by Maggie Pill
I was so shocked I couldn’t respond for a moment. I knew “she” was two people, but I wasn’t ready to let Rory know I’d taken up his cause. Old-fashioned in some ways, I was afraid he wouldn’t approve of his girlfriend defending him, and he’d certainly object to Cramer’s method of learning Gager’s identity.
“No one who knows you will take that allegation seriously.”
He sighed. “But they still have to investigate it.”
“Tell me what was said.”
“The complaint is that I man-handled a couple of women we had in the lockup—” He paused before finishing, “—in a sexually inappropriate way.”
“Do these women support the claim?”
“Not so far, but what if one or the other realizes the crime she’s charged with could be dismissed if I did something wrong?”
“But it isn’t true.”
He grimaced. “You know I take a shift sometimes. We’re always short-handed, and it does any boss good to do once in a while what his staff does every day.”
I nodded. “It’s easy to forget what it’s like in the trenches, no matter what the organization.”
“Well, I arrested a woman who keyed her boyfriend’s car, and according to our caller, I groped her in the process. The other woman was in lockup when I got to work. The state police got an email claiming I offered to drop the charges in return for sexual favors.” His eyes had turned even darker.
I wanted to put my arm around him, touch the rough fabric of his shirt, and tell him things would work out, but I sensed it wasn’t the right time. I let him finish in his own way. “Of course they sent a detective to interview the women. He kept it general, asking if anything unusual had happened during their recent encounter with the Allport police.” Rory’s tone was matter-of-fact, but I could see it was killing him to say it aloud. “One woman said no right away, but the other one, the car-keyer, played it a little, trying to find out what the detective was talking about.”
“Smart enough to see an advantage in spinning a story.”
“She stopped short of making specific charges, and she blew a .13, so her word is suspect.” He stared into the fire. “But I was the arresting officer, so she knew who they were looking at.”
I was so upset by the situation that I hardly noticed Rory’s misuse of who for whom.
When we’d finished eating, we swept the cobwebs out of the cabin’s corners, which always made me sneeze. Dust never gets completely removed from cabins; it only rises briefly during cleaning then falls back into place.
That done, we drove back into town to meet Lars. Allport’s version of an air-travel hub didn’t require an early arrival or fighting our way through a crowd. There was only one gate and seldom more than half a dozen people waiting for an arriving flight. The same person took tickets, checked passengers at boarding, and answered the phone. One became quite well acquainted with her over the course of a single trip.
We watched the little plane land and saw four people exit before it turned around and taxied away, headed for its next drop-off point. Lars entered the terminal with a carry-on slung over his shoulder. Beside him walked an elderly woman who was telling him something that required wide gestures. He smiled politely, waited until she’d finished her story, and touched her arm in farewell. She stood smiling after him as he approached us, clearly impressed with the nice “young man.”
Lars did look good. Though I knew he was fifty, he might have passed for forty. Between his Scandinavian heritage and the fitness required by his profession, he made female hearts flutter, Retta’s included. She just forgot sometimes how much she liked Lars. The woman had a short attention span.
After picking up the rental car he’d arranged, Lars followed Rory and I to the cabin. Rory joked that Lars would get lost without a guide, being a city slicker, and Lars replied he could always call in an FBI drone to locate any place on the planet. When we arrived, Lars was like a kid at summer camp, running his hands over the backs of the chairs, the mantel, and even the water pump, as if marking them with his scent.
Since it was his first time staying at the cabin alone, Rory explained how to keep the fire going and how to work the generator. Lars’ expression as he listened was serious, as if it were February and not October.
I hoped to have time to tell Lars about the harassment Rory had been receiving. Since things had become more serious, I wanted advice on how to proceed. It only took a suggestion that there might not be enough wood in the cabin to get Rory on his feet. Lars rose to help, but I shook my head, signaling I wanted him to stay. Catching on, Lars went to the pump instead and refilled his cup with water.
While Rory was gone, I explained the situation. “I’ve tracked down one of the perpetrators,” I said in conclusion, “but I don’t know what to do next. Do I tell Rory what I’ve got and let him take over? Do I give the information to the state police?”
Lars thought about it. “There’s a second person involved but you don’t know who she is?”
“My source thinks Harold Gager does the on-line stuff and a woman makes the calls. It’s possible they’re operating separately but more likely they’re cooperating.”
“I’m guessing you found this guy in a way that won’t be admissible as evidence in court.”
I felt my face flush. “Yes.”
He didn’t seem bothered by that. “If you identify one of them the other could keep it going. When that happens, a lawyer will argue it wasn’t him in the first place. We need to get them both.”
I liked that he said we. Lars was already on board.
“Let me think on this for a while and see what I come up with.” He put a strong hand on my arm, and I felt as if I’d entered into a solid, firm alliance.
Rory entered with an armload of wood and dumped it into the wood box, making a terrible clatter. “There. If the fire should go out, you know how to get it started again.”
“Sure.”
There was further discussion of problems that might arise, but Lars contended he could handle them. After he’d asked three times if Lars would be okay, Rory turned to me. “Let’s go, Barb.”
As we left, our favorite FBI man’s frame filled the cabin doorway, a boyish grin on his face. Mom and Dad were trusting little Lars to stay home alone, and he was thrilled about it.
Chapter Thirty-six
Retta
It was hard to believe Barbara had chosen to tell me and not Faye about her plan to rescue Rory’s reputation, but it was probably due more to timing than anything else. The only thing she hadn’t revealed was her source, but that hadn’t stopped me for long. I simply expressed a desire for a Coke, and while she went to get it, peeked at her phone. (Her code is her birthday, which I’m sure she thinks is really clever.) Her last caller was Cramer, which surprised me. I’ve never seen Faye’s boys as go-getters, though it wasn’t for lack of brains. It was more a tendency to be satisfied with where they were and what they had.
I was angry that someone was harassing Rory, who was a darned good police chief. When he’d arrived in Allport the year before, he had interested me as a man, and I’d done a little flirting in those first few weeks. As soon as I figured out he wasn’t my type, I’d set to work getting him and Barbara together. They’re two of a kind: so honest and dutiful they’re kind of boring.
If some low-life people were making trouble for Rory, we had to stop them. I considered how it might be done, but nothing I came up with seemed workable. We didn’t have the power to order them to stop, and if we turned the name Cramer had found over to the state police, Rory’s reputation would get dragged through the mud when the case went to court. Like our dad used to say, “Throw enough mud at a person and some of it will stick.”
Barbara and I were apparently thinking along the same lines, because she called me after supper. “Faye and I have been talking, Retta, and we’d like to do something tomorrow.”
“Good,” I responded. “Let’s stop these people who are threatening Rory’s jo
b.”
In response she said the oddest thing ever. “That wasn’t what I meant. We’re going to take a trip.”
“What?”
“The three of us should go away for the day.” She cleared her throat. “With time away, maybe we’ll figure something out.”
Miss I-plan-everything-six-weeks-ahead was asking me to drop everything for a girls’ day out? “We’re in the middle of two cases, Barbara Ann. Rory’s being harassed and you know who one of the culprits is. And you want to take a trip?”
“Nothing’s going to happen before Monday.”
“And I have to fly to Wisconsin on Monday.”
“Right, but if we figure out what we’re going to do over the weekend, Faye and I can handle it between her trips to feed the chickens. Why shouldn’t we enjoy the fall colors for a day?”
She sounded so weird, so un-Barbara-like, that I became suspicious. “So when Faye asked me to go to the Meadows with her tomorrow, she was setting me up for this sisters’ day out?”
“Maybe.”
I tapped my fingers on the doorframe, puzzled. “Barbara, what’s this really all about?”
“Can’t we just have a nice time without you getting all fussy?” Calming herself with a little cough, she started over. “I thought we’d ride the Algoma Railway. Faye’s always wanted to go, and it’s the perfect time of year. On the way up there, we’ll decide what to do about Rory’s problem.”
Letting out a sigh, I said, “I guess that works.” There was more to it than she was letting on, but at least my sisters weren’t leaving me behind, like they used to when we were kids. I was part of their plan, though I wasn’t sure why.
I hadn’t answered Barbara’s last attempt to defend the Oxford comma, a text she’d sent without explanation. Among those interviewed were Merle Haggard’s two ex-wives, Kris Kristofferson and Robert Duval.
Though I saw her point, strict grammarians like Barbara never give people credit for being able to figure out what a sentence is trying to get across. They’re as bad as those people who put Contains Nuts on a bag of cashews.
I was eating a piece of pie when the phone rang. Pie is my specialty and my weakness, and I’d made pumpkin in honor of October and chocolate because it’s my favorite. I’d cut myself a tiny slice of each. Who can decide which is better? Not me!
It was Rick Chou calling, and it was cute how eager he was to get another chance to see me. I toyed with the idea of inviting him over for pie, but I said, “Can’t see you tonight. I’ve got to go to bed early so I can get up before dawn.”
“That’s not a problem for me.”
His tone was suggestive, but I just laughed. “I meant I’ve got to go to sleep early.”
“I was hoping you could give me a better end to the day than I had at the beginning,” he said, sounding pouty.
“What happened?”
“One of Allport’s finest gave me a ticket.”
“Oh, no! What for?”
“This old woman with a cane was crossing the street right there near the movie theater. I was waiting to make a turn, and she held me up till the light turned red. I honked the horn to let her know about it before I scooted down the street. I didn’t see the cop sitting across the intersection.”
“But he saw you.”
“Gave me a ticket for an unsafe turn.” He was still angry. “Old people shouldn’t leave the house if they can’t keep up with traffic patterns.”
“Don’t be such a grump,” I chided. “Even old people have to get out sometimes.”
“I suppose.” He changed the subject. “Did you hear about the real estate agent who drowned?”
“Yes. I met her recently.” The pie was calling to me, and I wondered if I had time to take a bite between conversational turns. It was still warm, for pity’s sake.
“She’d listed my house. I’ve asked the other woman in the office to take over, but I hope it doesn’t slow things down.”
“That might be a good thing if it keeps you here longer.”
“Not possible,” he said, then he picked up on my flirtatious tone. “Oh, I get what you mean. I wouldn’t mind if I got to see a little more of you.” He let the double entendre sit there for a second before adding, “Still, I have things to do in Grand Rapids.”
“Busy, busy?”
He sighed. “If the sale doesn’t go through next week, I’ll have to come back later in the month to finalize things.”
Faye’s suspicion that Rick might have been Gail’s partner came to mind and I asked innocently, “And after that? Will you have any reason to come back to Allport once the house sells?”
“None,” he said, “unless a certain lady makes it worth my while to drive up here.”
“You don’t like this area?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m a city boy. My first wife was the one who wanted a house on Lake Huron, and it’s been nothing but a money pit. I’ll be glad to see it gone.”
“Your first wife?”
There was a long pause. “She died.”
“Oh, Rick, I’m so sorry.” Now the pie didn’t seem so important, and I shoved the plate away. The poor man!
“Thank you.”
I switched the conversation to more pleasant things, promising to call him soon so we could get together. Faye was wrong about Rick, I thought as we ended the call. He wasn’t interested in anything in Allport—except maybe me. He’d dealt with a lot of sorrow, too, a dead first wife and a second one with mental issues. He deserved a little fun, and if I could provide it, I was willing. Out of respect for Barbara’s opinion, though, I decided I’d finish the case first. Once Rick was no longer a client of the Smart Detective Agency, I could say for myself what he’d be to Retta Stilson.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Faye
The Algoma Central Railway provides the opportunity for a beautiful ride through the Canadian wilderness. I’ll say that up front. As for the rest of Barb’s idea, it wasn’t the greatest.
In the first place, the train left at eight a.m., which meant we had to leave Allport before five. When we stopped at her house, Retta came out dressed but hardly awake, crawled into the back seat of Barb’s car with her pillow and blanket, and promptly went back to sleep.
The ride was dark for most of the way. Barb was uneasy about the surprise she’d arranged, and it showed. Luckily, Retta was too busy napping to notice. We crossed the Mackinac Bridge to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, often known simply as the U.P. Continuing due north, we took the Ambassador Bridge into Canada. Our entry was uneventful, since I’d remembered when we picked her up to ask Retta if she had her passport. She’d forgotten, but it hadn’t taken me long to run into her house, find it, and put it with Barb’s and mine in an envelope I’d brought along for that purpose. That made crossing into Canada easy, and we got to the railway station on time. The train was waiting, making little huffs and hisses as people moved busily around it, preparing for departure.
The mood changed when we entered the building and saw the three guys sitting there. Retta made a little gasp, and the look she turned on us was accusing.
“Surprise.” Barb’s smile was weak.
For once Retta was speechless, but it didn’t matter. Lars was on his feet, approaching with arms raised. “Hey, there, lady. Are you glad to see me?”
In a performance worthy of an Oscar, Retta squelched the anger I’d seen oh-so-briefly and put on a smile. “Lars Johannsen, you devil! I’m totally shocked.” Turning her face slightly toward Barb she added, “I can’t believe you pulled this off.”
Rory and Dale had come up behind Lars, and I saw relief on their faces. Being men, they’d concluded things were going to be all right. Being Retta’s sister, I knew they weren’t.
If I hadn’t known better, the day would have been completely relaxing. We got on the train. We rode through beautiful country, tracing colorful hills and a wide river. We saw waterfalls. We crossed trestle bridges. It was quite a journey.
At the p
ark, we broke off as couples to explore. I’d made sandwiches, coleslaw, and peanut butter cookies and arranged portions in three different cooler bags. The others planned to do some hiking, but Dale and I stayed on the level ground close to the station. After walking around a little we settled at a table and ate our lunch, enjoying the peaceful quiet.
Rory and Barb took the River Trail, which according to the signs went past a couple of waterfalls. Somewhere along the way they would stop and eat their lunch, probably with the roar of water just over their shoulders. It would be lovely, but Barb would be distracted, wondering what Retta would do to repay her for interfering in her love life. Hiking was probably good as she worked off her worry with physical exertion.
Retta and Lars took the most energetic trail, Lookout. Just reading the pamphlet made me tired: A challenge for the adventurous and energetic, this trail ascends 250 feet above the tracks to provide a breathtaking, panoramic view of the canyon…over 300 stairs that lead you to large wooden viewing platforms, where you can catch your breath until the view takes it away again.
They said it would be fun. I told them I thought it would be torture. Still, it gave them time together, which after all was why Barb had planned the trip. Not that Retta would forgive her just because we all had a day of fun.
Barb had learned the name of the man she thought was telling lies about Rory, though she didn’t tell me how she knew. We’d talked on the ride north about how he might be stopped, but neither of us had a workable idea. Of course, once Rory was present, the subject was dropped. I wondered who knew what in our little group. Was Rory aware that Retta and I knew about his problem? Did Lars know? It might have been easier if we’d all laid our cards on the table and attacked the problem together, but sadly, that’s not how people do things most of the time.
The ride back was pretty quiet. Dale napped, and Lars, Rory, and Barb kept checking their phones for a signal. Once the train’s motion settled into a smooth, gentle rock, Retta announced she needed to find the rest room and wanted me to guard the door. Of course I knew she really wanted to talk to me, so I agreed without pointing out that the train’s bathroom doors had perfectly good closure devices. As I left my seat, Barb shot me a helpless glance, but I simply rolled my eyes in response. There was no avoiding Retta’s revenge, whatever it turned out to be.
