Lindsay started the engine and drove out of the lot onto the highway. She was almost to the turnoff for the cove when a black truck came roaring past on the right side so fast she felt her truck sway from the force of the wind.
Chapter 15
At The Sheriff’s Office
LINDSAY’S TRUCK SKIDDED to a stop and sat across the center line of the narrow paved road. She was shaking so badly it was hard to hold on to the steering wheel. A sudden chill and nausea swept over her. She opened her door and leaned out, feeling like she might lose her breakfast. A car appeared suddenly, braking hard and blowing its horn as it narrowly slid past on the left side. She thought she heard someone yell. She jerked herself back in and put her hands over her face.
“Damn!” She hit the steering wheel with the palms of her hands. She was so tired of the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears, she wanted to scream. Everything was falling apart—her sanity, her courage. Her own emotions had turned against her.
She whipped the Explorer around in a U-turn, running onto the shoulder. When she wrestled the Explorer back onto the road, she headed for Kelley’s Chase. A string of rundown-looking businesses, selling everything from produce to car parts, rocks, and assorted junk, lined the road just outside of town. Kelley’s Chase itself was no more than a courthouse, jail, library, post office, real estate office, and hardware store. Most of the main street buildings had been empty for a long time. She drove all the way through town and past the Romanesque revival–style red-brick courthouse, to the ancient two-story matching brick sheriff’s office where she parked and sat, taking deep slow breaths, willing her heart to slow its beating.
When she finally calmed down and stopped shaking, she looked at herself in the mirror. Convinced that she didn’t look hysterical, she got out and went into the sheriff’s office. The receptionist smiled and asked if she could help. If only you could, Lindsay thought to herself.
“I’d like to see Sheriff Ramsey. My name is Lindsay Chamberlain.” Her voice sounded shaky to her own ears. She wondered how she sounded to the receptionist.
The woman wanted to know her business with the sheriff, as if she might not be able to interrupt him. Lindsay wanted to shout at her, This is a small town. How busy can he be? Do you think this is a social call? But she paused and spoke calmly. Maybe she couldn’t control how she felt, but she could control her behavior.
“I want to report someone trying to run me off the road.”
“I can take your . . .”
“I’ll see Miss Chamberlain, Marietta.”
Lindsay turned and looked to see Sheriff Ramsey standing in his doorway. He nodded to her. He could have been elected on his looks, she thought. He must have been at least six feet, six inches tall with a thick chest and arms and a square, pock-marked face framing a crooked nose. The voters probably thought he could handle anything that went down in this county. She walked into his office.
“Have a seat.”
Lindsay pulled up a wooden chair in front of his desk. He sat down in a large brown leather chair and leaned back. It’s going to break one of these days, she thought.
“I assume you’re here about Mary Susan Tidwell? Her nephew Alfred called and paved the way for you. I just didn’t expect you this soon. We just got off the phone.”
“The reason I’m here now is to report that someone tried to run me off the road.”
“Oh?”
Lindsay clasped her hands in her lap to hold them still. “I had just left the diner from meeting Alfred Tidwell and his wife when someone in a black Ford pickup tried to run me off the road. It looked like about a ’97, but I’m not sure.”
“Lots of young boys hot-rod along that road. Did they hit your vehicle?”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Not much I can do about it, I’m afraid.”
“I understand, and I would agree that it probably was joy riders, except for what happened to me recently.”
Lindsay gave him a brief description of her attempted murder.
“Whoever tried to kill me also came up on my right side and ran me off the road. It was so similar to the last time. This felt like a warning.”
She could feel tears threatening her eyes. Don’t cry, she silently commanded herself. She raised her chin a fraction of an inch.
“That’s different.” He picked up the phone. “Marietta, call Martha and Rafe to be on the lookout for a late-model black Ford pickup truck, possibly a 1997, may be driving recklessly.” He paused, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t say? When was that?” He re-cradled the phone. “Seems Elaine and Phil McBride had their black 1997 Ford pickup stolen last night. Martha, one of my deputies, will check it out.”
“Thank you. That would take a lot off my mind.” She relaxed in the chair a little. Everything can be handled and controlled, she told herself. They were probably joy riders. She smiled at the sheriff. “Did you know Mary Susan Tidwell?”
The sheriff nodded and smiled before he spoke. “When I was little, we thought she was a witch. She always had all kinds of odd things around her place. Odd to little kids, that is. I think she kept us scared so we’d stay out of her yard.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
“Died of old age. I know what Alfred thinks. Lord knows him and his sister Bonnie’s been in my office enough explaining it to me. But there’s just no evidence at all anyone tried to hurt her.” The sheriff got up and pulled a file out of the drawer of an old metal filing cabinet and tossed it on the desk in front of Lindsay. “You can look at the file. When Alfred made his complaint, I talked to her doctor, the mortician who handled her body, everybody I could think of. Nobody saw anything suspicious. Her neighbor across the road saw the Van Horne woman drop Miss Susan off and leave immediately. She didn’t even go in, much less leave with valuable papers.”
Lindsay picked up the report and scanned the pages. He was thorough—looked in all the places she would have. No unusual marks on the body, a history of a heart condition, nothing out of the ordinary in the bedroom where she was found.
The sheriff sat back down in his chair. “Maybe this Drew woman did make Miss Susan so tired she died. If she did, it doesn’t sound intentional. It’s not exactly a sure-fire way to go about killing someone. She might’ve had to drive her around all year.”
“What did Drew say they were doing that day?” As Lindsay asked, she came to the page in the file where he had recorded his interview with Drew Van Horne and Claire Burke.
“Miss Susan was showing her where some of the old places are—churches, homesteads—that kind of thing.”
“Claire Burke was with them?”
“No, not with them. After Miss Van Horne saw Miss Susan to her house and left her there, the Burke woman came to visit Miss Susan. She said she knocked on the door and left when no one answered. She never saw her.”
“Did Claire say why she went to see Miss Tidwell?”
“Something to do with a collection of farm tools. As I’m sure you know, Miss Burke is an excitable young woman. She’s accused several people of what she calls ‘looting’ things they’ve found at the old farm place over the years. Seems as though she found out someone sold Miss Susan some rusty farm tools—plow parts, stuff like that—that was supposed to have come from there. Miss Burke wanted a look at them.”
“Why isn’t she named in Tidwell’s lawsuit?”
“She never saw Miss Susan that day, as far as I can find out. On the other hand, several people saw the Van Horne woman with Miss Susan.”
“What about the papers that are supposed to have been stolen?”
“I’ve done my best to find out what she had. That list is all I could find out.”
Lindsay looked at the page he pointed to. The description of the documents was almost the same as what the Tidwells had told her. The only difference was an added notation that a relative had seen a letter from a place called Turkeyville.
“Where’s Turkeyville?”
“I’
ve no idea. One of Alfred’s relatives seemed to remember something about that from years ago. I located a Turkville, Kansas, on the map, but that’s as close as I could find. As you can see, even if I found an incriminating stack of documents in someone’s possession, I wouldn’t be able to identify them from the sketchy descriptions Alfred and Bonnie gave me. The only way Alfred’s going to get his property back is if someone comes forward with better information than this, or if whoever took them confesses.”
“Do you believe Alfred’s aunt had any valuable papers?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Miss Susan was shrewd about her business. I’ll say that for her. Sugar tell you about the Barbie doll?”
Lindsay nodded.
“Miss Susan had lots of deals like that. You ever watch the Antiques Road Show?”
Lindsay shook her head. “No, but my father watches it.”
“Ever since my wife started watching it, she never throws a thing away.” He laughed. “Miss Susan had all kinds of stuff that most folks wouldn’t think was valuable. But she knew better.”
“Her estate must have been large, even without the documents,” said Lindsay.
“I’ve heard it was around a hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more, when all the junk is appraised.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“I’d be happy with it, but that’s fifty thousand apiece. I don’t know for sure, but Miss Susan is supposed to have told Bonnie and Alfred they were to split everything equally after she died.”
“Did she have a will?”
The sheriff laughed out loud. “She had what they call a holographic will. When I first heard it, I thought the woman had made one of those holograms of herself, like Princess Leia in Star Wars. I couldn’t puzzle why she’d do such a thing, but I sure wanted to take a look at it. Found out that just meant handwritten. I was disappointed.” He laughed again and shook his head.
Lindsay decided she liked a man who could laugh at himself. She laughed with him.
“Tidwell mentioned he and his sister were having differences. But it seems clear what their aunt wanted.”
“Bonnie has a way of reinterpreting things in her favor. Apparently, she thinks that ‘split equally’ means split equally between all the children and grandchildren. That’s $25,000 for Alfred and $75,000 for her and her two kids. Alfred and Sugar don’t have any children.”
“That sounds like it’s going to be a mess.”
“I expect it already is.”
“What was Miss Tidwell like?”
“Sharp. She marched to her own drummer. She never married and stayed healthy until the last five years of her life. My wife says that’s why she was so healthy—she didn’t have a husband worrying her to death.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything I can do for the Tidwells. I suppose he expects me to investigate Drew Van Horne.”
“I expect so.”
“Drew denies taking any papers. She says the only documents she looked at are held by the historical society.”
“I can’t prove any different,” said the sheriff. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t gone to look at the historical society papers. But, it occurred to me that if I could find a word in those documents that matched what the Tidwells remembered, I’d be able to convince them that Susan donated the papers to the historical society.”
“That seems reasonable. Wouldn’t the historical society have records of all the things donated to them?”
“I would have thought so, but they don’t seem to have very good records.”
“How about Miss Tidwell’s insurance company? Surely she would have valuable documents insured. They would have a list of what they were.”
“Miss Susan didn’t believe in insurance.”
“What?”
“I know. Sounds incredible, but she didn’t. She said the money was better spent making sure her house had good wiring and a good burglar alarm.”
“But still . . .”
“Years ago, she had a claim that wasn’t resolved to her satisfaction. She felt she’d paid them money for years and they were cheating her. She decided she’d do without them.”
“She must have made a record of what she had. Maybe it’s hidden somewhere.”
“You’re welcome to look. Frankly, I don’t have the time. If Alfred and Bonnie ever get the inheritance mess straightened out and go through the house piece by piece, maybe they’ll come across some kind of record keeping.”
Lindsay sighed. “I doubt there’s anything I can discover, but I’ll try.”
“Good luck to you. I’ll let you know what I find out about that stolen truck that tried to run you off the road. You know Elaine and Phil own the log house that came off the old farm you all are working on, don’t you?”
“What?”
“The Gallowses’ log cabin that was in the cove was moved and renovated by Elaine and Phil McBride.”
“The original cabin was still standing?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No, but I’ve only been here a little more than a week. Surely, Drew and Claire know.”
“They do. As I said before, Miss Burke’s rather excitable. She accused Phil and Elaine of looting. Naturally, they won’t have anything to do with the archaeologists after that.”
Lindsay put a hand to her face. “Claire.”
“They’re real nice people, and told me they had looked forward to contributing to the history of the county. They’re members of the historical society and everything.”
“Could we go out and see them? Could you take the call instead of your deputy?”
“I reckon. Since you’re a new arrival, they might talk to you. Especially since their truck almost ran you off the road. People around here feel a sense of responsibility for the things they own. They’d feel real bad if their truck had been involved in hurting someone. You can ride with me. It’ll be all right to leave your vehicle here.”
Lindsay climbed into the four-wheel-drive Dodge beside Sheriff Ramsey and he set out for the McBride place.
“I appreciate this, Sheriff. I can’t believe the log house still exists.”
“They moved it about, let’s see, about seven years ago. They thought the archaeologists would be eager to find out about it.”
Lindsay didn’t know what to say to him. Aside from trashing Claire, there wasn’t much she could say. Instead, she asked about the other house—Gallows House, the one said to be haunted with the ghosts she didn’t believe in. Yet she was at a loss to explain what she had seen, short of pronouncing herself nuts.
“Do you know anything about the house we’re staying in? I know it was built by Elisha Gallows, but that’s about all.”
“That’s about more than I know. Cal Strickland has occasionally rented the place out—artists, tourists, relatives. Nobody liked to stay there for very long. As I understand it, it needs work.”
“What about the rumors about it being haunted?”
He lifted his shoulders an inch and relaxed. “It’s an old house. All old houses are rumored to be haunted, aren’t they? My wife says the round tower makes it look more mysterious than it ought. Offhand, I don’t know of anyone specific who ever saw anything supernatural. Just heard stories about folks seeing and hearing things.”
“What kind of things did they see?”
“Somebody saw something running through the woods once, and another time someone saw a ghost on the stairs.”
“I read about that in some newspaper clippings.” Lindsay had hoped he knew more.
“Yeah, that’s where I read it, too. People always said it was haunted, but I think that was just a story started to keep people away. How’s Mrs. Laurens and her husband working out? I recommended them for the job.”
“They’re great. Mrs. Laurens’ cooking is the best part about the place.”
Sheriff Ramsey looked over at Lindsay, eyebrows raised. “I been hearing stories that nobody gets along over there.”
“That’s a littl
e exaggerated. Archaeology is hard work. When you’re tired, nerves can get a little frayed.”
“Uh-huh. You know, Mrs. Laurens’ people’ve lived here a long time. She might be able to tell you more about the history of the place. I assume someone’s asked her.”
“I talked to her a little about it.”
“That whole area back in the cove has a bad reputation. I’m not sure why. Just always heard the old folks say a lot of people died there. No idea who or why. Oh, I do remember my mother telling me about some kid drowning in the pond when she was a child. Never found his body.”
“That’s odd. It’s a small pond, and bodies usually float eventually.”
“You know it doesn’t have a bottom, don’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“That’s what I heard. I guess that means there’s an underground river or cave down there.”
“Karst topography,” muttered Lindsay. “That makes sense.”
“What’s that?”
“Chemical weathering of the limestone underground causes cave and sinkhole terrain.”
“Yeah, we got that here.”
He turned onto a paved drive that wound up the mountainside. A cabin of dark brown square-cut logs was nestled in the mountain hollow against a steep backdrop of deep green foliage. Water cascaded down a stone-covered creek bed, its banks bordered by huge fanlike ferns. It looked primordial. Lindsay loved mountain creeks. They’re idyllic, the way they flow over the rocks and boulders, polishing them smooth and round. Lindsay looked back down the winding drive and wondered how anyone found this place to steal a truck.
She stared back at the cabin. The house the Gallowses had carried out their tragedies and triumphs in still stood. This cabin, unlike hers, was a saddle-bag design—two pens side by side with a chimney between. The McBrides had built a two-story addition to the back and a separate garage.
Log houses of the period were built as a one-room square or rectangle called a pen. Their strength was in the joints of the four corners. So, when settlers added on, they added another pen. Like Lindsay, the McBrides had tried to keep the integrity of the original design as they added their extensions.
Airtight Case Page 13
