CHAPTER NINE
The next day, I was so sore and dizzy I could hardly get out of bed. If it wasn’t for Chevie nipping my feet and the hens squawking in the yard, I wouldn’t have moved for a week. I sure wasn’t up to tracking down a beat-up old car. I figured Jeff Wilkins would have got it back to the city somehow anyway. Maybe even got the chrome bumper fixed before the son even noticed the car was gone.
But Friday morning I was determined to get up. Lori-Anne’s funeral was set for three o’clock in St. Matthew’s Church, and I wanted to be there. Aunt Penny arrived out at the farm with a frozen lasagna, some day-old cinnamon buns and a big bottle of Advil. She looked none too pleased to be playing delivery boy, and bawled me out for driving around in my old rattletrap like I was in the Indy 500.
I took offence. “I was nearly killed!”
Her lips pursed. “Word is, you were drunk.”
I told her about the old car, and Gerry’s plum brandy. “The cops even impounded my truck. Evidence, they said. It’s sitting in their lot waiting for tests.”
She snorted. “Your truck is sitting outside Bud’s Garage, where everybody who stops by can share the joke about your midnight swim.”
I remembered Constable Swan’s smirk, and a spike of anger made my head ache. The cops didn’t believe me. They’d played along just to humor me. Or maybe they thought the booze and the bump on the head had gotten to me.
After Aunt Penny left, I downed two Advil and went outside. It took me a full minute to realize that with my truck gone, how was I going to get to the funeral? That whack on the head must have shaken loose a few brains. Staring at the spot of flattened weeds where I usually parked, I tried to think. Did any of my pieces of junk around here run well enough to get me all the way down the highway to the church? I still had half a dozen lawn tractors, but I wouldn’t get to the funeral till Tuesday on one of them. Plus, I’d never live it down. The 4x4 in the shed had only three wheels.
That’s when I remembered the dirt bike someone gave me years ago for fixing their chain saw. Aunt Penny had not been impressed with the payment, so I’d never ridden the thing. Now I limped over to the shed and dragged it out into the sunshine. It was at least twenty years old, the seat was gone, and I was pretty sure the gears were rusted out. But it had two wheels and a 2-stroke, 250cc engine that a few shots of 10w-30 should spruce up in no time.
In fact it took three hours and a lot more than a few shots of oil, but I got it running with an hour to spare. I have one set of dress clothes—well, I call them dress clothes—so I put them on and headed off. My shirt got splattered with grease, and I sounded like a jet engine warming up as I rattled along the highway. But it looked like I was going to get there on time.
I’d expected Jeff Wilkins to put on a big show. Fancy casket, lots of pallbearers, organ, hymns and a catered spread after the burial. That way everyone would talk about how much he loved her.
But I was wrong. The bugger hadn’t spent a penny more than he had to. Nothing but a short graveside service that couldn’t have set him back more than the commission on a ten-year-old truck. There were only a dozen cars in the church parking lot, so only a few heads turned when I roared in off the highway. I guess not too many people mourned the death of Lori-Anne Wilkins. Aunt Penny was there, talking to Nancy the tow-truck wizard. Constable Swan was looking very classy with her peaked cap tucked under her arm and her long ponytail flowing down her back. She barely looked my way.
I rolled the dirt bike behind a bush, where I hoped no one would notice it, and started across the parking lot, scanning the cars. Jeff Wilkins’ black sports coupe, looking freshly washed and waxed, took center stage among the pickups and suvs. Tucked under the branches of a huge maple that almost hid it from view was a black Ford LTD with a 351 V8 and a dented chrome bumper.
Bingo.
Aunt Penny was waving at me, but I pretended not to notice. I wanted to hang out by the back fence where I could watch everyone. I spotted Jeff Wilkins standing beside Reverend MacLeod. He had a firm grip on two teenagers, who looked like they wanted to be anywhere else. They stared at the hole in front of them. The girl was hiding behind a big hat and even bigger sunglasses. She had the same tiny frame and blond hair as her mother, but her puffy dress made her look like a hot-air balloon. Her brother had pulled his baseball cap down almost over his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked like he wanted to kill the world, or at least Jeff Wilkins.
The minister patted Wilkins’ arm and turned to face the crowd. Opening his book, he began to read. A scrap from the Bible, then a sappy prayer about living on in memory. The priest had said the same stuff at my mother’s funeral. And it didn’t look like it was helping any better this time. In the silence afterward, Lori-Anne’s kids began to whisper to each other. I moved a little closer.
“Shut up,” Wilkins hissed at them.
“Fuck you,” the boy said.
“Daniel,” said the minister, looking up from his prayer. “Would you like to say a few words about your mother?”
Daniel jerked like a bolt of lightning had hit. He froze, his eyes wide. Reverend MacLeod was quick off the mark and turned to Wilkins without blinking an eye. “A difficult task for a young man in such circumstances. Perhaps you’d prefer to speak, Jeff ?”
And speak he did. Squeezed out the tears and the sighs, talked about how she’d gone to the angels and he hoped she hadn’t suffered. Managed a dig about the careless moron who’d caused her death. A couple of people glanced at me, including Constable Swan. I edged behind a large bush.
Reverend MacLeod thanked him and then opened his Bible for another read. The girl suddenly raised her head. “I want to say something.”
Daniel and Wilkins both gave her a nervous look. Before they could object, the girl whipped off her sunglasses. Her eyes were smudged black. “I’m Bethany Tailor. Mom raised Danny and me all on her own for ten years after our dad took off. Nobody ever loved their kids more. Or worked harder to give them a good life. If this world was fair, she should have gotten a reward for that. But instead…” She stopped, her tears making black streaks down her cheeks. “She always hoped, you know? Always thought there might be better days around the corner. Better days for us. Better days for her. Mom wasn’t educated or supersmart. She liked simple things. Pretty things. All she wanted was a nice house with flowers and birds and a good life for us.”
Daniel reached over to grip his sister’s arm. She yanked it away. “This should have been her time for reward. She got married. She got us into college. She had time for her garden and her decorating. It wasn’t… it wasn’t”—she sobbed—“supposed to end like this.”
Daniel leaned toward her. Whispered in her ear. She nodded, put her sunglasses back on with shaking hands and fell silent.
Beside her, Wilkins wiped away a tear. Hypocrite, I thought. A few people were wiping away tears, and pretty soon the minister cleared his throat and lifted his book.
Afterward, people walked by to shovel dirt on Lori-Anne’s casket. A pine casket, I noticed. Soon I was alone in the graveyard. People headed into the church hall for refreshments, but when Wilkins put his arm around the kids to steer them inside, Bethany shook him off.
“This is all your fault!”
“Bethany, honey, it was a terrible accident.”
“You bought that bird feeder. It’s because of you that she’s dead!”
“But I didn’t know—”
“You promised you’d hang it! She said she waited days and days.”
Daniel muttered something to her and tried to haul her away. “No, Danny! No! It wasn’t an accident! He did this!”
Wilkins glanced in my direction and his eyes narrowed. I ducked lower, but the bush wasn’t big enough.
“You never gave her a moment’s happiness, you fucking control freak! It should have been you!” Bethany was wailing. “You did this on purpose, knowing—”
Daniel grabbed her shoulders and almost threw her into the old Ford.<
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Wilkins’ jaw dropped. “Take her home, Danny,” he said. “Give her one of those pills Doc Logan gave me. Just keep her the hell away from people.”
The Ford peeled out of the lot, gravel spraying and muffler roaring. Wilkins watched it go, then turned to go into the church. He looked worried. He didn’t turn in my direction, but I saw his eyes slide sideways toward my bush.
What the hell was all that? Wilkins with a soft side? Or playing to the audience. Me.
CHAPTER TEN
The graveyard scene bothered me all the way home. I wanted Wilkins to be guilty, but I couldn’t make the Ford LTD fit into the scheme. Someone driving it had spotted me inspecting the deck, and sped away. Later they had followed me to Aunt Penny’s and tried to run me off the road. I’d thought the driver was just trying to scare me off, but he did a pretty thorough job. He even got out of his car to check what happened. My truck was upside down in the creek. Normally a sign that the person inside was in trouble. But the LTD drove off and left me.
Like he wanted me dead.
Which had to mean he thought I knew what he’d done. Or had proof that could nail him.
Wilkins was a smart guy. He knew cars. It was a stretch to think that he’d gone to the city to borrow the son’s car so he could sneak up on me. Now, as the dirt bike shook loose every bone in my body, I could see all the holes in my theory.
First off, Wilkins could have any car he wanted. Customers brought in tradeins all the time. Why pick a car that stands out a mile off ? Second, how did he get back home from the city after returning the car to the son? It was a hundred miles. Not a short hop. Third, he must have known the LTD was damaged and that the cops could tie it to my accident. Even I watched enough cop shows to know that.
All of this pointed one of two ways. Either Wilkins wanted to set up his stepson for the death of his mother…
Or he wasn’t the one driving the Ford.
Which meant his stepson was. I hated that thought. I shoved it out of my mind, hoping it would go away or a better one would come along. Daniel was just a kid, way younger than me and with even fewer breaks in his life. Maybe Lori-Anne hadn’t been the greatest mother in the world, but from what Bethany said, she’d tried. And kids forgave their mothers almost anything.
For a while, I rested my tired brain. I got home, changed my clothes, fed the animals and started tinkering with the dirt bike. Tinkering always sorts out my head. I figured I could change the 2-stroke for a 4-stroke and replace a couple of parts, like the tires and gears. Then I’d have a pretty decent set of wheels. I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to pay for my truck repairs, but a guy can get a lot done towing a little trailer behind a dirt bike.
I poked around in my sheds, looking for engine parts. Despite myself, my mind wandered back to the LTD. Why would Wilkins set up his stepson? From the sound of it, there was no love lost between them. But both kids would be out of his life before the grass was green on Lori-Anne’s grave. Would they be making off with some of his money? That would sure piss him off. But I couldn’t see how, since he was the one still alive.
Besides, how did Wilkins know I’d be going over to inspect the deck? How would he know ahead of time so he could get Daniel’s car? I didn’t like the guy. I thought he was a weasel who treated his wife like crap and was ready to let me take the blame for her death. But I didn’t think he was psychic. This theory didn’t make sense.
Which brought me back to Daniel. I wandered out into my back field to look at the lawn tractors. A couple of them had 4-stroke engines that might work on my dirt bike. Horsepower wasn’t an issue. Some of these buggers weighed a ton.
The kids weren’t in town, that’s the thing. They were away at college. How could Daniel have sneaked back to tamper with the deck? And more importantly, why? From what I’d heard, they both loved their mother and wanted the best for her. The best was obviously not Jeff Wilkins. But he was rich and better than nothing.
Unless…
I remembered the thought I had earlier. He was the one still alive. My heart raced. Suddenly a whole new bunch of possibilities opened up. If Wilkins was dead, Lori-Anne would inherit his fortune. She would be free of his tight-ass, controlling ways. She wouldn’t have to sit at home watching daytime TV and begging to use one of his cars. Her kids could drive to college in something better than a flaming death trap. They would have money for clothes, trips and partying. They would see their mother finally getting the happiness she deserved.
What if the deck accident had been meant for him and not her?
I hardly breathed so I wouldn’t disturb my brain. Did that make sense? How could Lori-Anne have set it up? If she’d known the deck was dangerous, surely she’d never have leaned on it, unless she was so drunk she forgot the danger. That seemed to take her off the suspects list.
But her son? I remembered that look of pure hatred on his face as he stood at Wilkins’ side. But even if he sneaked back from school and replaced the screws, he was taking a terrible risk. How could he be sure Wilkins would lean on it and not his mother? Maybe he thought the tiny woman wouldn’t break the rail, but hefty, beerswilling Wilkins would?
I sat down on the tractor with a thud. Had Daniel tried to set it up? Had their mother told them about the feeder, and how Wilkins was going to hang it for her? Had he seen his chance for a perfect crime?
Almost perfect. Except for two small problems. His mother.
And me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The phone was ringing when I rounded the barn. I got about two phone calls a week, if you didn’t count Aunt Penny or some scammer from the city. A phone call meant money, so I ran to answer it. My sore muscles weren’t happy, but I figured they’d get over it.
There was no one there. Empty air. Usually this means one of those computers from the city, dialing up numbers by chance. But this sounded different. Not an annoying hum but a rumble. And I thought I could hear breathing. Soft, like they were holding it in. Listening.
Then Chevie went racing down the lane, barking her head off. I peered out the front window. There was nothing there, but in the distance down by the main road a cloud of dust hung in the air. On the phone, I heard the roar of a car, accelerating away. Followed by nothing.
I hung up, my heart beating. I stared out the window. Nothing but the late afternoon sun and the crickets. I was imagining things. I was freaked out by the accident and my mind was playing tricks. Who would be calling? Who would be cruising past my house? Daniel? Why? To scare me, or to check out my home? He was just a kid. This seemed way more sinister than anything he could do. I still hated the idea that he tampered with the deck.
Maybe I was missing something. Wilkins knew much more about decks than Daniel did, and had a much better chance to switch the screws. He knew his wife was impatient about the feeder. He’d been stalling so long, it was almost like he drove her to it.
I wished I could walk away. If Daniel was guilty, I wasn’t sure I wanted him caught. The kids had had a rough start. I knew what that could do to a kid. And he’d already been punished way more than any court would do. Killing his own mother was a nightmare he’d never forget.
If Wilkins was guilty, I didn’t know how I could prove it. Nobody believed me. The screw was at the bottom of the creek, and all the other signs, like the old Ford, pointed away from him. The bastard had already slapped a lawsuit on me to make sure the fingers didn’t point to him.
It was that thought that really got me going. I wasn’t going to let Wilkins sue me for every last blade of grass on my farm. I wasn’t going to let the whole county think I’d killed a woman because I couldn’t design a deck to save my life. Not to mention I’d driven my truck into Silver Creek in a drunken stupor.
I couldn’t walk away. I had to prove, once and for all, who had killed Lori-Anne Wilkins.
The best way would be a confession. I was betting tempers were pretty raw at the Wilkins’ place by now, and nobody would be holding back. If I could get close enough to hear
, I’d probably learn all I needed to. I pictured the long laneway up to the cottage. Most of it was shielded by bush, so no one would see my approach, and when I got close enough, I could sneak along the foundation to an open window.
I went outside, full of purpose, and caught sight of my dirt bike in the side yard. Crap. No one would see my approach, but they’d sure as hell hear it. I’d have to walk the last half mile in, or they’d all be waiting on the front porch for me. And even if I got there unnoticed, even if I got my confession, who was going to believe me? So far, it was Wilkins three, me zip. I needed proof. I needed a recording.
I’ve never really liked technology. It takes you too far away from nature. Blame it on my Mom, who spent more time with Elvis and Dynasty reruns that she ever did with real life. I like to hear the sounds of the birds and even the goat chomping my daisies more than the sound of the latest rock band. I like to sit on my front porch watching the sunsets and the hay turning golden in the fall more than I like to sit in a dark, stuffy room. Television is about ridiculously pretty people making morons of themselves. I own a TV and a phone, like I said, but I never bothered with radios or CD players or computers. Don’t get me started on computers.
Still, there are times a tape recorder would come in handy. Like now. I wondered if Aunt Penny had one I could borrow, but then she’d want to know why and she’d give me that look. Not worth it.
I started wandering around my sheds, looking for possibilities. That’s another reason I don’t like technology. It’s always changing, and old parts don’t fit new things. You can’t just stick things together and experiment. You need a microscope to see what you’re doing, and a shot of 10w-30 is no help at all. Why can’t something that worked fine thirty years ago still work fine today?
The Fall Guy Page 4
