They walked back into the kennel. Gracie shuddered. “He’s still as …” she broke off. The bell on the door jangled as Roscoe pushed it open. “Oh, hi, Roscoe.”
“Why hello, Grace.”
Roscoe sounded professorial and looked the part as he adjusted his glasses. He made an attempt to smooth his wild coiffure with no result. Although he wasn’t really overweight, he had a soft, doughy appearance, with a pale complexion to match. It was apparent that he was an indoor sort of guy. The tablet was tucked under his arm, and he had already pulled a stylus from his well-protected shirt pocket.
“You remember Jim Taylor, don’t you?”
Jim stuck out his hand.
“Good to see you again, Roscoe. Sorry, I’ve gotta run and get a couple of parts at the hardware. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Can’t that wait? Why don’t you have some lunch first?” she asked a little desperately. “There’s egg salad in the fridge. I’m sure Roscoe would like to catch up with you.” Her eyes pleaded with him.
Jim smiled charmingly, shaking his head. His blue eyes danced with humor.
“No can do. I’ve got to get those parts or we won’t have AC, period. I’ll get some lunch at Midge’s. Nice seein’ you again.”
Jim was out the door, whistling “We’ve Only Just Begun.”
Gracie knew he was smirking all the way to his truck. She felt her face flushing with temper. She wanted to kick him in the shins for leaving her to fend for herself. Haley was sniffing Roscoe’s khaki-colored polyester pants with extreme interest. He edged away from the big black Lab, looking very uncomfortable.
“Uh, this large canine … He won’t … bite, will he?”
“She is Haley. And no, she doesn’t bite. It wouldn’t be good for business, you know,” she shot back. Gracie could hardly wait to get this visit over with. “I really don’t know how I can help you with the wind farm article. Like I said before, I’m not involved with it.”
Haley had already lost interest in Roscoe. She ambled back to the office, her toenails clicking across the floor. No doubt, she was going to her cushy bed.
“Well, Grace, I need to be honest with you.” His voice cracked, and his Adam’s apple bobbed wildly. “I’m not an official reporter for The Sentinel—yet. I am employed at The Sentinel in the IT department.” He looked down at the floor and pushed his glasses back toward his face.
Intrigued, Gracie motioned for him to take Jim’s vacated chair, which he did with some relief.
“So, why are you here then?” she asked, tapping a pencil nervously on the oak counter.
Roscoe had always made her uneasy. There was something about him that was damp and clammy. It was hard to put a finger on. Plopping down on the swivel stool behind the counter (and as far from him as possible), she faced the nervous would-be reporter.
“I want to be a reporter for The Sentinel; however my supervisor just doesn’t see it that way. The editor actually laughed me out of his office. Very humiliating.” He sighed and balanced the tablet and stylus across his knees. “I decided to take my accumulated vacation leave and come down here to report on the wind farm controversy. Consequently, I found out about the UFO sightings. I’ve been studying the possibility of intelligent alien life for some time. It’s illogical to believe we’re alone in this vast universe. Once I thoroughly investigate and validate these sightings, they will have to take me seriously. It is unfortunate that Mr. McQuinn was arrested. He was a very helpful contact with regard to alien encounters. Very knowledgeable man, Mr. McQuinn. I find it difficult to believe that he would be violent in any way.” He looked up at her with liquid brown eyes, magnified by his thick lenses.
Gracie bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep a thoughtful expression on her face.
“What makes you so sure the UFO sightings are legit?” she asked after what she hoped was an appropriately pensive pause.
“I personally witnessed UFO activity. It was in the vicinity of Greerson’s Meadow. Absolutely amazing. And there are well-documented cases throughout history that point to visitors from other galaxies.” The passion in his voice sounded somewhat asthmatic, and his voice rose slightly in pitch.
“And I can help you—how?” She had no idea where this was leading.
“According to my research on UFO sightings in the Northeast, your property behind your… uh … canine boarding facility has GPS coordinates in keeping with attracting such visitations. Its proximity to the forest is a classic location for alien activity. I’m seeking your permission to set up some equipment to study these spacecraft.”
“You want to study UFOs on my property? I really don’t think that’s a good idea. Sorry.”
Holy cow! Her mind raced with the PR implications. Milky Way Kennels didn’t need that kind of publicity. The phone rang, making her jump. Grabbing it, she was relieved to take the reservations for a German shepherd at the end of June. After entering doggie data into the reservation software, she glanced up to find that Roscoe was gone. Grateful that the rejection was accepted without argument, she looked out the front window to see if his car was still in the parking lot. It was. The driver’s door was open, and papers had spilled out onto the gravel. Roscoe was frantically trying to corral several McDonald’s bags and catch the documents that were fluttering across the parking lot and onto the lawn.
“Unbelievable!” Gracie complained to the empty room.
She’d have to help him corral his trash and get him out of there before anyone came to pick up a dog. Sticking the portable phone in her back pocket, Gracie ran out the front door to assist. Roscoe looked up gratefully as she scooped up several handfuls of paper and deposited them in an open briefcase on the driver’s seat.
“Thank you, Grace. I apologize for momentarily littering your property.” He shuffled through a mess of clippings and photos that he had clutched to his chest. “Ah, here it is!” He held an eight-by-ten photo in his hand. “This is the personal sighting I spoke about. This was taken at Greerson’s Meadow four nights ago.” His face was triumphant as he handed her the blurry photo. It showed two blobs of whitish bluish light over the dark tree line. She squinted at the photo, trying to make out any saucer-like shapes. A photographer he wasn’t.
“Yes. Very interesting.” She wasn’t quite sure what to say. The blobs could have been bird poop on his lens, for all she knew.
“As you can see, some spacecraft prefer an open area, and others are consistent in appearing on properties that are also quite wooded. Your property is ideally suited. It meets all the criteria for research on their proclivities.”
“Proclivities? I really don’t want to attract UFOs, Roscoe. I don’t need that kind of publicity.”
She turned to watch Jim’s truck make its way into the driveway. He must have had second thoughts of leaving her in Roscoe’s clutches. She brightened, hoping for a speedy rescue.
“You must realize this research is crucial and could open up communication with advanced civilizations and technologies. I certainly won’t damage your property or even mention your business in the research. I urge you to reconsider.”
Roscoe’s soft demeanor had turned surprisingly obstinate.
“You know what? Ask Jim,” she said, beaming at the brilliance of her evasion. She would gladly give him all credit for getting her out of an awkward predicament. “If you can get him to agree to your proposal, then go for it. I’ve got plenty of other things I need to do this afternoon. You’ll have to excuse me.”
Before he could respond, she strode to her office, resisting the urge to look back. Within minutes, Jim was in her office, whistling the Star Trek theme song. She sat back in her chair, grinning broadly.
“How’d he take it?”
“I agreed with him.”
“You what?!”
Gracie took a couple of deep breaths and mentally kicked herself about 50 times. Why had she opened her big mouth?
“Now, hold on before you blow a gasket,” he admonished. “There’s a me
thod in my madness. He’s up there for two weeks and can’t mention Milky Way or either of us in his articles. The caveat is that he’s going to help prove Toby’s innocence in D. B.’s murder. I appealed to his burning desire to be an investigative reporter, and since he likes Toby, he’ll work on that during the day and study UFO stuff at night. Toby didn’t kill D. B. even if he’s off his rocker. He does need some real help or he’ll be convicted of murder in a heartbeat.”
Gracie shook her head and sighed. “All right. But how do you know Roscoe has any skill at all in investigative reporting? Toby needs a really good lawyer and some medication. I have serious doubts about Roscoe’s ability to help.”
Jim sat down in his moldering plaid recliner—his favorite seat and the pimple on the office decor. “Roscoe’s convinced that Toby had nothing to do with D. B.’s murder. With a court-assigned lawyer in his future, he needs every scrap of help he can get.”
Chapter 9
The clink of dishes and sizzle of bacon greeted Gracie when she walked through the door at Midge’s. The place was filled with farmers enjoying breakfast. A row of men sat at the counter, hunched over heaping plates. They were piled high with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage. You got your money’s worth with Midge’s version of the big breakfast. Midge was at the grill, working like a madwoman to keep the flow of food steady. Gracie skirted the familiar crowd; her focus was on getting a dozen sweet rolls for Milky Way’s growing staff. Both Casey and Tracey were training with Jim today.
She plunked onto a stool at the end of the counter that was notorious for its wobble. It had been that way for years and was almost always empty. Gracie considered it hers, for all intents and purposes, since she was about the only one who put up with its peculiarity. A waitress placed a cup of coffee in front of her without even asking. The wispy twenty-something server, with cropped jet-black hair and red highlights, pulled an order pad and pencil from her apron.
“What can I get for you?” the girl asked.
Setting the mug down, Gracie answered, “A dozen sweet rolls to go.”
“Minis or large?”
“Minis.”
Midge’s sweet rolls came in two sizes. The minis weren’t by any means mini, and the large ones were a meal for two. Anticipating all the brown sugar and the caramel oozing from them, Gracie’s mouth began to water.
“I’ll see if we have enough left. I don’t know.” The girl turned to examine the pastry shelf where pies, brownies, and sweet rolls were lined up.
Midge turned from the grill, long spatula in hand. She smiled when she spotted Gracie. Hollering for her assistant cook, she handed the spatula off to the lanky man, who shoveled eggs onto waiting plates. The short, wiry woman hurried over to her.
“Good to see ya, Gracie. How’s business at the kennel?”
“Good. Very good, in fact. I’ve even hired a couple more part-time kennel helpers. The obedience training is filling up, and the search-and-rescue team wants to use the new barn to train too.”
“When that other kennel went out of business, I just couldn’t believe it. You and Jim have done a good job getting it going again.” Midge poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter.
“Well, the Burrmans had a lot of health problems. They wanted a quick sale. Jim and I got a good deal on that property. It needs a lot of work though. Seems like everything mechanical should be replaced this year.”
The waitress plopped two foam containers next to Gracie, just missing the coffee mug.
“Here you go,” she said with a deadpan expression.
She pushed back a piece of red hair, exposing an assortment of earrings up to the top of her ear. When the girl disappeared into the back kitchen, Midge began grumbling.
“Sorry about Tabitha. My sister’s girl. She dropped out of college and thought she’d just hang around home. Edith wasn’t puttin’ up with that nonsense, so she talked me into hiring her. I’m already regretting it.” Midge sighed.
“Family stuff, huh?” Gracie quickly took another sip of coffee and picked up the roll containers.
“Sure is. And now I’m stuck with her, or Edith’ll be down here telling me I’m too hard on the girl.” Midge shook her head and then glanced toward the dining room.
“Well, well. Look who’s here. He’s one slimy guy, if you ask me.”
Gracie tried nonchalantly to shift her gaze to where Midge had indicated. Ben Richter sat at a corner table, drinking coffee with the town assessor.
“Which one?” Gracie grinned.
“The one with the beard, not Si,” Midge laughed.
“I guess he’s not too popular after that protest up in Greerson’s Meadow.”
“He’s a first-class troublemaker. You know he’s a lawyer, don’t cha? He was really working poor Toby over in here one day. I’d like to know what he’s up to.”
“I’m sure the police will want to talk to him about D. B.,” Gracie responded.
“I don’t know about that. They’ve already got Toby. I’ve always thought he was harmless, but people snap. D. B. was no picnic to do business with either.”
“Jim seems convinced Toby didn’t do it. I agree. People can have a breakdown, and I think he has some real mental problems.” Gracie drained the last of the coffee from the mug.
“Want a refill?” Midge asked.
“No. I’d better get the rolls back to the troops.”
She glanced over at Richter’s table. He was standing and shaking hands with the tax assessor. It all looked friendly; however Midge’s question was a good one. What was Ben Richter up to?
*****
A message slip lay on her desk when Gracie finally sat down to go through the mail. It was from Kim Jackson. She wanted to stop by and talk to her. Trudy had checked the “Urgent” box. Pursing her lips, Gracie hesitated before making the call. How much did she want to get involved with the situation? Twice she’d let herself get caught up in a murder investigation and twice she’d put herself in danger. But maybe Kim just needed someone to vent to. She picked up the phone and dialed.
*****
The new widow was punctual and pulled into the driveway just as Gracie finished putting the last of her dishes into the dishwasher. Haley barked and whined at the screen door. Grabbing Haley’s collar, she held the dog and pushed the screen door open. Kim’s face was pale. With no makeup, the dark circles under her eyes were proof of sleepless nights. Gracie knew her pain all too well. You had to force yourself to put one foot in front of the other.
After the red taillights of Kim’s sedan disappeared down the road, Gracie took Haley to the now completely fenced backyard for her last potty trip of the night. Kim had blown off a lot of steam tonight. She was frustrated with her kids, the family lawyer, and her husband’s partners. Her children just wanted her to sell the farms so they could get their shares. The farm managers, who were all minor partners in their respective farms, wanted time to get financing. The worst problem was the lawsuit brought by Renew Earth. Benjamin Richter, Esq., was the attorney representing his own organization.
Although she really didn’t want to get involved in a family squabble, in the end, Gracie had promised Kim she’d do some digging on Mr. Richter. He was pressing the Jackson lawyer to settle the suit and quickly. She thought Kim was wise not to cave to scare tactics, but a suit like this could drag on for years. Maybe she could find something on Renew Earth that would be damaging enough for the activists to back down. Besides, there was something about the man she really didn’t like.
She wished that Kim hadn’t shared the details of D. B.’s death. Whoever had murdered him used the shotgun with a vengeance. It must have been at close range, because they’d blown a very large hole in his chest with one shot. Kim wasn’t convinced that Toby was a killer either.
Gracie stood watching the stars, in her bare feet enjoying the coolness of the damp grass. Death had been instantaneous for D. B. Not so for Michael. He’d lain dying under the tractor. She tried to stop thinking ab
out the scene that replayed so easily in her mind. She should have checked on him as soon as she’d gotten home. Or she should have been home so she could have been with him. But she’d had a doctor’s appointment, and the ultrasound had confirmed she was having a boy.
Chapter 10
“How do you work in all this … this noise and odor?”
The tall blond wrinkled her nose with predictable disdain. Her stylish lavender-and-beige capri set and matching wedges were perfect.
Gracie was sorely tempted to “accidently” dump her Coke on her cousin, Isabelle Browne Baker, but she refrained, at least for the time being. Isabelle, a decidedly bottle blond, was the epitome of fashion, social status, and a perennial pain in Gracie’s butt. As the only daughter—check that—only living daughter of her mother’s late sister Shirley, Isabelle had married up and correctly by snagging Tim Baker. His family had owned the Deer Creek Community Bank since the village had incorporated in the early 1800s. Old money and the big house on Crescent Lane were hers, and she never let anyone forget it. Since becoming a widow herself in the last year, Isabelle had been making some significant changes in her life.
“It’s a kennel, Isabelle, not a spa,” Gracie retorted. “And it’s a clean kennel.” She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from saying more. Trudy gave her boss a quick grin and studied the schedule on the desk.
Isabelle huffed, poking through the leashes and collars that hung on a revolving rack in the reception area. She acted like she was afraid they might be infected with some horrible disease.
“First cows and now dogs! When will you outgrow this animal craze? They’re so … so dirty and messy.” She shuddered, turning to face her cousin with disapproval. Her layered chin-length cut revealed sparkling diamond studs on her ears.
“So, why are you here exactly? I really have an awful lot to do,” Gracie inquired with barely controlled impatience.
Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) Page 5
