Betty laughed. “And not where you’d expect it.”
“And where might that be?” I asked.
“Across the street at Sally’s neighbor’s house.”
“Why, that’s Jacob’s house!” said Crystal.
“Well, what was this something he saw?” I asked.
“Someone, a man that looked familiar,” said Betty.
“Well, who was it?” I asked.
Hazel smiled. “That same guy who was the lumber truck driver that pulled away from Robinson’s.”
“How is he so sure it was him?” Crystal asked.
“Not many people around here have bright red hair.”
Oh, the possibilities on this thing were proving endless.
Chapter 33
Crowding & Clouding My Field of Vision
I was sitting at my laptop, sorting through all the players that were crowding the field and trying to make sense of my info. It was murky at best, but I was determined.
This is what I had so far:
Crystal’s cousin, Sally, and her husband, Tom, owned the farm where we were staying. They had three horses. No, make that four. I forgot Boss that wired stallion.
Robinson was the neighbor adjacent to Sally, who was now deceased, and had lived down the road from her place.
The Sarah Smith and her older husband, George, who was deaf, lived down from Sally’s, angled across from Robinson’s place. It was their woods that were stolen.
Jackson Porter owned the parcel down from Sarah’s at another angle across the dirt road from Robinson’s place. Jackson was an unexpected recipient of pastureland, was also that murdered woman, Helen Mason’s son, plus, he was Sarah’s former employee, a biker, and an experimental cattle owner, who now had his own parcel where I took that embarrassing spill in the drink.
Did you get all that?
Millicent and Major Fielding, the elderly couple, lived almost directly across from Jackson on the flipside of Robinson’s property.
All of them were from Boston, or had some kind of connection to Boston.
I had yet to meet Jacob, the artist who lived directly across from Sally and Tom.
At this point in my enquiries my questions were:
Who stole the lumber from Sally? No clue. Relevant?
Was it a motive other than money? I doubted that.
Was I reading too much into the Boston angle? Perhaps.
Why did Jackson work at Sarah’s? Good question!
Why did Jackson buy that particular property? Not sure.
Why would Robinson sell to Jackson? Still a mystery.
Why did everyone want Robinson’s property? No clue.
How did the neighbor, Jacob know that driver? No clue.
What am I going to do about Clay? No clue.
Do I want to keep my relationship with him? Maybe.
Okay, so maybe those last two questions had absolutely nothing to do with my mystery, but they sure had a lot to do with my life, or lack thereof.
You know, I think my cognitive skills were affected, too.
Chapter 34
Don’t Even Go There
How hard could this be? I was merely inquiring about a simple thing like missing woods. Jacob either knew something or he didn’t. But lately, nothing was proving to be that simple. It was becoming confusing and complicated. Somehow I felt, or was finding out, that a lot of it was interconnected. Was he, too? I was about to find out.
After a minute, the front door swung open and a tall, wiry, gray-bearded man stood there staring down at me.
I extended my hand. “Hi, Jacob, my name is Samantha Jamison, and I’m housesitting Sally and Tom’s house across the way for them while they are away.”
He hesitated then extended his hand. “Where’s Dan?”
“Oh, he’s gone to visit relatives in Connecticut.”
“What do you want?”
Blunt and a bottom-line oriented guy. Good. “May I come in? Sally suggested that I speak to you.”
“I guess,” he said reluctantly, stepping aside to let me in.
The minute I crossed the threshold I was assaulted by an assortment of scents: oils, alcohol, thinners, and the like, permeating the air. My eyes traveled over the room, which was covered with canvases resting on or leaning against every imaginable surface. I knew there had to be furniture buried underneath there somewhere, but with the massive drop-cloths covering most of it, it was hard to tell.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked.
I looked around, wondering where? “Sure.”
“Follow me back to the kitchen.”
I did and was shocked to enter a remarkably bright room. Half of it was the kitchen area with an island and stools. The other half was obviously his studio. One whole wall was sheer glass with a palladium glass arch above it reaching to the open rafters. It was remarkable. I almost wanted to put sunglasses on with all the sun streaming through and bouncing off the stark-white painted interior.
“This is amazing!” I said, admiring the space.
He finally grinned. “I get that reaction the first time someone enters this area. But then again, I don’t often let people invade my personal space so to speak.”
I turned to face him, smiling. “Well, I feel honored.”
He relaxed somewhat and began making coffee, but then glanced up at me. “Besides, you look harmless enough.”
I laughed. “Just wait. You don’t really know me, yet.”
As he made himself busy grabbing mugs, I walked around checking out some uncovered paintings. It seemed no medium was off limits. Landscapes and portraits in oils, acrylic, and watercolors were scattered about haphazardly. It was hard to pick out an instant favorite. Impressive.
He handed me a mug. “What are you looking for?”
Straight-faced, I said, “Sarah Smith’s woods.”
Chapter 35
I Could Not See The Trees For The Forest
Jacob almost spilled his coffee, but caught himself.
“Why would you be looking for Sarah’s woods?”
I briefly explained her call to me, what I saw that afternoon looking at her missing woods, and how it was a concern where there were rural wooded areas locally and elsewhere in the state.
“She’s right. A few municipalities are having problems. Thieves are hitting during the week because most people who are day-trippers come up on weekends. Plus, they also hit off season when there are less tourists and sightseers about. But I guess they’ve been getting bolder, striking more frequently, taking out whole sections of forests.”
I listened as he told a few stories of victims who lost chunks of their woodlands by people who acted like they had the owner’s permission to cut it down if questioned.
“Sounds more like clear-cutting to me,” I said. “After what I saw at Sarah’s, it was as though someone nuked the area. Have you seen or heard any gossip floating around about any trucks or individuals in the area who seem out of place?” I watched him closely for a reaction.
“Not anything that would stir my interest. I’m usually busy here in my studio painting. Sometimes I lose all track of time, and, before you know it, it’s dark.”
“But the strangest things are sighted well after dark.”
He was about to set his mug down on the counter, but stopped mid-move and turned to me. In a flash, he recouped and slowly set it down. “This is a rural area. Lots of things go on after dark. It goes with the territory.”
What a strange answer!
I changed direction again, looking for any hesitation.
“Do you know Jackson Porter?”
“The one who bought that property down from Sarah?”
I played along, knowing he already knew more than he was letting on. “Yeah, the one and only, and a semi-quasi Harley, cattle-raising kind of guy.”
He laughed. “You have a good sense of humor.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Well, he used to work for Sarah for a while
, and I guess he decided to grab a chance to change his future.”
“I was sort of surprised how he went about it, though.”
He laughed. “You mean getting his meal ticket off of Sarah, while working on the side for Robinson?”
I was surprised, but then I wasn’t, not really. Obviously, this was another town with a gossip grapevine, and he was only giving away so much to an outsider.
“I’m getting closer, but can’t catch a break,” I said.
“Step away like an artist does for better perspective.”
“Maybe I need to cut back a few trees myself.”
Chapter 36
Going Batty
Disappointed Jacob hadn’t said more, I headed back to the farm. Erratic voices echoed from upstairs. I double-blinked when a very upset Hazel and Betty flew down the steps wearing jackets, goggles, gloves, and carrying brooms, their hair sticking out in frazzled patches.
“Oh, Sam, thank goodness you are here!” Betty said.
I looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?”
Betty grabbed my arm. “There is a bat in the house!”
I stepped back. “…A what?”
“My exact words,” said an exhausted Hazel.
I looked around. “Where is Martha? Is she okay?”
Betty appeared annoyed. “She’s locked in her room.”
“She’s not coming out until it’s gone,” griped Hazel.
“Are you kidding? That’s not like her. She’s ruthless.”
“Think again,” said Betty, trying to hold it together.
“At first I thought it was a bird,” said Hazel, “but Betty, who is a bird enthusiast, said no. It is definitely a bat.”
“How did it get in?”
“We don’t know,” explained Betty. “We heard loud thumps, then Martha came out yelling from her room with a bat flying right behind her. She must have slept in there with that vampire all night long and didn’t have a clue.”
Hazel held back a snicker. “It sort of freaked her out.”
“Were any doors left open last night?” I asked.
“The only door that was opened was the one leading out to that second floor terrace over the library. Martha wanted us to come out last night to hear a lone coyote howling.”
“Well, that’s how he got in, then. Dan warned me that a few of them nest in the rafters of the barn.”
“What do we do now?” asked a panicky Betty.
Hazel chuckled. “Maybe we should let him fly around for a while, just to keep Martha quiet and locked in her room. You know how bossy she gets.”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea,” said Betty.
I glared at the two. “You’re joking, right?”
Reluctantly, Hazel agreed. “I guess he has got to go.”
“Why is Martha acting so strange?” I asked.
“Goes back to her childhood, her going into a cave on a dare. She’d been warned it was dangerous by her parents.”
“That sounds like her. She can be quite tenacious.”
“Not this time,” Hazel said. “She’s gone underground.”
“Where is the bat now?” I asked, looking around.
“Flying back and forth in the upper hallway,” said Betty.
“Sounds like he’s looking for a way out using his radar.”
Betty and Hazel just stood there and nodded mutely.
Suddenly, I realized exactly where all this was going and headed for the back stairway alone, but not before grabbing Tom’s fishing boots, jacket, gloves, hat, and snatching Betty’s goggles off her head.
Chapter 37
Coming & Going
I snuck up the back steps, tapped on Martha’s door, and tried the handle. Locked. “Martha, come out and help.”
“Not in my lifetime. You are on your own, sister.”
Having no choice, I opened the terrace door, snuck back down the steps, raced up the main staircase, carrying one of their discarded brooms and waited for the next bat fly-over.
Game time! Okay, so I hit the wall a few times, missed, and panicked, then hit the floor when he buzzed me, but I eventually got him aimed toward the other end of the hall.
When I saw him veer toward the right, I raced down the hallway and caught a visual of him flying out that door and slammed it shut. Triumphantly I made my way back down the hallway toward the foyer and clomped down the stairs for my victory dance, only to find that Betty and Hazel had disappeared and the foyer doorbell was ringing repeatedly.
Still celebrating my victory, I whipped open the door, surprised to find myself staring at an elderly man, who staggered backward with a look of sheer horror. I was raising my hand to take off the goggles for a better look, when he swung his cane to hit me. I reached out to stop him because I was within firing range of a severe concussion. It then turned into a wrestling match to grab that damn cane. For an old man, his strength caught me off guard.
“Wait,” I finally said, breathless. “This isn’t working.”
“Let go!” he yelled. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Upset, I said, “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
He backed up in defense. “Watch it. I’m an old man.”
“You could have fooled me with that lethal weapon.”
He looked down at his cane. “I need it to get around.”
“And I need my head to think. You almost cracked it.”
“Who are you?” he asked loudly, still distressed.
I started dismantling my gear. “I’m Samantha Jamison.”
“Who? Speak up young lady, I am hard of hearing.”
Then it hit. This was Sarah’s elderly husband, George. Slightly stooped over, his thickly-veined hands gripped his cane like talons, reminding me of a hawk with beady eyes, sharp, pointed nose, and balding head with receded white hair. And like a hawk, he wasn’t smiling.
Grim-faced, he said, “Well, young lady, why didn’t you say something, instead of trying to scare me to death.”
I had gotten a good look in the foyer mirror before finally taking everything off and jerked back, scaring myself. I guess I was lucky the old man didn’t die on the spot and attempted an apology. “I’m sorry, but I was just trying to get rid of a bat that snuck into the house last night.”
“I’m too old for this. You made quite a shocking sight.”
I almost said, ‘So did you,’ but that wouldn’t have been appropriate considering the circumstances, with him being elderly, obnoxious, and all. “I guess I did. Come on in.”
“Now, who are these beauties?” He asked, walking in.
Chapter 38
Beauties & The Beast
My trio of trouble had miraculously appeared out of thin air. I eyed them suspiciously as George moved by me to shake each of their hands, loudly introducing himself and surprisingly not raising his cane once, a good sign.
I slipped in a reminder. “And how is your wife, Sarah?”
Martha shot me that look, then said, “Is she still upset?”
He was confused. “What?” he asked loudly. “Speak up.”
Martha got closer. “I said have you caught the culprit?”
He smiled. “No hot chocolate. I’ll have coffee though.”
The four of us looked at each other, wondering if we heard the same thing coming from his lips.
“She was asking about your trees,” I said, speaking up.
“No, I don’t drink teas!”
I leaned in closer. “She asked about your missing trees.”
“Oh, that! The minute I heard about that from Sarah, I got my rifle down off the mantle, cleaned it, and loaded it.”
I shivered, making a mental note not to cross his path.
“Have you seen anyone suspicious walking your land?” Betty asked, upping her volume.
“Come to think of it,” he said, “I did see a hiker once or twice cutting through our place wearing a backpack. But that happens a lot around here. Hikers think they are on forestry land an
d you have to warn them off.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that, too,” I said, remembering what Crystal told me about Sally and Tom catching someone camping in their woods and fishing in their pond, thinking it was public forest land, their signs conveniently torn off.
Could they have been scoping the land for a hit?
If I asked him for a description of the hiker, as I had asked Sally, I’m sure all I would get is a generic description that would fit just about any camper or hiker in the area, already camouflaged in hat, hiking attire, and jacket.
Suddenly, he banged his cane on the floor, making the four of us jump. He got all excited. “Wait a minute! There was one time when I saw a hiker and grabbed my binoculars to have a better look. Sarah had bought them for me. They have an automatic zoom lens. I get bored, so I spend an hour or two at the window looking out.”
Hazel jumped in. “I bet nothing gets passed your eagle eyes.” She sucked in her breath when she realized what she said. “…I mean you seem so watchful. …I mean so sharp.”
Betty patted Hazel, who by now was flustered by her references to his image. “Give it up, dear,” she whispered.
Thankfully, not noticing Hazel’s accidental references to his undeniably feathered-family resemblance, he replied, “I did notice one thing with that super-strength, zoom lens. His ear was pierced with a red stone.” George looked at his watch, adding, “Oh, Sarah’s due back. I have to leave.”
Just like me, with this chapter.
Chapter 39
Staying In Character
I paused, staring at my laptop. That was the third sighting, two of which were mine. Was it Jackson? Most likely. Was he out for a simple hike, or checking the terrain for other endeavors? What was he looking for? Why was he walking their property? Was he seen before the stripping of the trees or after? I had to find out.
Why couldn’t Sara’s husband identify him? Probably because of the clothing, hat, and sunglasses. I saw George squinting when he was right in front of us. Bad eyes.
A Lethal Time (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 4) Page 7
