Murder at Moot Point Read Free Page B

mountainside and Charlie could see the Moot Point lighthouse at the end of the promontory sitting white in a sea of dripping jade vegetation. Its light still circled in the old way but modern antennas poked into the sky around it.
    They turned off the highway onto the road Charlie had followed, but could barely see, the night before. It swooped down through trees and thick underbrush, then broke out into a dramatic view of the bay. The village stair-stepped by street up the hillside. Rose’s was on the lowest step just above the beach, a building of sea-weathered gray wood with old-fashioned oilcloth on the tables, candles in miniature ships’ lanterns, a black wood stove taking the chill off the morning, padded cushions on ancient hardwood chairs, and the odor of careful cooking.
    Sheriff Bennett sat with his head between the tremendous breasts of a woman adorning a fake ship’s figurehead that sprouted from the wall behind him. Rose herself came to fuss over him.
    â€œShe the one?” Rose stared openly at Charlie. She was short and heavy, wore a saggy cardigan over a shapeless dress and floppy terry-cloth bedroom slippers. The other waitpersons wore tailored black pants, white shirts, black string ties, and straight spines.
    â€œSee you haven’t translated the menu into Japanese yet, Rose,” he said instead of answering her, and ordered pancakes and bacon.
    â€œYou got yourself a lot bigger worries right now than the Japanese, Sheriff.” She patted the top of his big head and took Charlie’s order. Her slippers clapped measured applause as she shuffled off.
    â€œWhen can I have my car back?” Charlie asked him, his change of mood from last night making her uneasy. Maybe that was part of law enforcement these days like teddy bears. Or maybe it was just that he didn’t care for sunshine.
    â€œDo you own a weapon, Charlie?” he said instead of answering her and leaned back into the painted bosom, part of his face shadowed from the light coming into the window next to them. Even the twinge of sympathy for her seemed to have been drowned in waves of exhaustion.
    Charlie sipped at her coffee and stared out to sea. She could see the lighthouse from here too. It looked too good to be true, like a calendar picture. “There’re knives in our kitchen but I don’t own a gun. Guess my Toyota was a weapon last night, wasn’t it?”
    They sat in outward silence until their food arrived. Inwardly Charlie was talking over the possibilities with him. “Listen, I’m in some kind of serious shit here, right? Should I call my lawyer or what?” And he’d say, “You got one?” And she’d say, “A lawyer? Doesn’t everyone?”
    Charlie knew people who had lawyers. She wasn’t one of them. Her egg came, over easy, and she chopped it up so the yolk ran and mixed it in with half the home fries and glanced up at Sheriff Wes. He was watching her plate, looking a little sick. Charlie had always done this to eggs. Was it a pathological sign?
    She tried to peer between the wooden boobs into his eyes. “Listen, Sheriff Bennett, I’ll say it again. I had been driving all day, hit bad weather. I’d had some trouble at home and I know I wasn’t in great shape. But I still don’t see how I could have hit and killed a grown woman on a bicycle and not known it, even in heavy fog. It just doesn’t work. Now can I have my car back or what?”
    â€œYour car is still under investigation. There are no signs of impact in the bodywork or paint immediately identifiable as being related to the death of Mrs. Glick or the destruction of her Schwinn. But we’ll let the experts confirm that before we return your car.”
    He would say no more until they’d eaten. Finally when the dishes were cleared he came out with it. “Charlie, Georgette Glick died of a bullet to the head. But her bike appears to have been struck and