Chapter 7
Feeling like a child who is forced to confess a misdeed to her parents, I walked into Sheriff Grant Hendley’s office.
His receptionist looked up from her computer. “Yes?”
“Is Grant in?” I asked. “I really need to talk to him. I’m Darcy Campbell.”
The receptionist’s hazel eyes lit up. She evidently had heard about me, which gave me a qualm or two.
The only spot of color in this small space was the bouquet of fresh flowers on the desk of—I squinted at her nameplate—Doris Elroy. Otherwise, the room seemed drab, with brown paneled walls.
Grant opened the door to his inner office before Doris could answer me. Jim Clendon peered over his shoulder.
Swallowing, I said, “Grant, um, I need to talk to you. Alone.”
The deputy frowned and stalked through the receptionist’s cubicle and out the door.
Smiling, Grant said, “Come in, Darcy.” He indicated a heavy, wood chair that faced his desk. “Have a seat.”
I sat and drew a long breath. “Somebody just shot at me.”
Grant’s smile vanished. “What? Who? Where?”
So, I began my story with Ray Drake’s visit, progressed to my trip to New York, and finished with the gunman at my grandmother’s place on the river.
For a long moment after I finished my recitation, Grant sat silently. At last, he asked, “Are you sure you are all right? Did he hurt you in any way?”
I shook my head.
Grant leaned toward me. “Do you think this Ray Drake fellow is the one who shot at you? It sounds to me, Darcy, like he came too close for it to be anything but attempted murder. My question is why he would want you dead?”
Someone would want to murder me? To hear it spoken sent a chill down my back.
Grant’s blue eyes narrowed and a muscle along his jawline twitched. “What else are you not telling me, Darcy?”
Looking down at my hands, I asked, “What makes you think there is something else?”
“Darcy Tucker . . .” he began.
“Campbell,” I corrected him.
“Darcy Tucker Campbell, when I talked to you this morning, you said everything was fine. That was an out-and-out lie. Don’t you trust me anymore?”
My face felt hot. “Sure. Of course I trust you, Grant, but I wouldn’t trust your deputy any farther than I could throw him. Besides, I didn’t want to worry you.”
Grant’s voice was soft but he spoke as if he were biting off each word. “I already explained about Jim. Now answer me. What else should I know?”
So I told him what Mom had said about the gold and the legend of the cache, hidden somewhere in Ventris County.
Pushing his chair away from his desk, Grant swiveled around to gaze at the maple outside of his window. “I’ve heard about that gold all my life, but I never put much stock in it. Maybe there’s something to that old story after all.”
He turned back and faced me. “I’ll have a couple of deputies watch your place, twenty-four/seven. Whoever shot at you must know by now that he missed, and it stands to reason he’s going to try again.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want you to do that. Mom would probably distract your man by bringing him coffee and apple pie and she would worry that he was too hot or too cold. Besides, I know how to shoot and I can take care of myself. Mom too.”
“Like you did today?” Grant asked.
“Okay, but today I wasn’t expecting anybody to follow me. Besides, I surprised a young fellow who was noodling for fish. Maybe he was the shooter.”
“What’d he look like?”
“He was young, in his early twenties, I’d guess, blond and heavyset. He seemed very shy and ran off when I tried to talk to him.”
“That sounds like Jasper Harris, Pat Harris’ boy. Jasper doesn’t have a job and likes to prowl through the woods and along the creek. I don’t think he would harm a flea. He’s not quite right; or, maybe he’s just different than most of us and we’re the ones who aren’t quite right in his eyes. No, I can almost swear that Jasper Harris didn’t shoot at you.”
Pat Harris was the secretary/treasurer of Goshen Cemetery’s governing board. She and Mom had several phone discussions about putting the cemetery in shape for Decoration. I remembered seeing Jasper years ago as a shy little boy, but hadn’t recognized him all grown up. But if Jasper wasn’t the shooter and Ray Drake hadn’t been able to follow me, who had shot at me?
Pushing my chair back, I stood up. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans so Grant couldn’t see they were trembling.
“Thanks for listening, Grant. I promise to be more careful. Mom will be fit to be tied, but I’ll have to tell her about this so she can be watchful. She’s entirely too trusting.”
Grant walked to the door with me. “I’m glad you decided to let me in on your investigation,” he said, “but don’t withhold any more information that might be helpful in solving Ben’s murder. That’s actually a crime, Miss Tucker-Campbell. We still haven’t found Ben’s body. Someone, maybe the killer, for some reason, took him away and hid him. A person who would do such a thing is unpredictable and dangerous.”
“And maybe he’s the person who shot at me?” I asked.
He cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. It was time to leave. Grant didn’t have any more answers than I did. In addition to trying to solve a murder and find a body, he now had two meddling women to worry about.
Driving home, weary with the day’s events, the realization of how nearly death had touched me brought tears to my eyes. Promising myself that from now on I would be cautious and suspicious, I, nevertheless, was more determined than ever to find out what was going on in Ventris County. Solving this murder was the only way my mother and I could be truly safe.
The Cemetery Club Page 7
