Chapter 14

When Grace and Molly walked into the police department, Deputy Britney Aldridge looked up from her desk. She'd been typing, probably a report of some kind. "Grace. Molly. What can I do for you?"

"We'd like to speak with Sheriff Maverick. Is she in?" Grace glanced toward the closed door of Maverick's office.

"No, I'm sorry. She's out working a case." Deputy Aldridge's expression left no doubt what case that might be, although she tried to hide it.

"Do you know where in town she might be? Can we call her? It's pretty important." Grace gestured toward the radio. "Can we radio for her?"

"Tell me what you know, and I'll decide if it's necessary to interrupt the Sheriff." Deputy Aldridge said.

"It's got to do with the Prada murder, but it's only for Sheriff Maverick's ears." Grace was a little put off by Deputy Aldridge and her high-handed attitude. "Look, I think I may know who did it. I need to talk to Sheriff Maverick to prove it, though."

"You were told to stay out of it!" Deputy Aldridge growled.

"Well, I guess I didn't. What are you going to do? Arrest me?" Now Aldridge had Grace's dander up.

"How about I cite you for interfering with a police investigation? That can carry jail time. A hundred and twenty days in jail to be exact, and a seven hundred and fifty-dollar-fine on top of it. How'd you like that?"

"Are you seriously going to sit there and threaten me?" Grace asked.

"Oh, that's not a threat. That's a guarantee." Deputy Aldridge barked. She obviously didn't like her authority questioned, which Grace had to admit was a valid point.

She took a deep, calming breath. "Look, Deputy, I'm not here to step on anybody's toes. I have real information that I think the sheriff will want to hear."

"What information is that?" Sheriff Maverick's voice came from the doorway to the office. She must've just returned from town and overheard the last bit of the conversation.

"Grace Conroy, who was specifically told to stay out of the investigation, claims to have information. I told her if she didn't give it to me I would charge her with obstruction," Deputy Aldridge said .

"Nobody's going to be charged with anything. Everybody take a breath. Now, Grace, what did you hear and from whom?"

"Actually, it was from you, Sheriff. You said the autopsy showed Prada was shot with an old gun, a revolver from the fifties."

Maverick nodded. "The best they could tell the bullet came from a Smith and Wesson .38 Masterpiece. A collector's piece."

"Exactly. We went to talk to Albert Herves today—"

"Grace, I told you not to—" Maverick began.

"About investments, Sheriff. That's all we talked about, I swear. Jeremy Prada's name never came up. I said I was there to ask about investing some money."

"And what good did that do you?" Deputy Aldridge asked.

"I realized by looking at Herves and the way he dressed, by his office and its ultramodern design, by the fact that he had absolutely zero antiques in that building that he was the type of man who had no interest in old things, not even old guns. Then I realized I knew someone who did."

"And who would that be?"

"Ginny Windom. Her vintage store sold antiques, too. Knives and bayonets. She had a display case with old guns in it."

"Ginny Windom thinks her cats talk to her," Deputy Aldridge reminded them.

"And Son of Sam thought a demon was speaking to him through the neighbor's dog," Molly countered.

Deputy Aldridge shook her head. "The knife in the case was a WWII trench knife that couldn't cut butter. As for the guns she has in that case, I've seen them. They're antiques, all right. If she tried to shoot any of them, she'd blow her hand off."

"I have to agree with my deputy on that one," Maverick said. "Those guns haven't been cleaned in at least twenty years."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't have others, Sheriff. Ginny Windom is a collector . Sure, most of her collection is related to the eighties, but does that mean she doesn't collect other things? Like guns?" Grace asked.

"Her husband was a police officer, Britney. It's possible he would've shown her how to clean and care for a weapon, and left her a few when he passed, other than those in the display case." Maverick seemed to be mulling it over. "When I spoke to her, I asked her about the back room she has in the store. She was very defensive about anyone going back there. I think it's worth talking to her again, maybe getting a warrant."

"Out of all the people we spoke to, she's the only one who talked about getting justice , too. Nothing about getting back the money she lost. She was very clear that what happened to Jeremy was justice ," Grace said.

"Then again, Grace, she said Jeremy's head was bashed in, and it wasn't," Molly said. "I know we said she might've been trying to throw us off the trail but…"

"If she shot him, then it would've been a good red herring to throw you," Maverick said. "Between that and her telepathic cats, it worked. It sent you talking to every person in town who lost money to Prada instead of looking closer at her. Britney, get Judge Reinhold on the horn. Let me see if we can get a warrant for that back room at Second Time Around Vintage Clothing."

***

Ginny Windom looked up from the sales counter in surprise when the door opened, and the bell dinged. "Sheriff Maverick and Detective Huertas. What a surprise! And Grace and Molly, too. My goodness, what can I show you? I didn't know you all knew each other. I just got in a new delivery of sweatshirts the other day—"

"We're not here to buy sweatshirts, Ginny. I need to see in the back room." Sheriff Maverick's expression might have been carved out of stone. It was immobile, without even a twitch of a smile.

Grace stood silently behind the officers, holding Molly's hand. She was only there by the goodwill of the Sheriff, and she knew it. She owed Sheriff Maverick one.

Ginny's smile devolved into a scowl. "I've told you before, Sheriff, that back room is private. Customers are not allowed back there."

Maverick handed Ginny a piece of paper. "This warrant says otherwise. It covers the back room here, and your apartment upstairs. We're looking for a Smith and Wesson .38 Masterpiece. If you have one, it would be best if you just told us now."

"I-I…my late husband was a collector, you see. I don't know what types of guns he had. There are a couple in the display case there…"

"We're not looking for junk that can't be fired," Detective Huertas said. "We're looking for one in good working order."

Ginny's expression turned to stone. "Maybe I should have a lawyer look at this warrant."

"That's not how this works. I'm sorry. We need to look now." Maverick sighed and walked around the counter. She was followed by Detective Huertas. Grace and Molly were told to stay outside. If the back room was small, Maverick and Huertas didn't need them getting in the way.

"Ms. Windom, you need to come with us," Sheriff Maverick said.

"This is your fault, isn't it?" Ginny hissed at Molly and Grace. She walked around the counter and stabbed a bony finger in Grace's direction. "You couldn't mind your own damn business!"

She turned to Molly. "And you. This is all your fault, and I mean all of it. That Jeremy Prada came to Springfield looking for you. That's right, missy. You ."

"He never approached me. I didn't know he was in town until after he was dead!" Molly cried.

"Because he got caught up in stealing people's money and didn't have time for a tramp like you. But in the beginning, if it weren't for you, he would've picked some other town to do his stealing in. I would still have my savings. That's why I told him you wanted to meet him in the maze. It was your fault!"

Gone was the sweet, oddball storekeeper who thought her cats were telepathic, and perpetually lived in the eighties. Rage speckled Ginny's face with bright red. Her lips were curled back in a snarl that showed her teeth. The skin on her face pulled so tight, the veins beneath it were visible. She looked positively feral and extremely dangerous.

"And you." She spun back to Grace. "You had to keep going, talking to people, making a mess of things. Nobody cared that Jeremy Prada was dead. It was a service to the community! You had to stir the pot, though, and push the police to find answers."

She stalked back to the counter and took something out from behind it. It was the WWII trench knife. Grace realized it was old and dull but still dangerous as Ginny began to walk toward them.

"You need to stay away from us. The Sheriff is right in the back room," Grace said. She wondered if she should just yell for help, and when Ginny took another step toward them, looking for all the world like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, she did. "Sheriff! Sheriff, we need help out here!"

It happened in a matter of seconds.

"Oh, just shut up!" Ginny cried. She rushed forward with the knife, aiming for Grace's chest. It was so close Grace could almost feel the knife sliding into her gut. She twisted to avoid the knife and pushed Ginny away.

Ginny howled and teetered, then regained her footing and went after Molly this time.

Molly screamed and pushed backward through a rack of eighties sweatshirts and leggings.

Grace grasped behind her for anything she could use as a weapon. Her hand felt something rectangular and heavy. She grabbed for it, dragging it in front of her. It was a boombox. She threw it at Ginny.

The boombox hit Ginny and knocked her off balance again, but again, it wasn't enough to stop her. Ginny seemed to be in a wild, mindless rage. She went after Molly again.

Suddenly, Detective Huertas was there. She jumped forward and grabbed Ginny's shoulders, pulled her back and threw her to the side.

Ginny fell this time, hitting her forehead on the corner of the counter. The knife fell from her hand. She slid to the floor and sat against the counter looking dazed. Blood trickled down her face in a steady stream.

Sheriff Maverick stood in the back of the room, her gun drawn. "What in the blue hell is going on out here?"

"She went nuts, that's what happened," Grace said. She was shaking and trying to ascertain if Molly had been injured. "She attacked us with the old WWII knife she had in the display case!"

"Are you two okay?" Maverick asked. "I couldn't get off a shot without hitting one of you."

"Yeah, I think so. She didn't get close enough to stab either one of us, hard as she tried."

"I-I'm bleeding," Ginny mumbled. "I need help."

"We'll take you to the ER for stitches as soon as we read you your rights. You're under arrest for the murder of Jeremy Prada. We found the gun hidden in the back of a drawer. Looks like we'll be adding assault with a deadly weapon to the list of charges. Ginny Windom, you have the right to remain silent…"

As Sheriff Maverick read Ginny her rights, Grace made sure Molly was okay.

"Your arm. Did you reinjure it? Maybe we should take you in for another x-ray." Grace said. She ran her hands over Molly's arms and sides, almost as if she were frisking her, searching for injuries.

"Grace, I'm fine. Are you okay? She went after you, too."

"No, she didn't get me. I'm good."

"Then can we go home?" Molly asked. She might not have been injured, but she was visibly shaken by the ordeal.

"Sheriff? Can we go home?" Grace asked.

"Yes, but you'll have to come down to the station to make a report," Maverick answered. "Oh, and Grace, Molly? Thank you. I probably wouldn't have looked at Ginny Windom again if it hadn't been for your stubborn interference." Maverick smiled as she said it.

"You're welcome. I'm just glad it's over," Grace said. "Things can get back to normal."

"Except for your maze. I'm so sorry you had to get caught up in all this and lose your maze," Molly said. Her arm was threaded through Grace's elbow crook, and she clung to it.

"We'll see."

"What do you mean? The farmer doesn't want your maze on his field anymore, remember?"

Grace grinned. "I know. But I have a plan."

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