Part 5 (1/2)
”Yup, while the leaves are changing, the only true weekdays are Tuesday and Wednesday.”
”Are you saying we won't be able to get a room until Tuesday?”
”Probably not. Town is packed.”
Sheriff Mills nodded his head in confirmation.
”Seems quiet now,” Nick noted.
”That's 'cause it's only quarter to seven. I'm not even supposed to be open yet.” Alma presented them with two menus. ”How 'bout some breakfast? This lists our cooked-to-order items, and baked goods are listed on the board behind me.”
”How come I never get a menu?” Mills complained as he took a bite out of a sugar-studded jelly doughnut.
”You used to, but since you order the same thing every day, I figured I'd save my energy.”
”If you're not open yet,” Stella asked, ”then how were we able to get in?”
” 'Cause I feel bad when my first customer of the day, every day, has to wait out in the rain.”
”You come here every day at opening?” Stella asked the sheriff.
Sheriff Mills blushed. ”Yup. Wanna be the first to taste Alma's excellent coffee.”
Stella took a sip from her white earthenware mug. Alma's coffee was serviceable, but one could have purchased a similar cup from the Stewart's convenience store down the road. Given his reaction to Alma's arrival at the farmhouse, she was willing to bet that there was an ulterior motive to Mills's patronage.
Nick placed his menu facedown on the counter. ”I'll have the breakfast sandwich on your seven-grain bread.”
”I'll have a cranberry-orange scone,” Stella ordered, her mind more focused on the matter of accommodations than on breakfast. ”So, Sheriff Mills, since we obviously can't find a room in town, what's the chance that we'll be able to stay at the house tonight?”
Mills frowned and shook his head. ”Slim to none.”
”By then, you and your men will have had twenty-four hours to give the place a thorough search. Isn't that enough time?”
”Haven't gotten the coroner's report yet. Until we do, we don't know what we're looking for.”
Nick spoke up. ”You don't need a coroner's report to tell you that Weston was shot.”
”Nope. But I do need it to tell me what he was shot with, where the shot might have been fired from, and whether or not his body was moved.”
”When will you receive the report?” Stella inquired.
Mills took a sip of his coffee and swallowed. ”Afternoon, most likely.”
”Once you get it, can you use the information to search the living room first? That way, maybe if it checks out okay, we can ... ?”
”Mrs. Buckley, I'm gonna be blunt. Even if an initial search of your house comes up clean, I'm not gonna let you folks go rus.h.i.+ng back there. Not 'til I know who did this.”
”What if we stayed in one room-just to sleep-and didn't touch anything else? We'll even promise to be out of there by morning, so your men can do whatever they need to do.”
”Sorry, but someone shot Weston and left him to die. Until my case against that person is tighter than the bark on a tree, I'm not taking any chances.”
”I understand. I'm sorry for pus.h.i.+ng you, Sheriff. It's just ...” her voice trailed off.
”No need for apologies. I understand you're eager to set up housekeeping, and I feel bad you two got more than you bargained for. But, as much as I'd like to let you folks move in, I know that cutting cross-lots might come back to bite me in the a-ahem, b.u.t.t-later on.”
Stella's eyes narrowed. ”'Cutting cross-lots?'”
”Taking shortcuts,” Alma paraphrased as she served up the Buckleys' breakfasts.
Nick lifted the top slice of bread from his sandwich and sprinkled the filling with a generous amount of black pepper. ”If we can't stay at our place, can we at least get our air mattress?”
”I knew it!” Alma exclaimed. ”You hate that sofa bed as much as I do.”
Nick grinned sheepishly.
”Was the air mattress at the house when Weston was fixing your well?” Mills asked.
”I don't know. Probably.”
”Then the answer's no. I want everything in that house to remain as it was and where it was until I can sort things out. Besides, I don't think you wanna be over there today.” He pushed the morning newspaper in front of Stella's plate.
Stella looked up from her scone. Stamped in big bold letters across the front page of the Rutland Herald were the words Local Contractor Found Dead in Well. Beneath the headline, a few short paragraphs described the body's discovery, the subsequent police activity, and the community's reaction. Set inside the article was a photo of the late Allen Weston. Dressed in a dark gray suit and matching tie, the ends of his mouth were turned slightly upward into a smile that was partially obscured by his neatly trimmed black beard.
She stared at the photo for several seconds. The image of the smiling, well-dressed businessman stood in such stark contrast to the scene at the bottom of the well that Stella found it difficult to reconcile the two.
”If the Herald already has the story, you can bet that every reporter within a two-hundred-mile radius is gonna be on your front lawn this morning. You two show up saying you own the property, and that sofa bed won't be the only thing keeping you awake.”
”But it doesn't say in this article the address of where his body was found. All it says is a farmhouse well.”
”They don't need to say where,” Alma a.s.serted. ”This is a small town. All those reporters need to do is drive into town and ask. For a few bucks, they'll find plenty of people more than happy to point the way.”
”I don't think we want to live with that type of celebrity,” Nick remarked in between chews. ”Do we, honey?”
Stella didn't answer. Her attention was still riveted on the newspaper photograph. ”I heard you talk about his businesses yesterday, but what else do you two know about Allen Weston?”
”What do you mean?” Alma asked as she unlocked the shop door and flipped the Closed sign to Open.
”I mean that if this wasn't an accidental shooting, then we're dealing with a case of murder. You live in the same town as Weston did. Do you know why someone might have wanted him dead?”
”I don't engage in gossip, Mrs. Buckley,” Mills chided.
Alma returned to her spot behind the register. ”I don't either. It's not good for business.”
”Okay, let's try approaching this from a different angle. You both met Weston, right? What did you think of him?”
”Good businessman,” Mills replied instantly.
”Smart,” Alma answered immediately after the sheriff. ”Very smart.”
”Well, he was the owner of three successful businesses; I think both those descriptions go without saying. But what was Weston, the man, like? Where was he from? Did he have family? What did he believe?”