She walked back to the Town Car, to the passenger side.
He leaned over the front seat and opened the door.
She looked in, hands braced against the door in case he tried to grab her. “Give me your gun,” she said, holding out her hand.
His eyebrows went up. “What?”
Grace kept her hand out, didn’t respond.
Larry thought it over for several seconds. Shook his head. Reached under his seat and retrieved a black automatic pistol, handed it to her by the trigger guard.
She took it by the grip, held it at her side. “Now the other one,” she said. She’d looked through his car one night on one of their outings when he’d gone in a store to get more beer.
His smile disappeared briefly but he put it back. “You got it,” he said, turning both hands up empty, showing her.
She continued to stand outside the car, one hand out. Waited.
“Goddamn it!” He scooted to face her directly, his face coloring now with irritation. “Stop dicking around. Get in or forget it. See how you do on your own.”
Grace didn’t move, pleasant look on her face. Patient. Back in control.
Larry sighed. Smiled again. Let the tension dissipate from his muscles. Leaned to open the glove compartment, brought out a tiny gun so small it looked like a toy.
She pursed her lips. Question.
“Derringer,” he said as if that explained it. He pinched the gun by the handle and gave it to her.
Grace took it, put it in her pocket. Slid her purse off her shoulder and put the larger gun in it.
“Safety’s on,” he said, nodding at her purse. “The other won’t fire unless you cock it.”
Grace got in, ignoring the safety belt. No way she was going to strap herself down. “Where we going?” she asked.
“Someplace beautiful,” he said, steering the car slowly toward the end of the alley.
Grace loved the Lincoln’s black leather seats, the way they smelled, the way they felt. Everything about the car was luxurious. She leaned against the headrest and let herself notice how good-looking Larry was, his tan arms, his strong hands … Was that ring the same kind JJ’d shown her? Larry’s black stone had an upside-down V on the top overlapping a V on the bottom, making a diamond-shaped box with a small capital G in the middle. That’s not right. And why was the car stopping?
* * *
Grace woke up in a room so dark she couldn’t see her hands.
63
JJ WAS MORE STARTLED than Dovey when Mick ran. She didn’t get it. What about their plan? She looked to Dovey for an explanation, but Dovey was opening the door for Sheriff Paint.
“Your boy just flew my coop,” she told him as he stepped inside, took his hat off, rubbed his hand over his hair.
Paint took a phone off his belt and told dispatch to scramble all available to Dovey’s neighborhood. “Young male, six two, two twenty, dark hair, wearing…” He looked to JJ.
“What does he ever wear?” she said. “Jeans and a T-shirt.”
Paint relayed that, added the Bonneville info. Asked Dovey for a glass of water and went to her dining room for a straight-backed chair.
Paint waited for Dovey to come back and sit, then turned his chair around and tried to straddle it. Gave up. Sat regular fashion. “Smart thing to come here,” he said to JJ. “I trust her, too,” nodding at Dovey. “Where have you been?”
“Coeur d’Alene for a day or so,” JJ said. “Why are you after Mick? He didn’t do anything.”
“Some think he did. There’s evidence he needs to explain. Know where he went?”
JJ looked away. Not enough practice lying.
“Is he safe?”
“Probably.” JJ was pretty sure he went back to Gary’s garage. When he couldn’t get in, maybe he’d jump in the Pontiac and disappear. Maybe he’d call JJ later but she couldn’t think how.
“Tell me anything that’ll help about the Edmonds girl.”
“I didn’t know her,” JJ said.
Paint looked to Dovey for confirmation.
“Five or six years older, different schools. I never saw Evelyn around here,” Dovey said.
“So anything at all.” He bent over slightly, rested his elbows on his knees, made his voice even softer. “Her family’s miserable. You understand that.”
JJ got it. Mick didn’t need protecting. He was innocent. And Grace? Who knew what that girl was doing?
“You want me here for this?” Dovey asked.
Paint nodded. “Witness.”
“It wasn’t Hammond,” JJ said, bringing puzzled looks.
“Who said it was?” Paint asked.
“We thought … I found this jewel and we … it probably…” JJ stopped, sensing Paint’s confusion.
Paint shifted in the wooden chair, trying to get more comfortable. “Tell me the whole thing. From the start. I got Jon before they took him to placement. I know you all found the body.”
“I didn’t,” JJ said. “But I found this.” She brought the black stone out of her pocket and tried to hand it to Paint.
He leaned away, fumbling for a handkerchief so he could accept the stone without adding any more prints. “Found this where?”
Dovey leaned over to see it better. Caught her lip between her teeth and sat back.
“I went for a walk that day. It was in the dirt above those big rocks, upstream from the girl.”
“In the dirt…”
“At the riverbank. At the water, where you could put in a boat, a canoe—”
“By a break in the willows,” Paint said. “You wear a nine shoe?” He was looking at JJ’s feet.
“I thought it was beautiful. Like something a king … I put it in my pocket and kind of forgot. I was going to ask Gary…” JJ ran down.
“Didn’t tell anybody?” Paint asked.
“Mick and Grace. A couple of days ago,” JJ said.
“You know what it is?”
“Now, I think,” JJ said. “The stone from somebody’s ring?” She looked to Paint for confirmation. He was still, but Dovey nodded.
“Grace said it was probably Hammond’s, or maybe a couple of other people had one like it,” JJ said. “So I looked. When he was here. I checked for it.” She mimicked his gesture, the hand coming forward to shake Dovey’s. “He was wearing a ring with a black stone, tiny diamonds all the way around the outside. Silver V with another diamond in the middle. Pretty much the same kind as the one I found, so I don’t think it was Hammond. He has his.”
“Do you know anything about rings with a V?” Dovey asked.
JJ shook her head.
“You do,” Dovey said, nodding to Paint. “How many people have those?”
Paint shot her a look like not here, not now.
“Please,” JJ said. “This is really important for my friends.”
Dovey ignored Paint’s signal. “A long time ago, twenty-something years, the Trappers took state, football and basketball, back-to-back years. The best players were Sam Hammond and Scott Cassel, but Greer was the point guard, Bolton and Mackler were starters. They made some kind of vow at the end of their junior year. Got written up in the paper. They said they were going to do the same thing their senior year and then, after college, come back here and build a winning town, like a business hub for northwest Montana.”
Paint was shaking his head, remembering, or annoyed with Dovey’s revelation? “That was the rings,” he said. “Each kid had one. Patterned after Sam’s father’s masonic ring. A V with a diamond chip in the middle. V-Club. Stood for victory.”
“I was pretty new in the clerk’s office at the time,” Dovey said. “I don’t think anybody took them seriously, but it was … what? Inspiring? The kids, the hope for the future.” She sighed. “Anyway, they did it. They won the next year, too, and even more amazing, they came back. Became community leaders.”
“Of a sort,” Paint said.
JJ thought his face looked redder than it had before. “So does anybody else have
these rings?”
“Not that I know of,” Dovey said, “but if Hammond’s got one with diamonds around the outside, then he has a new one.” She looked right at Paint. “You should find out what happened to the old one.”
64
MICK WAS INSIDE THE GARAGE AND SWEATING. Had to get the Bronco out and the Bonneville in and hidden before one of the deputies spotted it. He’d found the button to raise the garage door, but could he start the Bronco? Would the keys be in it? No. So where? It was a secret. Gary’d never mentioned it earlier when they talked about needing a car. If Gary carried them, someone might see the Ford key, so he would leave them here. Convenient. Mick thought about his dad saying anything under a doormat or floor mat was begging for theft. Same for under flowerpots or up on ledges above doors. He looked around the garage, a zillion places, one as good as the next. But Gary smoked a lot of dope. He needed something he could remember.
The car. Somewhere by or in the car. The Bronco was sitting on outdoor carpeting. Mick knelt beside the driver’s door and checked the blue mat for seams. None. He looked for a magnetic box inside the bumpers, the top of the wheel wells, between the hood and the windshield, under the front and rear frame. Nope. He tried the driver’s door. Unlocked. Okay! The ashtray, the glove compartment, under the seat, under the lip of the dash. Looked for a toggle switch down by the fuse box that meant you didn’t need a key. Nope. Felt in the air vents and the slit for the cassettes. Turned the sun visors down. Realized he was too nervous, making this too complicated.
Mick sat in the driver’s seat and thought for a minute. Arm’s reach away. Down. Nothing. To the front behind the steering wheel. To his right, on the passenger seat, a dark blue bandanna. Lifted it … Yes!
The SUV rumbled to a start on the first try, which was a surprise after the fact because Mick realized he should have thought to check whether the battery was connected. He jumped out, pressed the garage door button, backed to the street. In a minute the Bonnie was inside with the door shut and Mick was searching the building for a phone or a weapon and anything else he might need. Like a sandwich. When was the last time he ate?
Mick didn’t have much information but he had some key pieces. V-ring near the place where the body was found. Probably not a coincidence. Hammond’s friends had those rings. Only people he and JJ hadn’t heard from were Hammond himself and Scott and Larry Cassel. If the highway patrol guy had killed the girl, he should have done a world-class job of covering it up. Hammond didn’t seem like the rageful type. Would he kill some girl when he could fairly easily lure a lot of women with his style and money?
Larry was the prime bet, but Mick didn’t think he could go against him alone and come out on top. Gary might help, but with crime tape on the trailer, Mick had no idea where Gary could be. So, who had the balls to stand up to Larry Cassel? Mick could think of one person. Fitz Fitzhugh. And his dad had pistols. That could help. But he couldn’t go back to the compound tonight while Paint was there. After the sheriff left, deputies would be cruising, watching the shack. He’d have to see Fitz tomorrow at the Conoco.
Even with the Bonnie safe, Mick couldn’t afford to sit around. The only useful things from his search were a set of coveralls he could pull over his clothes and a beat-up straw cowboy hat to cover his hair. Tonight he’d get a cheeseburger and go looking for Tim Cassel. Set him straight about JJ and this “Cassel’s girlfriend” misunderstanding. Get him to call off his mastodon, Cunneen.
65
“WHY DID YOU SAY CASSEL DID IT?” Paint asked, abruptly changing direction.
“I didn’t,” JJ said. “I saw the body in the river. I just asked, ‘Isn’t that Cassel’s girlfriend?’”
“Which Cassel?” Paint again.
“Larry … I mean, I saw them talking a few times. It just came out of my mouth. I don’t—”
Paint held up his hand to stop her. “Don’t lie to me!”
JJ’s lip trembled.
Paint studied her. Believed her.
JJ had never considered herself a suspect. Didn’t know how to deal with Paint’s abrupt questions. She was afraid she might get Mick in more trouble and she needed to tell him what she’d learned. There were probably only five possibles, six at the most if Hammond had given away his old ring. Why would he do that? No idea. Who would he give it to? A woman he liked? He was too old for that kind of thing. His son? That thought made JJ feel cold.
Paint moved on. “Who else talked with Evelyn? A close friend? We haven’t found one. Lived with her folks in Plains. Only high school pardner got killed in Afghanistan.”
JJ shook her head. “I only knew about Larry. I don’t know if they were even friends. Grace said … Grace would know more.”
“Why wouldn’t they be friendly?” Paint pressed her. “I hear Evelyn was looking to make a little traveling money. Wasn’t she friendly with several men?”
JJ had no idea.
“Maybe somebody put a bee in her bonnet,” Dovey said.
“What do you mean?” Paint asked.
“The Copy Shop, Legal Aid, Tirrell’s Bookkeeping are in my building,” Dovey said. “I hear talk about local men. Scott and Larry Cassel, Mackler, Baker at the pharmacy. The younger women say these guys won’t take no for an answer. Larry’s particularly persistent. Course he’s not alone. I’ve heard that about Baker, too.”
“Hammond has all those imports,” Paint said. “Don’t think he partakes of local women anymore.”
“Imports?” JJ wasn’t following.
“He brings in Internet women,” Dovey said.
JJ couldn’t digest that. It didn’t seem possible. Seemed like a movie.
“True,” Paint said, “so his dance card’s pretty full.”
JJ felt a little dizzy, out of it. Did she walk around in a fog? Did she know anything about her hometown?
A sheriff’s car came into the lot, lights flashing, and Paint stood, went out to meet it.
“Wait! What happened to Gary and Tina?” JJ to Paint’s back, but he was already through the door.
“You should have told me,” Dovey said.
JJ knew what was coming. Looked at the floor. “I didn’t know what to do. None of us did. Jon was … I should have. I was afraid.” She waited for Dovey to say something.
Silence.
“I don’t have any more relatives. I’d be—” Her voice broke.
Dovey went to the kitchen for a dish towel, set it on JJ’s knee. Waited. Started talking as JJ dried her face. “Gary’s being held at the jail here until fingerprints come back from Helena.”
“Fingerprints?” JJ asked. “Why? They took Jon away.”
“Jon told them about the marijuana, about the hiding places outside the trailer. The deputies collected several bags. It’s not usable evidence unless they tie the drugs to his prints.”
“Can I get him out on bail?”
“You have a deposit?”
“I have money in my college account.” She watched Dovey’s eyebrows lift, surprised that JJ had any money or maybe that she was planning on college.
“For Gary?” Dovey sounded like she disapproved.
“He’s not a bad person. He took care of us—me, Tina, Grace. The stuff with Jon was cruel and stupid but I don’t think he knows any better. What would you do with Jon?”
Good question. Dovey admitted she’d never seen anyone be able to direct or reason with the kid and make him mind. Said, as far as she could tell, Jon wasn’t exactly crazy. Probably a fetal alcohol kid, agitated, wild, whole nervous system irritated. She’d thought he needed one of those residential programs. Well, he’d get one now.
“He’s in Helena and the state will deal with him for the next few years. Tina’s detoxing in Missoula. My guess is she’s headed to permanent residential.”
“If I get the money, can you get Gary out?” JJ again.
“Maybe. Tomorrow afternoon,” Dovey said. “We have to think where you’re going to stay. You might be a ward of the court at this point.”
“Do Mick and I need a lawyer?”
“Sounds like Mick does.”
66
MICK IN COVERALLS AND HAT was anonymous if he stayed in the Bronco. At Skinny’s he did the drive-through. Fries and … a cup of water. Forgot. He put his last two dollars together with loose change from Gary’s ashtray and covered the bill. Maybe there was some canned food back at the garage.
He parked near the road under the Skinny’s sign where he could see both the drive-in and the street. He’d come and go for the next three hours. Odds were he’d see Tim cruising. What was there to do in July in Portage? Keg party at Taylor’s once a week over on West River or park-and-pussy at the overlook. Mick had no idea if Tim had a girl or girls. Probably. But sooner or later he’d come tooling down the main drag, more than likely pull into Skinny’s if it was still open.
He lowered the front windows and turned off the engine, wished he’d asked for salt and ketchup. A distant crackle of laughter got his attention and he scanned for the source. In the far corner of the lot shaded by large tamaracks, a knot of teenagers were circled around a black convertible and sitting in nearby pickup beds like an impromptu party. Tim’s Mustang was black. Mick wished he had binocs. He searched the console, looked in the rear seat on the off chance, but no luck.
He walked the long way back around the drive-through, moving slow like he was older and sore from a hard day’s work. Stopped behind a dumpster where he had a good look at the action. Mustang, all right, and Tim holding forth, telling some story, his arm around a girl that looked like the blond softball pitcher. Fifteen or twenty kids from the high school in hearing range. Mick recognized several, didn’t know names. He’d wait. Keep his distance. If Tim stayed with that girl, he’d have to take her home at some point. Her folks wouldn’t let an NCAA-class pitcher stay out all night. At least Mick didn’t think so.
Dead Girl Moon Page 17
