“Well, if it isn’t Clementine Cooke.”
I did not like the way he said that. But instead of challenging the chief, I smiled. “Chief Sluggs, how’re you?”
He tipped his tan cowboy hat with his fingers. “How’re you and your premonition abilities doing?”
From out of nowhere, a knot formed in the back of my throat. “Well, just so you know, me and my premonition abilities have parted ways. You know, because I never actually had those abilities to begin with.”
“Huh,” was all he said, as if he didn’t believe me.
“Anyway.” Maybe a change of topic would get his mind off whatever he was considering. “How’re things going with the Crystal Darsey case? Do you have any leads?”
He scrubbed a hand down his cheek and eyed me suspiciously. “Well, in fact, I might have a lead or two.”
“Oh? Anything promising?”
Chief Sluggs leaned one shoulder against the wall. The man was old as dirt, and I was waiting for him to literally slide down the wall and onto the floor. He was thin as a rail, and I didn’t expect that he had much, if any, strength—at least not in his body. His mouth, on the other hand, seemed to be a different story.
“Seems to me that someone plunged a knife into Crystal Darsey.”
“Oh, thank goodness. You finally think that someone’s been murdered.”
Hallelujah and praise be to God. Were pigs flying in the sky? Had hell actually frozen over?
Both were absolute possibilities.
Sluggs gave me a brusque nod. “In fact, I do think that Miss Darsey was murdered. After all, you and that friend of yours claimed to have seen it. Both of y’all had a premonition, am I right?”
Sweat crept under my collar. I shifted Lady to my opposite arm. She dug her wet nose into my elbow. Oh no. Even Lady thought things were going badly.
“I saw the murder, yes,” I reluctantly volunteered.
“And you and Miss Darsey had a spat earlier that day, am I right?”
“We did,” I slowly admitted.
“’Cause the way I see it”—Chief Sluggs stroked his chin—“you had it in for her. Folks heard you threaten the victim. Do you know what I think?”
No, and I don’t want to.“What’s that?” I asked, putting on my best innocent voice. I may have also batted my lashes, because, well, just because.
“I think,” he said real slow like, to really get his point across, “that after the apple-picking contest, you returned to Dooley’s farm and either killed Miss Darsey, or you had your friend do it. But I think it was you, and then you convinced young John to go along with some bogus premonition that you said you had, convincing him to lie to us, the police.”
“Wow, Chief, I hate to tell you, but you’ve got this one wrong. Like, totally wrong.”
Why was it that either Sluggs didn’t believe someone had been murdered, or when they had been murdered, he pointed the finger at the wrong person?
Why couldn’t he get it right? Just once? Was that too much to ask?
Apparently it was.
Sluggs shook his head. “You see, the thing is, Clem, I don’t think that I have it wrong at all. In fact, I think I’ve got this one right.”
Suddenly, it seemed like the police station was empty. I could no longer hear the whir of the ceiling fans. I could no longer smell the coffee that was probably drying up on a burner in the break room. All I could see and hear was Tuney Sluggs as he slung his theory at me.
“Chief,” I started to say, my throat tight. In my mind, I was screaming that someone else had killed Crystal, that I wasn’t guilty, that I couldn’t even see premonitions, but nothing came out except the squeak of his name.
“Clem,” he replied, “you need to stay in town. Don’t even think about leaving, because we”—he gestured toward the office—“are gonna be looking real close at you—real close.”
I hated to ask, but did that mean I was under arrest or something?
