“Fine,” Elena pouted, flouncing back in her chair. “We'll ask him and go from there, although I must say, I'm disappointed in both of you – you have no sense of adventure in your souls!”
“I'm okay with that,” I laughed. “Better no adventure than no soul – or life!”
On that note, Elena and I said good-bye, promising to stop by and talk to Frank and then to call Mariette to make any necessary plans.
14
Murder in the Park
by Norah Sewell
Chapter Seven
“Before we look for Thom, I'd like to take a peek at the storage area where Charlie was found,” Paul said.
“Sure,” Grace replied. “Why don't you tell me more about him while we do that? I don't think I've met him, and I haven't heard anyone speak of him, to the best of my memory.”
As they walked toward the storage building, Paul considered. “Well, even though he looks wiry, he's pretty strong; I imagine that, if he did get into a fist fight, he could probably hold his own well. He's got a quick temper – he'll fly off the handle without a lot of provocation – but he gets over it all pretty quickly, too. He works mostly with the excavation project, so he can get to the artifact storage area without drawing attention.”
Paul paused to open the door to the building. “I know that his twin brother was killed during the war, and he's got a pretty strong hatred for Germans, as a result. It has caused some trouble between him and Willy, until Charlie and a couple of others finally got him to understand that Willy was born in the U.S. – in New Braunfels, as a matter of fact. Charlie kept telling Thom that Willy's great-grandfather was the last of the family to actually live in Bavaria. Of course, he didn't know about Willy's wife at that time!”
Grace smiled. “Yes, that's true. So, Mr. Wilson might have struck out if Charlie confronted him about what Jimmy told us about the thefts?”
“I think it's definitely a possibility,” Paul answered. He looked around the shed, wandering from the doorway to the shelves along the adjoining wall.
“Look here,” he said, pointing to some marks in the dust on the floor. “Those look like....”
“What are you doing here?” a voice boomed out. “Why are you poking around where you don't belong?”
“Hello, Thom,” Paul answered calmly. “May I introduce Miss Grace Wells? She is one of our night class teachers.”
“Yeah, great, nice to meet you and all that,” the man with classic “Black Irish” looks – thick, nearly black hair and deep blue eyes – snarled. “What are you doing in this shed, Barger? You aren't a carpenter, so there's no reason for you to be here with the woodworking supplies.”
“As I recall, you don't work with those units, either,” Paul replied, still calm but obviously not intimidated by the other man's tone. “But, to answer your question, Miss Wells and I were just looking around where Charlie Graham was found. He was family to me, and I'm trying to understand what happened to him.”
“Probably got into someone else's business where he didn't belong,” Thom said. “Graham thought he had to be in charge of the world, always telling someone what to do.”
“What was it he told you to do, Mr. Wilson?” Grace asked. “What caused the fist fight between the two of you on the day he died?”
“Now, you just hold on, little lady,” Thom roared, taking a step toward her. “Don't you go making any accusations!”
“Step back, Wilson,” Paul said. “Remember that you are speaking to a lady. If you don't want to answer her question, that's one thing – although I'd have to wonder why you're so angry about such a simple thing – but you don't get to try to frighten her.”
“Don't you tell me how to act, Barger, and don't you or your lady friend try to say I killed Graham. Yeah, I saw him that morning, but he was still breathing just fine when I left him.”
“Mr. Wilson,” Grace interjected. “I had no thought of accusing you of killing anyone. But you did exchange punches with Mr. Graham, didn't you?” When Thom looked at her with a surprised expression, she pointed to his chin. “You have a bruise on your chin, and the knuckles on both hands are skinned and bruised. It's possible you injured yourself while digging near the mission building, but, taken with your belligerence when I asked, I think a fight is more likely. What was it that Mr. Graham did to anger you?”
Thom glared at her for a moment. “If you must know, he accused me of stealing supplies and artifacts from the site. He told me that he was going to tell the bosses. Selling a few boards and tools here and there isn't hurting anyone but the government, and they can afford it; I just needed a little extra cash to pay for a few gambling losses. So, I told him it wasn't any of his business. He got all righteous on me, saying that I wasn't just stealing from the government, but that I was taking from the people whose taxes bought the stuff, and that it was hurting Cook, who hadn't known what was happening.”
Thom took a deep breath. “He made me so mad! I yelled at him to shut up, to keep his mouth shut. He just looked at me and shook his head, then he said, 'I just can't do that, Thom. I have a responsibility to turn you in.' Like I said, he made me mad, so I hit him. He wasn't expecting it, and I knocked him clean out. He fell over there by that pile of boards, and I walked away. He was very much alive when I left.”
Thom reached into his pocket, pulling out a wicked-looking knife and saying, “Unfortunately, that won't be the case for the two of you. I can't have you telling anyone about the stuff I took, and, now that Graham's dead, everyone will think I did it. There's no way I can let you leave this shed and talk to anyone. You'll just have to have a terrible accident, where you both got hit in the head by a stack of “boards” He reached toward the lumber pile.
“Wait! Mr. Thomas, don't touch that pile!” Grace called out.
“I'm sorry, miss,” Thom said. “Normally, I wouldn't hurt a woman, but I can't take the chance. I guess you should have been a little more careful in choosing your friends.”
As Thom reached again for the boards, a shot rang out. “Are you deaf, or are you just stupid, man? Get away from that pile of wood while you still can!”
Paul stepped over next to Thom and looked at the ground. “Good shot, sheriff! You shot the head right off that rattlesnake.” He turned to Thom, saying, “And he saved your sorry life, although I'm not sure you deserve it. Sheriff, I think we've got ourselves a city boy here; I don't think he knew what that rattle sound meant.”
“Well, I'll see that he gets the chance to learn. Thomas Wilson, you are under arrest for theft, for now. After I talk to the judge, we'll see if more charges, like attempted murder, might be added.” He snapped handcuffs around Thom's wrists and then instructed the deputy with him to take the prisoner back to the jail.
“Thank goodness you were here, sheriff,” Grace said. “I tried to warn him, but Mr. Wilson wasn't much interested in anything but keeping us from talking to you. What brought you to the camp at just the right moment?”
“I bet I can answer that,” Paul interrupted. “You were coming to tell us that Charlie didn't die from the fight, and that he wasn't murdered. He died from snake bites, didn't he?”
“That's what Doc thinks,” the sheriff said. “The way I see it, when Wilson got in a lucky punch, Graham probably fell on that wood pile, startling a rattler hiding out here in the cool building. Doc says that it looks like the snake hit directly into a vein, which would have carried the venom throughout his body quickly. Because he'd been knocked out, he didn't get medical help fast enough to keep the poison from killing him.”
Paul nodded. “I saw the tracks in the dust and thought it was probably something like that. Knowing that it wasn't intentional may not help his folks much but knowing what happened surely will. I'll write them the details tonight.”
He thanked the sheriff for his help, then he and Grace turned to leave. “Oh, I forgot,” he said, turning back to the lawman. “What about Jimmy Cook? How much trouble will he be in?”
“As far as I c
an tell, he didn't have any idea what was going on until Graham told him,” the sheriff replied. “He believed what Wilson told him – that they were moving the supplies to a new storage spot. He didn't realize that the stuff they moved disappeared shortly after that. I don't see any reason to mention his part to the judge or the prosecutor, if the two of you are willing to testify that Wilson confessed that he stole the things.”
“We will,” Grace assured him. “And thank you for your kindness to Mr. Cook. He seems like a sweet and rather naive gentleman. It's a shame that Mr. Wilson took advantage of his trusting nature.”
Paul nodded in agreement and shook the sheriff's hand once again before he and Grace took their leave.
15
“Okay, let's go over it one more time,” I said the next morning as we drove toward Beeville. Unexpectedly, Frank agreed to Elena's crazy idea, so we were scheduled to play Charlie's Angels today.
“Chill, Norah!” Elena said. “Stop freaking out; everything's going to be fine. We'll all be in a public place, so we'll be perfectly safe. And Frank said that, since we're only talking to the guy and not trying to collect any physical evidence, we can't mess up the...what did he call it?”
“The chain of custody,” Mariette whispered. She cleared her throat. “It's the chain of custody, and Elena's right. We won't be taking custody of anything, so that's not a problem. Norah, I'm nervous about all of this, too, so don't feel alone. I just don't know what else to do, so I'm in.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I get it, and I'm in. Let's just talk it through one more time; I'm sure we're as ready as we can be but hearing it again will make me feel a little less panicky.”
Elena rolled her eyes, but Mariette place her hand on Elena's arm. “I agree with her, Elena. You may be ready to play Nancy Drew, but we need a little reassurance. We have some time to kill on this drive, and this is as good as way to spend it as any.”
Elena looked a little abashed. “All right, and I'm sorry. I am excited; I can't explain why, but I am! Anyway, here's the plan: Mari, you'll go to your meeting as usual, and then talk this Hamilton guy and some others to go for an afternoon snack at the diner. Norah and I will be there, having a late lunch during your meeting. Once y'all are settled at your table, we'll 'happen' to notice you and stop by the table to say hi. You'll invite us to join the table, which we'll do. I'll watch the guy to see if he tries anything; Norah, you'll watch Mariette's coffee mug, in case he slips something in when I'm not looking.”
She waited for us to acknowledge her run-down before continuing. “If we see him do anything, whichever one notices will call him out, just loud enough for Frank and a Beeville PD officer, who will be sitting close by, to hear. They'll come over, introduce themselves as lawmen, and ask if there's some kind of problem. We'll tell them what we saw, they'll collect the mug for analysis, and take both Hamilton and Mariette to the police station to make statements. The BPD has already arranged for a fast turnaround on the check on the drink, so they should be able to arrest that sorry waste-of-oxygen within the hour.”
“Why do I think it won't be as smooth and easy as that?” I groaned.
“Because you're being a 'negative Nancy' lately,” Elena snorted. “You just need to ditch that and think lots of positive thoughts.”
Mariette looked at me in the rear-view mirror, and we rolled our eyes. “Whatever, girl!” Mariette laughed. “It doesn't hurt to think about what could go wrong, just so we're prepared. Leave Norah alone now!” She giggled again and punched Elena in the arm lightly.
She dropped Elena and me at the diner and headed to the church where the AA meeting was held that day. We found a table, and it didn't take long for our waitress to stop by the table.
“One of these days, I'm going to try something different from this menu,” Elena said, “but today isn't the day. As good as the Nueces Bay flounder filet, with crab and shrimp sounds, I'm sticking with the triple-decker club sandwich with the shoestring onion rings. And I'd like a glass of sweet tea with that, please.” She closed her menu and handed it to the young waitress.
I laughed at her. “You're nothing, if not predictable!” I turned to the waitress. “I'd like the Greek burger, with the feta, onions, olives, and spinach. And I'll indulge today, too – sub onion rings for the fries, please.”
The waitress smiled. “And your drink?”
“Unsweetened tea, please,” I answered, handing her the menu.
“Unsweetened tea,” Elena growled. “You are a disgrace to southern girls, Norah Sewell – an absolute disgrace!”
“What can I say?” I giggled at her drama queen impersonation. “I don't like drinking syrup; I want to actually taste the tea!”
More eye-rolling ensued and then we talked about everything except what brought us there. Elena was excited that I was just about finished with the first draft of my great-grandparents' story. (Have I mentioned that Elena gets excited pretty easily?)
About an hour later, our lunch finished, and stomachs stuffed, we saw Mariette come through the door with a small group.
“We're on,” Elena said, starting to stand up.
“Hold on,” I said, tugging the hem of her shirt to pull her back down into her chair. “We need to give them a few minutes before we go over there, so it doesn't look like we were watching for them. Wait until their waitress has delivered their orders.”
Elena pouted for a second before realizing I was right. “Fine, but I want some dessert when we get over there. I'm going to need the sugar to make up for waiting so long!”
A few minutes later, we stepped over to the group table. “Hey, Mariette, what a surprise!” I said. I sound like an idiot, I thought, but I smiled and hoped for the best.
“Norah, Elena, hello,” she replied. “It's good to see you! Have you eaten?” When we nodded, she said, “Please join us for coffee, won't you?”
Elena pulled two chairs from a nearby table over, and we sat down. I was across the table from Mariette, while Elena was next to the only male in the group, whom I assumed was Hamilton Chance, who also sat next to Mariette. We ordered coffee, with Elena adding a slice of coconut cream pie, and Mariette introduced everyone.
“We were just talking about Mariette's accident,” Hamilton said. “We were all so worried when we heard about it, but she hasn't been ready to talk about it. She was just about to tell us the latest on what happened.” He seemed awfully focused on Mariette's face.
“Well,” she said, “a deputy came by the house a couple of days ago. He asked me if I saw anything unusual or if anyone left the group for any time. He didn't say why he was asking, but it sort of seemed like he thought someone had messed with my car.”
“What did you tell him?” Hamilton asked.
“I said that the only person who left the table was you,” she said, pausing for dramatic effect. “But I told him that you just walked outside to talk to a friend, and that I could see you the whole time – that you were never anywhere near my car or anything like that.”
I couldn't be sure, but it seemed like Hamilton's face showed relief. “Well, I'm just glad you're okay. That could have turned out so much worse for you!”
Just then, I caught a slight movement from the corner of my eye. I refocused by attention on the coffee mug in front of Mariette.
“I don't think so,” I said, as I grabbed the wrist of the woman sitting on the other side of Mariette. I raised my voice slightly. “What did you add to Mari's drink? What do you have in your hand?”
Frank stepped over with another man and identified himself as a deputy. “Is there something we can help you with, ma'am? It sounded like there might be a problem.”
“This woman poured some kind of powder into my friend's coffee. I don't know what it was, but it looks like she still has a vial or some kind of container in her hand,” I answered. “A few weeks ago, Mariette, my friend, was in an auto accident after someone slipped a drug into her drink.”
“Oh, please,” the auburn-haired woman, whose wrist I s
till held, said. “Is that what she told you? That someone else gave her the drug without her knowledge?” She turned to Frank and gave him a flirty smile. “I don't guess she mentioned that she's fresh out of rehab for alcohol and drug abuse?”
“She told us,” Elena snapped, “but she's been sober since she left the hospital. Someone – probably you – put something in her drink that day. She could have died from that wreck, you hateful cow!”
“Okay, that's enough,” Frank said. “Simmer down, ma'am; we'll get to the bottom of this.” He turned to the other lawman. “Dan, why don't you take Miss...I'm sorry, I didn't get your name, ma'am,” he said to Mariette. She provided the information and he continued. “Why don't I take Ms. Jackson to your station, and I'll follow you with Ms.....” He waited for the other woman to tell him her name.
“Siobhan O'Connor,” she snarled at him.
“Ms. O'Connor and I will meet you at the station,” Frank finished. “Their friends can meet us there, and everyone can give their witness statements. In the meantime, we can have the coffee checked to see if there's anything in there that shouldn't be.”
“She went crazy,” I told Ben later that evening. “She completely freaked out. She started screaming and kicking and scratching. That poor Beeville officer left with rows of scratches down both sides of his face, and she got in a pretty good shot to Frank's knee.”
“Wow! Ben exclaimed. “What was her problem, besides being certifiably nuts?”
Giggling at his apt characterization of Siobhan O'Connor, I told him the rest. “She said that Mariette was 'moving in on her man,' meaning Hamilton Chance III. According to him, they've never dated; in fact, today was only the second time they were both in the group that went out together. It was all in her head; she apparently thought of the AA meetings as dates, even though Chance hadn't spoken directly to her there, either.”
“So this O'Connor woman thought what, giving Mariette drugs would endear him?” Ben asked.
Murder at the Mission Page 8
