Page 85 of Killer on the First Page

“I was worried about you,” she said, as Ned tucked in.

“No need,” he assured her between mouthfuls. “Andrew here had my back.”

Ned was updating them on the murders. “The team from Portland is scrambling just to keep up with you, Miranda. They’re calling people back in to reinterview them specifically about access to the furnace room under the bookstore. Until now, the focus of the investigation had been on the window and the yard behind.”

“Any luck?” asked Miranda.

“Several people saw Fairfax going in and out, but the door leading to the basement is tucked in around the corner, past the kitchen. Geri and Gerry were busy preparing food for the reception and didn’t see anyone go down to the furnace room. Would be easy to slip by without being noticed.”

“And the lighthouse?”

“You were right again, Miranda. The heavy spring was hidden in plain sight on the floor, in among the pieces of the broken clock, and it did indeed fit snugly into the barrel of the bolt. When squeezed back, it would have slowly expanded, moving the bolt into place just like you said, locking the body inside and making it appear to be a suicide.”

Miranda Abbott had solved the mechanism of these impossible murders, but the identity of the killer still eluded her.

“That’s what worries me,” said Bea. “Knowing someone is still out there, lying in wait. You’ll be careful, won’t you, Ned? Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“How long have we known each other, Bea? Have I ever done anything rash in my entire life?”

His phone vibrated on the table and, like a fool, he put it on speaker, freeing up his hands for the utensils but allowing Officer Holly’s droll take on matters to be heard by everyone in the kitchen.

“Ned, it’s Holly here. I’m assuming you’re at the Widder Maracle’s homestead?”

“Salmon,” he said, as though that both explained and justified everything.

“Sure thing, Romeo. Anyway, you need to get down to the station pronto! Or as close to pronto as you can move. We have a confession.”

“A confession? That’s terrific news! He ’fessed up?” Like Miranda, Ned was assuming it was the janitor.

“It’s not a him, it’s aher. Just get down here, okay, Casanova?”

He grabbed his hat and headed for door, apologizing for not finishing.

“Don’t you worry,” said Bea, relieved that the killer was in custody. “I can warm up the leftovers for you again later. You go and get the bad guy—or gal, I should say.”

Miranda and Andrew followed him out to his car as a matter of course.

“Why would she call me Romeo?” Ned asked, addled by what Holly had said. He unlocked the doors. “I just came by for the salmon. Didn’t want to waste it.”

Andrew jumped in up front. He was always so excited to ride in the patrol car.

Miranda, sliding into the back seat, remarked, to no one in particular, “With acting, if we tell ourselves the same thing enough times, we start to believe it.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s not really about the salmon, is it?”

He climbed in, started the engine. “You’re as bad as Holly,” he muttered. “Commenting on things that don’t concern you.”

“Bea matters to me, Ned. And you matter to Bea. Ipso facto, you matter to me, too.” It was a straightforward syllogism of friendship.

“Can I put on the siren?” Andrew asked. “Please? Can I? Since we’re in a hurry. You know, to clear the traffic.”

“This is Happy Rock,” Ned growled. “We don’t have traffic.”

* * *

LIKE THE BOOKSTORE, the Happy Rock police station was busy with out-of-town investigators coming and going, carrying folders and barking orders to each other. Fortunately, Officer Holly had managed to hold them back—possibly on threat of a good old-fashioned tasering—from the holding cell, where the suspect was waiting.