Framed For Murder (An Anna Nolan Mystery) (31 page)

We all turned back to Frank.
“Go on, Frank, tell Anna what happened,” Betty prodded.

“Okay,” Frank said, looking like he was about to burst.
“Anna, you know how the police figured it had to be a pick-up truck that rammed Henry’s restaurant – a green truck because they found some green paint rubbed off on one of the wall studs?”

“Right, that’s how I heard it, Frank.”

“Well, the police checked out the vehicles registered to me because Henry had told them that I had been trying to sabotage his business, but no green truck.”

Jeff guffawed loudly and Betty shushed him.

“Then the police started hunting around town looking for a green pick-up, but it’s not a popular colour in Crane, I guess, and they couldn’t find one.
After that, they started checking up on people who knew Henry – friends and family members and such – to see if anyone might have had a motive for wanting to hurt him. They found a nephew out in Lloydminster with a green pick-up truck, so they sent a couple of officers out to talk with him. When they discovered that the truck had been damaged in a recent accident, the police got very interested in the nephew.”

“And?” I asked.

“And the nephew caved and confessed to having driven the truck into Henry’s restaurant – but you’ll never guess why.”

Everyone smiled at me in anticipation.
“Why, Frank?” I asked, waiting for the punch line.

“Because Henry asked him to do it,” Frank said with a flourish.

I had been sitting on the edge of my stool during his recitation, and sat back on the seat with a thump. “I don’t believe it. Why ever would Henry ask his nephew to drive a truck into his restaurant?”

Frank leaned toward me over the counter.
“Because Henry knew that his restaurant wasn’t catching on, and he thought that a take-out window would give him an edge – only he couldn’t afford to have one installed. Then he came up with the brilliant idea of faking the accident and using the insurance money to put in a new drive-through. So his nephew drove out from Lloydminster the night before the accident, took Henry to the restaurant first thing Sunday morning, and then drove around the block and rammed the building. I guess he got a little too enthusiastic because Henry ended up in the hospital, but the nephew claimed it was all Henry’s idea.”

Jeff slapped the counter and chortled while I stared at Frank in amazement.
Betty and Erna both grinned at me, and even Mr. Andrews looked amused.

“Frank, I don’t know what to say.
That is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, shaking my head.

“Yep, it’s pretty nuts.
Steve came by today to ask if I wanted to press charges against Henry for making false statements about me.”

“What are you going to do, Frank?” I asked.

“Well, Henry’s already charged with insurance fraud, so I decided to take a pass. Besides, I don’t need to spend extra time with police and lawyers, present company excepted Steven.”

“No offence taken,” Steve said, chewing on a mouthful of fries.

“I still think that’s awfully big of you, Frank.
Henry tried to ruin you, you know,” Judy said.

“Ah, honey, Henry was real bitter when his bookstore folded, and I think it turned his mind a little when the restaurant wasn’t a success, either.
It would probably be best for him to get away from here and start over fresh somewhere else.”

“If they don’t put his ass in jail,” Judy said.

Frank shrugged. “I’ve got no control over that, honey. He did that to himself.” Turning back to me, Frank said, “So we’re having a little celebration now that everything’s cleared up and my good name is restored. I’m treating my friends to steak sandwiches.”

“Throw in some coffee and fries and I’ll be real happy for you, Frank,” Jeff said.

“You’ve got it,” Frank replied, slapping Jeff on the shoulder and heading back to the kitchen. “Judy, pour everyone some coffee, will you, hon?”

With everyone else laughing over Henry’s folly, I joined Steve at his table.
He offered me a fry from his plate. “Things have turned out well for you too, Anna,” he said, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes, they have,” I said, chewing.

He hesitated and then said, “Did you hear that Sergeant Tremaine is leaving tonight?”

I stared at him, my heart leaden despite my earlier resolution to forget about the sergeant.
I gulped and said, “I didn’t know.”

“No, I guess no one outside the station knows.
I’m sorry, Anna.” I could tell by the sympathetic look in his eyes that he had guessed I had feelings for Tremaine.

I smiled, trying to put a brave face on it.
“Oh, that’s okay, Steve. They just brought him in for the investigation, right? It’s not like he was ever going to stay.”

He patted my back while the rest of the gang came over to the table to join us.
Erna’s bright eyes caught Steve’s gesture, and I gave her a half smile. She sat down beside me and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

Judy hustled over with a coffee pot and a bottle of apple juice for me.
Erna and I clinked our beverages together, Mary delivered our plates, and my friends and I tucked into our food.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I was restless for the remainder of the day.
I tried picking up an Agatha Christie mystery, but put it down again after a quarter of an hour. Having lived through the real thing, I knew that a murder investigation isn’t anything like the way it’s depicted in a novel. An amateur doesn’t have the knowhow or the resources to outsmart the police. It had taken a professional to make the breakthrough in Jack’s case. All I had done was flounder around and get in Tremaine’s way. Well, it had been an education, and now the investigation was over and I could get back to my life. Only, my old life didn’t seem so appealing anymore, which was perplexing. I still had everything I had had a month ago, but now it didn’t seem like enough. The thought of work on Monday, once-a-month book club meetings, and take-out suppers with Ben just made me feel depressed. What was wrong with me? By early evening I was toying with the idea of going out for a drive just to get out of the house.

Before I could go anywhere, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door and found Tremaine standing there, dressed more casually than I had ever seen him in jeans and a green cotton shirt. It looked really good on him.

“Hi Anna,” he said, looking serious. “I’ve come to say goodbye.
I’ve been assigned to a new case in Vancouver, so I’ll be gone until they fly me back for the trial.”

“I know.”

“Let me guess.
It’s Saturday. You saw Steve at The Diner.”

“That’s right.”

“That man tells you too much.”

“Don’t pick on him, Tremaine.
Steve’s a good friend. I would have gone crazy during the investigation if it hadn’t been for him.”

Tremaine’s eyes flickered.
“May I come in for a moment?”

“Oh, sure.
Sorry.”

I opened the door wide and Tremaine walked past me into the house.
I closed the door and rested my forehead against it, trying to compose myself before facing him. I hadn’t counted on having to say goodbye.

I turned around and bumped into him – he was standing right behind me.
One of his arms ensnared my waist, and he pulled me in and kissed me. I stiffened in surprise. Then he backed me against the door and really leaned into it. It was a pretty effective kiss, and I began to react. He released me for a moment and stared into my face, his grey eyes no longer cool. I felt my stomach rock, and then his mouth was back on mine with mounting pressure. I forgot my concern about the disparity in our ages and began to get pretty enthusiastic myself. When his mouth broke free, I discovered that I had welded myself to his body.

“Listen,” he said, breathing raggedly and putting a little space between us, “this next case is going to keep me busy for a couple of months, but then I have some vacation time coming up.
If I were to come back to Crane, how would you feel about spending that time with me?”

“You really mean it?” I said, squealing like a teenage girl.
It wasn’t my fault. It had been a long time since a desirable man had found me attractive. I was rusty.

“I must be nuts,” he said.
“Since being around you, I’ve landed in the hospital twice. I’m usually smarter than that, but when you’re around, I don’t seem to concentrate very well. You’re stubborn and reckless and crazy, Anna Nolan, and I can’t seem to get enough of you. So, can I come back and visit you?”

“Uh huh,” I said, smiling broadly and closing the distance between us.

The End

About The Author

Cathy Spencer lives in Calgary, Alberta with her husband and two daughters. Like her heroine, Emma Nolan, CM works as an administrative assistant for a Calgary university. Unlike Jack Nolan, her faithful actor-husband is still alive.

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Author's blog: http://cmspencer.blogspot.com

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Road Kill is the first in the “Anna Nolan” series. Here’s an excerpt from the second novel, Town Haunts, coming out in 2013.

Town Haunts

Chapter One

It was the middle of the night, but Sherman couldn’t sleep. Too many old demons whirling around his brain and pricking at his conscience. Frustrated, he threw back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed, the soles of his feet chilled by the bare floor boards. He ran his hands through his clipped, grizzled hair, and pushed himself off the bed. Thrusting his feet into slippers, he limped downstairs in his shorts and undershirt.

The kitchen was dark, but Sherman didn’t bother with the lights.
He fumbled for a water glass from the cupboard and took the vodka bottle out of the freezer. The stark fridge light was enough to see by as he poured two fingers’ worth of alcohol into the glass and put the bottle back. Walking to the sink, he dribbled a little tap water over the vodka and swirled it around before taking his first sip. Ahh. The alcohol was cold and smooth going down the back of his throat.

Meaning to count to twenty before taking a second sip, he rested the glass on the sink and looked out the window past the dingy curtains.
The house was set up high on a hill next to the Crane cemetery, allowing him to see over the wall into the grounds. For a moment, he thought he caught a flicker of light through the trees. He rubbed his eyes and stared, straining to see, but the wind was up and the trees were thrashing. There ‒ he saw the light again, briefly. Maybe it was one of those blasted kids up to no good again. They had no respect for the dead, knocking over tomb stones, spray painting ugly messages on the walls, and leaving empty beer cans right on top of the graves. He’d better take a look, or else he might have a mess to clean up tomorrow.

Forgetting to savour his drink, Sherman downed the rest and hurried upstairs to put on his pants and a warm jacket.
It was mid-October in the Foothills, and the nights were getting frosty. He grabbed his cemetery keys and hobbled down the stairs as fast as his sore knee would let him. Letting himself out of the house, he slid down the damp grass heading for the gate in the cemetery wall. The door screeched as he opened it, and he cursed himself for not keeping it oiled. Easing the door shut behind him, he paused in the flat orange light beneath a security lamp.

Everything was still except for the gusting wind.
He could see his breath coming out in excited little puffs and smelt the tangy wood smoke from the houses on the other side of the church. He shivered as the wind caught at his clothes. It was too flippin’ cold to stand still for long, so Sherman crossed the cemetery road and set off across the grass. The sky was enshrouded in thick grey cloud, and it was inky black among the plots. He got his bearings from the familiar tombstones, running his hands over their chilled, smooth surfaces as he hobbled past them. Pausing by a stone angel, Sherman peered to the left, toward the newer part of the cemetery. That was the direction the light had been coming from when he had seen it out the kitchen window.

There it was again, blinking through a stand of twisting evergreens.
He crept toward the trees, taking his time not to snap a twig along the way. Was that whispering he heard? He stopped dead to listen, but the branches were creaking too much to be sure. Reaching the evergreens, he edged around them carefully, trailing his hands over their rough bark.

He knew exactly where he was.
There was a bench on the other side of the trees with a plot directly in front of it. The words inscribed on the black tombstone read, “Evelyn Mason, Beloved Wife and Mother, April 17, 1951 – November 2, 2011.” Evie’s grave. He rounded the trees and burst out of hiding.