by Maggie Pill
“I didn’t steal any book!” he protested.
“Was your wife the one who did it?”
Win didn’t look surprised, so I guessed the idea had occurred to him. “It’s possible.” He bit at his bottom lip, wincing as his teeth hit the spot where it was split. “When we met, Stacy told me she’d always had money, but after a few months with her, I realized that wasn’t true. She was thrilled with being able to buy whatever she wanted. She ordered stuff online all the time, and she was like a kid at Christmas when it showed up at the door.”
“You never asked where her money came from?”
Win’s eye-roll said we didn’t get it. “I had secrets, didn’t I? I let her have hers too.”
The phrase marriage of convenience came to mind. It had been convenient for Stacy to have a husband who didn’t ask questions, just as it had been convenient for Winston to have a wife with lots of money.
“Whether you know about this book or not,” I said, “those men think you do.”
“I tried to tell them I didn’t.” His nose reddened. “I could be a corpse in a ditch right now.”
Barbara shifted her feet, signaling a decision. “Rory needs to know about this.”
“Rory?” Win asked. “Who’s that?”
“The chief of police in Allport. He’s a friend.”
“I don’t think so!” Win said. “I know these locals all talk to each other. George’s guy will find out, and they’ll kill me!”
“We could call the state police.” Retta came out of the kitchen with a tray of mugs. Setting a coaster near Win’s elbow, she put one mug on it. “Two sugars with cream.” After he’d taken a drink she said gently, “Winston, you know you have to get this cleared up.”
Barb seemed to like Retta’s idea. “They’re only a couple of hours away. They’d probably send someone to get him if we tell them he isn’t safe in a local facility.”
Win’s mouth opened a couple of times, and I could almost see him strategizing. He guessed he couldn’t argue Barb out of her decision. When he finally spoke, he used a pleading tone. “Can it wait until tomorrow?” He scrubbed his face with his good hand. “Please? I might figure this out if I can think things through without a bunch of cops standing over me, already convinced I’m guilty.”
There was a long silence while Barb thought it over. “I’ll ask Rory what we should do,” she finally said. “Maybe he could be the one to call the state police. They’re more likely to believe a fellow officer than two female detectives and the suspect’s girlfriend.”
“What if he wants to arrest me himself?” Win asked.
“Then that will be the smart thing to do,” she answered. “Rory can be trusted to do the right thing.” Rising, she brushed her pants in case she’d picked up a dog hair. “If he does think we have to call in the state police, I’ll be there to handle any questions he can’t answer.”
Win went quiet, and he seemed to shrink before my eyes. He’d given up in the face of Barb’s determination, and he could no longer care about the details of what was going to happen to him.
Retta did. As Barb went to the back door and took her coat from the hook, she hurried out and caught her arm, speaking low. As Win stared at the wall, apparently unaware of their exchange, I joined them.
“Barbara, Rory is a cop. If you tell him we’ve got Winston, he’ll make us bring him in.”
“That might be best, Retta. The guy’s a fugitive, even if he didn’t plan to be. I wouldn’t mind giving him a few hours to recover, but that might not be possible.”
“They’ll say he’s lying to escape a murder charge.”
Barb’s jaw tensed. “Rory won’t. He listens to me.”
“Because you and he are a thing?” Retta made a sniff of dismissal. “Don’t make a cop choose between you and his duty, Barbara. The result might not make you happy.”
I didn’t take a side. Though it felt disloyal to doubt Chief Neuencamp, I didn’t know him well, and Retta seemed sure of herself. The set of Barb’s chin told me she was fed up with Retta’s assumption that only she can analyze a situation correctly.
“To protect the agency’s reputation, we cannot conceal a fugitive. Besides, the sheriff’s men are out there right now, searching for Darrow. We can’t let them go on wasting time and resources.”
Retta had no answer for that. I was torn between knowing Barb was right and feeling Win might collapse completely if we pushed him any farther today.
Was it okay to break the law to assure our client’s safety, or should we surrender Win and hope they believed us when we said he was in danger?
“All right. We’ll do it your way, Barbara.” Retta reached out and patted Barb’s scarf into position. “If Rory says Win has to surrender, have him call the state police and explain the need for caution. As soon as you’re done, come right back here. We need to get my car back from that diner.”
Barb said nothing, which is how she handles it when Baby Sister starts giving orders. As Retta turned away to press the button to open the garage door, Barb looked up from putting on her gloves and met my eye. “Your job is to make sure everyone here stays put.”
She meant that if Retta proposed some wild scheme to hide Win at the local Holiday Inn, I was to stop her. I found myself hoping the threat of Barb’s disapproval was enough to prevent that, since Retta’s tough to stop when she gets an idea in her head.
Once Barb was gone, I sipped at coffee I didn’t really want. We were all a little lethargic as the adrenalin in our systems leaked away, and Win seemed even less aware than he had a few minutes earlier. When Retta asked simple questions like “Are you hungry?” and “Do you want to take off your coat?” he answered as if he were half-asleep. Post Traumatic Stress, I concluded. I felt it a little myself, and I hadn’t been through what he had in the last few hours. Despite legal considerations and Barb’s reservations, Win really did need time to rest before he faced re-arrest and hard questioning from the police.
“Why don’t you lie down for a while, Winston,” Retta suggested. She pulled off his shoes and, taking a quilt from a rack in the corner, tucked it around his feet. Her care for his comfort struck me, and I realized that Retta has no one who needs her these days. Was dating guys like Winston a search for someone she could care about, or someone she could care for?
He went to sleep almost immediately, emitting a soft snore, which left Retta and me sitting silently on either side of the room. It seemed rude to talk while he was obviously exhausted. Rising, she inclined her head toward the den, and we moved there. Styx napped on his couch, but his rest wasn’t disturbed in the least by our intrusion.
Retta’s den is a comfortable room where the furniture is a little worn, the TV is large and modern, and family pictures are everywhere. I noticed that some of the framed ones had newer ones stuck into the corners, waiting for her to have time to matte and arrange them. Retta sat in Don’s old recliner, a red-and-yellow plaid she’d hated when he’d first brought it home. After he died, that chair became her favorite place to be.
It was soon obvious she hadn’t given up the argument. “Barbara Ann is putting Winston in danger because she doesn’t want to mess up her relationship with Rory.”
“Retta, you know that isn’t true. We can’t hide a fugitive and then expect the police to work with us in the future. Rory’s our best bet for navigating through this.”
She didn’t agree but changed the subject. “Do you think the book is a rare edition?”
“Basca didn’t seem the type for that.” I sipped my coffee, found it cold, and set it aside. “Once Win tells what he knows, the state troopers will sort it out from there.”
She sighed. “Winston the conman got conned. Stacy didn’t want a husband. She wanted a man to hide behind.”
“That’s why she didn’t care if Win had money.”
“She just wanted a guy who wouldn’t question what she did, like moving here and never leaving the house.”
“Stacy thought she got
away with taking something from Max.” Picturing Basca, I shivered a little. Only a tiny instance of his disapproval had made my skin crawl. “It took two years, but he found her.”
“But why did they kill her before they got the book?”
I frowned. “I don’t know.”
Glancing toward where he slept, Retta said, “Winston’s right. They’d have killed him too.” Her tone turned earnest. “I know he’s a mess, Faye, but he doesn’t deserve this.”
“Neither do we,” I said in warning. “I doubt those guys will hesitate to kill us if we get in their way again.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Barb
“The chief’s back from the conference, but he’s at the county commissioners’ meeting,” Janet told me when I got to Rory’s office. “If it’s an emergency I can call him.”
Unwilling to admit we were harboring a fugitive and needed advice, I said, “I’ll come back in half an hour.”
It was my intention to wait in the lobby of the city building, since it was warm, out of the wind, and removed from employees prone to idle chatter. After only a few minutes, however, I was irritated and agitated.
Who was in charge of the bulletin board? Without trying I spotted three spelling errors, not to mention such sloppiness as “Call 4 assistance” and “Thanx for Participating.” The postings were encased in glass, so I couldn’t correct them. When I caught myself plotting how I might pick the lock, I decided it was best to wait outside.
It was much less comfortable on the sidewalk. Snow had begun falling, big, wet flakes that melted into my hair and on the lenses of my glasses. Cold invaded my face, ankles, neck, and wrists, anywhere cloth didn’t cover. I considered coming back later. I could take Retta to retrieve her vehicle from the diner, but that would take almost two hours, and Rory would be gone when we returned. Not only would I have to listen to her argue against my plan, but I’d have to show up at his house after working hours. Checking my watch, I decided to give him ten more minutes. Retta would have to be patient about getting her car back.
Pacing to keep warm, I wondered what Rory’s reaction would be. Would he believe me, or would he suspect our client was conning us? Despite Darrow’s pleas, I knew we had to inform the authorities that we’d located him. I told myself I’d chosen Rory because that made the most sense.
My eyes watered as frigid gusts of wind tore at my coat buttons and drove snowflakes at my face like tiny straight pins. Digging out a tissue, I wiped each eye, then my glasses, and finally my nose.
There wasn’t much traffic, but the cars that passed were coated from the door handles down with brownish gunk, snow mixed with sand, salt, and other chemical substances used to keep the roads safe for driving.
The atmosphere was so dim that a man sitting in his car only a few feet away was only a dark shape, larger than most but otherwise anonymous. I thought for a second it was the big man from the diner, but this man’s head was shaped differently and his hair was short, not the tangled mess I’d seen earlier.
As I waited, checking my watch and holding my coat closed at the neck, a man crossed the street, coming toward me. The Millden County Building sat across from the city offices, and he’d come from there. The small form seemed familiar, but most of his face was buried in his jacket. He was singing softly, and the voice was familiar too. Squinting, I recognized the thinning, sandy hair and eyes a little too close together. “Gabe?”
He looked up, recognized me, and glanced immediately over my shoulder to see if I was alone. I suppressed a grin. Gabe, a small-time criminal we’d met on a previous case, was a little in awe of me but terrified of Faye. “Um, hey, Miz Evans.”
“How are things?”
He kicked at the sidewalk slush with a dirty tennis shoe. “Okay, I guess. I got out a month ago.”
In large part due to our efforts, Gabe Wills had received only ninety days for his part in several crimes against Faye and me. While he’d certainly been guilty, ten minutes in Gabe’s presence would convince most people that his lack of morals stems more from ignorance than an inherently evil nature.
Nodding at the building behind us I asked, “Visiting your probation officer?”
“Yeah. She’s pretty cool,” he said. “It was nice of you ladies to speak up at my hearing, too. I know Miz Burner was pretty mad at me, but she still told the judge I wasn’t responsible for my actions. That helped a lot.”
“Has your caseworker helped you find a job?”
He nodded. “I work on the snowmobile trail, but that’s only while winter lasts.” He gestured toward the pickup I recognized as his. “Gonna have to sell that, I guess.”
A thought struck me. “Are you busy right now? I have a job that’s worth fifty bucks.”
Gabe’s eyes lit up. “Fifty? Sure. I’ll do it.”
“Hey,” I cautioned. “Ask if it’s legal before agreeing.”
Tucking his hands in his pockets, he gave me a big grin. “You wouldn’t do nothing illegal, Miz Evans!”
I hoped that would still be true tomorrow. “Can you drive Faye to Lawton to pick up a car?”
His shoulders twitched. “I don’t think she’d ride with me, since I kinda kidnapped her that other time.”
“You don’t have to become best friends. Just drive her to the Lunch & Munch Diner.”
His snarled brows revealed reluctance, so I added, “I’ll pay to fill your gas tank, too.”
Gabe sighed deeply at the irresistible incentive. “I guess I can do it.”
I handed him thirty dollars for gas and gave directions to Retta’s house. “I’ll call, so she’s watching for you.”
As he left, shaking his head, I took out my phone. Faye was not going to be any happier about it than Gabe was.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Faye
While I wasn’t thrilled with Barb’s plan for getting me to the diner, I knew she wanted to see Rory as soon as possible. I considered sending Retta with Gabe to get her own car, but Win was comfortable with her, and I was the least likely to be recognized if the kidnappers happened to be watching the place.
Despite all that, a ride with Gabe wasn’t high on my list of fun things to do. Because I was irritated, I almost missed a comment Barb made. “Darrow must be making me paranoid.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, there’s this big guy who was sitting in his car but he just got out. Now he’s leaning against the building like he’s waiting for someone. He’s got a decent haircut, a nice car, and he’s wearing a suit, but I feel like he’s watching me.”
“Maybe he’s just admiring an attractive woman, Barb.”
“This isn’t Retta you’re talking to.” The sound changed, like she’d put her hand over the phone. “Make sure you aren’t followed, and keep your phone where you can get at it.”
“You sound like Retta,” I said teasingly. “Does paranoia make a person bossy?”
After making a rude noise, she hung up.
Gabe didn’t keep me waiting long, and I guessed the money was a big incentive for him. His truck wasn’t what I’d call neat as a pin. In fact, I probably could have found a pin somewhere, since it appeared there was one of everything stuffed behind the seat. It made me wonder if he lived in the vehicle at least some of the time. Along with the smell of sweaty man was the odor of tobacco, though, which for me is a plus. “Do you mind if I smoke in your truck, Gabe?”
“Heck, no,” he answered, reaching toward the dashboard. “I could use one myself.”
We both lit up, and my heart warmed toward him just a little. I’ve been trying to quit, and I’ve cut down a lot, but when things get tense, nothing but a cigarette will do. I sat back, ready to enjoy my vice in silence.
To my dismay, my host felt obligated to chat. “How ya been, Miz Burner?”
Suppressing a sigh I replied, “Okay, Gabe. And you?”
“Good, good.” After a pause he said, “Pretty damp out today, ain’t it?”
I allowed that it was
.
There was a longish silence as he tried to come up with a topic of conversation other than my health and the weather. Thinking of Henry Higgins’ advice to Eliza Doolittle, I smiled.
Gabe cleared his throat. “You ladies on a case?”
“Yes.” Rolling down my window a little, I expelled a lungful of smoke outside.
“That’s great. I bet you’ll catch the guy, just like you did that other time.” He paused, embarrassed to have brought up the instance where he had been, if not a bad guy, at least a bad guy accessory. “I got a job now, and I’m turning my life around.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.” Gabe’s cigarette rested forgotten between two fingers, filling the cab with a haze. “I got a girlfriend, Mindy. She volunteers at the jail, helping guys get their GED and stuff, and we kinda hit it off. She’s real nice, but she don’t take no sh—don’t let me get away with nothing. She told me about Jesus, and I let him into my heart so I won’t sin no more.”
“That’s good, Gabe.”
“It’s kinda hard sometimes, because Jesus don’t help with money and stuff like that.” He glanced skyward briefly as if searching for understanding. “I mean he can, if he wants to, but you can’t just say a prayer and win the lottery. You gotta work for it, so He knows you mean it.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“So I got a job grooming trails. I’m looking for full-time work so Mindy and me can move out of her mom’s house and get our own place.”
I guessed Mindy’s mom prayed for something similar every night.
“I owe it all to you.”
I was too flabbergasted to speak, but he went on, “And Jesus too, of course. If you hadna come along, I woulda kept hanging out with guys like Zack and ended up going to prison, not just to jail. So you and Mrs. Evans saved me.”
“That’s good to know, Gabe.”
“And Jesus.”
“Of course.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Barb
