I'd have to wait a few hours before satisfying my curiosity, though.
After Belle and I picked out our chocolates, we headed for home. We'd been gone longer than we planned. Laddie would be waiting for me, and Mr. Big, home alone at Belle's, would be getting anxious, too. We'd learned not to leave the two dogs together without one of us to supervise. We'd tried it once and returned to find feathers from one of Belle's pillows all over her house. The guilty parties hadn't tried to hide the evidence. When we'd walked in the door, remnants of feathers had clung to Laddie's fur, and Mr. Big had been chewing on the piping of the pillow they'd shredded.
We were both aghast at our canines' behavior because neither dog would have pulled such a stunt if Belle or I were with them. When I'd scolded Laddie, he'd stretched out on the floor and put his paws over his eyes. He'd looked so cute, I didn't have the heart to feel angry with my normally well-behaved pet. Mr. Big had been oblivious to Belle's pronouncement that he'd been a bad dog, and he'd run circles around Belle until she picked him up to calm him. That was the one and only time we'd allowed the two culprits to stay home alone together.
Since we'd had to come back home, anyway, I decided to wait for the afternoon mail, which I hoped would contain my check from the auction, before heading out again. If so, I could accomplish two errands with one trip.
While I waited for my mail delivery, which typically came late in the afternoon, I worked on a large landscape that I planned on displaying at the Roadrunner eventually. For now, it would remain on my easel while I built it up with oil paint, layer by layer.
Luckily, my check arrived, just as I'd hoped. I quickly filled in a deposit slip and paper-clipped the checks from the auction and the hospital gift shop to it. Laddie was not a happy camper when I left him home for the second time that day, but I wouldn't be gone long this time, and since I planned to take him on an evening walk later, he didn't succeed in guilt-tripping me.
There was no line when I arrived at the bank's drive-thru window where I deposited the two checks and withdrew enough cash to buy groceries and gas for the week.
Then, I headed to the police station, hoping to catch Mike, a young patrol officer I'd first met when he'd stopped me for speeding on Main Street not long after I'd moved to Lonesome Valley, but long enough that I should have already replaced my Missouri driver's license with a new one from Arizona. I'd been grateful that he'd let me off with a warning, and he'd always been polite and helpful on other occasions, too.
What I wanted to avoid, though, was seeing Lieutenant Belmont, a gruff police detective who'd once arrested Susan for murder, even though she was innocent of the crime. He'd badgered me, too, and I didn't relish the thought of possibly bumping into him at the station. With luck, Sergeant Martinez, whose wife was a member of the Roadrunner, would be at the front desk and could let me know where to find Mike, in which case I'd never have to cross paths with Lieutenant Belmont.
As it happened, I avoided entering the station altogether because Mike, dressed in civilian clothes rather than his uniform, was coming down the steps at the station as I parked in front. I put the passenger-side window down and called to him.
“Hi, Mike. Do you have a minute?”
“Oh, hey, Amanda. Sure, what's up?”
I got out of my SUV. The sidewalk in front of the police station, awash with blazing sunlight, didn't seem like the best place to have a conversation.
“Do you mind if we go around the corner so we can sit in the shade?”
“OK,” he agreed, and we began walking toward Main Street. “It's a hot one today, all right. Good thing I'm used to it, though. I'll be moving back to Phoenix next month.”
Mike had had his application in with the Phoenix Police Department for several months, and I knew he was eager to move back to his hometown. Life in Lonesome Valley didn't hold the same appeal for the young man as it did for me.
“I take it you finally heard from the Phoenix PD?”
“Yep. I can't wait. Just three more weeks on the job here. I'm going to spend the next couple of days looking for an apartment in Phoenix. I can always stay with my parents for a while if I have to, but I'd rather not move twice. Besides, I'm almost positive that they're going to need their spare bedroom for my grandmother soon. She's seriously considering spending the winter in Phoenix with the family, instead of here in Lonesome Valley. She likes it here, except for the cooler winters.
I nodded. “When I told my friends in Kansas City I was planning to move to Arizona, they all assumed it was hot here all the time, but they didn't realize that Northern Arizona's not like that, at least around here. In fact, it was snowing back in January, the day I moved into my house. I'm glad we don't get a lot of the white stuff in Lonesome Valley, though.”
We turned the corner to Main Street and sat in the shade on one of the benches that the Lonesome Valley Downtown Merchants' Association had provided along Main Street.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Amanda?”
“The accident Sunday night out on the highway Were you on duty that night?”
“As a matter of fact, I was the first officer to arrive at the scene. An ambulance showed up about the same time, but I was able to talk to the driver before they transported him to the hospital. At first, I thought it was a single-vehicle accident, and the driver had swerved off the road and ended up in the ditch, maybe to avoid hitting an animal on the highway, but he told me someone had run into the back of his car and forced him off. Why did you want to know?”
“The driver's a famous artist. He was here for the opening of his one-man show at the new gallery in the resort, and he was also the feature attraction at a painting event and art auction last Saturday.”
“A friend of yours?”
“More of an acquaintance, I'd say, but I wondered whether you knew that he's now in a coma.”
“No, I hadn't heard. He didn't seem badly hurt when I questioned him at the scene. He didn't see the vehicle that hit him, but the driver who called 9-1-1 said a dark-colored pickup truck hit him. That's about all we have to go on. We put out an appeal via the news media, asking anyone else who might have witnessed the crash to come forward, but, so far, that hasn't happened. Unfortunately, the chances of finding the driver who hit him are low. We just don't have much to go on. I'll let Sergeant Martinez know about your friend's condition. I'm sure he'll get in touch with the hospital so we can keep tabs on the victim. If it turns out to be a fatal accident—”
I groaned.
“Oh, sorry, Amanda. I hope your artist friend will be all right. You don't happen to know what his prognosis is, do you?”
“No. At first, the doctor planned on releasing him the next day, but then he fell into a coma. Ulysses's wife Olivia is terribly upset.”
“I understand.”
“Do you check the local auto body shops to see if anyone's come in for repairs?”
“Sure do. That's routine with a hit-and-run accident. The truck that caused the accident's going to have some white paint on its front bumper. So far, no luck on that score, though, but we'll keep trying. I'm sorry we haven't been able to find the driver who caused the accident. These hit-and-run cases can be tough to crack. Whoever did it could be thousands of miles away by now.”
Or right here in Lonesome Valley, I thought.
Chapter 15
“Let's go, Laddie,” I urged, after I snapped on his collar and leash. “Mr. Big's waiting for you.”
Laddie rushed out the door and spotted his little buddy and Belle waiting for us on the front sidewalk. He tugged at his leash in an effort to hurry me along.
“Looks like he's raring to go,” Belle observed.
“He is, especially since we skipped his walk this morning, and he was home alone most of the day. Well, not really alone, but Mona Lisa's not much company for him.”
Laddie and Mr. Big veered left, the direction we normally went on our way to the park, but Belle gently steered Mr. Big to the right.
“Let's go this way. I'm still trying to satisfy my curiosity about our new neighbor. I've noticed a couple of delivery trucks over there and a plumber, but I've yet to see any occupants.”
The house next door didn't look much different to me than it had the last time Belle and I had passed by, but Belle pointed out that the shades in the front of the house looked different. We were both staring at the large picture window when the horizontal slats slowly descended to the sill and rotated until they totally blocked any view we might have had of the interior.
“I guess someone doesn't want their snoopy neighbors seeing inside.” Belle chuckled.
“It almost looks like an automatic process, the way those blinds went down, like it's operated by remote control or something.”
“Could be. Well, I guess whoever moved in there will have to come out eventually.”
I hadn't really given the house a second thought since the last time we'd passed by. I only hoped my visitors' parking for my Friday night studio tour wouldn't become an issue. Tour visitors had been sparse the last couple of weeks, but occasionally several people showed up at about the same time. Belle didn't think it would be a problem, though, and I hoped she was right.
We circled the block and headed toward the park.
“Maybe we'll run into Rebecca and Greg,” Belle said. “I haven't seen them since we got back from Michigan.”
We'd met Rebecca and Greg Winter several months earlier, when they'd offered us a ride home after a jogger had collided with Belle and she'd sprained her ankle. Rebecca and Greg were pet parents to two small terriers, and Laddie and Mr. Big were always on the lookout for the lively pair whenever we walked in the park.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. They're on vacation. Greg said he likes to wait until school's in session before they hit the road in their RV. They're planning on visiting some of the national parks. Rebecca told me they'd be gone about a month.”
“They took the terriers with them, I suppose.”
“Yes, Rebecca said they're good little travelers.”
“I wish Mr. Big liked to travel. He's fine around town, but when we get out on the highway, he seems to sense it's going to be a long trip, and he gets so excited that it's hard to calm him down. But, of course, we wouldn't go visit the kids without him. Our grandchildren are just as happy to see him as they are to see us. He plays with them for hours on end.”
We paused a minute while Belle checked Mr. Big's collar, and Laddie took the opportunity to roll in the grass. Once Belle released him, Mr. Big playfully bounced around Laddie until he reluctantly stood, and we continued on our way.
I told Belle what I'd learned from Mike about Ulysses's accident.
“So the police are looking for a dark-colored pickup truck with white paint on the front bumper. It doesn't seem like much to go on.”
“No, it sure isn't. I don't think the likelihood of finding the hit-and-run driver is very high. At least, that's what Mike said. It just seems too coincidental to me, ending up in an accident when he was going to pick up his kidnapped wife, but that's not the only thing that's coincidental. Why did the kidnappers snatch Olivia during the plein air event? That smacks of a very deliberate action, like maybe somebody was trying to send Ulysses a message.”
“How so?”
“I don't really know, but why choose that particular spot? It's almost as though kidnapping her wasn't enough, as though the kidnappers wanted to remind Ulysses of what happened the last time he went to a paint-out at Miners' Lookout.”
“But who would know about that? Didn't you tell me Ulysses's first wife disappeared almost thirty years ago?”
“Right, according to Pamela.”
“So other than Pamela and Ulysses, who's still around here who would remember it?”
“I assume Olivia probably knows what happened, although it's possible she doesn't. Maybe Ulysses never told her the story of how Jill left him. Then, there's Ralph, of course. He was Ulysses's teacher at the time, and he organized the paint-out.”
“Ralph—isn't he the white-haired gentleman I met at the gallery when I came in to buy my cousin a birthday present a couple of months ago?”
“Yes, that's Ralph. He's one of the founders of the Roadrunner. I suppose he's lived in Lonesome Valley quite a while if he was teaching private art classes here so long ago.”
“I don't remember seeing him at the auction.”
“You're right. He wasn't there. He signed up to participate in the paint-out, but he didn't show up. His arthritis has been bothering him something terrible lately, so I'm sure that's the reason he couldn't come.”
“Do you really think someone who held a grudge against Ulysses all those years ago might be behind Olivia's kidnapping?
“I don't know. That doesn't seem to make much sense, I guess. From what we know, the only person who might fit into that category is Ulysses's ex-wife Jill. You don't suppose—”
“Jill kidnapped Olivia? Seems pretty far-fetched to me. She doesn't live here in Lonesome Valley, does she?”
“Not as far as I know, but it might be interesting to find out. Maybe Pamela knows. I'm working at the gallery tomorrow afternoon. I could ask her.”
“I'm working tomorrow afternoon, too—doing my volunteer stint at the library. I have an idea. We have all the old issues of the Lonesome Valley Chronicle on microfiche. It's not as easy to use as an online search, but I should have some time after Xena and I finish re-shelving books and tidying up the magazines. I can check to find out if anything was reported back then. You said a search was organized for Jill, right?”
“That's what Pamela told me. It must have been embarrassing for Ulysses when he found out Jill had left him, especially the way she did it.”
“I'll see what I can dig up. Thirty years ago, right?”
“Pamela said twenty-eight, but I don't know the exact date. It must have been sometime in the summer because Pamela was in college then, and she was on her summer break.”
“OK, I'll look into it. If the Chronicle's deadline came while the search was still on, there should be something about it in the paper. If not, the disappearance story might not have been reported, since Jill left of her own volition and no foul play was involved.”
“All right. We might as well find out what we can.”
“Agreed. We'll satisfy our curiosity, if nothing else. Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow, and we can compare notes.”
“Sounds good. I'll bring dessert.”
“All the better, and bring Laddie with you, of course.”
Wagging his tail, Laddie looked up at us when he heard his name, as though he knew just what we were talking about and approved heartily.
Unfortunately, he wasn't quite as happy when I left him the next day for my four-hour afternoon shift at the Roadrunner, but he was likely to spend most of the afternoon napping, so I told myself he wouldn't miss me too much because he'd be asleep,
Mid-week at the gallery wasn't likely to be too busy. Tour buses normally arrived on Fridays, and most tourists who drove themselves to Lonesome Valley favored weekends. Besides a refurbished historic downtown hotel and the swank Lonesome Valley Resort, tourists had a wide choice of accommodations, including several motels along the highway and numerous bed-and-breakfast inns around town. Lonesome Valley catered to the out-of-towners who kept the economy humming. The Roadrunner and other shops and galleries downtown couldn't survive on local business alone, so we were very glad to welcome tourists and to participate in events that drew crowds to town.
When I arrived at the gallery shortly before one, several people were gathered at the jewelry counter. Carrie, one of our members who made jewelry, was holding up a counter mirror so that a woman who was trying on one of Carrie's turquoise necklaces could see how it looked on her.
The cash register separated the glass jewelry case from another counter that contained drawers beneath it. I pulled the bottom drawer open and deposited my handbag inside before signing in and noting the time
I'd arrived.
Carrie moved over to the register to ring up her sale, and I carefully wrapped the lovely turquoise necklace in tissue paper, tucked it into a jewelry box, and placed it in one of the Roadrunner's signature bags.
“Nice sale, Carrie,” I said, as the group of women headed for the door.
“Yes, great. I'm having a good month, and I'm starting to run low on inventory. I'm going home to finish the necklace I've been working on, so I can replace the one I sold. See you later.”
Carrie was off with a spring in her step. She enjoyed steadier sales than most of the painters in the gallery. It probably helped that she had quite a few more affordable items, such as earrings, in her jewelry collection, in addition to her pricey necklaces.
Nobody else had signed in to work with me for the afternoon, so I consulted the schedule to see who was due for the afternoon shift. Our policy was that there always had to be at least two members on duty at all times. A quick glance at the schedule answered my question. Ralph was supposed to work with me, but I hadn't seen him since the opening of Ulysses's show at the resort.
I was just about to walk back to the office to ask Pamela whether she'd heard from Ralph when she appeared.
“Ralph's not going to be able to come in again today,” she told me, “so I'll fill in for him. I was planning on being here this afternoon, anyway.”
Since Pamela and I were alone in the gallery, it seemed like the perfect time to find out more details about Jill's disappearance. I had to remind myself that Pamela knew nothing about Olivia's kidnapping and probably hadn't heard about Ulysses's accident, either. She was shocked when I told her he was in the ICU at Lonesome Valley Hospital and that he was in a coma.
“Poor Ulysses! What terrible luck!”
Pamela went pale and sat down on a stool that we kept behind the counter.
“Are you all right, Pamela?”
“Yes. I'm just so surprised. He was perfectly fine when he came in here the other day and now to think of him in a coma—it's awful.”
I was beginning to get the feeling that Pamela knew Ulysses a little better than I'd realized.
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