Bran New Death(32)

We followed, holding onto each other like frightened bunnies.

“What’s going on?” Shilo whispered.

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

“Sit in the back for a few minutes,” he said, opening up the back of his sheriff’s car and motioning us to slide in. “You’ll stay warmer.”

“We could just go back to the castle.” I said.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“I can’t let you go until I get your statement, check your hands for defensive wounds, and fingerprint you.”

“Defensive . . . fingerprint . . . what?” I was stunned. “What’s this all about?” I was not going to be cowed into acquiescence.

Virgil faced me, his expression grim in the shadowy flash of the roof lights. “Look, Merry, everybody in town has been talking about how you threatened Tom Turner in Binny’s Bakery today. She called me to complain.”

“But Merry was just telling him to keep off the castle property, or else!” Shilo cried, clinging to my arm.

“Exactly,” Virgil said, over the thrum of the excavator engine. “And tonight he came back. And now he’s dead.”





Chapter Nine





THE NEXT HOURS were a nightmare, and I pretty much mean that literally. Virgil ordered backup, and they taped off the “scene of the crime.” I say that guardedly because from what I could tell it just looked like Tom had climbed down from the Bobcat, looked into the hole, lost his balance, and fell in. Maybe he hit his head on a rock or something, but why was that murder?

I thought Virgil was being ridiculous until I caught sight of one of the investigators picking up a long, iron rod with plastic-gloved hands from the grass near the hole. He held it up to the light and called Virgil over, pointing to something on it. Like a movie replaying in my mind, I remembered picking it up from the edge of the hole, a long iron rod that was in my way. I had tossed it aside, leaving, no doubt, a nice copy of my finger-and handprints on the thing.

Sugar.

A chill crept down my spine. These people didn’t know me, didn’t know that violence is not in my nature. All they knew was that I had threatened Tom Turner, and now he was dead.

We waited for hours in the police car. One of the police technicians had already photographed our hands, and examined them. I had a couple of scrapes on my palms, probably from clearing weeds away from the garage windows earlier that evening; what would they make of those? Should I explain them, or would that seem suspicious? I stayed quiet. Being examined so closely would make anyone nervous, I say.

Virgil came over at one point and asked for permission to search the castle. If I said no, they’d keep me out until they had a warrant, which, given the circumstances, they would have no trouble getting. I told them to go ahead, but to mind Magic. I had to explain that I meant to be careful that Magic, the bunny rabbit in Shilo’s room, didn’t escape. Finally the sheriff opened the police car door and told us they had bagged some things for evidence, but we could go back in. He was stomping away when I caught up with him and grabbed his arm. I could see the weariness on his stubble-lined face, but he looked at me with grim resignation. Gone was the flirtatious, young guy I had met that first day. I didn’t think I’d see that flirtatious fellow ever again.

“What could you possibly have taken from the castle?” I asked.

“Mostly paperwork. We’ll give you an official receipt. You can get it when you come to the station to sign your statement and give us your fingerprints. That goes for your friend, too.”

In my statement I had already told him about tossing aside the iron bar, which, it turns out, was a crowbar and possibly the murder weapon. My fingerprints were going to be on it, guaranteed, and may well have irrevocably smudged the actual murderer’s prints. “This doesn’t have anything to do with me, Virgil,” I said, tension tightening my voice. “You know Tom Turner was the kind of guy who made enemies wherever he went. I can’t be the only person who was at odds with him.”

He glared down at me. I’m a fairly tall woman, but he was taller. “Look, Merry, I can’t discuss this. I know in the TV shows the cop always speculates on what is going on and shares his feelings with every civilian who’ll listen, but in real life, that would damage the case. It’s for your protection.”

Great. I was being kept in the dark for my own protection. Moodily, I watched him walk away, back to the scene, as the sun climbed and peeped over the top of the forest. Shilo came up and put her arm through mine.

“I’m tired and hungry, Merry. Can we go in and get coffee and food? Poor Magic is probably freaked right out by all the people stomping around.”