Page 77 of The Souls of Lost Lake
“Jipsy wasn’t no friend of hers. You know, Mrs. Snooty-Pants thinkin’ she’s better than everyone else. I heard tell Jipsy was planning on letting out some secrets about her. Scandal. All that.”
“Like what?” Ava had not heard of this.
“Don’t know for sure. Somethin’ about Mrs. Sanderson and Matthew Hubbard.”
Ava tried to silence her snort of laughter. “Mrs. Sanderson and Matthew Hubbard?” she repeated. “You’ve lost your ever-lovin’ mind, Ned.”
He looked offended. “Have not. You saw how upset she was the other night at the town meeting.”
“Upset withme!” Ava retorted. “Not Jipsy. Mrs. Sanderson thinksIkilled Matthew.”
“That’s my point. Why’d she care one way or another who did it unless she cared about Matthew?”
Ava contemplated this for a moment. Matthew Hubbard. In all the hoopla of Jipsy and being accused of murder and blacking out, Ava hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on him. He was in his early forties, twice Mrs. Sanderson’s senior and a bit more Ava’s senior. But he’d been a decent man. Nothing special. But—
“He worked for Sanderson,” Ned said, interrupting her thoughts. “Stands to reason the missus would’ve met him.”
Ava waved Ned into silence. She looked around them again, afraid someone else was going to round the back of the mercantile or open the loading dock doors. When she was reassured they were still alone, she responded, “If Mrs. Sanderson was goin’ to kill anyone, she’d use arsenic or somethin’ fancy. She wouldn’tuse an ax or—” Ava caught herself. She wasn’t about to admit to Ned that she had laid eyes on Jipsy’s body. That the woman had enough blood on her clothes that whoever had done it had been up close and angry. Not with an ax either. Ava guessed it was a knife, which meant someone had stabbed Jipsy several times. She couldn’t fathom pinch-faced Mrs. Sanderson in all her delicate femininity driving a knife into Jipsy once, let alone more than once.
“Be that as it may...” Ned rose from his crouch and glanced around. “I’d put money on it.”
“And what is your point, then? What am I s’posed to do about it?”
Ned eyed Ava as if she were dumb. Maybe she was. He was only a tad older than Matthew Hubbard. Maybe years added some reason and figurin’ into a man’s mind that she simply didn’t have yet.
“You want to clear your name, right?” Ned asked.
“Of course.”
“Then you’d best get that woman alone and get her to tell you everything. Or find some sort of proof she did it.”
“But what about Hubbard?”
“What about him? He’s dead and gone. There isn’t a thing you can do about that.”
“I know, but if Mrs. Sanderson offed Jipsy ’cause she was jealous, who killed Hubbard?”
Ned stopped. Frowned. “Dunno. One murder at a time, Ava, one murder at a time.”
Slinking around town like a bandit was one thing, but doing it in the daylight was a whole other lot of talents Ava was pretty certain she’d run out of real quick. Ned sauntered off to avoid looking suspicious, leaving Ava to scurry from the bushes and head into the woods that trailed along the border of town. She diverted from her intention to find Larson, to beg for his leniency and bank on his ability to reason based on evidence and not emotion. Darn if Ned’ssuspicion hadn’t gotten under her skin now. And it didn’t make a lick of sense! No more than the wild assumption that Ava herself had killed Hubbard and Jipsy. ’Course talkin’ never hurt anyone, and it mayhap was a better idea than bustin’ into the police station and blabberin’ out a self-defense.
Ava squirmed as she eyed the Sanderson house. Here she was in the Sandersons’ woods at the border where the tree line met the lawn. Ava was lost as to what to do next, so she made practice of breaking sticks into one-inch sections while waiting for some sort of brilliance to invade her mind and resolve this entire mess she was in. She couldn’t rightly go up and knock on the door! Mrs. Sanderson had never been one for conversing kindly. There was a way about Mrs. Sanderson. An education, an etiquette maybe, that made her feel ages older than Ava, even though they truly were mere years apart.
The screen door on the back porch swung open, and Ava ducked down so she wasn’t seen. Mrs. Sanderson stepped out, looking all pretty in a green polka-dot dress that flowed midway down her shapely legs. Her blond hair was cut chin-length and waved perfectly. The woman made her way to a chair and table, took a seat, and primly opened a small book. Probably poetry. Ava couldn’t picture Mrs. Sanderson wasting her time on fiction. She was too good for stories.
It was now or never. Ned had said she should just ask. But who in their right mind would up and respond,Oh yes, I did murder Jipsy. I took a knife and buried it in her multiple times. She was so vexing.
Ava rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. No. She’d have to be smarter than asking outright. Maybe if she—
A rough hand clapped over her mouth. The motion jerked her head back against a man’s chest. She grabbed at the hand, but his other arm came up around her midsection, pinning her to him. As he dragged her backward, Ava tried to scream into the callused palm. Instead, all that released were whimpers and squeals. She kicked at the ground, but he was too strong for her.
He clasped her head against him. Ava couldn’t move it to make out who had snatched her.
“Sneaky little chit.” The words growled in her ear, the man’s breath hot against her skin.
Ava squirmed. His grip tightened.
“Goin’ to go to Sanderson, eh? Think they’ll help ya?”
