Red Rum: A Rosie Casket Mystery R.M. Wild (inspirational books .txt) 📖

the reflection of the table in his bald dome. “And?”

“One of your staff members must have leaked it. This gives you a publicity problem.”

Mayweather raised his head to look at us. “I am already aware of the issue, Trooper. Thank you for your concern.”

“Do you know who’s leaking it?”

“If we knew, he wouldn’t be leaking it,” Mayweather said.

“So you know it’s a he?” I said.

“Eighty-five percent of our corrections officers are male,” Mayweather said.

“So it’s a corrections officer? Not a secretary or something?”

“I’m assuming, yes,” Mayweather said. “Why does this leak concern you?”

“We’re on that video, sir. Our reputations are on the line,” Mettle said. He glanced at me in the reflection on the table. “And we have reason to believe that the leaker may have a connection with Rosie’s missing sister.”

“Why would you think that?”

“How many times has security footage been leaked before?”

“Never,” Mayweather said.

“Exactly. Yet footage of every single one of Rosie’s visits has now been posted online. It’s a smear campaign.”

“Why would someone want to smear her?”

“To run her out of business.”

“And why would they want that?”

“She owns a historic property in Dark Haven. There’s a private entity trying to get his hands on all the historic properties.”

“For what purpose?”

“We don’t know yet,” I said.

“That sounds like an awful elaborate scheme,” Mayweather said.

“Not if you can kill two birds with one flame,” I said.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that whoever is behind this whole mess wanted Phyllis Martin and Dimitri Roganoff dead because of what they knew,” Mettle said. “The footage is just the icing on the cake.”

Mayweather folded his hands. “You are on suspension, correct Trooper?”

“Yes, sir. We discussed this earlier.”

“If you are on suspension, then what do you get out of this?”

Mettle glanced at me. “I’m working pro boner.”

“Pro bono,” I corrected.

Mayweather folded his hands. “Look, I appreciate your driving all the way up here to try to make me feel incompetent, but I can assure you, we are looking into the situation. We take this matter very seriously.”

“You can’t afford to lose any prisoners,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re in competition with—”

Mettle made a slicing motion across his throat to cut me off. I looked at him, about to protest. The whole graft thing had been our angle.

“You’ve got a very nice house here,” Mettle said. “Very stately.”

The woman at the sink turned around. Her face was red, maybe from the steam, but maybe from something else. Mettle glanced at her and then glanced at me and we shared a look of understanding. I opened my mouth to speak, but Mettle put up a hand for me to hold my tongue.

“Thank you,” Mayweather said. “We like the house very much.”

Mettle looked at me, gave me a wink, and then went for it: “With all that footage making the rounds, I’m guessing it’s only a matter of time before the FBI wants to get involved. I have a friend who works for the fibbies. He is very thorough. VERY thorough. Once a week, he bleaches his underwear.”

Mayweather set his mouth straight, a firm line from crease to crease. He narrowed his eyes and his bushy eyebrows met in the middle.

“Exactly what are you insinuating, Trooper?”

Mettle leaned toward me and whispered, “What does that mean?”

“It means what are you hinting at?” I whispered back.

“Right,” Mettle said. He turned back to Mayweather. “Based on the size of this house, I’m guessing you’re not going to want anyone digging around your giant backyard. There are lots of places to bury things, if you catch my drift.”

Mayweather’s dome turned red. “I’m sorry, but I do not.”

Mettle stood to go. “All I’m saying is, this is a very impressive house. That’s all I’m saying. I think both you and I would like to get to the bottom of this case as fast as possible. Right, Mrs. Mayweather?”

The woman at the sink turned back to the dishes and scrubbed them even harder.

Mayweather smiled, unfolded his hands, and placed them both on his thighs, his spine as ramrod straight as ever. “I think we share a common goal, Trooper, yes I do.”

24

Back at the inn, I pulled the chain on a small lamp on the mantel. Mettle sank into the couch and twisted and kicked his feet up onto the arm as if he owned the place.

Full of nervous energy, I took the opportunity to grab a straw broom from the closet and sweep up some of the dust that had settled since I last got a chance to clean. No matter how hard I dusted, there was always a fine coating on everything, as if the ceiling were shedding.

“Take a load off,” Mettle said. “Relax for once.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have the luxury of a steady paycheck. Unlike you. If I don’t hustle, I don’t eat. There’s no such thing as downtime. When you work for yourself, every waking minute needs to be spent trying to make money.”

“But there are no customers.”

“It doesn’t matter. Appearances are everything.”

“I agree,” he said, picking a chunk of powdered protein out of his teeth. “Don’t be caught waving that broom around.”

I waved it right in his face.

Mettle slapped the dusty fibers away. “Let’s look at the facts,” he said and raised a hand to count on his fingers. “One, you have red hair.”

“So what? There’s probably Scottish blood in my family.”

“Yes, but red-haired people are evil. That’s a proven fact.”

“That’s insane.”

“Two, you have a closet full of brooms. I’ve never known anyone with so many brooms.”

“They all belonged to Phyllis. Besides, why were you going through my closet?”

“Three, you live in New England. We’re only a few hours from Salem.”

“By what? Highway, or broom?”

“Four, you’ve set two people on fire just by looking at them.”

“You were there for the second one. It could have been you.”

“Five, you’re a woman. Boys can’t be witches. That narrows it down by like fifty percent.”

“Tell that to the men they hanged in Salem.”

Mettle put both hands up in innocence. “Hey, if the pointy hat fits, what can