by Karen Hayes
“But not Ruby.”
“No. I suppose we’ll have to look elsewhere from Ruby’s killer—if we accept Drew as Agatha’s.”
“I know you don’t want to think it’s Drew...”
“What I want, Harve, is the truth–no matter who did it.”
“We do have other suspects, you know. Carol seems quite high on the list, I would say.”
“And Lucy.” Copper told him what she had earned about Lucy and Agatha.
“I would say Carol is much more likely than Lucy.”
“But, Harve, Lucy was right there. What if, instead of just discovering the body, she was responsible for the body?”
“I’d much rather it were Lars. I quite like Lucy.”
“Well, I do, too. But Louise seemed to think the vehement anger she felt towards Agatha was sufficient motive for murder.”
“Well, I’ll check them all out: Drew, Carol, Lucy, even Lars. You and Louise did a good job, Copper–a very good job. Now, I think there’s a couple more onion rings here. Want one?”
“Yes, then there’s some cheesecake Louise made.”
* * *
Harve disliked the idea of accusing one old lady of murdering another old lady, but, well, he was the sheriff and he had to do those things that sheriffs do, like it or not. It seemed obvious that Carol was blackmailing Agatha. And Agatha wasn’t going to pay her anymore. That was a pretty heavy-duty motive, in Harve’s mind. First, though, he thought he’d check out Drew. There was a leaky faucet in the office bathroom. He’d been meaning to call Drew to have him come fix it, but he kept putting it off, in spite of the fact that Toby kept pestering him about it. Now seemed like just the right time.
Drew was in the middle of unclogging a drain in the laundry room of the Cabot Lodge when the sheriff called him, but said he’d be over as soon as he was done–which turned out to be no more than an hour. Harve conveniently sent Toby out on an errand that would take a while.
“Just needs a new washer,” Drew said once he’d had a look at the tap. “We’ll have it fixed in a jiff.”
Harve didn’t have to bring the murders into the conversation, as Drew himself mentioned them, asking if the sheriff was making any progress.
“You know, Drew, we’re not used to murder around here. Everyone in town’s a friend. How do you suspect a friend of murder? I’m not sure I know what I’m doing right now.”
“Yeah, I don’t suppose it’s easy,” Drew said as he installed the new washer. “I’m glad I have my job, not yours.”
Harve could not put the ‘big question’ off any longer. “Drew, I know your parents were divorced many years ago. Do you know why?”
Harve noticed Drew stiffen, his hand clench on the wrench he held. “That’s personal, Sheriff. It’s not something I like to talk about.”
“Oh, I know the reason, Drew. I just wondered if you did.”
Drew set the wrench in his toolbox, turned the tap on and off to check it, then turned to face Harve. “Am I a suspect, Sheriff?”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told everyone else who’s asked me that question—at this point, everyone’s a suspect, even if they’re not really a suspect.”
“And you suspect I might have killed Old Mrs. Lafferty because once upon a time she slept with my father?”
“People have killed for less.”
“Sheriff, that happened more than thirty-five years ago. Kind of late for me to decide to take my revenge, don’t you think?”
“And how long have you known about it?”
Drew sighed and sat down in the chair opposite the sheriff’s desk. “The night before I married Georgia, my dad sat me down for a long talk. I told him I didn’t need to know about the birds and the bees, I probably knew more than he did. He laughed at that, then got serious. He told me that marriage vows were important and sacred and that if I truly loved my wife, I should never betray those vows. Then he told me about the indiscretion that had ended his marriage to my mother and how much he had regretted that.
“I was angry–angry at him, angry at Old Mrs. Lafferty. I yelled and screamed at him and wanted to go yell and scream at her, about what they had done to my mother. I ran out of the house, got in my car, and drove to Portland, to my mom’s house. I was yelling, I was crying. She sat me down, calmed me down, and said she had forgiven both my father and Mrs. Lafferty years before. She was happy in her new marriage and she hoped I would be happy in mine and told me I needed to let bygones be bygones. She called Dad and Georgia, and told them both I was staying overnight, but that I would be home in plenty of time for the wedding. I was. And I took my mother’s advice. I let bygones be bygones. I did not kill Agatha Lafferty. And, by the way, I also took my father’s advice and never cheated on my wife.”
“Thanks, Drew. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”
Drew got to his feet. “No charge for the new washer, Sheriff,” he said as he walked out the door, passing Toby on the way.
“Toby, glad you’re back,” Harve said. “The drip is fixed, and I have somewhere I need to go. I have my cell phone if you need me.”
“Sure, Sheriff. I’m sure I’ll be fine by myself. What more can go wrong, right?”
The sheriff had not even gone a block when his cell phone rang. He considered not answering it—he wanted to get to Carol’s apartment and get that interrogation over with as quickly as possible. He might, he thought, even end up arresting her. But being a sheriff meant answering your phone when it rang—you were, after all, employed by the people in your county and you needed to be available whenever they needed you. He picked up the phone and noticed the call was from Toby.
“What happened already?” he asked.
“Sheriff, you need to get back here right away,” he said. “It’s urgent.”
“Toby, I just left.”
“I know, but something’s happened.”
Harve turned right at the next corner, drove around the block, and parked once more in front of the police station.
“You need to call Fran,” Toby said as Harve walked in the door.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Harve asked. “I could have called from my cell instead of coming all the way back here.”
“I thought you’d want to be here when you hear what she has to say.”
Harve raised his eyebrows. What was going on?
Fran Nielsen was the deputy in Pleasant View. She was a large woman with close cropped hair. Unless you saw her up close, you would swear she was a man. And a no nonsense man at that. Fran was the best deputy Harve had in the entire county. She’d taken on the job after her three children were grown and gone, her oldest daughter married to an attorney in Seattle, her son a forest ranger in the Tetons and her youngest daughter attending Brigham Young University-Idaho with her Mormon boyfriend. It was a job that would keep her out of trouble until her husband, Swede, principal of the middle school in Pleasant View, retired. They were living off of Swede’s salary and saving hers so they could do some traveling after that retirement happened.
Harve put through the call and listened intently, his face blanching, to what Fran told him.
“You’re positive about the ID?” he asked.
“The pink and purple hair threw me off a bit at first,” Fran told him, “but, yeah, it’s her.”
He told her he would notify the family and hung up.
“Hold down the fort,” he told Toby as he went out the door and ran across the street to the Book Nook, where he told Copper he needed her to come with him and asked Monica to please mind the store. A confused Monica just nodded and an equally confused Copper followed the sheriff out of the store.
“I should grab my coat,” she protested.
“I’ll turn the heater on in the car,” Harve said.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“When we get to the car.”
He got in the car and she scurried around to the passenger side. Only when she was in and had her seat belt buc
kled did her tell her. “There’s been another murder.”
“What? Who?”
“Abby Taylor. I want you to go with me to tell the Reverend and Mrs. Taylor.” He turned the key in the ignition.
Copper reached out to stay his hand and turned the engine off. “Abby Taylor? Are you sure? Abby Taylor, pink and purple hair and all?”
Fran had mentioned the hair, but Harve had not seen Abby since she ran off with Bob Fields, and that had been at least a dozen or more years ago. “How did you know she had pink and purple hair?” he asked.
“Louise and Agatha ran into her in Portland a few weeks ago. She was living with the lead guitarist of some rock group, she said. Had multiple piercings, as well, according to Louise. So, I think you’d better give me some details before we go tell her folks.”
“Some hikers found her body up by The Pond earlier today. Since there’s really no cell reception up there, they had to wait until they’d come down a bit to call it in. They called 911 and Ryan drove up there, Fran, too, and the hikers led them to the body. Ryan’s a little young to remember Abby, so he couldn’t identify her, but Fran knew who it was, and she called me.”
“How did she die?”
“Don’t know yet, but Fran said Dr. Frost is pretty sure it wasn’t accidental.”
“Okay. Well, let’s get it over with.”
The sheriff pulled up in front of the Taylor residence, which was attached to the Methodist Church. He was apprehensive about what he was about to do. When 1seventeen-year-old Abby ran off with Bob Fields, a man twice her age, Reverend Taylor had not been pleased, and had publicly disowned his daughter. As far as Harve knew, neither the Reverend nor his wife had seen Abby since. He did not know if the Taylors were aware that Abby was no longer with Fields, and had actually been living just a couple of hours away in Portland for some years. And what would they say when they learned that she had been murdered?
Harve turned to Copper. “Well, just sitting here isn’t going to get the task done. It’s now or never, I guess.”
“I’m here to support you, Harve. Remember that.”
“You mean I have to do the talking?”
“That’s part of your job, Harve.”
Harve sighed. They both got out of the car, walked up to the Taylor’s front door and rang the bell. The door was opened by Mrs. Taylor, a petite woman with large, deep blue eyes. Her graying hair was pulled back into a twist, with a few tendrils hanging down in front. Her smile was tentative as she saw the sheriff and Copper Penny standing there.
“Is anything wrong?” she asked
Harve looked over at Copper, then back to Mrs. Taylor. “It’s about your daughter.”
EIGHTEEN
“WE HAVE NO DAUGHTER,” SAID THE REVEREND Taylor, as he came up behind his wife.
Copper noticed the tears that started in Mrs. Taylor’s eyes and bristled. “How can you say that?” she asked.
“We have no daughter,” Taylor repeated.
“I remember the sermon you gave last Sunday,” Copper said. “Your topic, as I recall, was forgiveness. You talked about the woman who had been taken in adultery, who was about to be stoned by a group of men. And Jesus said that he who was without sin should cast the first stone. The men left and Jesus told the woman he did not condemn her, either. Another of your references was when the Lord said that he would forgive whom he would forgive, but we were required to forgive everyone. And how many times must we forgive? Seventy times seven, isn’t that right?”
The Reverend stood a little straighter, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
Copper shook her head in exasperation. “Reverend Taylor, do you remember the advice you gave to George and me when you married us?” she continued.
“That was a long time ago,” the Reverend said. “I’ve married a lot of couples since then.”
“You were still a relatively new father at the time. You talked about your daughter and your eyes glowed with love. You told us that children were special gifts from God and that, no matter what, we should always love them. If they made mistakes, we should always forgive them.”
The Reverend said nothing.
“We actually came here to tell you,” Harve broke in, realizing the right moment was not going to come, “that Abby is dead.”
“Dead? Oh, no!” Mrs. Taylor would have fainted clear to the floor had the sheriff not caught her. He carried her over to the couch. The Reverend did not move. Without waiting for per-mission, Copper ran into the bathroom and dampened a washcloth with cold water, which she placed on Mrs. Taylor’s forehead. The woman came to moments later and started to cry. “Was it drugs? An overdose?” she asked when she was able to compose herself.
“We aren’t sure yet about the cause of death,” Harve said carefully. “But…the Medical Examiner thinks it was murder.”
Mrs. Taylor turned on her side and, with her head on Copper’s lap, sobbed and sobbed.
“We need you, one of you at least, to come to Pleasant View with us to identify the body.”
Reverend Taylor said nothing, just turned and left the room.
Mrs. Taylor sat up, wiped her eyes and blew her nose on the tissue Copper offered her. “I’ll go,” she said. “I know Burt won’t. Just give me a minute to freshen up.”
Copper and the sheriff exchanged looks as they heard the Reverend and Mrs. Taylor arguing in the next room, then the bathroom door slamming. A few minutes later, Mrs. Taylor came back into the living room, coat and handbag in hand.
“I’m ready,” she said, barely holding back the tears.
They stopped briefly at the Book Nook so Copper could get her coat. Copper sat in the back seat with the still crying Mrs. Taylor, doing her best to offer what comfort she could.
“He’s not really a bad man,” Maureen Taylor said, snuffling. “He just has…well, a little too much pride, I guess. Abby was always his pride and joy. Abigail means ‘father’s joy,’ you know. Burt chose that name because she was such a joy to him. We married a little later than most people—I was 26, Burt was 30. And it was five years before I got pregnant. We thought we were never going to have a child. And we both wanted one so badly. When we found out I was finally expecting, we were so excited that Burt actually broke down and took me to Hawaii for a vacation.”
“I remember that,” Copper said. “I was still off at college, but George told me about it. The parishioners took up a special collection so you could afford to go.”
“Yes. It was so nice of everyone to do that. Pastors don’t make a lot of money, you know. We never could have gone if it hadn’t been for the generosity of this community. We’ve never been on a vacation since then except for the occasional visit to my parents in Hood River. And they’re gone, now. But getting pregnant was a cause for celebration. And Hawaii was a great place to celebrate. It’s good we went really early in my pregnancy, though, because I soon got very sick. Talk about morning sickness—I had morning, noon, and night sickness. It was a very difficult pregnancy—and a difficult delivery, too. I nearly died, and Abby with me. Burt was by my side constantly, praying silently, praying out loud, but always praying. We rejoiced when Abby was born, but she did a lot of damage to me internally. The doctor told me I could never have another child. Abby was it. So we truly rejoiced in her. Burt was so proud. And Abby was a good child—right up until she was twelve. Then she changed.”
“She found boys?”
“She sure did. She was a pretty girl—much prettier than I had ever been. The middle school being in Pleasant View, she rode the school bus and always came home right after school, so we didn’t consider she could be getting into any trouble. Then she decided she wanted to play girls soccer. She brought home a form for us to sign giving approval, which we did. That also allowed her to take the later bus. They had—still do, I guess—a second bus for kids who were in sports or plays or such. But Abby didn’t play soccer. She went off with boys when she was supposed to be at practice.”
“How did you find
out?” Copper asked.
“Burt and I were at the supermarket in Pleasant View one Saturday—this was before they built the Walmart here—and we saw Rhonda James, the soccer coach. We asked her when there would be a game so we could come see our Abby play. She looked at us strangely and said Abby wasn’t on the team. That girl screamed and hollered at us when we confronted her. From then on, there wasn’t a thing we could do with her. We tried disci-plining her, but nothing worked. She just got wilder and wilder, until she finally ran off with Bob Fisher. She was under the age of consent, so he should have been charged with child sex abuse, but what could you do when they ran off to Alaska? Well, actually, at the time we didn’t know where they had runoff to. Then Burt disowned her. Maybe it’s good he’s not coming today. He’d be horrified at her pink and purple hair. And even more horrified at all the piercings.”
“Mrs. Taylor, how did you know about her hair?” Copper asked, surprised.
Fresh tears flowed. “Please don’t tell Burt,” Mrs. Taylor pleaded. “He may have disowned Abby, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. She was my daughter, the child I waited so long to have. There was no way I could pretend she didn’t exist. We kept in touch.”
“How were you able to do that?”
“Through Old Mrs. Lafferty—Agatha. Abby wrote to Agatha at the library and enclosed a letter for me, asked if she would please give it to me when her father was not around. She did, and we kept in touch that way. She left Bob and moved to Portland, and we would get together every time I went to the city to get my hair done. For the last couple of years, she had been living with some younger man who was playing in a rock band and she’d been on drugs—I had kind of figured that out years earlier. I had talked to her about getting clean, but she wouldn’t listen. Said she needed the drugs for pain, but wouldn’t give me any details. It broke my heart, she was such a beautiful girl, but the drugs had done awful things to her. But she was still my baby. She left her boyfriend and Old Mrs. Lafferty was paying for her stay in a rehab center. People can say what they like about Agatha Lafferty, but she had a big heart. I saw Abby there just a week or so ago. It seemed like a nice place and I think she was happy there, although getting off drugs was taking a lot out of her. In fact, I think it was the day Agatha was killed that I visited her. That’s how I knew about the hair—that was a pretty recent change—it was green and blue for a while. And she’d had the piercings for a long time. When she said she was trying to straighten her life out and was giving up drugs, I was just so happy to see her giving up her old lifestyle. I just cried and she cried too, and I told her I loved her. That was the last time I saw her. She was planning to change her life around and now she’s dead—I just can’t believe it! My baby! Oh, my baby!”
