by Helen Gray
“Hey, Mom, Grandpa’s stuff was just put on sale,” Garrett squealed, hanging onto the arms of the rocker and bouncing on the seat cushion.
“Should I bid on them?” Kyle asked when Russell’s duck decoys and his name as the donor were announced.
“If they don’t get a bid within five minutes, call,” Toni said, knowing Kyle didn’t duck hunt, but he wanted to support his father-in-law.
Kyle picked up his phone in readiness to dial, and waited.
Two minutes later a piece of paper was handed to Stuart Hartman, and he announced a nice bid on the decoys. Then there was another.
“You can always have him make you something you’ll use,” Toni said when his finger twitched over the phone. “I know you’d rather have one of those target practice deer he’s learning to make. Maybe he’ll give you his first effort after he makes a better one.”
Kyle nodded, grinning. “I’ll offer him a good deal for it.”
Yeah, his deal would likely include a flight of some kind. Toni just shook her head.
As she returned her attention to the screen, another Rotarian, local chiropractor Allen Lawson, appeared behind the two spokespersons. But instead of a written bid, the man held a mug in each hand, holding what Toni supposed was coffee.
Allen set one cup beside Bart Ramsey, and turned to put the other by Stuart Hartman. But he suddenly lost his balance, and the mug slipped from his fingers. It landed on the table, sending coffee spattering everywhere, and the men bolting from their seats.
“That’s funny,” Garrett said, laughing.
“Not for Mr. Lawson,” Gabe said, watching the flurry of people who scurried to clean up the mess and restore order.
Or the somewhat stodgy special education director and his dispassionate attorney partner.
Toni couldn’t say that aloud, but she found it rather amusing to see such better-than-thou personalities humanized.
Russell’s decoys brought a good price, meaning the Rotary Club’s community and charity projects fund benefited.
*
Saturday morning Toni tore her grocery list from the pad attached to the refrigerator door by a magnet and looked out the window where Kyle and the boys worked in the yard. Gabe rode the mower while Garrett ran the weed eater for the final time of the season. Kyle cleared dead limbs from the bushes and shrubs. She left the house and headed to town.
Instead of going directly to the store, Toni drove to the south side of town. When she arrived at the block where the Crawford house was located, she pulled to the curb and parked beside the privacy fence. Then she grabbed her purse, exited, and walked over to the gate. Tentatively she pushed at it, and was relieved when it creaked open.
She stepped through the opening, and breathed freer when she saw no cars in the open doors of the garage. She paused and surveyed the entire area, absorbing every detail.
Located on a corner lot, the Crawford house occupied twice the acreage of any other home in the neighborhood. Jake and Bonnie had built it eight or ten years ago, a testament to the wealth provided by their very busy supermarket. They seemed to enjoy the American dream, and wanted that fact known. An imposing structure with ornate features, the house had a wide porch across the front, and dormer windows in the upper story.
Toni walked over to where she surmised from Ben’s story that Jake had been found. Crime scene tape had been taken down, but a strip of it lay alongside the fence. Staring down at the blood stained grass, she estimated the position of the body. When an examination of the patch of ground gave her no further information, she walked the perimeter of the yard, searching for anything that looked odd or out of place. When she reached the east corner entrance to the pool enclosure, she decided she might as well look around there, too. She opened the gate and walked onto the concrete apron of a large in-ground pool. Judging by the size of it, and the beverage containers, ash trays, and towels littering the site, she guessed there had been a party here recently.
She walked up to the edge of the uncovered water and peered into the depths. The shallow end was clear, but the deep end was cloudy enough that she couldn’t see all the way to the bottom to determine if anything—like a weapon—had been thrown in there. She wondered if the police had searched the bottom of it, even as logic told her that no killer would toss a weapon in there.
As Toni turned to leave, a shadow at the edge of the tiled patio behind the house drew her attention. She leaned forward, peering closely, unsure whether she had seen something—or someone. She looked around the silent yard. Seeing nothing, she assured herself that she was just alone and being paranoid because there had been a murder here.
Disappointed at having wasted her time, Toni returned to the sidewalk outside the fence. She gazed up at the house, making a concentrated effort to imagine what had gone on in this beautiful and peaceful looking place that had led to a violent death.
The police already had a suspect. But was he the right one?
She accepted that they must have good reasons for deciding on Norm. But Patsy and Allison were so adamant in their defense of him that Toni couldn’t quell the sense of disquiet that nagged at her.
With a sigh, Toni started to her van, but paused when she noticed that the lid on the mailbox in front of the house was not fully closed. Thinking it needed to be shut securely, she walked over to it and reached to give the lid a push and snap it into place. But she couldn’t resist peeking inside. An envelope lay in there, with what looked like a post office box key on top of it for the mail carrier to return to the post office.
She pushed the lid into place and turned. As she did, a glint on the ground to her right caught her eye. Toni peered down into the curbside grass and spotted another key. Had someone meant to put two keys in there and dropped one while placing them in the box?
Experiencing another attack of paranoia, she glanced around furtively. Seeing no one, she bent over and picked up the key that looked older and wasn’t shaped like the one in the box, being careful to hold it by the side edges. Then she reached into her purse and found the small baggie of cough drops she always carried. She dumped the contents into the purse and dropped the key into the now empty plastic bag, stuck it in the purse, and paused to evaluate. She had not tampered with the U.S. mail. She had only made it more secure. As for this key, it had not been in the mailbox, nor was it even on the Crawford property. It had been in the ditch line between the sidewalk and road. Feeling justified, she made tracks to the van.
After Toni shopped and returned home to put her groceries away, she went to her little home office where she kept the shelves of a bookcase stocked with chemicals and materials used in her science labs at school. It made it possible for her to experiment at home before trying new demonstrations with the students.
After dusting the key for fingerprints and storing the unidentified results, she returned the bagged key to her purse. Then she went back to the kitchen to fix lunch.
While eating grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, Toni debated telling Kyle about her snooping, but decided it could wait until they were alone rather than discuss it in the presence of the boys.
That afternoon she put a roast in the oven and went to the living room where Kyle and the boys were watching a baseball game on TV. “I forgot something from the store. I’ll be right back.”
They hardly paid any attention as she gathered her purse and left. She drove to the local hardware store and approached the clerk on duty behind the counter. “I found this,” she said, taking the plastic bag from her purse and removing the key. “Do you recognize it?”
The older, balding man held it up and studied it. “It’s been around a while,” he said after several moments. “It wasn’t made here, at least in the last twenty or so years. That’s how long I’ve been working here,” he added with a grin.
Toni thanked him, purchased some scouring pads to justify her trip, and headed home, the key tucked back inside her purse. She needed to figure out a way to return it to the Crawfords�
��but now it was just Bonnie Crawford. The thought shook her.
She had to back away from this case, let the police handle it. But, instead of lessening, the questions kept hammering at her.
Why was Jake dead? Who had killed him? How many people were involved?
Jake had been a fun and games kind of guy, but that bullet hole in his neck hadn’t gotten there from fun and games. Or did the games get out of control?
Small town life was different than in cities. The pace was slower, less hectic as a rule. But it could take days or weeks to get reports on evidence or bodies sent to crime labs. If an autopsy report had been ordered, it would have to be done elsewhere. The likelihood of that was slim, Toni reasoned. The coroner, a retired elected official with no medical training, would list gunshot wound to the neck as the cause of death, and that would be that. Hopefully the police chief would be more diligent.
“Not my problem,” she muttered to herself, turning into her driveway. Home was located in front of a wooded hillside and surrounded by an array of many kinds of trees. It was roomy and comfy enough for their family, and only a little over a mile from the school.
Tired and mentally drained, Toni did a little housekeeping and prepared supper, her mind refusing to shut down. She knew how fast news stories traveled in a small town. Jake’s body had been found too late to be in the weekly paper that week.
She could imagine how that would have affected the paper’s sole reporter. A weekly, the paper released on Wednesday, so everything had to be ready for the printer on Tuesday. And Jake had been inconsiderate enough to get himself killed—found dead anyhow—on a Tuesday afternoon. Twila Morgan probably considered it a personal affront.
Toni and Twila had been classmates in high school, and for some reason Twila had considered Toni a rival, especially in English class. Now that they were adults, working in jobs of their choices in their home town, Twila was friendlier to Toni—when it suited her.
After supper Toni booted her computer and went to the newspaper’s web site. The first thing to appear on the screen was a glaring heading, MURDER STRIKES OUR SMALL TOWN AGAIN.
Below it was a photo of Jake Crawford that had to be an older one, since it showed no signs of the obesity or dissipation of recent years. Once she had studied the picture, Toni focused on the article below it.
Jake Crawford, thirty-eight-year-old owner of Crawford Supermarket, was apparently killed sometime Monday night or Tuesday morning. While walking his dog Tuesday afternoon, Ben Wilkes and the dog discovered Jake’s body in the back yard of his house in a residential section of town. It is unknown why the local businessman was shot, or who did it. An investigation is underway.
If anyone knows who committed this terrible crime and robbed us of one of our community leaders, the police ask that you please come forward and talk to them.
Married to Bonnie Sheridan Crawford, Jake is survived by two teenage children and his parents, longtime Clearmount residents, Mr. and Mrs. Jake Crawford Senior, who retired only a year ago and turned their family supermarket over to their son.
Funeral services are pending.
Apparently Norm’s arrest had not yet been known when the article was written.
Toni prayed silently. Lord, please lead the police to the killer. Help them find justice for Jake. And answers for Norm.
Chapter 3
In church Sunday, Toni sat listening to the pastor speak about how people desire justice, and found herself nodding in agreement, thoughts of the latest major crime in their small town floating through her mind.
But the minister didn’t leave it at that. “Although we want justice,” he continued, “we must recognize that our human weaknesses make it difficult to mete out true justice. We can be focused on revenge, and make a casualty of the pursuit of justice.”
Was she doing that?
“Remember that perfect justice can only be found in God,” he admonished. “God’s courtroom is the one and only place where we can be certain that justice will prevail. So trust Him for ultimate justice.”
It wasn’t her job to seek justice for Norman Brower or Jake Crawford. She needed to pray for Norman, and both of their families, and leave it in God’s hands. She breathed easier and silently did that.
After a meal at the Zinger Restaurant’s buffet, they returned home to spend a quiet afternoon. First on the agenda was a nice nap. When they woke an hour later, Kyle was the first to stir.
“I think I’ll run out to the airport and do another thorough check of that plane,” he said as he pushed his feet into his shoes and stood. He turned at the bedroom door. “Would you like me to take the boys along?”
Toni sat on the side of the bed. “If you do that, I might go down to the school and run,” she said, thinking how sluggish she felt. “There will probably be others there.” Several fitness-minded school personnel ran laps in the school parking lot and around the ball fields.
He nodded. “Go join your friends. See you in a couple of hours.”
Toni put on her jeans, a loose cotton shirt and running shoes, and drove to the school. She turned at the entrance and then made a right into the parking lot near the pavilion. Sure enough, she spotted a couple of women running along the path down around the lower baseball field. Sidewalks ran alongside the ditch between the school property and the highway, and went clear across town. Some of the more dedicated runners or walkers used all, or longer parts, of them in their regular outings. Others, like Toni, pretty much stayed on the school grounds.
She locked the van, put her keys in her pocket, and set out at a nice easy speed. Then she ramped up the pace to a nice brisk run. By the time she finished her laps around the field, she was out of breath. As she slowed to a walk and headed back to the van, she noted that the other runners had left. The only sign of life visible on the school property was a car with tinted windows parked over to the left of the big school sign at the parking lot entrance.
Toni pulled out her keys and pressed the remote to unlock the van as she approached it, her mind preoccupied with plans for the week. She was starting to get inside when something slammed into her from behind. Pain exploded in her head.
As her knees buckled, the van keys slipped from her fingers.
“Keep your mouth shut,” a menacing voice hissed next to her ear. Then a blow from a hard fist caught her in the chin and sent her on to the ground.
Through a haze of pain, Toni instinctively curled her body and turned her face upward, flattening her back in an effort to make her body smaller. Before she could move, a kick caught her in the ribs. She caught a glimpse of a green knit ski cap pulled over a man’s head, dark eyes boring into her through round holes. She moaned and shifted her hips and shoulders, making like a lizard and edging her body under the van. As another kick caught her shoulder, just missing her head, she made a huge effort and scooted further under the vehicle, just beyond the reach of those boot-shod feet.
At the same time, the sound of a vehicle pulling into the parking lot reached her ears. Toni only hoped it didn’t turn the other way and miss seeing them.
My ribs are broken.
She wrapped a protective arm around her side while sweeping a hand in an arc around her, patting the pavement in a desperate search for her dropped keys. Simultaneously she touched the key ring and heard the car rolling closer to them. As she wrapped her fingers around the key ring, she saw the booted feet turn and take off across the parking lot.
The approaching car screeched to a halt next to the open door of the van, and someone hopped out.
“Are you okay, Hon?”
As soon as Toni heard the voice that was low and husky enough to be mistaken for a man, she recognized Beatrice Adams, a woman who often brought her two granddaughters to the ball field to play while she knitted or read a book. The gaunt, gray haired woman peered down under the van at Toni. “Should I call the police?”
Toni tried to move out from under the vehicle, but the pain in her head and ribs made her groan and go
stock-still. Fighting to gather her wits, she gasped, “Call Kyle.”
Bea nodded, her eyes rounded in anxious alarm. “I’ll call the police, too. My phone’s in my car.” Her face disappeared, and then her running feet slapped on the paved surface.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Toni tried to force her head to stop spinning. Then she opened them and tried once more to scoot out from under the van. But pain in her ribs made her bite her lip and groan. She wrapped her arms across her chest, her fists clenched, and stopped moving.
Bea’s face peered below the vehicle again. “I’ve called the police. Don’t move.”
Toni didn’t feel up to arguing, but she couldn’t lie there under a vehicle in the parking lot. On the other hand, maybe she could, she decided when another effort to move brought fresh waves of pain.
“Call my husband,” she repeated.
“What’s the number?” Bea held a finger over a cell phone, ready to dial, her upside-down posture making Toni wish she felt capable of giggling. She gritted her teeth and quoted Kyle’s cell number.
Within seconds Toni heard Bea make contact. “Toni’s hurt,” the woman stated abruptly. “Someone attacked her here at the school parking lot. I saw him run away. I’ve called the police, but she asked me to call you.” She paused. “Okay.”
Bea’s face appeared again. “He’s on his way. You stay still. I’ll wait right here.”
A siren soon wailed in the distance. The police station was only about a mile from the school, so their response was fast. A minute later, Toni heard a police car speeding up the highway. It veered into the parking lot and rolled to a stop near enough to the van that she could see its tires.
“I called her husband,” Bea told the officer who came running to the van. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“Let me check on her.” He dropped to his hands and knees, and Toni’s gaze met the deep set blue eyes of white haired Chief Buck Freeman peering at her. He made an instant assessment and spoke over his shoulder to Bea. “Yes, call the ambulance.”
