Powdered Murder

"Essie." Murray cleared his throat. His hair was messy like he hadn't even bothered to comb it this morning. "What brings you here?"

"An attempted murder," I answered bluntly.

"Oh." He laughed and quickly ran his fingers through his hair to smooth down the matted parts. "You're joking."

"No," I answered. "Someone tried to kill me, Murray." I waited for him to sit down and start typing on his computer or at least look disappointed. "Well, aren’t you going to take my statement or something?"

"Oh." He hesitated, wiping the grin from his face. "So you are serious? Or…?”

"Murray," I muttered. "Just document it."

"Oh, right." He sat at his computer and turned it on. He avoided looking in my direction as I stood uncomfortably waiting for it to boot so he could actually do some work.

"Did you get anything back on that background check for John Slagger?" I asked.

"About that," he responded. "Dad said that—"

"Murray," I interrupted, shaking my head. "You and I went to school together so I'm going to be brutally honest for a second." I didn't know if telling him to grow up would do him any favors, but Murray had eyes for me. His crush wasn't only a grade school thing. He asked me out last year with a bouquet of red roses on Valentine's Day. I almost accepted them, thinking maybe I could come to tolerate him eventually. But then I noticed he forgot to pull out the card that said to Sharla from Ronald. Sharla is Murray's mother.

"Okay," he agreed. He leaned back, unsure of what I was going to tell him.

"You're an adult," I stated. Murray stared at me with a blank expression.

"Yeah," he lowly chuckled. "So are you."

"So act like an adult. Do what you think is best for once."

"But I do—"

"No," I went on. "I'm not talking about choosing a cereal for breakfast or what program to watch on TV. No woman wants to date a kid who needs to be told what to do."

"Do we have company, son?" Sheriff Williams entered the room chewing on a plastic toothpick. He rubbed the end of his mustache and glared at his son suspiciously as he typed.

"Sheriff," I said. "I was just stopping by to see if you found anything on that out-of-towner John Slagger."

Murray cleared his throat. He glanced at me with wide eyes and casually shook his head. The sheriff exhaled loudly and looked down at his boots before chuckling to himself. The tip of his nose was red and shiny. My gaze wandered down to the liver spots on his hands, a product of the outdoor labor he'd done when he was younger.

"Essie, we went over this," he reminded me. "I told you I've got this under control. I’ve instructed Murray here to keep our investigation confidential until further notice. If I need anything from you I'll be sure to call."

"Really?" I replied, frustrated. My fists clenched as I thought back to the way my entire body had frozen with fear when a forty-five-pound weight dropped from the top floor and landed next to my fragile feet. "You've got it under control?"

"I mean," he chuckled again. "The girl wasn't shot, stabbed or strangled. She fell at the spa. For all we know this was just some sort of freak accident. Don't rule that out."

"I don't think so, Sheriff. It was murder, and I can prove it."

"Oh you can prove it, can you?" He smirked and looked at his son.

"Yes." I lifted my chin and glanced at the bagel on Murray's desk. For a quick second Murray and I made eye contact. "The killer tried to strike again."

"What?" The Sheriff gulped.

"Yes, someone tried to kill me. I'm not making it up either. You can ask Eli over at the resort. He saw the whole thing."

"I'm writing it all down, pop," Murray responded. "And, Essie, I'll call you later about that other thing." He nodded. There was a grin on his face and he sat up straighter in his seat like he were proud of himself for making his own choices without his father interfering for once.

"Thanks, Murray," I said quietly. "I really appreciate it."

*   *   *

The snow started picking up as I walked down the street to the Bison Creek Bakery to inquire about John Slagger. Ada Adley was a distant cousin of the Millbreck's and she had a storefront that faced the center of Canyon Street. She had the advantage of seeing who came and who went on a regular basis, especially since she was always up front in the wee hours of the morning while her mother, a warm and welcoming woman, staid in the back baking up more product.

Ada isn't like her mother at all. Most tourists expect the town baker to be a friendly, jolly, cushy, old woman who sells you a pastry and then tells you a story about how the recipe has been passed down for generations. Ada is none of those things. She's in her mid-thirties, single, and she hardly smiles. Her caramel hair is usually braided and her expression is one of an exhausted mother who has been up all night with a crying baby. Ada is an artist at heart which is probably why she frequently dyes strands of her hair pink and blue. But after spending her twenties in New York City trying to make it as an oil painter and jewelry designer, she realized that she was even more broke than when she left home. Hence the permanent look of distaste on her face when she greets a customer.

"Ada," I said as I entered the bakery. The sign out front had  gone through many name changes before the Adley's finally settled for nothing more than just the word Bakery hanging over their shop. I think they were sick of the grief they got from the town after Ada single-handedly renamed the store Frost This without consulting anyone.

"Essie," she replied. She adjusted her apron and waited impatiently as I looked behind the glass display. "We have the nutrition labels in the back. I remembered them this time, although I don't think the sort of customers we get in here really care how many calories are in their jelly-filled donuts. Although, you might be interested in my Vanishing Vegan Vanilla cupcakes. I call them my "Triple V" cupcakes. Mom thinks baking without butter, milk, or eggs is blasphemous, but they taste just as good hers."

"Maybe next time." I looked past the counter and refused to let my eyes focus on anything fried, sprinkled, or glazed. If I looked for too long than I would give in, and I wasn't the sort of girl who could stop after only one bite. "Do you still have some of that winter spice tea?"

"Our very own blend," Ada recited. "Of course we do." She began making me a cup. Her movements looked robotic like her body was on autopilot while her mind wandered off someplace else. Anywhere but the family bakery.

"Ada, a man came in here yesterday."

"Lots of men come in here, Essie."

"Yes, but this guy wasn't from around here."

"Oh you mean the Cali guy with the receding hairline," she responded.

"Tall, ski

"Yeah, he was here." She handed me a warm cup. "Sugar, milk, honey?"

"No, thanks," I answered.

"Really? You're basically drinking herb water if you take it like that." She watched me blow on the warm liquid and take a sip. The lemon and hint of clove were enough to distract me from the smell of gooey ci

"I don’t mind." I took a second sip and pulled some cash from my purse. "So that guy. Do you remember his name?"