Grumpy held up both hands and said, “Sister, sister. We’re your friends. We just want to talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“About how you’ve been acting,” he said, “since you drank that potion.”
“The potion is not the problem,” sneered Snow. “The real problem is that I’m living with a bunch of dwarfs when the woman who killed my father is prancing around in my castle, living my life. And this happens to be the same woman who tried to have me murdered, too. Am I mad? Yes. I’m furious.”
“It’s not fair to take this out on your friends,” said Jiminy Cricket, who had joined them for the conversation.
“You’re right,” said Snow, lost in thought. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Progress,” muttered Jiminy to Grumpy.
“I should be taking it out on her,” Snow White said. “By killing her.”
• • •
It was awkward, to say the least, when Emma booked Mary Margaret. She took her picture and did the appropriate paperwork, even though Mary Margaret proclaimed her innocence throughout. Emma told her she was only doing her job and that the fingerprint was hard evidence. Maybe she was innocent, but Emma knew that playing favorites now would have dire consequences down the line. She wasn’t going to endanger Mary Margaret by acting hastily. It would come down to figuring out what had really happened to Kathryn. And for that, she would need time.
To make things more difficult, Ruby had quit, made up with Granny, and gone back to work at the diner, which meant that Emma was alone again at the office and had few people she could talk to about the case. Few people she liked, at least.
Regina, who’d called and said that she wanted to be a part of the interrogation, showed up a few minutes after the booking was complete. Mary Margaret consented and said that she didn’t need a lawyer.
“Why would I?” she asked. “I’m innocent.”
As Emma asked questions, Mary Margaret kept her composure and revealed a key new piece of information: The box was her jewelry box. She didn’t know how it had ended up buried beside the river, and she definitely didn’t know how a heart got into it, but the jewelry box was hers. She said she wasn’t going to pretend it wasn’t.
Outside, while Mary Margaret remained in the interrogation room, Emma and Regina discussed her answers.
“No one is accusing Ms. Blanchard of being a bad person,” Regina said. “But she’s a woman who’s had her heart broken. And that? It can make you do unspeakable things.”
• • •
Grumpy had never thought of Snow White as the violent type, but watching her disarm and assault one of the Queen’s Black Knights was nothing if not impressive. They were five miles from the hovel, and he had followed her, knowing that to march into the Queen’s castle would be suicide for Snow White, but not quite knowing how to stop her. The Black Knight had appeared on the road and tried to intimidate her, but she would have none of it. Quickly, effortlessly, she swept the knight’s feet out from under him with the mining pick she’d taken from the hovel, interrogated the knight as to the queen’s location, mocked him, and sent him on his way.
She was trying to put on the knight’s abandoned armor when Grumpy emerged from the forest and said, “Are you crazy? You think that that ‘disguise’ is going to fool anyone?”
“What are you doing here?” she said. “Did you follow me?”
“Yes, I did,” he said. “Because I don’t want to see you get killed.”
“I won’t,” she said sternly. “And besides, the Queen deserves to die.”
“That might be true, but justice doesn’t always care what’s deserved,” he said. “You’re this angry because you’ve forgotten.”
This stopped Snow for a moment. “What do you mean?” she said eventually.
“I mean I have a better idea,” said Grumpy. “We go to Rumplestiltskin and get your memory back.”
• • •
Emma locked Mary Margaret back up in the cell, told her she’d be out of the office for a few hours, and headed back to their apartment to search the place.
Mary Margaret’s claim was that someone had broken in and stolen her jewelry box, but when Emma examined the locks on both doors, she found no sign of forced entry. There were only two keys—hers and Mary Margaret’s. Something wasn’t right.
She searched Mary Margaret’s room but came up empty. She was moving on to her own room when she heard a knock at the door.
Noon on a Monday, she thought. She checked her gun, left the safety off.
“Who is it?” she called through the door.
“It’s me!”
Henry.
“What are you doing here?” she said to Henry, after she’d pulled open the door. He came in, beaming.
“It’s kinda like the first time we met, isn’t it?” he said.
“Why aren’t you at school?” Emma asked.
“I’m sick.”
“You are not sick.”
He sighed and tossed his backpack on the couch. “I wrote notes,” he admitted. “But I have to help you. Mary Margaret isn’t guilty. This is really important for Operation Cobra.”
“This isn’t Cobra, I keep telling you,” Emma said. “This is real life.”
“It’s the same thing.”
Emma shook her head. “Fine,” she said. “You’re sick. You can help me search this place, then.”
“What are we looking for?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Anything strange.”
She went back to her room and started rooting around near the window, checking for signs of a forced entry there. About five minutes passed. There’s nothing here, she thought. And that’s because no one—
“I think I found something!”
Emma went out to the living room and found Henry on the floor, pulling at the vent beneath the coffee table. She frowned, moved the table aside.
“There’s something down there,” said Henry.
“I see it.” She brushed him out of the way, studied the grate. She went to the kitchen then and got a screwdriver. It took her a minute to unscrew and lift the grate. When she did, the ceiling light illuminated the rectangular hole, and she could see the outline of the object.
“My god,” she said.
Henry said nothing.
Emma pulled a Kleenex from the box on the table, reached down, and pinched the blade of the hunting knife, making sure not to let the handle touch anything.
“Go to Granny’s Diner,” she said. “Stay there until I come get you.” Emma squinted. Was that blood on the blade?
“But I—”
“Go, Henry,” Emma said.
Then, a little softer, as both of them looked at the knife, she added: “Go right now.”
• • •
Across town, back at the sheriff’s office, Emma looked sadly at her friend through the bars. “We have the weapon now,” she said. It was bagged and in the evidence locker. Things were looking bleak for Mary Margaret.
“But in the heating vent?” she cried. “I don’t even know how to open that.”
“Then someone broke into our house and planted it there.”
“Do you not believe me?”
“I believe you, Mary Margaret, but I need some evidence pointing in the right direction. So far it’s all been pointing the wrong way.”
“What are you saying?” said Mary Margaret, sinking back down to the bench in the jail cell.
“I’m saying that it might be time to hire a lawyer,” Emma said.
“An excellent idea!”
Both Emma and Mary Margaret turned to see Gold standing in the doorway, his cane held delicately in both hands. He nodded hello.
“What are you doing here?” asked Mary Margaret.
“Offering my legal services,” Gold said, coming into the room. “I can be very persuasive. Ask Ms. Swan. I found myself in that same seat not long ago, and now, look at me. A free man.”
“It helps to have a judge in
your pocket,” said Emma.
“It does, actually, yes,” he said. “But Ms. Blanchard, I’ve been following your case, and I believe you’d be well-advised to bring me in as your counsel. Immediately. I, too, can have you free of that cell quite soon.”
“What she needs is for me to have space to do my job, Gold, not—”
“No one is stopping you,” said Gold. “I’m simply offering to help—”
“Please go.”
Both Gold and Emma looked over to Mary Margaret.
“I think you should reconsider, Miss Blanchard,” said Gold.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Miss Gold,” she said, turning a steely gaze to Emma. “I was talking to the sheriff. I’d like to speak to my lawyer now. In private.”
Emma eyed her curiously, shrugged, and turned to Gold.
“Okay, you win,” she said to Gold. “I hope you have her best interests at heart.”
“Of course I do,” he said, smiling at Mary Margaret. “I have for some time.”
They talked for fifteen minutes. By the time Mr. Gold left, Mary Margaret was feeling much better. Was Mr. Gold trustworthy? Absolutely not. But she knew that he was an enemy of Regina, and she felt sure Regina was trying to frame her. And so in this case, her enemy’s enemy was her friend.
She was only alone in her cell for a minute. Emma came back in and nodded at her, but didn’t ask about Gold. She didn’t have time to ask about anything, actually. A few minutes later, David showed up.
Mary Margaret watched in silence as David requested a few moments alone with her. Emma sighed and looked over in her direction.
“You’re popular right now,” she said. “You mind?”
“No,” Mary Margaret said. “I’ll talk to him.” Of course she would. David was her only other advocate in town.
Emma turned back to David. “You can have ten minutes.”
“I need it to be alone.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll go get a coffee,” she said. “Again. Ten minutes.”
Emma left them. David took a breath and went to the cell, where Mary Margaret waited hopefully, hands on the bars.
“You came,” she said.
“I needed to talk to you,” he said. “I did call Kathryn. I remember. We talked. She told me—Mary Margaret, she told me that she wanted you and me to be together. She gave us her blessing.”
“She did?”
He nodded.
“There’s more, though,” he said. “I remembered something else.”
Mary Margaret waited, still hopeful. David could barely bring himself to say what he said next.
“I remembered something you said once,” he said, “about wanting to kill her. I need to ask you if you had something to do with Kathryn’s disappearance.”
They stared at each other. Mary Margaret could not believe what she was hearing. Regina was supposed to be the liar; Regina was supposed to be the one making things up. This—this made no sense.
“When your phone records came back, when I found you wandering in the woods, when everyone thought you killed Kathryn… I stood by you. I never once doubted you. But now that everything is pointing toward me… You actually think I am capable of that?”
David reached for the bar. “I just don’t know anymore.”
“Get out,” Mary Margaret said. “You are unbelievable, David.”
“But I—”
“Get out of my sight.”
• • •
Mary Margaret spent a terrible night in the cell, tossing and turning. She knew one thing: Whatever was happening, Regina was behind it. She didn’t have evidence and she couldn’t prove it, but she knew. For her, it would be a matter of finding the hard facts. And in the meantime, she needed a few—only a few—to keep the faith.
Emma was growing more and more concerned that she wouldn’t be able to find a way to free her friend. The lab results had come back and confirmed that the heart was Kathryn’s. It was now a murder investigation. She, like Mary Margaret, believed Regina was somehow behind it, but so far Regina had bested her at every turn. So she went to the man she’d come to think of as the equalizer.
“I need your help, Mr. Gold,” Emma said to him. She was standing in his pawnshop, and he was behind the counter, a wry smile on his face.
“Do you?”
“I do,” she said. “I think Regina is behind what’s happening with Mary Margaret. I just can’t prove it.”
“And how can I help?”
“I don’t know how to handle her,” she said. “I just don’t.”
Gold smiled. “Quite an act of humility,” he said. “I admire that, Ms. Swan. And you’re right to be wary. She is a dangerous woman. Very dangerous.”
“So tell me,” Emma said. “Tell me how to beat her.”
CHAPTER 13
HAT TRICK
Emma and gold talked for two hours, developing their plan. When Emma felt ready, they headed back to the jail, intent on filling in Mary Margaret.
One problem: Mary Margaret wasn’t there.
Henry greeted them outside the sheriff’s office, where he was sitting with his book, leaning back against the door. “Your plan is amazing!” he said when he saw them.
“What plan?” said Emma. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to Mary Margaret, but then I realized what was going on so I decided to wait for you.”
Emma frowned at Gold, and the two of them went past Henry and into the office. A bolt of cold dread passed through Emma’s body when she looked at the empty jail cell.
“It appears Miss Blanchard has taken matters into her own hands,” Gold said. “What an interesting development.”
Henry had come in behind them.
“Henry,” Emma said. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I thought you did it. Isn’t this your plan?”
“No,” Emma said. “But it might be someone else’s.”
“Either that, or she escaped on her own,” said Gold.
“The arraignment is at eight a.m. tomorrow,” Emma said, going to the cell to examine the door. “She’s a fugitive now; she’s in trouble.”
“Then you have until eight a.m.,” Gold said. “To find her.”
“What can I do to help?” asked Henry.
“Go home, kid,” Emma said. “This is getting way too serious for you to be caught up in it.”
“Miss Blanchard’s future is already in jeopardy, as you know,” Gold said, looking placidly at Emma with his penetrating eyes. “But I should also remind you that if you’re caught aiding her, yours may very well be, too.”
“I don’t care,” Emma said, gathering her things. “I’d rather lose my job and help my friend.”
“Even if it involves a miscarriage of justice?”
“Even if.”
“How interesting,” Gold said. “Friendship.”
“Haven’t you ever had any friends, Mr. Gold? It changes things.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve heard that.”
“Then you understand.”
Gold nodded at this. Emma couldn’t tell if he respected it, questioned it, or just found it amusing.
• • •
It was late, but Emma decided to have a look around near the toll bridge. She didn’t know where Mary Margaret had escaped to, but without help, she couldn’t have gone very far, and hiding in the woods was just as likely as anything else. The bridge meant something to her. Maybe she would head there.
Emma took the Bug and made her way toward the outskirts of Storybrooke, worried for her friend. Distracted by her thoughts, she was not paying attention when she ripped around a tight corner and nearly hit a man.
She only glimpsed him for a second as he lurched off the road, diving away to avoid being run down.
Emma stopped the car, got out, and ran back to him. In the bushes she found a man she’d never seen before, sitting upright and clutching at his ankle. He nodded and said, “Hello. Nice night for a w
alk.” He was tall and lanky, Emma saw. Handsome in an unusual way, and dressed more formally than most in Storybrooke.
“I’m so sorry,” Emma said. “Are you hurt?”
He used a tree to help himself stand, then tried to put some weight on the ankle. It didn’t look like it would hold up too well.
“Let me give you a ride home, at least,” Emma said.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, waving her off, gimping back toward the road. “It’s really no problem.” But it obviously was a problem, and he struggled getting just a few feet.
“How far is your house?”
“About a mile,” he said. “That way.”
“You can’t make it a mile,” she said. “Come on. Let me drive you; it’d be silly not to.”
He sighed and seemed to see the light. “Okay,” he said, “fair enough. What’s your name?”
“I’m Emma Swan,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m the sheriff. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“The sheriff!” he cried, smiling. “No, I don’t believe we have. I don’t get out much.” He shook her hand. “But it’s good to meet you. My name’s Jefferson.”
• • •
Emma was surprised when Jefferson pointed out his driveway—an old private road she’d never even noticed before, not far from the very edge of town. They crept through the woods about a quarter mile before coming to a wrought-iron gate and, once through, to the home itself. It was impressive, to say the least. Classical, regal, enormous, and lit up like a Christmas tree. Emma couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. The man lived in a mansion in the middle of nowhere. He looked down on Storybrooke like a lord. How did she not know this guy?
She helped him to the door, and when he invited her in, she agreed. She had to admit: She was curious. Not wanting to get into any details about Mary Margaret, she had told him that she was out looking for a lost dog. He seemed to accept it.
“You must have a big family,” she said, which was her way of saying: How could anyone need this much?
“No, it’s just me here,” he said, limping into the foyer.
Emma followed him, and they entered a large, plush living room.
“This search you’re undertaking,” he said. “You’re out here looking for your dog, is it? I believe I can be of some assistance. I know you have your fancy GPS devices and what have you, but I’m something of an amateur cartographer….” He was rustling around now at a rolltop desk, and when he turned, he was holding a rolled-up map. He limped past her again and unfurled it on the top of the piano. “This has great detail of these woods,” he said. “Please use it.”