by Judith Lucci
Diane was behind the desk when I got there. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw me.
"You're up really early, Missy," Diane said with a big smile. "I didn't know you were coming in today."
I nodded. "Yeah, Saturday’s not a day I generally show up, unless it's a holiday weekend. I told LauraLea I'd help her with her class."
Diane nodded. "She'll appreciate that. She has ten folks coming in and, by the way, you just missed Kenzie."
My ears picked up. "Did I? What’d she say? Anything exciting?”
Diane shook her head. She sorted and replaced the pile of tissue paper at the checkout register. She liked for it to be perfectly arranged and stacked. ”Nothing much. She was on her way to her office in Roanoke. She said she had a bunch of stuff to dictate and work to do plus she was waiting for some lab tests." Diane turned as the gallery door opened. “Good morning. Welcome to Artisans Galleries. Let me know if we can help you.”
I nodded. "Yep, I'm sure she's really busy. She's got a lot going on with Sam's death."
Diane shook her head and gathered the pencils she’d sharpened for the day. "Yeah, he's a hometown hero. They think it's murder, don't they?”
I shook my head. "I don't think I've heard the ‘m’ word specifically. However, I believe they don't think his death was an accident."
“What do you think, Lily?”
“I think he was murdered.” I was surprised my reply was so matter-of-fact. But, in truth, I did think he’d been murdered.
Diane nodded a scowl on her face. "Well, if you ask me, Wendell Hallet killed him. Sam was in Wendell's way every time Wendell tried to cross the street. I know for a fact that Wendell hated him." Diane's voice was rough and angry.
I nodded and took a seat at the table near the fireplace. "Yeah, I've heard that too. Hang on, my cell’s ringing." I paused as I fished my iPhone out of my purse. I recognized the number. It was Benson, Kenzie's lead detective. I smiled. I loved to talk to Benson.
"Good morning, Benson. How are you this morning?"
"You sound happy this morning. To tell you the truth, Miss Lily, I'm pretty cold. I'm downtown near the courthouse and the wind is whipping through these tall buildings and I think it's about zero degrees.” He paused. “My teeth are chattering.”
I laughed. "You’d best duck in a coffee shop for a doughnut and some hot coffee to warm you up," I suggested. I loved the rich warm tones of Benson's North Carolina accent. I found his voice soothing.
"I'm gonna to do just that, Lily. I wonder if you could meet with me this afternoon?"
I was curious. I wondered what Benson wanted. "Sure, I could see you around noon or so, will that work?"
"Yeah, matter-of-fact that's perfect. I’ve lined up time to speak with Jeremy Futrell. He's the investigative journalist that’s written articles about Sam."
"Oh, yeah. I heard about him from Rosemary. She thinks highly of him."
"Seems like most people do," Benson admitted. "I checked with Ed Dart, his editor, and Ed thinks he's an eager, young newsman destined for great things. Ed says he on the up and up and does meticulous research. "
I nodded. "Good to hear. So, are we just going to gather more information about Sam from the editorials Futrell wrote?" I saw Diane. She stared at me. I knew she couldn't wait for me to get off the phone.
Benson cleared his throat. "Yeah, pretty much. Kenzie wants to find out more about Sam's enemies. Seems like a bunch of folks told Ed Dart that Sam had quite a few."
"I see." For some reason, this made me sad. Sam had been a good man, a protector of the Shenandoah Valley and he wrote in his own right. "Where should I meet you, Benson?"
"How about we grab some lunch downtown at Clementine’s restaurant and we’ll walk over to the newspaper building and see Jeremy Futrell in his office.”
A smile crossed my face. "Sounds like a good plan. See you then, Benson. Call me if there's anything you need for me to do to prepare."
"Will do, Lily. We shouldn't be long. I’ve got a few other things to do this morning. Later this afternoon, I’m going to Roanoke to meet with Kenzie. We're trying to put this final case together."
"Okay. I'll see you downtown at Clementine’s about 12:30. Will that work?"
"Absolutely. Have a great morning," Benson murmured as he disconnected the phone.
"Now, what's that all about, Lily?” Diane glared at me. “I'm all ears. What are you and Benson up to this afternoon?"
"We're gonna have lunch at Clementine’s Restaurant and interview Jeremy Futrell, the young guy that writes editorials at the newspaper. Benson seems to think he has a list of Sam Painter’s enemies.”
Diane gritted her teeth and straightened her shoulders. "This is looking more and more like murder to me, Lily. Just be careful and watch your back."
"Not to worry," I assured her. Diane and I heard a car outside and stared at the front door, ready to greet any tourist that came in to visit.
Instead, LauraLea appeared, her arms full of candles and body lotions. She spotted me and a flash of irritation crossed her face. "For heaven sakes, Lily, I didn’t know you were coming here this morning. Get over here and help me bring this stuff in! My Lexus is full of all this stuff and the shelves are practically empty.” She nodded toward the body products shelf in the gallery. She was right. The shelves were practically empty.
I rushed to help her and the two of us finished unloading her car about ten minutes later. We unpacked the products and placed them on the shelves.
A few minutes later we stood in the back room on either side of LauraLea’s million-dollar slushee machine. I'm still surprised that resort guests drink Wine Slushees in January. Who'd have thought?
"Have you heard anything from Kenzie about Sam Painter?" LauraLea questioned as she reached for her bottle of water.
I shook my head. "Nope, but I’m gonna meet Benson for lunch in a little while. We have a meeting with Jeremy Futrell, the newspaper reporter."
LauraLea nodded. "Good. Raymond's picking up Mr. and Mrs. Painter this afternoon in Charlottesville. They'll be glad to see him and to get home, even though their son won’t be here to welcome them." A flicker of anger trickled across LauraLea’s face and her eyes filled with tears. “I’m still so mad and sad about this,” she fumed. “It just isn’t fair.”
I shrugged my shoulders. "Certainly, I'm sure they're glad to get home – but to bury their son, the guy they hoped would carry on the future and their farm?" A wave of depression swept over me, but I shook it off.
LauraLea nodded. "I suppose you're right. I don't guess Ralph’s future role will ever be right, will it?"
I opened the refrigerator to search for bottled water as I replied, "Nope, I wouldn't think so. He has some psychotic condition, but I'm not sure which one. I know his illness has caused his parents a great deal of heartache over the years."
Laura shook her head, a grimace on her face. "Yeah, the family has had their share of sadness."
Diane opened the door, looked at me and pointed back to the gallery. "Someone out here wants you to sign a couple of books, Lily. Do you have time for that?"
I smiled happily. “I absolutely do. I've always got time to sign books." I returned to the gallery, my spirits much brighter than a few seconds before.
Chapter 21
Lunch with Benson was good, the low-country Southern cuisine was good as any Gulf Coast food I’ve tasted. My shrimp and grits made my afternoon more pleasant. Benson and I discussed questions to ask Jeremy and after lunch, we walked the short distance to the newspaper office. I found Jeremy Futrell to be an earnest, smart young man.
"I knew Mr. Painter pretty well. I had, and still have, many of the same concerns about the environment as Sam. This area will miss his conservative voice in the planning office." Jeremy's dark hair was fashionably styled, and he looked the part of an investigative journalist in his designer jeans, sweater and shirt. I also noticed how fastidiously organized his work area appeared. His office was immaculate and severa
l times he walked back and forth to his file cabinet to get perfectly arranged, orderly files.
"So, Mr. Futrell," Benson began. "Who do you think would have wanted to cause Sam Painter trouble? "
Jeremy's eyes were alert. "Trouble? Who do I think would have liked to have bumped him off?"
I smiled to myself. I liked the young man's frankness and his open honesty.
Benson smiled in spite of himself. "Both, actually."
Jeremy steepled his fingers, a sign he was thinking. "There are three or four factions that I know were disenchanted with him. What I don't know is whether they were angry enough to kill him." He paused. "Off the record, is this case being treated like a murder?"
"We are still gathering evidence. Dr. Zimbro knew Mr. Painter and knows his skill level on the Massanutten slopes. They skied together a few years ago. She's curious as to why he would lose control and crash on the ski slope he knew as well as his right hand." Benson searched Jeremy’s eyes.
Jeremy nodded. "That's my question as well. I went to Massanutten yesterday and spoke to a couple of the lift operators and guys on the ski patrol."
"And, what did you learn?" I questioned, my eyes locked with Jeremy's green ones.
"That not one of them thinks Sam’s death was an accident. They were quite vocal about it. Several of them said he was the best of the best and in no way would he have missed that turn and not righted himself before he crashed."
I nodded. I knew that as well. I knew in my heart that someone had purposefully put a boulder out on a perfectly groomed ski slope and planned for Sam to hit it after the hairpin curve, careen through the air and break his neck. I knew that as well as I knew my own name.
Jeremy nodded and a pained look crossed his face. "What else did they say? Did they mention anyone being in and out at the resort or up and down the mountain with heavy excavation equipment or other large machinery."
Futrell shook his head. "Nope, nobody mentioned that, but there's heavy duty equipment everywhere on the mountain. There are tractors, cranes, excavators – they’re everywhere - they’re building those new condos on the other side of the slopes, there is heavy-duty equipment down near the bottom of the mountain near Palmer Pond, and there's always heavy-duty equipment the Massanutten equipment shed. Plus, there's the Snowcat that constantly grooms the slopes every day, oftentimes several times a day." He gave me a curious look. "Why? Why are you asking me this question?" Jeremy’s eyebrows were raised.
I cut my eyes towards Benson who nodded.
"Because, Dr. Zimbro and I found evidence of a large boulder in the middle of the ski path on the Diamond Jim Slope. They believe that Sam hit the rock and lost control."
I could see the expression on Jeremy Futrell's face as he considered this information. A thousand thoughts circled through his mind.
"A rock? Like a stone or something?” His face was surprised. His eyebrows arched.
Benson nodded. "Yeah, like a huge five-foot-wide rock, possibly two feet in diameter. Authorities have told us repeatedly there was no boulder on the Diamond Jim anywhere near that size."
Jeremy Futrell studied his hands and shook his head. I noticed his well-manicured nails. "Then someone had to move that boulder up there on one of those pieces of excavation equipment. Then they placed it just after the hairpin turn on the Diamond Jim slope. That had to be what happened," he surmised, a red, angry flush had crawled up his neck. “That’s murder.” I could see the flush as it traveled up his face.
Benson crossed his hands and laid them on Jeremy’s desk. "Yes, that's what we think. We're sure that someone put the boulder in Sam's path and, since he'd skied that slope so many times, he wouldn’t expect it when he came through the turn."
I studied Jeremy. He was visibly upset. He remained silent for a few minutes. Then he got up, excused himself, and left his office for a couple of moments.
Benson and I locked eyes. We both knew that Jeremy had nothing to do with Sam's death and seemed very upset by what we’d told him. We waited a couple of moments for the young man to return. I stood and walked over to the window and looked down on Liberty Street in downtown Harrisonburg. It was a beautiful view with the Massanutten Peak in the distance and the snow that still clung to downtown Harrisonburg's lovely, old buildings.
I turned around when Jeremy reentered the room.
He shrugged his shoulders. His voice was hushed. "I'm, I'm sorry. I was overwhelmed with the thought of Sam being set up like that. That's horrible." The young man's face was pale. He was visibly upset.
"It is indeed horrible. It's murder," Benson said quite abruptly. “Now, can you tell us who could be involved in Sam's death? Do you have any ideas?"
Jeremy scratched his head. "There... There are several groups where he’s very unpopular, and these are groups I know of. There could be others." Jeremy's face was troubled. I knew he didn't want to reveal his thoughts.
I reached over and patted his hand and looked into his eyes. My voice was soft. "Jeremy, please. Tell us what you know. I promise we’ll keep your confidence as best we can."
Benson intervened. "Dr. Lucci is correct. I'll keep what you tell me as close to my chest as I possibly can. But I cannot promise that I won't have to talk to other law enforcement officials."
I could see Jeremy’s angst and feel his constant leg movement under the table. His leg jumped steadily. I knew he was anxious. I sat quietly waiting for him to speak.
"Most of the commercial developers don’t like Sam. They considered him a real detriment, an obstacle, to getting their job done, building real estate and making money. The one he's angered the most recently is Hallet development. They have huge plans to increase the population at Massanutten Mountain by three hundred percent in the next ten years. Sam was totally opposed."
“Opposed? In what way? Can you tell us?" Benson asked.
Jeremy sighed deeply but continued. "Sam's primary objections related to how the development would occur. He wanted the natural trees and habitats and animal refuges and watersheds protected – which is very expensive. Possible, but expensive." Jeremy paused for a moment. “All in all, he mainly opposed Hallet’s development from an environmentalist standpoint.” Jeremy ran his fingers through his dark hair. He was upset
Benson cleared his throat. "I heard that Wendell Hallet threatened to kill Sam Painter at the planning commission meeting recently. Is that true?" Benson watched the young man very carefully as he studied his behavior and facial expressions.
Jeremy nodded. "Yeah, he did. He did in fact threaten to kill Sam, but I'm not sure he wasn't just mad. Sam had cost him millions in the last few years."
Now, that’s motive. Of course, Rosemary had told me the same thing. "But, nevertheless, you heard a conversation to this effect. Is that right?" I watched Jeremy's eyes.
"Yeah. I heard it and probably a dozen other people heard it as well. It was the talk of the planning office for a few days, I understand." Jeremy grinned. “Those people love drama like that.”
I nodded. I already knew this information. "Who else would you suspect?"
Jeremy took a deep breath. "A couple of months ago, Sam addressed the Kiwanis Club both here in the ‘Burg and in a couple of other small towns. He criticized farmers for not fencing up their cattle and for letting them have free access to the river. He also criticized faulty farming practices and chastised farmers for not taking care of their fields and their land. He worked in a piece of legislation in Richmond that would force farmers to fence in open land that bordered rivers and streams where cattle often drank." He looked at us. "This made a lot of farmers very angry because of the added expense of the fence cost. It would also decrease their crop yields and profits for a few years."
"Did you hear any direct threats?" The question came from Benson who stared at the young man.
Futrell shook his head. “Nah. Just Hallet running his mouth.”
"Anyone else? Anyone else who may have wanted to get Sam out of the way?" I asked.
Jeremy Futrell studied his fingernails. He clasped and unclasped his hands. He shrugged his shoulders. "No, not really. I do know Sam and his brother had an argument a few months ago. I think Sam was trying to persuade his brother to return for treatment at the psychiatric hospital.” Jeremy shrugged his shoulders. “That's about it. That's all I know."
I nodded. “Yeah. I’d talked with his mother about that. Ralph is stubborn, but Sam was dedicated to him. Now, I don’t know who will look after him when the elder Painters are gone.”
Benson stood to leave and I followed suit. The tall investigator held out his hand and shook hands with Jeremy. "Thank you, Mr. Futrell. We appreciate your openness and honesty. And," Benson winked at him, "I especially enjoyed your Op-Ed pieces. It seems to me like you call a spade a spade." Benson smiled at him.
Jeremy grasped Benson’s hand. "Thank you, Investigator. I'm very honest and I do research and fact-check what I print." A flash of sorrow flashed across his face. "But, let me know if I can do anything about Sam. He was a good guy – as a matter-of-fact, he was one of the few good guys left. He loved this area and he loved his land. He knew land development was going to occur, he just wanted it to occur in accordance with respect to the land and concern for nature."
I held back hot tears that wanted to spill down my cheeks. I liked this ethically driven, environmentally sound young man. I reached out to shake his hand.
Jeremy gave me a bashful look. "By the way, Miss Lily. I love your books! I have every single one of them at home."
My eyes lit up with surprise. What a wonderful compliment that was from such a young dedicated man. "You do? You don't have all of them," I assured him. "Because I have one that releases tomorrow, and I have the hard copies at my house. I'll drop it by here for you."
Jeremy grinned with delight. "Thank you so much." He looked at both of us and added, "Please find who murdered Sam. He didn't deserve what happened.”
Benson nodded again at the young man. "Don't worry, son. We've got this." He promised him as the two of us left the young reporter's office.
