I gasped out loud. “Really? That’s not like him at all.”
“I can’t figure out whether he’s nervous because he hasn’t placed a bet, or if he hasn’t placed a bet because he’s nervous about something. I wish he would. He can’t do his job. He can barely hold a conversation.”
I rubbed my chin. “Interesting. I wonder what’s bothering him.”
“He won’t give you the spices,” Camille told me. “At least, I don’t trust him to give them to you easily, so you better go to Hunterville.”
I snapped out of my trance. “Right. I’ll be back before you know it.”
I wasn’t thinking about Hunterville or the spices or even Marty Tucker. I was thinking about only one thing: Max’s Garage. This was my chance to stop by and see what was going on with those towels.
I drove down the mountain in my car. I had to slow down to drive through Heather’s Forge, and as I did, a flash of yellow caught my eye. I cruised down the main street toward the Interstate, but I couldn’t help seeing Deputy Rufus Leonard out in front of the garage. He wound up the remains of the cordon tape and dropped it into Marty’s dumpster by the filling station door.
Deputy Leonard walked away and left the garage doors wide open to the public. All Max’s tools and equipment sat there for all the world to steal, but Rufus didn’t think of that. Sheriff Mills probably told him to remove the cordon, and that’s what he did. He never thought twice about securing the property.
If Pixie could walk in and steal a shop towel, anybody else could have tampered with the scene, too. A cat didn’t care about any cordon tape, and if anybody happened to have caused Max’s death, they wouldn’t care, either. They would stop at nothing to enter the premises and remove the evidence of their guilt.
I eased the car down the street and got to the Interstate without Rufus seeing me—not that it mattered if he did. I hadn’t done anything yet. I was just driving down the street, minding my own business. I was running an errand for Camille—that was all.
I raced down to Hunterville and bought Camille’s spices. I got back to Heather’s Forge as fast as I could. When I entered the main street, I didn’t see a soul in sight. I pulled up in the diner parking lot to avoid suspicion, but I still didn’t see anybody. The town lay deserted in every direction.
If I was going to do this, I better do it now and get back to the inn. I swung out my car and walked around the gas station. Still nothing. The cordon no longer told me to keep out. Sheriff Mill’s procedures told him to hold back evidence related to Marty’s death. That deadline passed, and he released Fisk’s car. He must be finished with the station, too.
I took a strong grip on myself and strode into the garage. A man died here under suspicious circumstances, and the clue to his death must be in this garage somewhere. The first thing to check was the shop towels.
I hunted around until I found a box of brand new ones still bound in their plastic band. Not a speck of oil or grease marred their pristine white fibers. One check on the tag proved they were the same towels Pixie brought back to the inn.
The box sat in a corner next to Max’s rolling red tool chest. I straightened my back to look around, and my eye fell on an embossed metal name plate fixed to the front of the chest. Max Nash, Automotive Technician. Well, that was one way of putting it.
I came this far to find the answers to Max’s death. I might as well go the whole hog. Out of curiosity, I opened one of the drawers in the tall chest. Row upon row of glistening steel wrenches lay in individual compartments. A similar tag labeled each piece: Max Nash, Automotive Technician. He must really have wanted everyone to know these were his tools, and no one else’s. No one could steal these things and get away with it.
I pushed one drawer closed and opened another. More wrenches and tools. I started to close that one, too, when I noticed one of the wrenches missing. It was the largest of a set of three crescent wrenches. From the size of the empty space, the thing must have been as long as my forearm and the head as big as my fist.
Sheriff Mills claimed no tools were taken from the scene, but maybe he missed this. Maybe he checked one or two drawers, but not all of them. What happened to the missing wrench? Was Max using it when he died? Maybe it got locked in the engine compartment of Fisk’s car. The guys at Hunterville Automotive would find it and return it.
I slid the drawer closed. Nothing to see here. I turned to go. I had to get back to Camille, and I was no closer to finding any clue I could use. I cast one last look around the shop. I couldn’t leave the place standing open like this. There must be some way to secure it.
On my way out, I pressed the two blue buttons in front of the garage door. Two solid steel rolling panels glided down and locked in place. I ducked under them and left Max’s Garage behind. At least no one would rifle the place before the new owners took over.
I strolled around the building, but at least now I could put the case to rest until after the meeting. I did what I could, and I didn’t find anything. The meeting would give me time to regroup and plan my next move. I picked up speed to cross the parking lot to my car when my eye landed on Marty’s dumpster parked there. On impulse, I heaved back the lid and pushed the cordon tape out of the way.
Besides the putrid remains of two weeks of restaurant waste, I spied wedged into the corner another bundle of shop towels. The same plastic tie held the bundle together. Rotten juice dripped from the ends and fruit flies buzzed all around them, but I could see the tags all lined up in a row with their fresh printing clear and distinct. Those towels were brand new, too, so what were they doing in Marty’s dumpster? Someone threw them there and buried them under restaurant refuse. Why?
I couldn’t stand the stench, so I shut the lid and looked around. Nobody wandered the streets. Barely a car moved along the road going in or out of town. No one saw me look into that dumpster.
I hustled back to my car and slammed the door with my mind whirling a mile a minute. Something was definitely off with Max’s death. Someone threw away a perfectly good bundle of towels, and it wouldn’t have been Max.
In the first place, he paid out of his own pocket to get those towels delivered and picked up to run his business. He wouldn’t throw them away. If he didn’t want them or he found something wrong with them, he would have gotten in touch with the company to come and take them away.
Even if for some reason he had thrown them away, he would have thrown them in his own dumpster. The dumpster belonging to the DoubleDown Diner didn’t come close enough to Max’s Garage for anything to get thrown in there until Marty moved it next to the door, and that was long after Max wound up dead.
So, one of two things happened. Either someone threw the towels into Marty’s dumpster before Max died, or after. If before, they must have taken the towels from the garage and walked across the alley to put them in Marty’s dumpster. If after, they must have taken the towels from behind the police cordon. They must have crossed that barrier for the express purpose of removing evidence from a crime scene.
Those words sent a chill up my spine. Max’s Garage was a crime scene, so Max Nash’s death must have been a crime. Someone killed him and removed the evidence. They threw the towels into Marty’s dumpster and got away.
I turned the ignition and drove back to the inn a much soberer individual than I left it. Something fishy was going on. The good news was that I would have all the suspects lined up in my dining room by tomorrow. I could get a good look at them all then and see if any stacked up as the culprit.
I grabbed the spices from my passenger seat and went inside. Charlie and Levi were busy hanging decorations in the dining room while Camille directed them from the floor. I put the spices on Camille’s desk in the kitchen where she would be sure to find them as soon as she found a spare minute. Then I went to my apartment to shower and change my clothes.
Tomorrow would prove a very interesting day, and I would need to be on my game for the whole thing. In addition to investigating what I was now sure w
as a murder, I had to host a county commission meeting with a bunch of extreme personalities. The combination of all of them in the same room could turn out to be explosive.
Chapter 10
Camille hurried into the dining room. “Thank you so much for getting those spices. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No problem,” I answered. “I had something I had to do in town anyway. How’s it going? Do you have your cakes done?”
She burst into a glorious smile that told me all was right in the kitchen world, if not anywhere else. “They’re in the oven now. They’re going to be my masterpiece.”
I laughed. “If the cakes are going to be your masterpiece, they’ll be spectacular. It will take a major masterpiece to outdo the creations you’ve come out with these last few weeks.”
I started to turn away when she called me back. “Allie?”
I faced her. “Yep?”
She took a step toward me and cast her eyes toward the door. “Something weird is going on.”
I smacked my lips. “Tell me about it.”
“No, I mean it. Something isn’t right. I’m not sure what it is.”
I peered into her anxious face. I never saw Camille worried about anything before, and she certainly never wanted to confide her uncertainties to me. She always presented a picture of absolute confidence in her job. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Marty. I really think there’s something wrong with him. He’s gone completely around the bend. He’s talking to himself, and he doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going. He comes into the diner first thing in the morning, but he never does any work. He leaves everything to me, but I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. He’s so distracted, he’s on another planet.”
I cocked my head to one side. “That is odd. I wonder what’s going on.”
She waved to me as she retreated toward the kitchen. “You’ll see when he shows up in a few hours. Maybe you can decide if there’s anything we should do about it. I’m worried he might have had a stroke or something. He’s completely lost his mind.”
She retreated to her cave while I continued overseeing the preparations for the delegates’ arrival. That was definitely weird. A gambling addict like Marty who stopped placing bets might lose his cool for a little while, but never anything as serious as this. I made up my mind to keep an eye on Marty as long as he remained at the inn.
Levi and Charlie finished fixing the dining room chandelier and removed their ladders from the building. Levi paused by the back door. “Is there anything else you want me to do in here before I go back outside? The delegates will be here in ten minutes.”
“Are you very busy outside this morning?” I asked.
He studied me. “Why do you ask?”
“If you have time, would you be kind enough to hang out in here for a while? Camille says there’s something wrong with Marty Tucker. She asked me to keep an eye on him.”
“I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with Marty. That guy will outlive us all.”
“It would be nice to have a second pair of eyes. You can let me know if I’m imagining anything.”
“I have to go help Charlie bring in the lumber for the chicken tractor, but after I finish that, I’ll come in here. You can let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary.”
I gave his hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Levi. I knew I could count on you.”
He slipped out the back door, and I returned to the front entrance just as Arthur Drilling showed up. He shook my hand and peered up the stairs. “That strange guest of yours isn’t anywhere around, is he?”
“You mean Fisk Van Steamburg? No, he’s out for the day, so you don’t have to worry about him. Levi Stokes is here, though, and he’ll be in the dining room with me during the meeting. I hope that doesn’t disturb you.”
He looked over my shoulder at the dining room. “No, that should be all right. As long as plenty of other people are around, I don’t mind.”
“You’re the first one here,” I told him, “so why don’t you go on in and make yourself at home? I’m sure the other delegates will arrive soon.”
He entered the dining room. The moment he left, the door flew open and Winnie Macglass burst into the hall. She glared right and left. “Where is he?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Conrad Mills, that’s who,” she shot back. “I’ll have that lying sheep’s hide on a platter before I’m through.”
“Sheriff Mills hasn’t come yet, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Is anything wrong?”
“He told me Max’s will would be read by the end of the week. He told me, now that the evidence has been released and the death certificate signed, nothing would stop the will going through. He made me a bunch of bald promises, and here it is Friday already, and I haven’t heard anything about the will being read.”
“I thought you said you talked to Frank Law. Didn’t he tell you when he would read Max’s will?”
She humphed and pushed past me. “I’ll skin him. I’ll feet his liver to my terriers.”
I was never so relieved to see the back of Winnie Macglass. That woman shot lightning from her eyes when she got mad. A few minutes passed before a bunch of out-of-towners showed up and the greetings got cut short since I didn’t know them. I simply welcomed them to the Barrell Inn and invited them to join the other delegates in the dining room for refreshments before the meeting started.
I cast a glance into the dining room while I waited for the next batch of visitors to arrive. Winnie stood by the drinks table with a tumbler of Scotch in one hand. She berated the out-of-towners about something and tossed back Scotch between sentences. This could turn into a mess in a hurry, but that wasn’t my problem. All I had to do was provide food and drinks and make sure everybody had what they wanted. The rest would have to take care of itself.
I almost threw my arms around Sheriff Mills in relief when he walked through the door. I needed a qualified law enforcement officer to keep all these personalities in check, especially if they were lubricating themselves with alcohol.
He and Tom Potter joined the others, followed by Roger Powers. Great. More sensible people to counteract the looney effect. Then my blood ran cold as Marty Tucker marched up the steps and stuck out his hand at me.
He didn’t nod or smile or give me any friendly greeting. He looked around the front hall without seeing anything. “Where’s the john?”
I pointed down the hall. “Second door on the right, and then I think the other delegates are waiting for you in the dining room. The meeting can start as soon as you’re ready.”
He giggled hysterically as he walked away. “I’ll get ‘em ready. I’ll get ‘em ready for the meeting to end all meetings.”
The bathroom door closed behind him, but the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach only got worse. Camille was right. He really had slipped his cable. His mind was cracked, but what could we do? Sheriff Mills was right there in the next room. He would see Marty acting strangely. If anybody could do anything, the sheriff would do it. He would make sure the meeting didn’t descend into chaos.
At that moment, Levi came through the back door. I hurried to his side. “Thank goodness you’re here.”
“What’s going on?”
“Marty just showed up. He’s loopy.”
“I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Come on. We’ll hang around the back of the hall and listen to the meeting. Then we’ll see if anybody needs to be shipped off to the group home.”
I stuck close to Levi. If Sheriff Mills failed to contain these freak elements, Levi could do it. If worse came to the worst, we could call Charlie to lend a hand and subdue any troublemakers.
The visitors milled around the dining room while the stragglers showed up. People sampled the appetizers from the buffet tables, and others helped themselves to the drinks. Some people helped themselves to the drinks more than others, and a few helped themselves more than they should have.
Winnie parked herself next to th
e hard liquor and held forth in a loud voice, “I just don’t know what this town is coming to. It used to be such a quiet, peaceful place to live, and now it’s turning into a hotbed of crime and iniquity. I don’t feel safe sleeping in my bed at night. First Nathaniel Rowe killed Beatrice Garrett, and now someone killed Max Nash while he was plying his trade in his own garage. Now this lump we call a sheriff won’t even investigate.”
Sheriff Mills rocked from one foot to the other. “Now, Winnie, you know it isn’t like that. No one said anything about Max getting killed.”
She aimed an accusing finger at him. “Maybe you killed him. Maybe that’s why you sit on your hands in that office of yours and do nothing while his unquiet ghost roams the Earth in search of eternal rest.”
Arthur Drilling burst out laughing by the crudités platter. “Where do you come up with this stuff? You should write television jingles.”
Winnie leveled him with her most ferocious glare yet. “And you! You worked on Max’s dentures not a week before he died. How do we know you didn’t plant some poison in his gum cement? How do we know you didn’t use toxic abrasive paste for his cleaning? Anything could have happened to him, and here you all sit, drinking and making merry while he lies dead.”
A chuckle interrupted her from across the room. Everyone turned around to see Marty Tucker sitting in the back row of the chairs, but he didn’t pay any attention to Winnie. He stared into the amber fluid at the bottom of his tumbler glass and giggled his head off.
From my place at the back of the room, I heard him mutter under his breath, “Four-point spread, ten to one odds, not too bad, could place a hundred dollars on that. Good payout if it works. Not too much loss if it doesn’t. Check the book….”
I glanced over at Levi to see if he was hearing this. His keen eye swept the room. He saw and heard everything I did. He took it all into that sharp mind of his. What did he make of it? I wished I understood half of what went on in that guy’s head.
A soft murmur brought my attention back to Marty. He pitched forward, threw his face down on his elbow on the chair back in front of him, and burst out crying. His tumbler hit the floor, but thank goodness it didn’t break.
The Barrell, Bats and Bubble Gum Page 8
