by Terry Odell
Angie’s smirk turned into a laugh. “I can see how you’d be one major distraction. Tell me. Did you sneak into his room last night, or did he sneak into yours?”
“Sheesh, Angie. In Rose and Sam’s house? Neither, thank you very much.”
“So, where?”
Megan knew she was redder than Rose’s borscht. “The gazebo,” she mumbled.
“Ooh. Under the stars. How romantic.”
“Yeah, well it’s not going to happen again. Not with stories of bones buried in the woods. Rose and Sam will be hypersensitive to any outside noises.”
“Oh, so you made noises, did you?”
“No, we didn’t, and let’s drop the subject. I’m not asking for all the details between you and Gordon, am I? Go pick up vibes, or whatever it is you’re doing out here.”
Angie tossed her head. “Fine. Be that way.” She flounced a few steps into the woods, then pivoted. “In the shower. Twice. And in bed. Which had to be more comfortable than your gazebo.” She grew serious. “Damn, I shouldn’t have said that. Gordon’s… shy isn’t the right word, but he’s got this thing about PDA. At least I think he’s afraid to display his affections in public. I don’t think he’s embarrassed to be seen with me. I hope. But he doesn’t touch me… won’t put his arm around me, or even hold my hand if we’re someplace someone might see.”
“He cares. Plenty. It’s all over his face whenever he looks at you. And that necklace?” She pointed to the lapis pendant Angie wore every day. “I saw him look at it, and it was like he was saying, ‘She’s mine. Hands off.’ Don’t worry.”
Angie looked down and slid the lapis along the chain. “You sure he’s not using it as an excuse to check out my boobs—not that I have a lot in that department.”
“Trust me. It’s not a boob thing.”
“Thanks, girlfriend.” Angie tromped off again. A few seconds later, she shouted, “I’ve found the spot.”
“Are you sure?” Megan rushed to catch up. When she reached Angie’s side, she gave her friend a smack on the arm. “Well, duh. You don’t think the crime scene tape is a dead giveaway?”
Angie huffed. “It was my feeling that led us here.”
As if they hadn’t covered almost the entire woodlands. “If your feelings were so accurate, why didn’t we come here first?”
Angie rearranged her bangs. “Hey, this is new territory for me. I’m still learning how to read the sensations.”
Megan didn’t have the heart—or the energy—to argue. And while Angie was intent on playing detective, Megan could avoid revealing her own problems. “So what are you feeling?”
“Dunno. Maybe the spirit of whoever was buried here will speak to me.”
“C’mon, Angie. I need to finish packing. Plus, Justin and I are taking Rose and Sam out for dinner tonight.”
“There’s plenty of time. And Gordon said he wouldn’t be done until three.”
Megan’s patience had reached its limit. “Angie, enough. Instead of relying on your”—Megan avoided woo woo, the first words that came to mind—“feelings, I think we’d do better to figure out who went missing—which is the way the police are handling it.”
Angie’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right. But that’s so… Gordon. I wanted to use a different approach.” Suddenly, she straightened, and her eyes sparkled. “Hey, I know. Old Mrs. Blanchard came into the diner this morning, grumbling about how Crazy Freddy was cutting down trees and digging holes all over his place. What if he’s burying bones up there?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. And even if he is, what does that have to do with the bones buried here?”
“I don’t know. What do you say we go find out?”
Chapter 9
Gordon took a calming breath. He had no hold over Angie, and he’d told her he wouldn’t be free until three. Since she normally finished work by noon on a Sunday, she was certainly free to do as she pleased. He had no right to expect her to be sitting around waiting for him.
He dumped the to-go coffee he’d bought at the diner to justify his stopping in, into the gutter. Why hadn’t he been able to ask Donna if she’d known where Angie had gone?
Times like this, he hated the cop mentality, with images of the worst-case-scenario flashing through his brain. He also hated the visions of Angie spending her free time with anyone else. And that made him absolutely hate the thought that he might be jealous, which meant he cared about her more than he was ready to deal with on a conscious level.
He thwacked the steering wheel and put the car in gear. Might as well do something productive before he was chained to his desk tomorrow. He pointed the car in the direction of Fred Easterbrook’s house.
He slowed as he entered Fred’s property. As he drove up the long, winding drive, he spotted freshly-cut trees scattered about. He saw no evidence of digging, or dynamited stumps, but there was a lot of acreage not visible from his vantage point. He pressed the accelerator and continued on.
When he spotted Angie’s ten-year-old red Kia in front of Fred’s house, he wasn’t sure if he was happy, relieved, or if he should throttle her. What was she doing up here? Had she been eavesdropping when he and Solomon had been discussing the incident at Fred’s? That was unacceptable, and Angie knew it.
Storming the place wouldn’t be smart. Gordon took a few seconds to regroup. He was here on official police business, following up on a legitimate complaint. Unless Angie was breaking the law, he had no reason to confront her, no matter how much it irked him that she was here.
He gazed toward the house, perched on top of a small rise. Somehow it seemed much smaller than it had when he was a kid. Maintenance was clearly not high on Fred’s priority list, because the structure was in sore need of a paint job, and the windows were coated with grime. Some of the decorative shutters that used to hang on either side of the windows were missing, and others were tilted, in need of a few bolts to set them in place. He wondered if kids were still sneaking up here—the place definitely carried an aura of haunted house. He made a mental note to check the oak tree for fresh initials.
On a deep inhale, he got out of his car and marched to Fred’s front porch. He pressed the bell, but heard nothing from inside, so he opened the screen door—which announced his presence with a loud screech—and tapped on the inner wooden door.
The door opened, revealing Fred, his Mossberg 500 slung casually into the crook of his arm. Gordon automatically stepped back half a pace, although should Fred want to shoot him, those six inches wouldn’t make a difference. The impression Gordon got was that picking up the shotgun when answering the door was reflexive on Fred’s part. It wasn’t like he was pointing it at anyone.
“Mr. Easterbrook, I’m Gordon Hepler. Mapleton Police.”
Fred was dressed in faded jeans, torn at the knees, and held up by a pair of red suspenders. Under the suspenders, he wore a tee-shirt that once must have been black, but now was barely gray. Whatever picture it sported had long since worn away.
From inside the door, Fred squinted out into the sunlight. His rheumy eyes, the same faded blue as his jeans, blinked behind the thick, round lenses of his glasses. That, together with his hooked nose reminded Gordon of an owl. Fred’s gray hair hung loose past his shoulders. Crumbs stuck in his white goatee. Along with the aroma of stale beer, Gordon got a whiff of cinnamon.
Fred scratched his belly. “Looks like today’s my day for visitors.”
Gordon peered around Fred. Inside, Megan, Angie, and Justin sat on a cracked leather sofa. Angie gave him an embarrassed finger-wave. Megan avoided his eyes entirely. And Justin simply shrugged in a someone had to keep them out of trouble way.
“I came to follow up on Officer Solomon’s call here last night,” Gordon said.
Fred scraped at his beard, scattering crumbs onto his shirt, which he flicked off with a finger. “Officer Solomon. Yeah, that cop came because Mrs. Fuddy Duddy next door likes causing trouble for poor, old Fred.” He squinted at Gordon again. “Who’d you say you were?”
>
“Gordon Hepler, Mr. Easterbrook. I’m the Chief of Police.” He displayed his badge, earning him another squint.
“Gordon Hepler, you say? Chief of Police? Didn’t you used to be little Gordie?”
Gordon cringed at what he’d hoped was a long-forgotten nickname. “That was a long time ago.”
Yet another squint. “You’re on my tree, ain’t you?”
And yet another cringe. “I’m afraid I am.”
Fred slapped Gordon on the shoulder. “Whatcha’ waiting for? Come on in.” He swung around, and after setting the shotgun in an umbrella stand by the front door, lumbered into the living room. A platter of food, which Gordon recognized as coming from Rose, and another crumb-and frosting filmed paper plate that must have once held Angie’s cinnamon rolls, sat on a knotty pine trunk serving as a coffee table. Along with six beer bottles.
Fred paused. “Did you bring any food?”
“Sorry, no. I didn’t know there was a party.”
“No, never mind. Have a seat and some eats. We got plenty.”
Gordon lowered himself onto one of several wooden chairs across from the sofa.
Fred sat in another. “You know these folks, Gordie? They’re on my tree, too.”
Gordon tried to project a stern expression toward Angie. “Yes, I do.” Gordon turned his attention to Fred. “Mr. Easterbrook, I came to ask you about last night.” He jumped into the introduction he’d prepared on the drive up. “As Officer Solomon’s superior officer, I’m doing a routine check on his call last night. Would you mind going over it for me?”
Justin, bless him, got the hint. He stood. “We should be going.” He took Megan’s hand and pulled her up.
“That’s right. Thanks for your hospitality,” Megan said. She glared at Angie, who hadn’t budged. “We have to get back, don’t we, Angie? Gordon has important things to discuss with Mr. Easterbrook.”
Angie rolled her eyes at Megan, but she smiled politely at Fred as she rose from the sofa. “Yes. Thank you so much. You stay right there. We’ll see ourselves out.”
She brushed against Gordon’s shoulder on her way to the door.
“Miss Mead.” In spite of the thrill even that tiny contact gave him, he gave her his sternest interrogation stare. “I’m sure we’ll talk soon.”
Angie grinned. “Count on it.” She got to the door and looked over her shoulder at him. Gordie, she mouthed.
Gordon listened to car doors opening and closing, and the sounds of Angie’s old car sputtering to life, then fading into the distance.
Fred twisted the cap off a bottle of beer. Two of the six were empty, Gordon noted. Somehow, he doubted Justin or the two women were responsible for either.
Fred took a long swallow, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’d say help yourself, but you said you were here on business, and I know you cops don’t drink on duty.” He took another swig. “So, Mr. Police Chief, you want to know how your officer behaved yesterday?”
“If you don’t mind.” Gordon pulled out his notebook. “When he arrived, did he identify himself as a police officer, and did he give the reason he was here? Was he polite?”
Fred drained the beer and started on another. “Your man was in uniform, so I figured he was a cop. Can’t recall if he said it specifically. But he was polite enough—apologized for bothering me, even, and told me it was because of a complaint about the noise.” He belched. “’Scuse me. He didn’t say who it was did the complaining, but it’s always Mrs. Fuddy Duddy, and he didn’t deny it or nothing, when I mentioned her.”
“And did he explain the noise laws?”
Fred nodded. “Yep. Told him I’d watch the clock. But that biddy’s too fussy. I don’t use the chain saw after dark. Too dangerous.”
“That’s a wise move.” Gordon pretended to make notes. “I do have one other concern, Mr. Easterbrook. Officer Solomon reported you were digging, as well as clearing land. There are laws about habitat destruction, and endangered species.”
“It’s my land, I decide what goes or stays. Nobody but me does nothing on my property. Me and Morris see to that.”
“Morris?” Gordon had never heard of anyone else living up here.
Fred lifted his chin. “My shotgun.”
“I’m afraid there are some exceptions,” Gordon said. “Maybe if you showed me around, I could see for myself.”
Fred seemed to ponder that for a moment. “I gotta let you look?”
“I could come back with a warrant, but that would only delay things.” As if Gordon would ever get a judge to sign off on a fishing expedition.
While Gordon held his breath, Fred thought some more. “I suppose. Soon as I get rid of some of this beer.” He got up and disappeared down the hall.
Gordon took advantage of being left alone to study Fred’s living room, under the glass-eyed stares of an assortment of deer, elk, and a turkey mounted on the wall. Nothing looked unusual—at least no more unusual than an eccentric drunk might have lying around. Stacks of yellowed newspapers, a basket full of empty beer bottles, dusty bric-a-brac. But no cartons labeled “Bones to be buried.”
A toilet flushed, and Gordon studied his notes. Fred returned, his long hair gathered into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Gordon rose. “This shouldn’t take too long.”
Fred harrumphed. “You gonna tell me what we’re looking for? If I know, maybe I could save us both a lot of time and trouble.”
“You seen any Zapus hudsonius preblei on your property?” Gordon had practiced the unfamiliar words on the drive up, and could only hope he’d pronounced them correctly. And that Fred wouldn’t know if he’d bungled them. Hell, this entire encounter was based on hoping Fred was clueless. Because dealing with endangered species, even given the minuscule odds that they were anywhere remotely near Fred’s land, wasn’t a Mapleton Police issue. Those matters were for the Department of Wildlife to deal with.
“Huh?” Fred said.
Gordon breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Guess we’d better go look.”
“I’d better bring Morris. In case we run into one of those… Zapus… critters.”
Gordon stifled a laugh. Composing his features, he gave a slow nod. “Might be a good idea.”
Fred returned, and they struck out through Fred’s acreage. Fred lingered a few paces behind, as if he was counting on Gordon to protect him from the vicious Zapus. Gordon suggested that Fred take point, since Gordon sure didn’t want to be on the receiving end of an errant blast from Morris.
Fred shook his head. “Uh, nope. You’re the one who knows what we’re looking for. You shout, and I’ll cover you.”
After making Fred swear he wouldn’t shoot unless explicitly told to do so, they plodded on.
“There,” Gordon said. He stopped and pointed at recently turned earth.
“There?” Fred said. “No, that can’t be. I’d have noticed when I was burying the bones.”
Gordon’s stomach flipped. “Bones?”
Chapter 10
Gordon twisted the knob on Angie’s back door. Unlocked, which meant she expected him. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” he shouted as he crossed through the kitchen to her small living room, where Angie was watching some cooking show on television.
From the way Angie didn’t rise to greet him, he assumed she harbored guilt for showing up at Fred’s. But when he approached, the crossed arms and the glower made him reassess his initial judgment. Didn’t take much cop training to read anger. And it didn’t take much people training to know what was expected.
“Sorry I snapped,” he said.
She snatched the remote and upped the volume. Without looking at him, she said, “I’m trying to watch this, if you don’t mind.”
Damnation. He lowered himself to the couch. The far end of the couch. For the next ten minutes he watched someone demonstrate scaling, boning, and filleting fish. Finally, in an attempt to break the icy barrier between himself and Angie, he said, “I didn’t know you
liked fish.”
Angie shut the television off. “I hate fish.” Her tone had softened. And her fingers were on the lapis pendant.
“I’m really sorry I snapped. Forgive me?”
“Maybe.” She twisted to face him. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“What made you decide to go out to Fred’s?”
She sighed. “Will you promise to listen? No interruptions, no acting like a cop?”
“I am a cop, but I’ll try.”
“Roberta Blanchard came in for breakfast this morning with a group of her church ladies. She was going on and on about Fred. He was noisy, he was shooting that shotgun of his, he was cutting down trees, he was digging holes. She was sure a deer was going to step in one of the holes, and break its leg. Anyway, I was visiting Megan to see if I could get any vibes from the bones.”
She raised a palm, as if she knew he was going to interrupt with his opinion of her feelings. “I didn’t touch anything. Honest. When I saw the hole where the bones were, it triggered what Roberta said, and we decided to go check out Fred’s place.” She held her palm up again. “Not snooping through the woods. We went straight to his front door. Brought him some food, and had a nice chat.”
“And what did you chat about?” Gordon felt another upwelling of—what? He couldn’t be jealous of Fred. Or Justin, who was clearly hooked up with Megan. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Angie lifted her chin. “I’ll tell you, but only if you tell me what you did after you kicked us out.”
“Fair enough.” In an effort to keep the peace, Gordon didn’t contradict the kicking out part. And, proving himself even more willing to compromise, he didn’t qualify his answer with a disclaimer about police business being off limits. Of course, it helped that he hadn’t discovered anything he couldn’t share with Angie, anyway.
“Well, he bragged about his bucks,” Angie said.
“Huh?”
“Did you know the antlers of Western deer—mule deer especially—are categorized differently than other deer? You only count the points on one side. Unless they’re different. Then it’s like a four-by-five, or three-by-four, or whatever.”
