by Hillary Avis
“Sure, I can get a warrant. But that means I’ll be taking all your records and going through them with a fine-tooth comb. It won’t just be one year of records, either...I’ll see if anything on your books has been reported stolen going back to when the shop opened.”
Zeke rolled his eyes and threw up his hands exasperatedly. “I don’t even know what you want to see!”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “We want to see whatever transaction Walt looked at. It would have been this time of year, twenty years ago. A telescope. Surely not too many of those cross your counter. Walt must have been pretty upset when he saw you sold his telescope, knowing it was his.”
Zeke slapped his hand down on the counter, his eyes blazing at me. “I told you, I didn’t sell it!”
“But...?” I knew there was more to the story. Zeke just glared at me, his lip buttoned tightly.
“Guess I’m calling it in!” Eli said cheerfully, pulling out his phone. “I’ll just hang out here until one of the deputies brings by the subpoena. You can start boxing up all those books now, though.” He waved a hand at the ledgers behind the counter. “And you won’t be able to move goods through the shop until our investigation is finished, in case any of them are stolen.” He strode across the small shop and flipped the sign in the door to “CLOSED,” then made his call.
“Suit yourself.” Zeke disappeared into the back room and re-emerged with a cardboard box that he began angrily tossing ledgers into. “I’m not getting involved in this mess.”
“Don’t you want to help figure out what happened to Walt?” I asked, watching Zeke’s profile closely as he filled the box with books. “I thought you went way back.”
“We do.” Zeke snapped. He paused for a moment, stooped over the box. Then he stood up, rubbing his lower back, and gave a heavy sigh. “All right. All right. I’ll show you what I showed Walt. I don’t know what this has to do with him getting killed, but if it’ll get the sheriff off my back...”
Eli gave me a look that was both surprised and pleased. “Nevermind,” he said into his phone. “Strike that; a subpoena won’t be necessary.”
Zeke grumbled as he slid a ledger from underneath the counter. Unlike the green books on his shelf, this one was blue. On the front, printed in black Sharpie on the canvas cover, was the word TRADES.
“I see,” Eli said. “You didn’t sell Walt’s stolen telescope.”
Zeke peered through his Coke-bottle glasses at Eli, his expression blank. “Do you want to see it or not?” When Eli wisely didn’t answer, Zeke turned back to the book, taking his time perusing the records page by page. Maybe he was hoping we’d lose interest, and I’ll be honest, after the first ten minutes, I very nearly did. I yawned so widely my jaw hurt, and Eli shrugged at me, his right leg jiggling impatiently.
“Here it is,” Zeke finally said, his finger pointing to a line. He looked up at Eli and narrowed his eyes. “If I show you this, do you promise you’re not going to tear apart my shop? This is it?”
“Yeah. Not today, anyway.”
Zeke pursed his lips and pushed the book across the counter. Eli spun it around, and we both leaned forward to read the entry, knocking our skulls together as we did so.
“Ow!” I said, rubbing my head where a goose-egg was already forming.
Eli rubbed his temple where a blue bruise was blooming and smirked at me. “You always did have a hard head, Leona.”
Zeke snorted. “This is like a bad cable show where Sherlock and Watson are played by circus clowns. Hurry up and get your sorry selves out of my shop. That sheriff’s rig out front is bad for my business.”
I bent forward—more carefully this time— and found the line Zeke had indicated. It showed the date and what I expected. One telescope, large. Not pawned for cash or gold but traded for one antique silver locket.
“That must be Anne’s locket! The one Walt pawned after he bet their whole blueberry harvest—”
“On a poker game,” Zeke said. “I was there. I told him not to do it, but Walt never listened to sense. I bought a bunch of jewelry off of him to help the guy out.”
Eli leaned on the counter, considering the new information. “Then Joe, in love with Anne, stole the telescope from Walt to get the locket back for her,” he mused. “It’s kind of romantic, isn’t it?”
“Joe? Joe who?” Zeke asked.
I scanned the entry, looking for Joe’s name. His identity would no longer be a mystery if his last name was recorded as part of the transaction. But the only name I saw was “Chapman, R.” I pointed to it. “This doesn’t make sense.”
Zeke pulled the book toward him and turned it around, raising his glasses slightly so he could look at the book without them. “Sure it does. ‘R’ is for Rusty. You know, Amos Chapman’s grandson. He’s the one who traded the telescope for Anne’s necklace.”
Chapter 33
My jaw dropped at the mention of Rusty’s name.
“Holy Toledo,” Eli breathed.
“I think you mean ‘Holy Toronto,’” I said. “No wonder Rusty has been wracked with guilt all these years. He stole the telescope! He lied and blamed it on Joe, and that’s why Joe was killed. Joe wasn’t a thief at all—he was just a convenient scapegoat. That’s why Rusty felt bad enough to cover up a murder: it really was his fault that his grandfather killed Joe.”
Eli blinked, shaking his head. “Wow. Did not see that coming.”
“Wow,” Zeke echoed. “Unbelievable.”
I nodded. “I know. People can make really bad decisions in a moment of panic, though.”
Zeke barked a laugh. “No, I mean it’s actually not believable. There’s no way Amos Chapman killed someone. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Zeke wasn’t the first person who’d used that exact phrase to describe Amos Chapman. That’s what Ruth said, too. But I knew better than anyone that people can have secrets so deep that you can live with them for decades and still be wrong about them. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks now. Back then, Rusty believed it. He wouldn’t have buried the body if he didn’t.”
Zeke flipped the blue ledger shut and slid it back into its place under the counter. “Oh, I’m sure he had a reason for burying the body. I just don’t think it was that one.”
“What’s your theory of the crime, then?” I asked, eyeing Zeke skeptically.
He shrugged. “That’s not my line of work. I just wouldn’t bury no body because I thought I knew who killed him. I’d have to be a lot more sure than that.”
I gasped. “You think Rusty witnessed the murder? You think he saw Joe being killed?!”
“Leona.” Eli gripped my arm. “What if it’s more than that? What if he did it?”
“No,” I declared automatically. “Why would he kill Joe?”
Eli tapped the counter where the ledger had been. “Wrong question. First, ask why Rusty would steal Walt’s telescope and trade it for Anne’s necklace.”
My jaw dropped. “Rusty was in love with Anne.”
A smug smile spread across Zeke’s face. “Now you’re getting somewhere.”
“How do you know?” Eli looked Zeke up and down and his hand unconsciously went to the handcuffs on his belt. “How are you involved?”
Zeke took a step backward and took his hands out of his cardigan pockets, waving them in front of his belly to show his innocence. “I’m not involved, man. All I know is that Walt came looking for the same thing you all did. He’s a smart guy, and when he saw Rusty’s name there in the records, he blew his stack. Said he should have known. Said she’s been lying to him this whole time.”
My head jerked toward him. “She? Don’t you mean ‘he’? Rusty?”
Zeke shook his head. “Naw, he meant Anne. About the necklace. How she got it back.”
“She told him Joe gave it back to her and really it was Rusty?” Eli asked.
“Worse than that.” Zeke opened his eyes wide behind his thick lenses. “She told him she bought it back with her own money. She said she earned it
by doing housecleaning for Amos. That’s what Walt said when he saw the trade.” Zeke put on a growl, mimicking Walt’s tone. “‘Why was she over at the Chapman place for an hour every week if she wasn’t cleaning house?’ is what he said.”
Eli and I exchanged a knowing look and heat crept into my cheeks. I remembered all too well how I’d tell my dad that I was going to do community service with the cheerleading squad in order to sneak over to Eli’s house and make out. Had Anne used the housecleaning excuse to have an affair—not with Joe, but with Rusty?!
“Maybe Walt wasn’t crazy-jealous,” Eli murmured. “Maybe he was just regular jealous.”
“Maybe Rusty was the crazy-jealous one,” I added, nodding. “Maybe he killed Joe because he was jealous of the attention Joe was giving Anne. Or because Joe planned to tell Walt that it was Rusty who stole the telescope, and he wouldn’t be able to spend time over at their farm anymore...close to Anne.”
Zeke clucked his tongue. “All I know is I wouldn’t want to be Rusty when Walt found out. He was ready to erupt when he left my shop. And believe you me, I’ve been on the receiving end of Walt’s temper more than a few times. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
“Walt found out,” I breathed. “All these years, he thought Anne’s lover was gone, but he was right next door.” If Walt had stormed out of Zeke’s Antiques and confronted Rusty about having an affair with Anne, who knows what might have happened. Something brutal, maybe.
Eli already had his phone out, calling his office. As he talked with the deputy, his eyebrows knit together. “Already? But it’s only been a couple hours since—no, of course we want to be efficient. Thanks.” He hung up and gave me a worried look. “They released him an hour ago. We should get back to your place. See if Rusty came over to finish your coop.”
I hardly dared to put a voice to my fears. “You think Rusty might have killed Walt, too? I don’t even want to think that he’s capable of something like that.”
His face was grim. “I don’t want to think too hard about it. Rusty just has a few things to clear up. But this time, let me go first, OK?”
I nodded. For once, I wanted to drive as slowly as possible.
The farm was eerily empty when we arrived. Rusty’s shiny black truck was parked by the Suburban, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Wait in the car with the doors locked while I search the house,” Eli ordered. I was tempted to talk back and tell him that locking the doors on a convertible wasn’t going to be much protection in case of a surprise murderous rampage, but once he drew his sidearm, the words on the tip of my tongue vanished. I nodded mutely and watched as he cautiously approached the front door. He disappeared inside and I held my breath until he reappeared a minute later, shaking his head.
I started to get out of the car, but Eli shook his head and pointed to the barn.
“What?!” I practically leaped out of the car and barreled toward the barn, hollering all the way. “Rusty Chapman, you better not be laying a hand on my babies!”
“Darn it, Leona!” I heard Eli behind me, huffing and puffing. “Wait up—he’s dangerous!” He caught up when I was slowed by the sticky barn door, and he gave me a glare so severe that I stopped with my back pressed against the door.
“It’s my barn,” I said stubbornly, tears pricking my eyes. “Just...don’t shoot anything.”
“No promises,” he said, and added his strength to mine until the door squeaked open enough for him to squeeze through into the dark. “Stay outside.”
I heard him click on his flashlight and then, taking a deep breath, I followed him inside. I reached to the right and used my elbow to flick on the light switch. The fluorescent tubes hanging from the rafters flickered for a moment and then buzzed to life, illuminating the dusty interior. The barn looked so empty without my Porsche parked in it.
“Thanks,” Eli said without glancing back at me, sliding his flashlight back into its holster. Then, his voice brittle with annoyance, he added, “At least stay back by the door, please.”
I ignored him and headed for the steep stairs to the loft. “I never understood why you law enforcement types like to run around in the dark. Rusty, are you up here?”
“Leona!” Eli cursed again. “What did I say?”
The loft was empty save for the rusty bed frame, so I backed down the stairs and rejoined Eli. “He’s not in the loft.”
Eli, who’d been checking under the workbench, stood and put away his gun. “He’s not down here either, far as I can tell.”
“If his truck’s here but he’s not here, then where is he?” I asked. Eli and I looked at each other for a single beat, and then I knew exactly where Rusty was. We both started running as fast as our legs would carry us for the fence between the orchard and the Sutherlands’ blueberry farm.
Eli held the barbed wire apart for me to climb through and then I did the same thing for him. Then we were off again, stumbling and panting over the rough ground between the blueberry rows. At first I kept up with Eli, but as the hill steepened and we drew closer to the farmhouse, I lost steam and he pulled ahead. A moment later he stopped so short I almost crashed into the back of him.
“He’s been watching us,” Eli said quietly, nodding toward the Sutherlands’ porch that was visible at the end of the row. I peeked around him and saw a figure standing behind the telescope at the porch. The shock of hair above it confirmed it—Rusty had probably seen all of it, our return, Eli’s armed search of the house and barn, my hundred-yard dash across the blueberry field. He’d been waiting and watching the whole time.
A chill ran up my spine, and I scooted closer to Eli’s back, pinching his shirt between my fingers like I was following him through a haunted house. He drew his weapon again and held it down by his side as we slowly approached the house. Rusty gave a small wave as we neared. Eli lifted his gun and pointed it toward the house and I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Don’t hurt him,” I whispered, mostly to myself. Ruth would never forgive me if Eli killed her brother with me standing right there—even if he was a murderer.
“Where’s Anne, Rusty?” Eli called. When Rusty didn’t answer, I opened my eyes and saw he was motioning us closer. I automatically started to move toward the house, but right away I bumped into Eli, who had both feet planted firmly in the grass. Eli’s voice deepened into a growl. “I mean it. Tell us where she is.”
“She’s inside,” Rusty said calmly, nodding toward the door. He was strangely collected, standing there on the porch with a gun pointed right at him. It made me wonder whether Anne was dead or alive inside that house. Would he really hurt the woman he loved—the woman he’d apparently loved for twenty years?
“Can we talk to her?” I called up.
Rusty shook his head and idly picked up the hatchet leaning against the porch rail beside him, rolling the handle between his palms. “No. I don’t want you telling her things about me that aren’t true. I know you were at the pawn shop.”
This darn county and its high-speed grapevine.
“We just need to know—” I broke off when Eli nudged me with his hip.
“I radioed for backup on the way back from Duma,” he said quietly. “Just wait a few minutes and they’ll be here.”
“Anne could be hurt!” My voice came out high-pitched and insistent, the whine of a child. My own plaintive tone jarred me into action—I was my own woman and I didn’t need Eli’s permission. I raised my voice so Rusty could hear me. “I’m going to walk inside and check on her and make sure she’s OK. Then I’ll come right out.”
“Just wait!” Eli hissed, grabbing for my arm to stop me, but I darted away from him, toward the porch.
Rusty shook his head sorrowfully as I approached, his grip firming on the hatchet’s handle. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, Leona.”
I paused, one foot on the bottom step, weighing the distance between me and the door, and between the hatchet and my head. “Your sister is going to kill you if you lay a finger on me, so
don’t even think about it. I just want to make sure Anne doesn’t need anything. Then I’ll leave, I promise.”
Rusty stood there for a minute, absentmindedly swinging the hatchet over his shoulder like a lumberjack playing baseball. I felt rather than saw Eli tense behind me, ready in case Rusty threw the hatchet. But Rusty just took a step away from the door, like he was making space for me to pass, nodding slowly. “OK. I trust you.”
I started up the stairs but froze when Rusty aimed the hatchet at Eli behind me. “But not you! I don’t trust you. Stay right there, Eli, or you’ll feel the edge of this blade.”
“Then you’ll feel the point of this bullet,” Eli said, his voice low and measured. I glanced over my shoulder at him and saw he had his game face on. So did Rusty; the two of them were staring each other down. Well, let them out-macho each other here on the porch—I was going inside.
The screen door banged shut behind me. Right away I saw Anne sitting at the table, shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks. The casserole I’d dropped off earlier was on the counter, still wrapped up and untouched, but a cutting board was out with an apple half-sliced, as though I’d interrupted her in the middle of cooking. Something about Anne’s posture was strange, though, and I quickly realized that her hands were tied behind her back with baling twine. I grabbed a knife from the cutting board and used it to saw through the string.
Anne rubbed her wrists where the bindings had cut into them and then swiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. “Oh, I’m a mess, aren’t I?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at the door. I didn’t know how long Rusty would let me stay inside before he came in to check on Anne. “Are you OK? Did he hurt you?”
“Just a minute; I need to finish getting lunch ready.” She took the knife from my hand and went to the counter and resumed slicing the fruit.
“There’s no time,” I said urgently. “We need to get out of here before Rusty comes back in. Who knows what he’s got planned.”
