Part 14 (1/2)
”The wine.”
”I don't look over twenty-one to you?” Nick asked as he extracted his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
”Don't know what you look like. Only know I need a date for this here machine,” he said, pointing to the cash register. ”State law.”
Nick flashed his wallet, which was opened to the clear plastic pocket that contained his New York State driver's license.
”Hmph,” the clerk remarked as he peered over the top of his gla.s.ses. ”You're the fella who bought the old Colton place, aren't you?”
”That's right.”
If the Buckleys had antic.i.p.ated the clerk's question to be a springboard for further discussion, they were sorely mistaken. Instead, he rang up the final item and silently hiked a thumb toward the total on the register to indicate that payment was due.
His wallet still in hand, Nick pulled out a dark blue debit card and searched the counter for the familiar keypad and card-swiping mechanism.
”We don't accept debit cards. Credit or cash only.”
”I don't have cash.”
The clerk pointed to the back of the store, where a bright red neon sign identified the gray mechanical device beneath it as an ATM.
Nick rolled his eyes at the blatant money-making scheme. ”Can you run it as a credit card?”
”Won't post to your account 'til Monday.”
”Yeah, that's okay.”
”Suit yourself.” The older man complied and, a few moments later, produced the same card, a pen, and a cash register receipt. The items on the counter remained loose beside the till.
”Do you think I could get a bag?” Nick asked as he signed the receipt.
The clerk heaved a heavy sigh, pulled a tall, thin brown paper bag from beneath the counter, and slid the wine bottle into it. Everything else he left.
”Gee, thanks. Thanks a lot,” Nick said sarcastically. As he replaced his wallet in his back pocket and gathered up the air mattress and flashlight, Stella grabbed the wine and the chocolate and led the way to the shop door.
Once they and their purchases were safely ensconced in the Smart car, Nick looked at his wife and said, ”You know, I can't wait to see Crazy Maggie again.”
”Really? Why?”
Nick looked over his shoulder and backed out of the Perkins parking lot. ”Because after meeting some of the yahoos in this town, I can't help but wonder how Maggie got the crazy label and no one else did.”
”Hey, at least you didn't have Barbara Bush's ugly stepsister giving you the hairy eyeball.”
”Yeah, really-what was that all about, anyway?”
Stella recounted Bunny's allegations against Alice. By the time she finished, they had arrived back at camp. Nick stepped from behind the driver's wheel and removed the air mattress and flashlight from the back hatch. ”Do you think Bunny's telling the truth?”
Stella grabbed the wine; the chocolate bar had already made its way into her oversized leather handbag. ”Yeah, I do, actually. She might have exaggerated a few of the details, but, fundamentally, I think her story's accurate.”
”You're positive she's not just trying to get her boss into trouble? Because it seems strange to me that she'd tell you all of this and not the police.”
”It seemed strange to me too. So I asked her.”
With the car's headlights s.h.i.+ning upon the front of the camp, Nick opened the front door, placed the air mattress and flashlight on the kitchen table, and proceeded to light the gas lamps. ”And?”
”Well, there are two things standing in her way. First, she's afraid that she'll lose her job.”
”She could give the police an anonymous tip.”
”Second, she's afraid Alice will come after her next.”
”Again, an anonymous tip would solve that problem. Likewise, I hope you explained that if Alice is the killer, we're all safer with her behind bars. Even if it got to the point where Bunny needed to testify in court, the police would make sure she was protected.”
Stella threw her bag on the sofabed, placed the wine on the coffee table, and kicked off her high-heeled boots. ”That leads us to the second part of the conversation. Apparently Bunny doesn't trust Sheriff Mills. It seems Weston had been frequenting the Sweet Shop as of late and apparently had his eye on Alma.”
”So our hunch about their comments this morning was right: they did know Weston better than they let on. Well, at least Alma did, but that puts Mills in the role of the jealous ...” Nick struggled to find the right word.
”Stalker?”
”I was going to go with admirer, but I guess a guy who clogs his arteries with jelly doughnuts every morning just to see a woman he never asks on a date could qualify as a stalker too.”
”Ya think?”
”Does Bunny suspect Mills of pulling a Hank Reid?”
”A what? Oh, shooting the boyfriend,” she shook her head and laughed. ”She seemed undecided about that. At first she leaned toward no, but then she saw something that-”
”Changed her mind?”
”No, something that freaked her out.”
”What did she see?”
”I have no idea. That's when she ran out of the store and headlong into you.”
”Think it had something to do with Mills?”
”Your guess is as good as mine. All I can say with any degree of certainty is that although Bunny may be wary of Mills, she's definitely frightened of Alice. When I asked her if she thought Alice could be the killer, she replied with a definite yes.”
”How about you? Do you think Alice murdered Weston?”
”I think it's completely possible. In addition to having a strong motive, Alice knew that Weston would be working on our well yesterday. And she was actually at the house around the time Weston was shot.”
Nick nodded and then zipped outside. He returned several seconds later with his car keys in hand. ”The thing that bothers me is, for some reason, I can't imagine Alice using a hunting rifle.”
Stella flopped onto the sofa and pulled her cross-st.i.tch supplies out of her handbag. ”Why not?”