“Here it is. I presume you'll hear it from them, too, but Forensics told me that the smudges of grease your deputy found on her back are definitely dirty motor oil stains. Either she was rolling around under a car or her killer had been. He didn't have to be extremely large, but he was probably quite strong. And yes, before you ask, it could have been a strong woman.”
Tony was mentally reassessing the possibility that Art had conspired with Prudence. He had a passkey, and she was certainly strong enough to do the deed, but how would Claude be involved? Claude would be more likely than Prudence to have motor oil on his clothes. But if it was Claude, what would be Prudence's role?
“Can you estimate the time of death?”
“I would say she died between eleven and midnight. Here's what's really weird though. She wasn't moved outside until much later.” He was interrupted by the sound of another phone ringing in the background. “Damn, it's busy here today. Anyway, she was outside probably only for ten to fifteen minutes before your wife found her. I make it half an hour, max. Until then, she was in a relatively warm, dry place. Do you want to hear all of the technical stuff?” It sounded like he was lighting another cigarette.
“Put it in your report.” Tony had heard enough for the time being. “Where are the clothes now?”
“Forensics is keeping them. They aren't doing anything else with them today, but you know eventually the lab rat squad will be able to tell you the brand of motor oil and probably what kind of vehicle it came from. You know, just between you and me, I think those guys are kind of spooky. Bye.”
Left holding the silent receiver, Tony personally thought that the medical examiner was a bit spooky himself, but he didn't say so. He looked at his notes. The death had occurred at eleven-thirty or so in the evening and then at about three in the morning, the killer, he presumed, dropped the victim over the rail. Why the delay? Why not leave her in her room where she wouldn't be found until morning or even afternoon? Or was the killer not the one who dropped the body? Should they be looking for a co-conspirator? Tony felt a monster headache working its way up from his spine, but he left his notes on his desk and headed for the group confession. Maybe this would answer all of his questions, and he could take a handful of aspirin and just go home and eat pizza with his kids. In the meantime, he munched on yet another handful of antacid tablets. He wasn't sure if he preferred the fruity ones to the minty ones, but he guessed he was going to have plenty of occasions for a full taste test study this weekend.
Prudence, Art and Claude didn't look any better than they had when he'd left the room. Mason looked even worse than he had. Mike, Wade and Sheila looked as if they were torn between committing a little police brutality and taking a long nap. Tony ignored the conspirators and addressed Mason. “This had better be good. My mood is not improving as the afternoon wears on.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stood as tall as he could and stared at the lawyer.
“Well . . .” Mr. Mason looked uneasy but began, speaking to everyone in a well modulated, professional voice.
Tony thought the attorney could have a career on the radio.
Mr. Mason said, “We belong to a small group of concerned citizens. As you know, the recent highway construction has been the source of hot debates all over the area. It has fueled arguments about everything from disturbing ancient burial grounds to the ozone.” Passion took over, and he strode back and forth as he expounded on the subject. “The environmental concerns have extended not only across the state, but also nationally. Certainly, the proximity of the national park has given rise to a large number of persons and groups concerned by pollution.”
From his position against the wall, Claude interrupted. “It's killing the fish.” The expression on his attorney's face stopped him cold. His lips slammed together as he blanched and returned his head to its place.
“As Mr. Marmot so aptly remarked, it is killing the fish as well as affecting the native plants and the entire ecology of the area. It is also interfering with the normal business activities in the area, particularly those connected with tourism.” Art nodded in agreement as Mr. Mason adjusted his tie. The attorney's tongue was obviously warmed up now, and he appeared to be preparing for a good long speech.
Tony raised his hand, palm forward, fingers up. “Stop right there.” He looked at the threesome. “It sounds like a group of vigilantes but I am not the judge. Just give me the facts. Spell out, in small words, just what they did. I don't need to hear any of their wacko reasons now.”
Mason looked offended but stepped forward. “They broke into some highway department vehicles parked not far from Mr. Trimble's business. With no regard for their personal safety, they slipped pieces of catfish into every spot, slot and pipe big enough to hold one.” He couldn't suppress a grin. “One of them even managed to insert a chunk between the seat and the backrest in the supervisor's vehicle.” He stepped back into his spot. Mason smiled as if he had won the lottery.
In his wildest thoughts, Tony had never imagined this. He'd been half-expecting a murder confession, not catfish guerillas. Covering a grin with his handkerchief, he coughed into it. It would take all of his concentration to keep from laughing. With the handkerchief still near his mouth, he managed to ask, “And are you all sorry?”
As one, they all nodded their assent, but they didn't really look contrite.
Claude whispered, but the sound traveled well. “Yeah, we're real sorry we didn't think of it while the weather was still hot.”
Mason frowned at his clients, all of whom were in trouble up to their eyebrows, and said, “Their actions were impromptu and ill-advised.” Behind him, three heads bobbed. “In the heat of the moment, common sense died.”
Mentioning the dead made Tony think of hot, rotting catfish in the cab of a truck. He bolted into his office where he could close the door and enjoy the laugh. His deputies were right on his heels. “Can you imagine how bad that will smell?” He couldn't seem to stop laughing, even though it wasn't funny. “It's the shock after suspecting all or some of them of murder.” He moaned. It took several minutes before he could pull himself together. When he finally returned to the confessors, followed by his staff, nobody had moved, but they did appear to be more relaxed.
Tony stared at them. “I have no idea what the state's attorneys will decide to do about this matter. It really is not my decision. It is vandalism, major vandalism, of several state-owned vehicles. The highway department will not be happy and I don't blame them. I cannot estimate the cost involved in cleaning it up. I will, of course, be obligated to send them a detailed report.”
“We'll pay to have the trucks cleaned.” Prudence's voice filled the room. The others nodded. “And whatever fine they impose.”
Tony wasn't sure he'd ever seen a sorrier group than the hairdresser, hotel owner and garbage guru—not to mention their attorney, who seemed to be up to his neck in the conspiracy. “You can go on back to Knoxville for the time being, Mr. Mason. As for your clients, I'm going to send them home, for now. I imagine we can find them again without any trouble when we need to.” As he looked at each of them, they nodded their agreement. “I have some cases needing to take precedence over this, so I'm not going to lock you up. Today.”
The guerillas stood to leave.
“Prudence, please stay.” Tony waved the others away.
The guilty parties and the lawyer charged for the door and fought to be the first outside. It wasn't much of a fight because they let Claude win. Mason cut in front of Art. No one looked back. Still smiling, Tony turned to his deputies. They were busily studying the arrangement of the furniture. “You, Sheila, take them home, now.”
Sheila was laughing as she trotted behind them.
“Prudence, I want you in my office.” Tony held the door for her. “I am not forgetting you were partially responsible for one of my deputies being derelict in his duty. The guilt is his and the punishment will be too.”
The hairdresser's face flushed bright red. “I did
n't plan that, but when I came out of the woods to my car, suddenly there he was. I didn't want to tell him what I'd been doing and wanted to distract him. It worked.”
Tony believed the leading grease experts in Park County had to be the Thomas brothers. If their coveralls were any indication, the garage owners wallowed in the stuff. When he pulled into the parking area, the first thing he saw was Theo's minivan. It didn't run. The brothers couldn't fix it. So luckily, at least for now, Theo couldn't drive.
Wiping his greasy hands on an even greasier red rag, Frank Thomas ambled out of the open service bay and walked around to the driver's door. Tony lowered the window. “Hey there, Sheriff.”
“Frank.” Tony studied the man's dark blue coverall. Sure enough, it was coated with grease and dirt. There was no logo of any kind on it. “What's the word on the van?”
Frank cleared his throat and spat on the ground behind him. “I'll haul it to the dump for free. It looks bad sitting on my property.”
“Sell it for parts.” Tony doubted it would bring in fifty dollars. “Keep an eye out for a good car for Theo, would you?”
“Sure thing. How many seats?”
Tony paused, momentarily superstitious. “Six. Two will be car seats.”
Frank seemed to be doing math in his head. “Twins?”
“Yes.”
“Well, congratulations!” Frank leaned against the Blazer's door.
Tony could smell grease. “I do have a question.” Frank's eyebrows rose. “It's about your coveralls.”
The eyebrows went higher. Frank glanced down at his outfit. “What?”
“Tell me about them. Do you have a single pair for each of you? Do you rent them?”
“Funny you should ask.” Frank looked down at the Blazer's door, pulled out his rag and polished away a smudge left by his coveralls. “Someone stole one of ours.”
“When was this?”
“Hmm, maybe Thursday, Friday. It was gone before we opened this morning. We filed a report.”
Tony felt like a coon dog finding the scent. “Are they usually locked up?”
“Nossir.” Frank chuckled. “We, me and Joe anyways, we're kinda messy except when it comes to the tools. These count as tools. We don't need them as much as we do the stolen jack.” He ran a hand down his chest, studied it and wiped it on the dirty rag. “Anyhow, on Saturdays at noon when we close for the day, officially, we take them all from the greasy box and give them to Missus Ogle. She collects the coveralls and the rags, washes them and brings them back first thing Monday. We was one short this morning.”
“Any idea what happened to it?”
“Nope.” Frank shrugged. “Ain't never had anyone steal dirty coveralls before. Kinda freaky, don't you think?”
Tony did think it was freaky. He also thought it showed clear premeditation as well as a certain familiarity with the garage and maybe its owners.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On Sunday, Tony came for Theo about noon. He'd missed her. He'd even missed her nagging, a little bit. He parked in the driveway and pushed her out to the Blazer in her shiny new wheelchair. “Nice wheels, lady.”
Theo caressed the armrests. “I hate to admit it, but it really is more comfortable than standing for any period of time. I'll probably go crazy locked in the house.”
Tony wondered what she was talking about. “Who said we're going to lock you up?”
“Well, you can't carry me everywhere there are stairs. How's Jamie's birthday so far?” Theo felt bad about missing any of his special day. “You didn't give him his present yet?”
“No. But I think he thinks I did.”
“Why?” Theo couldn't imagine what he was talking about, and he wasn't giving her any more information.
They made small talk as they drove down the mountain. Tony explained his progress, or rather the lack of progress, on the death of Scarlet. “There just doesn't seem to be a motive. The murder weapon sure didn't provide a clue as to the motive.”
“What did kill her?”
“She was strangled with a dulcimer string.” The corners of Tony's mouth compressed. “It's not exactly rare but not something most of us carry in our pockets.”
They turned the corner onto their short street. In the space between their sidewalk and the park across the street were three pickups lined up side by side clogging the street. The biggest, cleanest one was Gus's white work truck with its built-in tool boxes on both sides of the bed. The next one, black with decorative flames, she knew belonged to Quentin. The third one she didn't recognize. It was bright red and bore temporary license plates.
Tony parked behind Gus's truck, trotted to the back of the Blazer and retrieved her wheelchair. Once she was settled in it, he pushed her to the sidewalk and managed to get her onto the pavement without dumping her in the dirt. “Not as easy as it looks.”
Theo wasn't listening to Tony. She was listening to the sounds of skateboards and Chris and Jamie laughing. Seconds later she saw them. Her heart almost stopped, an expression she'd heard all of her life and was experiencing now. Gus, Quentin and Kenny stood lined up next to a brand new wooden ramp extending from the top of their porch to the sidewalk. The three men were cheering. Chris and Jamie were sailing down the ramp on their skateboards, not stopping at the sidewalk but in the middle of the street.
“Mom! Mom!” Jamie jumped off his skateboard and ran to give her a big hug. “This is the best birthday present ever! Wow!” He dashed away as quickly as he arrived.
“Helmets?” Theo croaked. She knew better than to expect them to not play on their skateboards. “Kneepads? Elbow pads?”
“Theo, try this out!” Gus waved toward the ramp. Somehow he managed to look both proud and embarrassed. “It's just makeshift.”
Tony muttered under his breath. “With Gus, makeshift means it will only last a couple of hundred years instead of eternity. Let's give it a whirl.”
Theo found enough air to laugh. Tony was right. Gus couldn't build anything temporary. The ramp looked sturdy, had a hand rail, and even looked like it had been given a coat of white paint. It was a gradual slope. “I'm sure I'll adjust to the skateboards.”
“I'm sure the boys will adjust to helmets and pads,” Tony muttered.
They made it up the ramp with no effort at all and warmly congratulated and thanked Gus and his crew for giving up their weekend to build Theo a ramp. Or, more precisely, to build Tony a ramp so he didn't have to carry Theo up and down the stairs.
Gus's wife Catherine stood in the doorway, holding the discarded helmets. “I tried.”
“I know you did,” Theo said.
Tony took the helmets from his sister-in-law and headed down the ramp again.
Theo gave Catherine a hug. “They'd better listen to Tony, or he'll take the wheels off.”
“Blossom came by with Jamie's birthday cake. It looks like a baseball field.” Catherine moved to let Theo roll into the house. “It looked like she had two men with her.”
Since Catherine and Gus didn't live in Silersville, they wouldn't have seen the trio out and about. “Yes, Blossom's developed two ardent admirers. I think it's wonderful, but the two of them are making Tony nervous.”
“Tony?” Catherine said. Her expression showed an element of doubt.
“Oh, but it's true.” Theo started laughing. “I'll admit it took me a little while to come to terms with him having such a devoted admirer. Now he's concerned—what if her boyfriends object to her baking for him all the time?”
Catherine's eyes went wide. “I guess they'd find the sheriff hard to deal with. I don't see your husband giving up his pies and cookies without a fight.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Monday morning, Theo barely managed to get the boys off to school and get dressed before the doctor arrived at the front door. She guessed Tony would have gone to his office early if she hadn't needed help with the indoor stairs. He had been on the telephone for a couple of hours.
“As promised, I found you a caretake
r,” said Doc Nash. He walked past Theo and stood in the entryway of the small front room. The shabby couch near the front window was Daisy's favorite daytime spot. The golden retriever opened her eyes and stared at him. “This can be your bedroom. I'll have a hospital bed delivered.”
Theo stared at him. “You're serious?”
“Yep.” He strolled back to where Theo sat in her new wheelchair. “I doubt even the oversized lout you're married to can carry you up and down the stairs all the time.”
“Not this oversized lout.” Tony came to stand next to her. “I got you up and down the stairs last night and this morning, but I can't always be here.”
Theo knew he was right. Still, she felt outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Theo looked up at the doctor. “Who's my caretaker?”
“Ekaterina Marmot.”
“Katti's a nurse?”
“No. You don't need a skilled nurse as much as you need a go-fer. I talked to her, and she's excited to be your assistant and hopes you'll teach her how to quilt.”
Theo considered her options. There really weren't any. The way the doctor and Tony had arranged the next two months of her life without consulting her rankled only a little, and she felt far more gratitude than irritation. She didn't know much about Katti other than she was from Russia and was Claude's mailorder bride. And liked pink, the brighter the better.
As if she had been waiting for her cue, Katti rolled up to the curb in a vintage, baby pink Cadillac. She trotted up the ramp, ignoring the stairs. The bright pink ends on her dark hair bounced with each step. Every piece of clothing from her pink athletic shoes to her pink and black polka dot pants to an oversize sweater was a different shade, pale to dark, subtle to bright. When she came through the doorway, Theo realized she even wore pink eye shadow.
Katti swooped toward Theo. Although there was a hint of nervousness around her eyes, her smile was wide, and she extended her arms for a hug. “Is good?”
Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music Page 14
