by L A Dobbs
The only other living thing inside the house was her goldfish, Fin, who swam lazily in his new rectangular fish tank, his golden-orange scales and the blue stones at the bottom of the tank adding a splash of color to the muted tones of the chipped white-painted furniture she’d bought secondhand to furnish the cottage.
Warmth swelled in her chest as she remembered how Sam had helped her set the tank up for Fin when she’d upgraded him from the round bowl. She never had many people at her place, but it had felt natural and comforting to have Sam and Lucy there that afternoon. Switching Fin from the bowl to a bigger, more suitable tank had been symbolic of her upgrading from thinking that she would move on from White Rock at any time to knowing that she would stay for the foreseeable future.
Jo unscrewed the cap on the yellow fish food container, took a small green flake out and held it over the top of the water. Fin swam up eagerly, his lips kissing the surface of the water as Jo hand-fed him the flake. She’d been perfecting this hand-feeding since she got him, and he was getting pretty good at it. Maybe it was time to start teaching him some tricks. Fin grabbed the flake, sucked it in whole and then zoomed down to resume his position under the little ceramic bridge she’d set up as a decoration in the bottom of the tank.
“I’ve got work to do too, Fin. Catch you later.”
Jo went to her bedroom. Flipping over the corner of the rose-decorated rug and picking up a small silver skeleton key, she went to the powder-blue armoire and fitted the key into the right door.
The armoire didn’t contain clothing, jewelry or any of the other things that most women kept in an armoire. This one contained photographs, case work, paperwork. It wasn’t a closet, it was Jo’s home office.
On the right side hung old photographs and yellowed newspaper clippings. The familiar sinking feeling came over her as she glanced at the handwritten case notes she’d taken, some as recently as last month, others from decades ago.
Her heart twisted as unwanted childhood memories flooded back. Images of her sister, only a child the last time she’d seen her, laughing and smiling. Images of her sister’s toys sitting unused and gathering dust for more than a year. Her mother’s sallow face as she sank further into depression as months went by with no news from her sister.
The day her sister disappeared, Jo hadn’t lost only her sister. She’d lost her mother too. And since then she’d also lost her father and her other sister. Jo was compelled to find out what had really happened. Maybe it was finally time to put that to rest. Time to focus on seeking out the one sister who was still alive and help her kick the addiction that had become a crutch after their family had fallen apart. And maybe it was time to pay another visit to a certain person at the women’s prison. Maybe now that person would want to talk, and Jo could finally find out what really happened to her sister.
But tonight she had another job. Tonight she needed to find out if Ray Ingalls had been receiving blackmail payoffs. She opened the other side of the armoire, this one similar to the right, but with photos, notes and files on Tyler. She ignored those and pulled out the drawer and logged into her computer.
Chapter Twelve
Sam had a lot to think about, and his favorite place to think was his office at the police station. So the next morning he got in early. He sat in his metal-and-Naugahyde chair, reveling in the quietness of the empty building, while the morning sun filtered golden rays through the triple floor-to-ceiling atrium windows. Lucy had found a spot in the sun and was snoozing peacefully in a puddle of sunshine on the golden hardwood floor.
Sam stared at the pile of manila folders on his desk. Aside from the folders, the desk’s surface was clean, a honey-golden oak marred by decades of blue postal stamp ink and staples. Even though the desk wasn’t perfect, Sam liked it. It was big, and he liked to spread his notes on the surface, though this morning he wasn’t spreading his notes out. He was spreading out the resumes.
He placed them all in a row, studying each one, mulling the candidates. There was only one that was sufficient: Wyatt Davis. Sam shuffled that one to the top just as a knock came on the beveled glass section of his thick oak door.
“Come in.”
The door cracked open, and Jo peeked her head in. “Hey, I saw the Tahoe was here. You’re in early.”
“So are you,” Sam said.
“I have some news.”
“Me too.”
“Okay, you go first.”
Sam motioned for her to come in, and she shut the door then pulled a chair to the other side of his desk. She sat there silently, tapping the eraser end of her pencil on her notebook as he told her about Dupont’s visit the previous night.
“That would be great if it really happened, but do you trust him?” Jo asked.
Sam’s chair creaked as he leaned back and swiveled toward the windows. He looked out over the commons to the town offices, where Dupont probably was right now, sitting there hatching another scheme. His gaze drifted to the layers of blue mountains in the distance, the sun cresting over the top, sending golden rays through the tree leaves and lighting everything with a magical glow. Could he trust Dupont? Sam didn’t honestly know.
“Maybe not. Maybe this is some kind of setup to implicate us in the drug business. We’ll have to proceed with caution. It could be a clever plan between Thorne and Dupont to get rid of us and put their own people in place here.”
“I don’t think they’re that clever.” Jo studied Sam, and her pencil tapping sped up. “But you’re right. We’ll proceed with caution.”
“Anyway, he might not even come through, and for now we have a murder to investigate,” Sam said.
“Speaking of which, I got the info on Ray Ingalls’ finances. He withdrew five grand last week.”
“Cash?”
“Yep. Even more interesting, he got a deposit of fifteen grand three weeks ago.”
Sam whistled and leaned back in his chair. “Cash?”
“No. This one was a check deposited from TLP Company.”
Sam pressed his lips together. “Do you think that was a blackmail check? Who pays blackmail with a company check?”
Jo shrugged. “It could be one of Thorne’s shell companies. Maybe they’re trying to make the blackmail look legitimate somehow?”
“Or maybe he was getting paid off for some other reason.” Sam rocked forward in his chair. “We’ll have Reese look into it. Meanwhile, we need to talk to Dennis Carter to find out what this money is about. That, combined with his temper, makes him a pretty good suspect.”
“Not to mention that Sally said someone left the tent. She thought it was Summer, but what if it was really Dennis?”
They stood, and Lucy jumped up and ran to the door ahead of them.
In the squad room, Kevin was just pulling his coffee mug from under the brewer. He glanced over at them. “Morning. Got anything for me this morning, chief?”
Before Sam could answer, Reese rushed in the front door with her phone to her ear. “Yes, Mrs. Deerdorff. I know eggs are very expensive. No, I don’t think goats eat eggs. Yes, I’ll send someone.” She shot Sam a raised brow, who in turn shot one at Kevin.
Kevin rolled his eyes and headed for the door. “I’ll get right out there.”
Nettie Deerdorff and Rita Hoelscher had been next-door neighbors for more than fifty years. The two widows delighted in complaining about each other. Last month Rita had complained that Nettie’s chicken pecked a hole in her fence. Apparently it was Nettie’s turn to complain about Rita’s goat Bitsy.
Reese ended the call, grabbed a paper off her desk, and handed it to Jo. “Here are the registrations for those cars. And I found out something about Summer Solstice. Turns out it’s not her real name.”
“What is her real name?” Sam asked.
“That, I cannot tell you. Not yet. But Summer Solstice appeared only once in any database anywhere 12 years ago. Before that, nothing. So she must have changed her name. I have to do a little more digging to find out what it was before.�
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Reese raised a brow at Sam, and he nodded. Reese had made quite a few unusual friends at the academy and had access to things they couldn’t use officially. That came in handy, and Sam wasn’t above pushing the limits of the law if it helped catch killers.
“Oh, and I conducted some more research. It turns out this Dennis Carter has a few more arrest warrants. Guess he has a bit of a temper.” She handed some papers to Sam.
Sam scanned the warrants. “Disorderly conduct.”
“Yes, and they all involved altercations with litterbugs.”
“Can’t say I blame him there. I don’t like litterbugs either. But this does prove he has a hair-trigger temper.” Sam looked at Jo. “I think Dennis just moved up to the top of the list. Let’s go see if he’s at the camp.”
“He’s probably not there,” Reese said.
Sam turned around and gave her a questioning look.
Reese smiled. “If I were you, I’d go straight to the owl zone. News 9 had a segment this morning about something going on up there, and it sounded like all the environmentalists were there.”
Chapter Thirteen
The owl zone teemed with people. Even Dupont was there with his lackey, Vice Mayor Henley Jamison. Dupont gave a curt nod to Sam, and then avoided eye contact as he made his way through the crowd. Jamison glowered at Sam and Jo, trailing behind Dupont like an obedient puppy.
Kate Sullivan from News Nine was standing in the middle of a small open area with a fat microphone in her hand, interviewing Jackson Pressler. She’d conveniently located the interview so that the yellow crime scene tape that was still up from where Ingalls had been found was in the background.
“… and that construction over they-ya”— Jackson swiveled toward the hotel, which could just be seen between the leaves, and bunched his bushy gray brows together— “... is causing erosion of the land. And erosion kills trees. The owls need the trees. The federal grant money will help me stop that. So write to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife …”
“Oh, here’s Mayor Dupont.” Kate cut into Jackson’s monologue and ran to Dupont, shoving her microphone in his face. “What are your thoughts on the owls, Mayor?”
Dupont cleared his throat and straightened his tie. Behind him, Jamison moved so that he could be on camera, plastering a politician’s smile on his face.
“I’m very proud to be able to help save the owls. I plan to use the town resources in any way we can to accomplish that,” Dupont said.
“Really? What about the construction and all the rezoning?” Kate’s voice turned hard. “Don’t you think that’s going to harm the owls and other species up here?”
Dupont’s smile faltered, and his eyes locked with Sam’s. “I have no intention of letting that happen. Plans are in place to scale down the construction, but construction brings growth and jobs. I do what the people of the town want … now if you’ll excuse me.” He pushed away, and Kate zoomed back to Jackson Pressler.
Sam zoned out Jackson’s monologue. There was a hidden meaning behind Dupont’s words, and the pointed look he’d given him indicated to Sam that he really was serious about getting rid of Thorne. Right now he had more important things to think about, though. He scanned the crowd for Dennis, stopping at a small group standing in a close circle near a stand of white pine and beech trees.
In the center of the group someone was speaking. Sam recognized him as one of the environmentalists, Peter.
“I witnessed a parliament of owls three nights ago. They must roost here often because you can see the droppings about three-quarters up the trunks.” Peter pointed to the tops of the trees.
Everyone looked up.
“But we don’t know how long they will stay in this area. They could be in danger of being forced to move. Owls have highly developed hearing, and construction noise might drive them away. Not to mention the construction is decimating the habitats of the mice, rabbits and other creatures they feed on, so the food supply is dwindling.”
The group shot looks of suspicion at Sam and Jo as they approached. A few of them came forward to pat Lucy, who wagged her tail, but the others sidled away slowly. Soon the entire group had dispersed, and Sam took Peter aside.
“Have you seen Dennis Carter?” Sam asked.
Peter glanced over Sam’s shoulder at the crowd. “Dennis? He should be here. We all decided to come out. Can’t pass up the opportunity to make the news for our cause.”
“I guess not.” Sam looked at the tops of the trees where Peter had said he’d seen the owls. “So you come out here at night?”
Peter nodded. “Yep. No, wait. Not the night Ray was killed.”
“You sure?”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. But we did end up out here together a few nights. Ray was always out here taking photos.”
“Must have gotten some good ones,” Jo said.
“Yeah, he got some really nice ones.” Peter didn’t sound impressed.
Sally came up to join them, and Peter slipped his arm around her shoulders in a possessive manner.
“He was a talented photographer,” Sally said.
Peter pursed his lips “Yep. At least he had that going for him.”
“Just because the two of you didn’t get along doesn’t mean he didn’t have a lot going for him,” Sally said.
The look on Peter’s face indicated he didn’t appreciate his girl rising to Ray’s defense. “Whatever.”
Sam looked at Jo. Peter and Ray didn’t get along? He remembered Jo relaying the conversation she’d had with Sally at Holy Spirits. Sally had made it sound as if maybe she’d had a thing for Ray. Maybe Ray’s death had more to do with jealousy than it had to do with the owls? But Sally had claimed Peter was in the tent all night with her and that she heard someone else get out of a different tent. Was she covering for Peter?
“Ray must have had a good camera to get those photos,” Sam said.
“Yeah. A Canon EOS. Very pricey,” Peter said.
“Any idea where that camera is?”
Peter frowned. “I hadn’t thought about it. He always had it with him, so I assume he had it there that night. He was taking photos, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah. I guess he wouldn’t want to risk losing that and having to buy another.”
Peter snorted. “By the way he was bragging about coming into money, he could have bought a store full of them.”
“He was bragging about coming into money?” Jo asked.
“Yep. Well, not to everyone,” Peter said.
Sally cut in. “That was in the heat of the moment. When you two were arguing ...” Sally’s words trailed off. “I don’t think he wanted it spread around.”
“Did he say how he was going to come into money?” Jo asked.
“Not exactly.” Sally gnawed her bottom lip. “But I got the impression it had something to do with his writing or his photography. You know he did take award-winning photos, and some of his articles were sought after. He freelanced them, so maybe he was expecting a good payment for an article on the owls.”
Jo turned to Peter. “What were you and Ray arguing about?”
“Ray was argumentative, and more so lately. Would pick a fight with anyone. Even Dennis.”
“You saw Ray and Dennis fighting?” Sam asked.
“Not fighting, but they had words at the campsite by the river the other day,” Peter said.
“Any idea what that was about?” Sam asked.
Peter shook his head. “Guess it was personal. They clammed up when they saw me coming.”
“And you’re sure you weren’t out here that night?” Sam asked. “Maybe you got your nights mixed up.”
Peter scowled and tightened his hold on Sally. “I’m positive. We were in the tent like we said.” Peter glanced over Sam’s shoulder and thrust his chin in that direction. “Here comes Dennis if you want to talk to him. I gotta take off.”
Sam turned to see Dennis approaching through the woods.
Sam and Jo started toward him. Denn
is looked up, spotted them and stopped. Then he turned almost as if to run. Sam was just about to pick up the pace when someone grabbed his arm and spun him around.
“Chief Mason! I’m so glad I caught you.” Netty Deerdorff held his elbow in a vise-like grip with her right hand and Jo’s elbow in her left. She had amazing strength for someone pushing eighty. Her face was pinched, her dark eyes narrowed. “Now I know you sent that nice Officer Kevin out to settle the dispute, but what are you going to do about the missing eggs?”
“Eggs?”
“Yes, from my hen, Henrietta,” Nettie said.
Sam frowned, trying to extract his elbow as he craned his neck to keep his eye on Dennis. Where had he gone? He glanced at Jo, who was also scanning the crowd.
Nettie turned to Jo, pulling her in closer with her grip on her elbow. “You know how lovely fresh eggs are. Why, there’s nothing like them. And Henrietta had laid two of them just that morning. Bitsy was the only one in there.”
Sam managed to shake loose. “Nettie, goats don’t eat eggs. A fox might have gotten in and eaten them. Have you secured the hen house properly?”
“Well, I ... I just let her run around in the yard, and she sleeps in Bruiser’s old dog house.” Nettie looked contrite.
“Then I suggest you get some chicken wire. It wasn’t Bitsy that ate those eggs, but if it makes you feel better I’ll bring some eggs over to your place tonight from Grover’s.”
“Well, I, I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” Nettie said.
“No problem.” Sam spun around. “We gotta run. Official police business,” he called over his shoulder as he and Jo rushed in the direction they’d last seen Dennis.
