The Iced Princess (16 page)

“Pinky, there is no need to worry about that. We've got enough to deal with.”

—

B
rew Ha-Ha was not overly busy at 10:50 a.m., so I headed to the courthouse with Pinky's mixed blessings. I stopped at the court administration office to check in and then headed as directed to Courtroom 2. The heavy wooden door creaked when I opened it, and a few people in the back rows turned and gave me a quick once-over. The judge was sitting at his bench, and the nameplate in front of him read “Judge Roger Terney.” Judge Terney had the same color hair as Santa Claus and had a similar older yet ageless look. The public seating was on church pew–like benches, and I sat in an empty row, four rows from the back.

Judge Terney was studying the paper he held. He set it down, and his eyes moved to the well-dressed young man standing with his attorney in front of the bench. “Given the recommendation by the prosecuting attorney and your admission of guilt, I am sentencing you to thirty days in the Buffalo County Jail. Since you are gainfully employed, you will be eligible for work release.” He tapped his gavel. The young man said something quietly, maybe “thank you” to the judge, then left with his attorney.

A door on the other side of the jury box opened, and Emmy came through it wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs.
Handcuffs? Really?
I supposed it was required, but still. A uniformed jailer was close behind her. He pointed at the jury box, and Emmy climbed the step then sat down in a leather chair. I hoped she would notice me, but she was focused on the judge. The jailer stood near her, outside the box. My heart went out to her; I couldn't help it.

The judge called her to go before him and asked her to state her full name. “Emaline Grace Andersohn,” she said.
Grace.
If anyone needed grace right then, it was Emmy.

“Mrs. Andersohn, the purpose of the first appearance is for the court to inform you of the charges against you and let you know your rights, including the right to a public defender if you are unable to hire an attorney. You will also have the opportunity to enter a plea.” He then read Emmy her rights and asked if she understood. Emmy said she did.

The judge looked at the bailiff. “Deputy Garrison, give the defendant a copy of the complaint.” The court clerk handed it to the deputy, who gave it to Emmy. She glanced at it then lifted her head to look at the judge. He read the list of what she was charged with, but the only thing I clearly heard was the first
charge, “Murder in the first degree.” A pulse started pounding in my ears as my mind locked on those five awful words.

Emmy was standing there looking old and fragile, and I was surprised she didn't topple over. When the judge finished the list, he asked Emmy if she understood the charges against her, and she said she did. Then he asked if she was ready to enter a plea.

“Yes, Your Honor. I plead not guilty.”

There was whispering in the rows behind me. I had no clue who the people were, or if they knew Emmy or Molly or how Molly had died in Curio Finds.

“A plea of not guilty is hereby entered.” Judge Terney wrote something down then looked up at Emmy. “Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars. You are dismissed.” Then he rapped the gavel.

Emmy's head hung low as she walked back to the jailer, and then the two of them left the courtroom. Five hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money. Three more people, all men, were brought to court before Mrs. Ryland was. I didn't know there was so much going on in the county. It seemed like Emmy had gotten the book thrown at her, and I could only imagine what Judge Terney would do to Mrs. Ryland.

The judge went through the same spiel with her as he had with the others. She, too, understood her rights. Her charges sounded almost as ominous as Emmy's had: accessory after the fact for murder in the first degree, bribery, aiding an offender, and obstructing justice, all felony-level crimes. She agreed that she understood the charges and was ready to enter a plea. “I'm guilty, Judge Terney.”

The judge nodded and studied her for a long moment. “I have read the complaint from the Brooks Landing Police,
and the circumstances. Therefore, I am releasing you on your own recognizance with the expectation that you will return for your next appearance, which will be?” He stopped and looked at the clerk, who looked at the calendar and said, “November twenty-third at nine a.m.”

Mrs. Ryland nodded and said, “I will be here.” Then she left with the jailer.

I slipped out of the courtroom and headed down to the jail lobby. The officer looked up from her computer. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, Judge Terney just told Irene Ryland she was free to go, and I'd like to give her a ride home, if she needs one.”

“And what is your name?”

“Camryn Brooks.”

She raised her eyebrows, making it clear to me that she was well aware of the recent crimes I'd been involved with. Not that I was directly involved, but close enough. Or maybe my name brought to mind the D.C. scandal. “Are you a relative or a friend?”

“A sort of friend. Actually, I'm more her daughter's friend. But if you tell her I'm here and can give her a ride, it will save her from having to call someone else. I just need to go get my car, which is a few blocks away.”

The way the officer stared at me made me nervous, and I rambled on. “I will call booking and let them know,” she finally said.

“Thank you. I'll be back soon.”

“It'll be at least fifteen minutes until Ms. Ryland is out, depending on what else they have going on back there.”

I nodded, thinking I'd said enough already, and braced myself for the breezy walk back to the shops.

When I went into Brew Ha-Ha, Pinky stopped in her tracks. She had an expectant look on her face. “Tell me what happened.”

“I didn't have to bail Molly's mom out after all because the judge released her. Emmy did not fare as well, I'm afraid. Her bail was set at half a million dollars.”

“Holy moly, that's way out of our league.”

“That means the bond is fifty thousand. If it was for you or Erin, I'd borrow from my inheritance and retirement fund to put up the bond, but for Emmy?”

“You got that right. Oh, and speaking of Erin, she called and said she's coming in after school to help out. She wants to get more familiar with all the stuff on your shelves.”

“Good, because I have something I'd like to do and I don't know how long it's going to take.”

“Such as?”

“I'll tell you later. I offered to give Mrs. Ryland a ride home from jail, so I've got to run. Thanks for helping me out here.”

“Cami, you're not thinking of going to Will Dalton's house—”

I pretended not to hear her and waved on the way out the door.

—

M
rs. Ryland tried to smile when she spotted me in the jail lobby, but her lips were trembling. I went to her, took her small bag, then offered my arm to lean on. “This is very kind of you, Cami. I didn't know how I was going to tell Will about all of this, so this buys me a little time. He was the last one I wanted to have to call for a ride.”

“No problem at all. My car isn't far.” In fact it was the closest one in the lot to the door, after the handicapped spots. Even with her crippling disease, Mrs. Ryland walked smoothly and fairly quickly. And she was as silent as a kitten or cat burglar. When we were in the car and driving away, I said as gingerly as possible, “Mrs. Ryland, you haven't said anything about a service for Molly.”

“No, it hasn't been set. I expected to meet with Will, but he hasn't called to do that yet.”

“Actually, I found out this morning that he's planning to have one at his house today.”

She turned her head to look at me. “What?”

“It sounds like it's going to be small.”

“I don't understand.” Mrs. Ryland looked down and paused a moment. “But then again, I haven't been home the last two days if he's been trying to call me.”

“I'm sure that's it.”

When I stopped in front of her house, Mrs. Ryland said, “Do you mind seeing me in the door? I'm feeling a little shaky.”

“I'd be happy to, and I'll wait while you check your messages, if you'd like.”

“That'd be nice.” She reached over and patted my hand. “Molly always helped me with whatever I needed. I don't know what I'm going to do without her.”

“You call me anytime, for any reason. And I know Pinky feels the same way. We're happy to do whatever we can.”

Tears formed in Mrs. Ryland's eyes, and a small smile played at her lips. I went around and helped her out of the car and up the one step to a side entry door. Her bent, arthritic fingers fought to get the proper grip on her house key. I was
ready to join the fight when she finally won the battle and got her door open. We went into the kitchen, and I saw the light on her answering machine was blinking—a good sign. Interestingly enough, there was no message from Will Dalton, however.

Mrs. Ryland picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Will, it's Irene. I was gone overnight and may have missed your call. I'm home now, so please call me.” She hung up and leaned on the counter for support. “It's probably not the kind of thing he wanted to leave on my machine.”

“That's true. When I heard there might be a service today, I called Ike Walters, and he confirmed it was at three o'clock. So if you'd like a ride to Will's house, I'm free to do that.”

“Oh, well, I can drive myself.”

“I thought maybe you'd like the company.”

She reached over and touched my hand. “That would be nice if you're sure it's not too much trouble?”

“No trouble at all.” Besides helping out Mrs. Ryland, it also gave me the opportunity to see who was in with the in crowd. “I'll be back to get you at two thirty.”

She nodded.

—

P
inky had a few people drinking beverages at her counter, and she was helping a customer in Curio Finds. I took over in my shop, but the woman was just browsing. At the first opportunity, I pulled Pinky aside in her back area and summed up the latest on Mrs. Ryland.

“Cami, it's nice that you're helping Molly's mother out and all, but you can't just crash the memorial service. Even I know what ‘private' means.”

That brought a smile to my face. “Pinky, you
know
what private means, but—”

She waved her hand between our faces. “Pshaw, whatever. Okay, well, you go do your thing and bring back a full report.” Pinky's long arm reached around my back and gave it a pat, then she headed back to her service counter.

—

I
went back and forth about calling the jail and leaving a message for Emmy, asking her to call me. In the end, I decided it would be better to talk to her in person instead. During a lull between customers, I sat down at my checkout counter with a pen and paper. Emmy was weighing heavily on my mind. The police had evidence against her, and maybe she was guilty, but a number of other suspects took turns bubbling to the surface. Peter and Ramona Zimmer. Molly's stepbrother. The unknown man who was in the shop looking for the blonde. And then there was the man with his suitcase that Ramona Zimmer let into her house. Five possibilities in addition to Emmy.

My shop door opened, and when I saw a tall man with a round face staring and walking toward me, my heart stopped beating for a few seconds. I glanced at his hands to see if he was carrying any kind of weapon or an envelope that may be filled with suspicious powder. Nothing I could see, anyway. I heard Pinky moving around next door, and it calmed me to know that help was just one loud, bloody-murder scream away. “C-c-can I help you?”

He shook his head and pursed his lips like he was holding back words that were trying to escape. There was something familiar about him. “Do we know each other from
somewhere?” I asked, unable to stop myself. He shook his head again, and it felt like hundreds of pins and needles pricked at my shoulders and the back of my neck. The man broke eye contact and walked around the shop, looking at the shelves. He stopped near the back of the store and glanced first at the bathroom door, and then toward the storeroom area. He gave me one final stare, nodded, then headed into Brew Ha-Ha.

I got off my seat and followed him, stopping by the archway opening to spy from the short distance. The coffee shop area was deserted, so Pinky was either in the bathroom or her back room. The man walked up to the counter and read the menu above it until he caught my reflection, as I was hovering and peeking around the edge of the archway. I would have moved, ducked behind it, except my feet were frozen in place. He turned, and I wondered if he was going to ask me for a cup of coffee. Instead, he turned again and walked out Pinky's door. He was one strange dude, and I wondered if his elevator went to the top floor. Maybe he was casing the joint or had some other mysterious motivation.

Pinky apparently heard the bell on her door ding, because she appeared from the back room. “Did someone come in?” she asked.

“No, someone just left.”

“Why are you standing there looking so weird, Cami?”

“There was a man in here, first in my shop and then in yours. And I'm trying to figure out what he was up to.” I explained the encounter and then said, “You know that mystery man who was in here asking for the blonde the day Molly died?”

“Of course.”

“From the way you described the guy, it might have been him, back for a return visit.”

Pinky came up beside me and leaned in close. “Why would he come back here and then just look around without saying a word?”

“You know how they say criminals like to return to the scene of the crime?”

Pinky grabbed my shoulders. “Cami, you have a way of scaring the bejeebers out of me.”

I gave her hand a pat. “I wish you could have seen him. You're the only one who would know if this man and that man are one and the same.”