I didn’t think my heart could drop any lower, but it did.
“Clara’s mother-in-law was my cousin’s son-in-law’s aunt’s best friend.” She laughed. “I know it sounds crazy, but we keep a database with connections at dog parks in the region for just such occasions.”
That’s why Clara made friends with us? To spy on me.
“Probation?” I got out through dry lips.
“Uh-huh. Still five months to go. But sounds like things are going well. I talked with Leo, that trainer you mentioned. He said you have some new-owner jitters, but you’re working hard and have good instincts. And Clara’s report couldn’t have been better.
“They both said Gracie was doing well, despite that awful business. Despite finding a body, as you said. Gosh. Clara didn’t mention that. That’s horrible. So, tell me how training’s going.”
I stumbled something out. The classes. The walks. The milestones of snuggling at my feet. The trips to the dog park that didn’t end in finding a dead body.
And tried not to think or talk about probation and Clara and how this phone call might have been very different.
I’d been worrying about Teague’s questions, I’d totally missed Clara’s observations.
On the other hand, she’d given a good report. And she’d done it for Gracie’s welfare.
On the other, other hand, Bob Coble would have said that’s what he’d been doing, too, the rat fink.
* * * *
The county name of North Bend was a compromise between strong characters in the early history of the area. No, their names weren’t North and Bend.
That name comes from — you guessed it — a north bend taken by the Ohio River, surging up to give Ohio an angled southwest border, before joining Indiana’s plunge to a southern tip across the river from Louisville.
All this surging and plunging by the Ohio River carved out North Bend County, caught between proximity to Cincinnati to the northeast and state solidarity with Louisville to the southwest, while belonging to neither.
My real estate agent had touted a number of neighborhoods — sought-after Blue Grass Estates with all its streets named after famous jockeys, a community in a neighboring county with nice homes packed nearly as closely together as its traffic, another near a park with views of the Cincinnati skyline.
I’d spent fifteen years living in a brownstone in Manhattan. If I’d wanted more of that kind, I’d have stayed there.
I wanted less.
A particular kind of less.
She’d been reluctant to show me this house in Haines Tavern in the “sleepy” part of the county.
“Don’t you want to be closer to good shopping? The mall, the town, the services, easier access to Cincy? If you’re on the east side of the county you can have all that.”
“But this is the county seat,” I said.
“Yes.” Her acknowledgement made that distinction dubious.
Haines Tavern was the county’s original settlement, with its face firmly toward the river as its main thoroughfare. After a couple decades, an upstart community appeared inland to serve the pike from Cincinnati to Louisville.
As if that newfangled road would ever replace the Ohio River as the prime mode of transportation, thought the leaders of Haines Tavern … as so many leaders of so many places have thought about so many new ways of doing things.
The county seat designation was about the last triumph Haines Tavern had over that “upstart,” now the biggest town in any of the counties snuggled up to the southern bank of the Ohio River and collectively called Northern Kentucky.
“Stringer has much more to offer,” the real estate agent said of that biggest town.
“This house speaks to me.” To her continuing doubt, I said, “Besides, it’s close to the dog park.”
“But you don’t have a dog.”
“Oh, but I will.”
But Bob Coble had tried to take her away from me.
If he weren’t dead…
Long after the call ended, I sat on the floor, hugging Gracie.
She didn’t even try to squirm away. Much.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The knock came at the back door. Gracie barked as if convinced I wouldn’t have heard the sound.
I saw Teague looking in as I kept working to make Gracie sit and stay before I opened the door.
After seven attempts, I feared he would freeze out there before I succeeded. I know, I know, dog trainers would shoot me. But they weren’t outside my door in sub-freezing weather.
I opened the door, holding Gracie’s collar.
“Thought I’d spare your floors by coming to the back door.” Teague gave me a searching look. I dropped my head, letting my hair swing forward. “Left Murphy home for the same reason. Also to spare your ears from their wild play.”
I turned away as I released her. “I might appreciate that. But you lost Gracie’s vote.”
She had already sniffed all around Teague and was standing with her nose pressed to the seam of the storm door and door frame as if trying to find a hint of Murphy, hoping this was all a silly trick of the humans and we had him stashed just outside the door.
“Hey, Gracie,” Teague tried in a cajoling tone.
She daggered him with a dirty look and walked away. I laughed despite myself and Teague gave a wry half grin.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine. Want some coffee?”
He hefted a tote bag. “Brought my thermos.”
“Okay, ready to get to work?”
“Yep. Going to double-check those measurements before I go buy the lumber and other supplies. Then, if you clear out your stuff to give me room to work, I should be getting started before noon.”
“Already cleared out.” I led him up the stairs and around the corner to the small office to show my handiwork. I’d put away the files and the boxes were gone. Yes, the bookshelves were triple stacked, but that’s what he was here to remedy.
Good to his word, He was off to the hardware store or lumber store or wherever he was going to get the materials in a little over half an hour and back by eleven.
He set up a saw in the half of the garage not occupied by my car and produced annoying but productive noise at irregular intervals.
I brought Gracie with me to the basement, where I found chilly but not as noisy work to do — laundry and putting away tools received as Christmas presents from my father and brothers. I needed them.
Then I called my mom.
* * * *
I’d told her all about the call from the collie rescue coordinator. Well, not all. I left out the part about the guy who’d reported us — Gracie and me — being dead and us finding his body.
At the end, she said, “Nobody’s taking Gracie away from you.”
Which made me feel better.
Then she said, “You should move closer to us.”
Oddly, that also made me feel better. Of course, it’s wonderful to be wanted, but even more, it was so predictable, so dependable, so Mom, and I’d needed that.
“I just moved here.”
“Do you think I don’t know what’s going on there?”
“What do you mean? What’s going on here?”
“A murder. At the dog park you take Gracie to. A murder, Sheila. That wouldn’t happen here.”
“Of course it would or could. Plus there’s that murder they always whispered about in the church steeple—”
“That’s history. Ancient history. Or legend. It’s not real. It’s not now. But you found that man’s body two days ago. You and Gracie and your friend.”
“How do you know that?”
“Not from you, clearly.” That sounded tart enough to remind me that my usually laidback mother was related to Kit. “Do you think I don’t keep track of what’s going on in Haines Tavern now that you’ve moved there?”
“But it’s only been in local news.”
“Exactly. I subscribe to Haines Tavern news and your neighborhoo
d forum. Like I do for your brothers.”
“Mom, that’s a little extreme.”
“Obviously not, since you have had a murder there. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be there.”
“But Mom—” I cut it off because I’d been about to argue that I’d already dealt with a murder a few months ago during my transatlantic cruise. Before blurting that out, I recognized that would not have been a persuasive argument with my mother.
She didn’t seem to notice my false start. “I’m just glad your father doesn’t know.”
So was I. If Dad’s My-Baby-Girl mode kicked in, I’d have to bar the door to keep him from trying to move me out of my house and back under their roof, where he could stand guard.
“Mom, the sheriff’s department is investigating. They’re all over this case. They’ll have it solved in no time.” I kept my reservations about Deputy Eckles to myself.
“You should talk to Kit.”
I didn’t mention I already had because it undercut my story that I was relying completely on the sheriff’s department. “At this hour? You’re the one who said that if she ever saw a sunrise it was from staying up all night.”
“That’s true. She got in the habit of writing at night when she had to work a full-time normal job and she never broke it. Night’s her creative time.”
“Exactly. And morning’s her sleeping time. If I called her now it might be the end of a beautiful relationship, and it wouldn’t gain me any usable information.”
“Later then, but call her. All those mysteries she’s written, maybe she has connections who know about the case. But if Kit says it’s dangerous for you there, that’s the end of it. You’re coming home.”
Mom didn’t know Kit was living — and loving — this investigation vicariously through me. No way would she want me to leave.
I could use the I’m-a-grown-woman argument another time.
* * * *
“Sheila?” Teague’s voice carried down the stairs into the basement. “You have a visitor.”
Upstairs in the kitchen I discovered my visitor was not a curious neighbor, as I’d guessed, and had brought Gracie’s favorite toy — LuLu. Gracie was making full use of that toy by chasing her around the circular pattern. Whose bright Idea had it been to buy a house with a circular pattern?
“Clara, what’s up?” I thought I sounded normal and Clara didn’t seem to notice anything different in my tone.
“I thought we three could talk about the case while Teague is working.”
“Trouble is,” Teague called from the stairs, “I’m working.”
“We’re also not in charge of this investigation,” I pointed out.
Clara, removing her coat, waved one hand which caused the sleeve to flap in a dismissive gesture. “Not in charge, but we agreed we were going to look into it.” Did I hear a sound coming from the stairs? “Besides, we can always help Teague if he gets behind from helping us.”
“No, you can’t.” Teague’s shout was buffered by coming down the stairs, but emphatic.
“No, we can’t,” I said on the heels of his words. “I’m paying him. If I wanted to do the work myself I wouldn’t hire someone else.”
“Nonsense. Watching will help you learn what to do if you want to do it yourself next time. Besides, you heard Berrie last night and you know she’s feeding stuff about you to the sheriff’s department.”
“I never had a problem — a real problem — with Bob before he died.” Now I had a problem with him.
“Except at the post office, when he got all outraged about Gracie being inside,” Clara said.
“That wasn’t a real problem,” I protested.
“Maybe not like Ruby had with Bob, but it did get heated.”
“Heated does not mean I’d murder the guy. But what—”
“Oh, I know that. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“—is this about a problem between Ruby and Bob?” I felt wounded and distanced from her, but I wouldn’t pass up the chance to use her as a resource.
“—that you would. Bob got upset with her one day because she asked those questions they have to ask every time you mail something about if it’s anything dangerous and Bob said it was stupid of her and a waste of time for her to ask those questions. She told him she had to because of the regulations. He—”
Teague came around the corner, clearly drawn by the conversation.
“—studied all the regulations and reported her anytime she broke one. Nothing important or dangerous, just small, petty rules. One time, he even reported her when she was trying to do him a favor.”
This wasn’t much different from what Donna and Amy had said, but did add details. And possibly depth to a motive for Ruby?
“Everybody told him that was not only petty, but self-destructive. He didn’t care. He said if she was going to live by the rules, she was going to die by the rules.” She sucked in a small gasp. “Not that he meant… Besides, he was the one who died. Oh! I’m not saying Ruby—”
“I know. Though, it’s interesting they had that history even before—”
Cutting off my own words did no good. Teague raised one eyebrow. “Even before your run-in with Bob Coble at the post office about Gracie?”
“How did you know about that?” Clara asked.
“Small town. Even a newcomer like me hears things. And you can count on the sheriff’s department hearing more.”
“Well, if that’s the only reason for looking at me — and there can’t be any other reason — that’s a lot weaker than a lot of other people, especially Dwight.”
Clara’s eyes widened. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“He’s missing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Missing?”
“Deputies went to Dwight’s house — finally got around to it last night — and he wasn’t there. His SUV is gone, too. None of his neighbors know where he could be. They haven’t seen him for days.”
“How did you hear this?”
“My grandmother used to live next door and one of the neighbors called me to get her phone number in Belize—”
“Belize?” I quickly waved off my own interruption. “Never mind. Go ahead.”
“Anyway, the neighbor told me the sheriff’s department questioned everybody up and down the street.”
“Canvassed.”
At that mutter, I turned to Teague. A cop would certainly know the distinction between someone being questioned and law enforcement going through a neighborhood checking for anyone who knew anything. But I cared less about that at this moment than another aspect. “Did you know he was missing, too?”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“Depends on how much earlier I could have known.”
“What are you going to do with the information now?”
That was a challenge.
“Clara and I are going to go talk to her grandmother’s former neighbors and find out what they told the sheriff’s department as well as anything they might not have told them.”
She picked up her purse. “And then we’re going to see Ned’s cousin’s ex-wife. She’s having a few neighbors over to meet us.”
“She lives near Dwight, too?”
“No. She lives catty-corner from Bob’s house.”
* * * *
Having Teague come along was not my idea. But since these were Clara’s connections, I felt I couldn’t interfere when she asked if he wanted to join us. I could — and did — give him a cool look when he accepted. He tried, without success, to look innocent.
“All your family members live around here, Clara? You and Ned seem connected to everybody one way or another,” Teague said from the backseat.
Clara abruptly looked into her side mirror. Was she embarrassed? Thinking about the family connection that led to her spying on Gracie and me?
“They’re pretty much all around here. And yes, we have a lot.”
“What does Ned think about
you looking into a murder?”
“He’s happy I’ve found something I’m so interested in.”
“I’d like to meet Ned.”
“Great. We can all have dinner. That’ll be fun. But he’s busy with work right now, so maybe in a few weeks. I’ll let you know.”
“He doesn’t know what you’re up to, does he?” Teague asked with entirely unwarranted skepticism.
“Oh, look. Here we are.”
Dwight’s neighborhood was on the cusp between suburban and rural, with small houses set well back in large lots. Here and there an old farmhouse proclaimed itself an original settler.
A sheriff’s deputy’s cruiser sat in the long driveway of the house Clara indicated as Dwight’s.
The neighbor who’d called Clara, a woman in her early sixties, lived two doors down. She started by describing everything she’d seen the deputies do the night before and the questions they’d asked her.
“Those deputies have it all wrong. They couldn’t make up their minds whether Dwight went off on a lark or if he killed that man at the dog park, then skedaddled. Makes no sense. No sense at all. Why, he had a houseguest just before this for several days. What kind of person goes from having somebody staying in their house to murdering somebody else?”
I doubted that reasoning would impress Deputy Eckles. It didn’t do much for me, either. Perhaps she sensed that. Because she shifted her approach.
“Well, I don’t see him murdering anyone any way anytime. But if he did, he wouldn’t leave like this. He’d stand up to what he’d done. And never did hear of him taking a trip like that. Leaving his grandmother and—”
“Skeeter,” she, Clara, and I said together.
“Is anybody taking care of—?”
“Now, don’t you worry, Clara. Neighbor on the other side of Dwight’s got Skeeter. Heard him howling and took him in.”
She’d precisely recapped the arguments against believing Dwight had taken a spur-of-the-moment trip. First, no one had ever heard of him going anywhere. Second, he wouldn’t go without Skeeter. And third, he wouldn’t leave his grandmother without her caregivers knowing where he was.
Of course, that assumed that they didn’t know…
Death on Torrid Ave. Page 12
