The Frying Pan

Jon hated walking around Goodwill. It smelled weird, the lights were always flickering, and nothing was ever quite as it seemed. The book his girlfriend, Carly, held in her hands was a perfect example. The spine was in perfect condition, so when you saw it you got excited and quickly pulled it from the shelf, just to find that the corners were torn and someone had written all over the title page.

Carly didn’t seem to mind, though. She wasn’t much shorter than Jon, which allowed him to peer comfortably over her shoulder at the sad excuse for a book. He brushed a length of her blonde hair to the side, tucking it gently behind her ear. 

“You really want that one?”

“Sure I do! It’s an old cookbook, Jon. You know how I love these things.”

He did know that Carly loved cookbooks—she was a Culinary Arts student, after all. But why she insisted upon finding her kitchen equipment at thrift stores, he would never understand.

She tucked the book under her arm and reached for Jon’s hand with the other, leading him past the rows of drooping clothing and into her favorite section—assorted cookware.

Jon took the crusty cookbook from Carly as she began rifling through the precarious piles of rusty frying pans and stained pots, humming happily to herself. Seeing her in her element made Jon happy. She really was so beautiful—tall and blonde with bright blue eyes and delicate, doll-like features. 

Jon had always felt…nerdy. He had plain features and curly brown hair, with a tendency towards slouching. He thought Carly was light-years out of his league, but that didn’t seem to bother her.

“Jon, look at this one!” Carly was holding up a plain black pan with a few patches of brownish crust scattered across its surface. He gave her an awkward smile and double thumbs-up, which made her laugh.

“What is it?” he asked, walking over to heft it for himself. It was heavy, the metal cool and rough. 

“It’s a cast-iron skillet! These are, like, twenty bucks but they only want five for this one! I have to get it.”

“Knock yourself out,” replied Jon, handing it back to her. She giggled happily and reclaimed his hand, leading him towards the checkstand. 

They parted ways outside. Carly had to go to work her job as a waitress, then attend to some homework afterwards. It was a Saturday, so Jon didn’t have to work, which left him with an evening to himself. He carefully deposited the cookbook and skillet in the backseat of her old Honda Civic before kissing her good-bye.

“Thanks for coming with me,” said Carly, shivering slightly. It was early spring, and an icy wind was blowing through town. 

“Of course,” yawned Jon. “Even if it is way too early for this kind of thing.”

“It’s almost two in the afternoon.”

“On a Saturday. I don’t do Saturday mornings.”

“Whatever, sleepyhead. Go take a nap, and I’ll call you tonight.” 

“Love you,” he said, pulling her into one last embrace. Then he added, jokingly: “Have fun at work.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Love you, too.”

Carly waved as she pulled away. Jon walked back towards his truck, an old red Chevrolet. It guzzled gasoline shamelessly, but Jon loved it. He trusted it to get him anywhere he needed to go.

Which, for now, was just across town and back to bed.

Carly sang along to the radio as she raced to work, glancing at her watch. If she hurried, she wouldn’t be late. Probably.

The restaurant she worked at, the Bel Endroit, was the fanciest establishment in Benson, and maybe all of Colorado. Waiting tables there was a serious resume builder for an aspiring chef, and while she was one of the best employees, she couldn’t afford any black marks on her record. 

Carly rolled up to a stop sign, not bothering to stop before turning right and accelerating rapidly down the road. Trees, still devoid of foliage, lined both sides of this road which snaked through a park and emptied out into a large plaza. The nicest restaurants—the Bel Endroit included—all called this plaza home.

Carly slowly became aware of a sound, a high whining tone that rose and fell steadily, almost like…

Sirens. Red and blue lights flashed in Carly’s rearview mirror. She swore to herself and slowly came to a stop on the side of the road, trying very hard to stop as smoothly as possible. 

She shifted her car into park and turned the radio down, taking a moment to close her eyes and rub her temples. “It’s going to be fine, I wasn’t going that fast…”

She readied her license and registration and leaned back in her seat, taking a few deep breaths as the officer stopped outside her window, tapping politely on the glass. She lowered the window, smiling nervously. The officer, a middle-aged man with square features and thinning hair, smiled back. He took off his sunglasses and opened his mouth to speak, but something behind Carly seemed to catch his eye. He frowned, ordered her to stay put, then walked quickly back to his cruiser.

Carly blinked in surprise, tugging nervously at her hair. She twisted around to see what he had noticed, and saw only her frying pan and cookbook. 

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step out of your vehicle.”

Later in the evening, Jon received a call. It was a local number, so he answered, standing up from the couch he had been reclining on.

“Hello?”

“Jon! Thank goodness you picked up!” It was obviously Carly, and she sounded desperate.

“Aren’t you at—”

“I’m at the police station. I’ve been arrested, and Jon I really—”

“What? Why were you arrested?” 

“One of my coworkers was murdered,” she replied. Jon was silent for a few moments. He had stood up when she mentioned she was arrested, but he fell back into his seat when she said murdered. 

“When?” he asked weakly.

“Last night. Apparently, he was hit from behind by somebody…with a frying pan. And not just any frying pan, but my frying pan. The cast-iron skillet you bought me this morning. It has his DNA all over it, along with mine. I’ve explained a million times that it wasn’t me and that I bought the thing this morning, but….”

Jon stayed silent, then: “Why would you be a suspect?” Carly sighed deeply.

“The guy’s name was Roderick, and both he and I were competing for a spot in the kitchen. They think I killed him to get him out of my way.”

“That’s crazy. Can’t they just verify that we bought the skillet today?”

“I keep trying to say that, but they won’t listen to what I say!” Carly yelled the last few words, as if ensuring that someone nearby would hear her. “And it wouldn’t matter. They said they have footage of a blonde girl my size driving up in my car and dropping off the skillet last night around midnight.”

The gravity of the situation began to settle on Jon’s shoulders.

“What should I do?” he asked, helplessness evident in his voice.

“Jon, you have to find—”

Click. 

The following morning, Jon stumbled into Goodwill just after it opened. It was Sunday, which meant he had another day off. If he was going to crack this case, he would have to do it by nine o’ clock the following morning, which meant no sleeping in.

He sneered involuntarily as the smell of old clothing and dust assaulted his nostrils, but continued confidently towards the front desk.

“Good morning!” greeted a plump middle-aged woman with thin, gray hair. “How may I help you today?”

Jon cleared his throat as authoritatively as he could, standing straight and tall. “I need to review some security footage from two nights ago.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “The police were just here yesterday to do that exact thing…are you with them?”

Jon blinked. “Ah…yes? Yes! I am!” 

The woman, whose name tag read Debbie, looked unconvinced.

“You just sit tight, let me call—”

“No!” Jon protested, a bit too loudly. “I only need a few minutes, I promise. I’m not with the police, but I am helping them.” 

Debbie still looked unconvinced, but motioned for Jon to follow her. They wove through the store under a canopy of flickering lights until they reached a plain white door. Debbie forced it open with her shoulder, allowing Jon to step inside.

“Before you start, I’m going to need fifty dollars.” Debbie stood with arms folded, looking expectantly at Jon, who felt trapped.

He hesitated, then sighed and dug in his back pocket. “Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath as he fished out some cash, which Debbie neatly folded and tucked into the pocket of her apron. They stared awkwardly at each other before Debbie shrugged and gestured towards a single monitor in the corner of the room.

“Well…? I don’t have all day, kid.” Jon turned and approached the monitor, settling into a creaky chair and quickly mastering the controls. He found the camera which watched the donation bin, then toggled back to the night in question. He started at eleven o’ clock, then fast-forwarded until a car appeared next to the donation bin. 

The bulky blue donation bin was located underneath a large awning, and the camera was pointed at the bin from the entrance, so one could only see the backs of the vehicles going through the donation lanes and silhouettes of the people donating their things—assuming the people even had to get out of their cars. 

A minivan pulled through around eleven thirty…a rusted-out old pickup…a Mustang…

Debbie cleared her throat, and Jon glanced back at her. She was tapping her watch impatiently.

There. A car that looked almost identical to Carly’s appeared in the donation lane. Jon hit play, and watched as a petite woman in a dark hoodie stepped out of her vehicle to toss a single item into the donation bin—a skillet. Jon paused the feed, trying to figure out what the woman would look like. She clearly had light hair, though Jon couldn’t tell just how light it was. All he really knew for sure was that she was about Carly’s height and build, and had light hair.

Jon hit play on the video, but paused again a moment later, studying the car. It looked just like Carly’s Honda Civic, but…Jon looked closer. It was grainy, unclear, and easily overlooked, but it was there. Not an H in a box, but a weird pair of interlocking loops. The car was a Toyota Corolla, probably about the same age as Carly’s Civic. 

However, he could not tell what color it was, even as it passed under a light on its way out of the donation lane. Jon watched the Corolla pull out onto the street, turning left. 

“Thanks, Debbie,” said Jon, rising to his feet and hurrying past her, through the store, and back to his car. He had the murderer’s vehicle. That had to account for something. 

It only took Jon a few minutes to reach the police station, where Carly was still being held. He hurriedly filled out a small stack of forms and was admitted into a small room with Carly, who immediately perked up when he walked in.

“Stay seated, and no touching,” said an officer gruffly from his position in the far corner of the room. Jon paid him no mind, but quickly took a seat across from Carly.

“How are you?” he asked softly. Carly gave him an unimpressed look.

“I think you already know the answer to that question, Jon,” she replied. It was true. Her hair was tangled, and Jon couldn’t help but notice that she smelled a bit off. She was still wearing her work uniform.

“We probably don’t have long,” said Jon. “I found something. I went to Goodwill and took a look at their security footage, and guess what? The killer looks exactly like you, and is driving a car that looks exactly like yours. But the car is a Toyota, not your Honda!” Carly blinked.

“Jon, that’s actually something! Did you take pictures? You could show those to the…” Carly frowned and folded her arms across her chest. “You didn’t take pictures, did you?”

“Ah, well…Debbie was being impatient, and—”

“You complete idiot! If you have brought some evidence, I could be getting out of here right now! What, did you think you could just waltz in here, tell the police that they’ve got the wrong girl because you’re pretty sure our cars are different? You stupid, stupid—”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, son,” said the police officer, still straining to keep Carly in her seat. Jon slowly backed out of the room, leaving the police station without another word. What was I thinking?

Carly was right, he was an idiot. Why had he gone to the police station in the first place? To see Carly? To share evidence? Either way, it was a useless move. 

He needed more evidence. Soon.

Goodwill closed early on Sundays, so Jon resolved to sit in their parking lot until six. He was acting on a random thought he had had, that maybe Toni would come looking for her murder weapon. It seemed like the kind of thing a criminal would do. It felt lame to conduct his entire investigation from the scene of the crime, but he didn’t know what else.

In the passenger seat, Jon had a brand-new cast iron skillet he had bought at Walmart, nearly identical to the murder weapon. He had beaten it up a bit to make it look more like Toni’s, and hoped that it would be enough to convince her that he had it.

All the killer needed to do was show up.

When she finally did arrive, Jon nearly missed her. He was dozing off, staring at the entrance but not processing what was happening when her Corolla came racing through the parking lot, and stopped near Jon’s truck.

A short blonde woman all but ran into the store, which was only ten minutes away from closing, and Jon sat bolt upright, suddenly very nervous.

Soon, she came shuffling out of the store empty-handed, and Jon tried to slow his beating heart as he stepped out of his truck, his phone in one hand and the frying pan in the other.

“Hey!” he shouted. She looked over, shocked to see someone approaching her. Her surprise melted away, leaving behind visible fear as her eyes locked on the skillet.

“Wh-where did you find that?” she demanded.

Jon hefted the skillet, turning it over as if admiring it. “In there,” he replied, gesturing towards Goodwill. “What’s your name? You seem to recognize it, and I’d like to get it back to its rightful owner.”

“My name’s Toni. And yeah, I, ah, accidentally donated it. It got mixed in with some of my other…things.” Toni stood perfectly still as Jon walked closer, his eyes steel. Her eyes darted between the cast-iron skillet and Jon, but not seeing his phone, which was pointed right at her from Jon’s left hand, recording video from waist level. All Jon needed was a confession and a name.

“Right,” said Jon slowly. “Is that why it was the only item you donated when you drove through the donation lane Friday night?”

“Um…”

“Here’s the thing, Toni. I know you did something wrong, and my girlfriend is now the prime suspect, locked up for your crime.”

“Better her than me,” retorted Toni.

“Better her than you….?” Jon needed to get her talking, and fast. Eventually, she would just leave if she felt exposed.

“In prison.”

“Why would you go to prison?”

“I’d say you know exactly why I would.” 

Jon shook his head and sighed. Time to throw caution to the wind. “Why’d you do it? Why did you kill Roderick?”

Toni tensed up at the mention of her victim’s name, but she quickly recovered, staring back at Jon.

“Why does it matter? You know that it was me, so what? Ain’t none of your business, and even if you did know, there’s no way you can get your girlie out of prison. I cleaned up nice and good, used gloves and everything’.”

Perfect.

Jon tossed the skillet into her hands and sprinted back towards his truck, leaping inside and starting the engine. As he hit the accelerator and his truck lurched forward, Jon saw Toni’s expression go from shock to rage to fear. She sped off, in the other direction. Once again, Jon wove towards the police station.

After several hours of interviews, statements, questionings, and paperwork, Jon and Carly finally left the police station, hand in hand. They would have to retrieve Carly’s car the next day, because it had been impounded.

They had found Toni quickly, thanks to Jon’s video. Apparently, Roderick had been involved in some drug dealing, and Toni owed him a lot of money. He refused to supply her with more drugs, and she couldn’t afford to pay him, hence the murder. 

“Thanks for busting me out of prison,” joked Carly softly as she started her car.

“Anytime,” laughed Jon, buckling in. “Actually, how about never again?”

“Hm…maybe.”

They rode in silence for several minutes, then:

“How did you do it, Jon? You caught a murderer in less than twenty-four hours.” Jon shrugged.

“Luck, I guess. And a grumpy lady named Debbie.”

Carly laughed. “Who’s Debbie?”

“I’ll tell you later. But for now, let’s try and avoid thrift stores.”

“Okay,” sighed Carly. “I guess we can do that.” She shook her head, and Jon noticed how tired and worn out she looked. A smile slowly grew on her cracked lips. “But I must admit, that is probably the worst deal I have ever gotten on a frying pan.”