Shoving the last of the boxes in the back of the hatchback, a small piece of paper, half-dried in the muddy ruts behind the car, caught his eye. Picking it up, he rubbed the caked-on mud from what appeared to be a mangled business card. A green globe with stars surrounding it appeared after the dirt flaked off. Roscoe stared at the card in his hand. Where had it come from? He hadn’t picked up a Renew Earth business card anywhere. Only Jim had visited him here. Puzzled, he walked around the campsite to see if any sign of other visitors was present. Finding none and feeling both relieved and disappointed, he finished dismantling the small tent. He shoved it into its canvas storage bag and strapped it down with bungee cords to the carrier on the top of the car. He leaned against the beat-up, rusty vehicle, deciding whether to go back to Rochester or stay somewhere in Deer Creek.
Since the UFO research had proven unsuccessful, perhaps he needed to focus on the investigation of the murder and establish Mr. McQuinn’s innocence by uncovering the killer.
Two weeks of paid leave were still available. Now was the perfect opportunity to prove his capabilities by testing his intelligence-gathering skills on Renew Earth or New Energy. Perhaps he could go undercover as a volunteer with Renew Earth or apply for a job with N.E.S.T. It would require some additional reflection, which was difficult, at best, when his stomach was growling. The Geo, for the first time ever, didn’t have food of any sort in it. The first order of business was getting something to eat at Midge’s.
*****
“I am so happy, I could just …!”
Tobias burst through the doors of the courtroom, his face beaming. The public defender, wearing a wide grin, followed behind his client.
“Hey, slow down there, Toby,” admonished John Taylor, Jim’s dad. The tall man with steel gray hair put a calming hand on the Toby’s bony shoulder. “We need to show some respect. We’re in the courthouse.”
“Yeah. Okay, John. Man, I’m happier than a dog at a fire hydrant convention! Ya done good, there, young man,” he said gleefully, pumping the attorney’s arm up and down. “I didn’t think ya had it in ya. No offense, of course.”
“None taken. I’m a bit surprised it all went so fast, but I am pretty pleased.” A fleeting half-smile crossed Gary Haskins’ sun-starved face. “Now, don’t do anything, and I mean anything foolish, Mr. McQuinn.” The lawyer’s expression turned deadly serious. “You must make your next court date on time and be dressed appropriately and stay on your medication.”
“My wife and I will make sure of that, counselor,” John interjected. “I’m sure Toby understands the serious charges he’s facing. Right, Tobias?”
Toby swallowed hard, looking at the two men.
“Sure thing. I understand. I’ll be there, and I won’t do anything foolish. Got it.”
“Of course, I’ll be talking with you before the court date. I’ll have my secretary call you for an appointment,” the lawyer said.
“Uh, I don’t have a phone, Mr. Haskins.” Toby’s face creased with worry.
“Just call us. You have our number. We’ll make sure he gets to the appointment,” John Taylor filled in quickly.
“All right. Thanks. Remember Mr. McQuinn, nothing foolish and take your medication.” The young lawyer stowed the red wallet file under his arm and hurried down the stairs.
*****
The long driveway to the Airstream had a few mud holes left over from the rain that had soaked everything the evening of Memorial Day. The pickup splashed and bounced through them to where the ground leveled off in front of the mobile home.
“Have you got everything you need for tonight, Toby?” John asked, pulling a bag of paper goods from the back of the club cab.
“Sure thing. Thanks a lot, John. I appreciate all your help today. You and Jim have really helped me out. I won’t forget it. I still can’t figure out why that windmill company would post my bail though,” he said, hefting a bag of groceries from the truck.
“I’m not sure about that myself. If you should get any visitors who want you to sign something, you’d better let me take a look at it before you do anything.”
Toby nodded gravely. He walked over to a large white pine next to the tool shed and tipped over a small rock with his foot. Setting the groceries down, he picked up a key. The key worked easily in the lock, and the door opened. Tobias almost dropped the bag of groceries when he saw papers scattered everywhere. Furniture was overturned. The once neat stacks of magazines were strewn across the floor. His spacecraft models had been ripped down, tossed carelessly with the rest of his outer space memorabilia. Before Tobias could say anything, John dialed 9-1-1 on his cell phone.
*****
Jim sat with his father and Toby on an old, blue tweed upholstered sofa, while the deputies finished up their report. It didn’t look like anything had been taken, but then Toby wasn’t really sure. The place was an absolute disaster. Toby’s lawyer promised to check out the report and possibly stop in tomorrow.
“That’s about it, Mr. McQuinn,” the tall, reedy deputy said, holding out his clipboard. “Just read that over and sign at the bottom.”
The man’s hands were trembling slightly as he clutched the clipboard, squinting at the report. “Looks all right to me. Where do I sign now?”
“Right on that line at the bottom. Put the date by your signature.”
“Any chance you can catch whoever was in here?” Jim asked.
“Probably not. Might have been kids, playing a stupid prank. It doesn’t take much to pick a lock like that, although most break-ins around here start with a rock through a window. Of course, a lot of people knew Mr. McQuinn was in jail.”
“True, but he’s never had any trouble up here before,” John said with a tinge of anger in his voice. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“We’ll take a run past here later tonight and check things out. That okay with you, Mr. McQuinn?”
“No need. I’ll be fine.” Toby was already straightening the magazines.
“I’d feel better if that happened,” John said, looking at the deputy.
A light knock at the door startled the group. Toby opened the door, his eyes widened with surprise.
“Good evening, Mr. McQuinn. I just heard you’d been released from incarceration,” Roscoe said, smiling broadly. He looked around at the questioning faces staring at him. “How very considerate of the police to escort you home.”
Chapter 20
Gracie yawned and rubbed the back of her neck. The iPad screen was blurry. Her eyes stung from fatigue. She’d spent the whole evening updating the kennel’s website and Facebook page, plus doing a little Facebook stalking on the activities of her niece, Emma, along with those of Greg and Anna.
Haley stood whining at the door. A glee club of peepers sang with abandon when she opened the French doors to the patio. The Lab raced out to the far end of the fenced yard. With her inky camouflage, she instantly disappeared in the darkness. The flagstone was cool on Gracie’s feet. She looked up at the sparkling sky. The sound of Michael’s voice was in her ear, pointing out the constellations, explaining the gases that made up stars and how to find the planets.
The cell phone in her pocket ended her reverie when it buzzed insistently. Investigator Hotchkiss asked for a quick interview in the morning. The police were looking for more information about the rally in Greerson’s Meadow. She pushed the phone back into her pocket and hugged herself, suddenly chilly in the warm night.
*****
The alarm clock woke Gracie easily from a fitful sleep. After struggling with her problematic curls, she decided a braid was her best option for hair control. The makeup brush smoothed on a dusting of foundation, and a smudge of taupe eye shadow completed her toilette. Haley raced down the steps and stopped mid-dash to the kennel to bark at the sheriff’s SUV pulling into the house driveway.
Investigator Hotchkiss, with Haley sniffing at her shoes, made her way up the walk. Gracie opened the screen door and offered the policewoman a cu
p of coffee.
“Good morning, Mrs. Andersen. This is getting to be a regular occurrence.”
The woman was dressed in navy blue slacks and a white shirt. Gracie glanced at her sidearm and wondered if it ever got uncomfortable carrying a gun around all the time. Did she remove it to go to the bathroom? It couldn’t be convenient.
“I guess so,” Gracie answered and took a seat on the stool at the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure how I can help you on this one though.”
“We’re trying to piece together the altercation up in the field the night Mr. Jackson was killed. A lot happened quite fast, and you’ve always been a good observer.” The investigator paused. A slight smile crinkled her face before she continued. “I’d like your take on what happened. Especially anything you might have noticed about Mr. Richter or Mr. Allen.”
“Mr. Allen?”
“He’s the New Energy Strategies CEO. He was there to speak about the wind farm construction.”
“Right. Well, it was like you said. The whole thing happened pretty fast. I did see Ben Richter with his group, and I’m pretty sure that’s where the rocks came from. I was almost hit by one. The Allen guy, I don’t know. I guess he probably got in one of the SUVs when it all started.”
“Did you see Mr. Allen talking with Mr. Jackson afterwards?” The investigator scribbled a few notes and looked up for Gracie’s response.
“You know, I’m not sure. Jim was dealing with Toby, and I was talking with some of the guys from town. Sorry.”
“That’s fine. We’re just checking on a few things. What about Dean Jenkins? Did he attend the rally?”
“No. I didn’t see him at all. I suppose he could have been there, but no. I didn’t see him.”
So Dean was still on the list. It made sense, Gracie reasoned. He was, after all, D. B.’s right-hand man. Shooting D. B. in cold blood wasn’t his style. Or was it? The investigator seemed to be avoiding Richter though. His group had to have started that fight.
“While we’re on the subject,” Gracie said, “I’m wondering about Ben Richter. He’s pushed Toby to allow him to represent him. He certainly wasn’t friendly with D. B. Have you taken a hard look at him yet? Kim is very concerned about what he might do, especially with this lawsuit.”
The investigator’s dark eyes met Gracie’s. “We’re talking to everyone, Mrs. Andersen. It’s nothing for you to worry about. And, as I’ve told you in the past, let us do the investigating.”
She’d certainly heard that before. Why were Mitch Allen and Dean Jenkins of interest now? Why weren’t they turning up the heat on Ben Richter?
“Of course. I’m sure it’s all under control.”
“It is. Thank you for your time, and if I need anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“Sure. Anything to help.”
She really wanted to ask what they’d found out about the shotguns removed from Kim’s house. It was a good bet no information would be shared. It was an active investigation. Blah, blah, blah. How the cops could keep the pressure on a grieving widow was awful. Why did this woman get under her skin every time? Gracie rose to send her early morning visitor on her way, forcing a smile. It looked like Investigator Hotchkiss was reciprocating with her own insincere smile.
Haley sat on the steps, watching the SUV back up and swing around to exit the driveway.
“Come on, girl. Let’s go to work,” Gracie called to the dog.
If the police wouldn’t look into Ben Richter, it was time to do something about that omission.
The melee in the Meadow the night of D. B.’s death had been short-lived, and she hadn’t been there for all of the action. The question about Dean made her uneasy. He could have been in the crowd. In all of the confusion, it was easy to miss someone.
*****
She was still ruminating about Dean and Ben Richter while rinsing the suds from the matted coat of a cocker spaniel in the tub. The owner, tired of trying to keep the long, curly hair under control (which Gracie could relate to) wanted a short summer cut for poor Mitsy. The cocker had an affinity for the swamp close to home and was particularly drawn to burdocks too. The dog, shorn of the blond tangled mess, seemed relieved and ran in circles, yipping in delight. A pink bandanna completed her new chic look. Gracie had to laugh at the dog’s antics.
“I’m glad you’re so happy with the new do, pretty girl. Here’s a treat.”
Gracie threw her a small biscuit in the fenced drying area. Trudy came through the doorway with the next squirming customer, a Yorkie, who smelled absolutely ripe.
“Is this Elmer?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“I’m afraid so. He got away from Pat on the way to the car and rolled in some road kill. Whatever it was, it’s pretty bad.” Trudy held the tiny dog out at arm’s length, her nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Okay, tough guy, let’s get you cleaned and trimmed up. Holy cow! You are smelly!”
Elmer didn’t seem to mind how bad he smelled in the least. He licked Gracie’s face and whined excitedly.
A break in the schedule came after the deodorizing and trimming of Elmer. With Trudy and Casey handling the playtimes, Gracie was impatient to do a little more research on the Richters. Even if they weren’t on the police radar, maybe there was something worth pursuing. She needed to learn more about New Energy and Mitch Allen too. Both men had a bone to pick with D. B.
She heard Jim come in the rear entrance whistling “How Much is That Doggy in the Window?” An immediate chorus of barking and howling echoed through the hallways.
“Thank you, thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his best Elvis impression. “For my next number, I hope you enjoy ‘Hound Dog.’”
Gracie stood outside the office, hands on hips, trying her best to look disgusted.
“You know, it was relatively quiet until you showed up.”
“Chief, you gotta give the customers what they want,” he joked.
It looked like he hadn’t had time to shave and his five o’clock shadow was already showing at eleven.
“Not shaving today?” she asked, smiling.
Jim rubbed his face. “I’m thinking about a beard. We’ll see how it goes or grows, actually.”
“I’d say you probably got up late and didn’t have time.”
He shrugged. “Uh, well, you could be right.”
“As I thought,” she said, turning to go back to her computer. “I had a visit this morning from Investigator Hotchkiss.”
“Funny coincidence. I did too. Wanna compare notes?”
After a few minutes of discussion, the pair decided the investigator was definitely interested in Mitch Allen along with the farm manager. Jim shook his head in concern.
“I can’t see Dean doing that to D. B., even though he’s been jerked around by D. B. for years. I guess he could’ve gone off the deep end.” He sat on the edge of the recliner, his fingers interlaced. “Maybe …” He paused, a quizzical expression in his eyes. “I’ve heard some rumblings about D. B. and Carla. If that’s true …”
“Who’s saying that?” Gracie asked, leaning back in her chair.
“Yeah, well …” Jim’s voice became dull. “Harry.” He looked at his feet, avoiding her eyes.
“Are you kidding?” she snapped. “Harry is the most unreliable source of gossip in the county. Midge will tell you that. He just loves getting the rumor mill working overtime. The truth has no relationship with Harry.”
“You’re right,” Jim admitted. “But Harry does see stuff.”
Gracie huffed. Harry, the driver for Hillside Feeds, always had the lowdown on the next extramarital affair or financial debacle. He lived for scandal and getting people upset.
“And puts his own spin on it.”
“Yes, he does. It was just something I heard. You don’t have to bust a gasket over it.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room.
“Sorry.” Gracie attempted to smooth it over. “I guess I just have a problem with Harry.�
��
Jim muttered that he was buying lunch for everyone at Midge’s and went to take orders. Gracie grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator and tapped away at the keyboard, sipping the cola while she waited for the search engine to populate her choices. There were about a half dozen sites for information on Ben Richter. Her eyes widened when a link to a Vermont newspaper came up. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen this before. Clicking on the link, she waited impatiently for the page to appear. The headline read, “Freak Auto Accident Claims the Life of Burlington Woman.” Scrolling quickly through the story, Gracie skimmed the details about the untimely death of Samantha Richter three years ago. She leaned toward the monitor; her index finger tracing the story on the screen to avoid missing a single word. Samantha had been the estranged wife of Tyrone B. Richter, Esq. After leaving a fundraiser dinner for a fine arts foundation, she’d been killed as she sat in her car parked on a deserted road outside of Burlington. A large branch from a tree fell on the car roof, crushing her and the car. The body wasn’t found until the next day when a farmer discovered the wreck. No one knew why she was on the road, and her estranged husband, overcome with grief, declined to comment much. He said they were trying to reconcile, and that he “couldn’t believe she was gone.”
Gracie sat back in the swivel desk chair. She drummed her fingers on the desk. It had to be the same person. The “B” must be for Benjamin. She wondered if Investigator Hotchkiss knew anything about this part of Ben Richter’s history. Of course, it might not be the same guy. She went to the newspaper’s online archives to check for a follow-up story or obituary. The obit popped up three days later. She perused the contents for surviving family members. There were no children, but Tyrone B. Richter was listed as the surviving spouse, along with Samantha’s parents of West Bridge, New Hampshire. She had two brothers, Eric and Stephen, who lived in Burlington. They were both married with families. Samantha’s parents, Arthur and Deborah Harrington were apparently part of the old New England aristocracy. The obituary implied they were well-heeled: “The Harringtons are generous supporters of the arts and major donors to Ivy League higher education.”
Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) Page 10
