The Alchemical Detective (Riga Hayworth) by Kirsten Weiss

drive and onto the highway.  She’d been on this road so many times, and dreamily watched the scenery unfold.  Lake Tahoe was like an inverted island.  No matter where you wanted to go, you seemed to always end up on the same highway, circling the lake, flashing past the same tall pine trees, road markers, and bike paths. 
    When they arrived at the wood-timber station, the first stars had appeared in the sky.  The Sheriff opened the door and led her into the station, his hand on her arm.  The pressure was just firm enough to remind her she was in custody.  Riga didn’t need the reminder.
    He directed her past a female deputy at the front desk and to an interview room.  The linoleum was in worse shape than the floor of Riga’s cabin.  The table looked like something out of a cheap diner and its top was cracked.  Riga slung her leather satchel upon the table and sat down upon a wobbly chair.  Its red vinyl seat was cracked too, a matched set.
    King took the chair opposite her.  It didn’t wobble, she noticed. 
    “Anything you want to tell me, Miss Hayworth?”
    “Did you know that the New Dawn church has been picketing the Fortune Teller’s Café?”
     “Yeah,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm.  “I think I might have noticed them.”
    “What do you know about Reverend Carver?”
    “Am I really going to have to remind you that I’m the one asking the questions?” He pulled a leather-bound notebook from the breast pocket of his jacket, and opened it upon the table.
    “Am I under arrest?”  She hated that I’m-the-one-asking-questions routine.
    His face darkened.  “No.  Did you know the woman?”  He drew a shortened pencil from his pocket and licked the tip.
    “No.  Aren’t you afraid of lead poisoning?”
    “No.  Why were you on that dock?”
    “I like docks.”  This at least was true.  It was as close to walking on water as she’d ever get.  Boats made her seasick.
    “Not a good time to be a smart ass.”
    “It’s a defense mechanism.”
    “If you’re innocent, you’ve got nothing to be defensive about.”
    “You’re right.  Ask me something else.”  She squared an ankle over one knee.
    “How did you know she was under the dock?”  The Sheriff scribbled something in his notepad.
    “I didn’t.”  The image of the crawdads bobbed to the surface of her mind and Riga shuddered, pushed it away. 
    “In my experience, women don’t reach into the water to see what’s at the end of a clump of hair.”
    Riga lifted one eyebrow.  “How many women do you know who’ve had the opportunity?”
    He crossed his arms across his chest, where they rested atop his gut, and gave her a beady look.  “So how did you know she was under the dock?”
    The grilling went on for another forty minutes, before it was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.  A female deputy stuck her head in, jerked it toward the hall.  The Sheriff lumbered out of his chair and closed the door behind him, leaving Riga the room.
    Ten minutes later the door opened and Donovan walked in, the edge of his black wool coat swirling about his knees.  His fist clenched around a pair of black leather gloves.  With the other hand, he tugged a gray scarf from around his neck.  He was followed by a stately looking black woman with graying hair cropped close to her scalp.  She wore a red skirt and blazer with matching boots.  A chocolate-brown fur coat was draped over her arm.  Mink, Riga wondered?
    “I can see life with you will never be dull,” Donovan said.  “You’ve been sprung.”
    Riga exhaled noisily, feeling the muscles around her heart loosen.  She stood to face him.  Getting bailed out by Donovan hurt her pride but she was glad to be free.  “Thank you.”
    He gestured to the woman beside him.  “This is Sharon Williamson, your lawyer.  Thank her.”
    “We should talk about the situation tomorrow morning, Miss Hayworth.” The attorney shook Riga’s hand and the grip was firm