chest. Long story short, I didn’t think I should drive home.”
“You slept in the icehouse?”
“I slept in the icehouse. I had barely pulled into the driveway this morning when I got the call about a body at the rink. I ran inside the house, changed into my uniform, and wound up in this cell. So—”
“So, no matter what time Klang was murdered, you’ll still be a suspect.” I grip the bars and let my head rest against the cool metal tubing. “I can be your alibi.”
He looks at me as though the distance across that small cell is a vast ocean. His eyes are a mix of gratitude and disappointment. “I would never ask you to lie for me, Moon. I appreciate the offer. I do. But I didn’t kill him, and there’s gotta be another way to prove that.”
“Silas and I will find something. You know me. I never give up.”
At least my words bring the hint of a smile to his strong jaw. “Yeah, I know. I’m also curious to see your disguise.”
For the first time since he landed in the cell, there’s a tiny spark of life in his eyes.
“No problem, Sheriff. Darcy Brown starts school tomorrow. If you’re still in here, I’m sure she can bring you some dinner.” My efforts finally pay off and he enjoys a hearty laugh at my expense.
“Looking forward to it.” He locates the motivation to take two strides and retrieve his meal.
My heart hurts for him.
He picks up the sack and leans to meet me through the bars. “Thanks, Moon.”
Our lips meet in a forlorn excuse for a kiss.
“You know, I always did like a bad boy, Harper.”
My lame attempt at humor barely rates a half grin. The flash of levity vanishes and the weight of his situation once again settles over him.
Deflated, I turn to leave. “See ya tomorrow, Sheriff.”
The crinkling of a paper sack is my only reply.
Chapter 5
My dreams, or rather nightmares, are filled with various unnerving possibilities for Klang’s death. In each scenario, Erick plays the bloodthirsty murderer and Klang the helpless victim. I finally tear myself from the grip of my horrible imaginings and snuggle against the warmth of Pyewacket, curled up beside me.
In the faint glimmer of dawn’s first light, Pye studies me with a look that says he senses my agitation. He pushes his broad head against my hand and purrs softly.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Pye, but if this is what is meant by ‘for better or worse,’ I’m not sure I’m cut out for it.”
“Nonsense, dear.”
My heart seizes up in my chest, and the fears from dreamland are suddenly palpable. “Grams, again, I beg you to use the slow, sparkly reentry. I haven’t slept at all. I’m a nervous wreck. Plus, I feel super guilty because a teeny-tiny part of me almost believes Erick is guilty.”
“That’s perfectly natural, Mitzy. Deep down, you know that Erick didn’t do this, but you saw another side of him at the broomball arena. Accepting all of him is a process.”
“What if I can’t do it? What if I’m only attracted to gorgeous, kindhearted, generous Erick? What if I can’t accept his shadow side?”
“I wish I had the answers, sweetie. But let’s not forget, I had five husbands and more than a handful of special friends. I’m not sure I ever stuck around long enough to get to know anyone’s shadow side. The closest I ever got was probably with your grandpa Cal, but even then I cut bait before anything was truly resolved.”
“Great. My lone source of relationship advice is from a serial short-term monogamist.”
She exhales sharply. “You don’t have to say it like it’s such a bad thing. I do have a lot of experience with getting relationships off on the right foot.”
“Hooray.” I raise my arms in a weak, halfhearted cheer. “I might as well get up and do some investigating before class. There’s no point lying here and imagining the worst.”
Grams pumps her translucent fist in the air. “That’s the spirit. Get out there and prove Erick’s innocent.”
Hardly able to muster the enthusiasm to change into my going out in public clothes, I can’t begin to share Grams’ excitement.
After bundling up against the freezing early morning temperatures, I pour my fur baby’s breakfast and drive over to the arena.
There’s already a truck in the parking lot, and when I try the back door, it’s unlocked.
“Hello. Hello. Anyone here?”
The thrumming of an engine and an unpleasant scraping sound echo from the rink.
I thread my way through the back passageway and peer out of a doorway toward the ice. Not that I would know, but the enormous machine skimming across the ice like a polar lawnmower must be a Zamboni. The driver can’t hear me, and I’m pleased to take the opportunity to snoop around unhindered.
There are two separate sets of locker rooms. One set appears to be public locker rooms for men and women, and the other is private locker rooms for the Abominables and the She-bominables. The guys’ team got the better end of that naming scheme.