The Main Corpse gbcm-6

by Diane Mott Davidson

  While I stuffed wood into the stove, my mind raced. Not believing he or she would be followed, this criminal had left evidence gleefully. Catch me if you can. But] where was he going? Did he have Tony with him? And : most important, would we sort out what had happened before the Furman County Sheriffs Department caught up with us?

  Food, I told myself. We’ll eat first and worry later.

  By the time Arch had poured Jake a bowl of water and’ Marla had dished out some kibble, I had the beginning of a fire going in the stove. Arch assured us that Jake would let us know if there was anyone in the vicinity of the cabin. I knew that to be true, as Jake had certainly alerted us to every rustle of movement on our street. We all agreed to relax. If possible, Marla said with a sigh.

  The general built a fire in the main fireplace, and soon the cabin was lit with a cozy glow. I poked through the cabinets lining the cabin walls. The corner cupboard yielded an array of crockery and pewterware that looked authentically nineteenth-century. I thought with a pang that Tom, with his great love of antiques, would have admired the tankards and chargers. The Hardcastles had stocked two sets of plates: a collection of plain ironstone, and a lovely set of spatterware with a rose in the center of each plate. This, too, Tom had taught me the name for – Adam’s Rose. Soon, I thought with a pang, he would return to an empty house, see my note, and wonder if we were still alive. Perhaps he was already home. As the rain beat down on the roof I was thankful, finally, for one thing. At least we weren’t outside.

  While Marla and Arch tried to figure how the four of us would make do with two small beds, Bo unpacked the bags of food. A large bundle of fresh asparagus lay next to a package of chicken breasts, a bag of rice, and several small jars of condiments. He had brought half a dozen eggs. Five of them were now broken.

  “Thought you’d like to do a stir-fry,” he announced solemnly. “Since I didn’t know what our cooking situation would be.”

  Marla burst out laughing. Arch gave me ashy, oh-well sort of smile. I asked Bo to set us up on the small table while I hunted for, and found, a heavy cast-iron skillet that would do for a wok. In another pot, I started water for the rice and then turned my attention to the chicken. Anything to get away from thinking about the unknown lurking in the mist. And speaking of the unknown, why shouldn’t I call Tom? That would at least put my mind at rest, if not his.

  “Did you bring the cellular phone in from the car?” I asked General Bo.

  He shook his head grimly. “No, and I don’t want anyone going out until morning. Too risky.”

  Oh, great. I assessed the Oriental-style ingredients. I started the rice and sliced the chicken breasts. While the chicken marinated in egg white, sherry, soy sauce, and cornstarch – a tenderizing trick I’d learned from a television food show – I pressed a pungent garlic clove and sliced a pile of bright green asparagus and fragrant white onion. Soon the chicken, garlic, and onion were sizzling in the pan and a mouth-watering scent filled the cabin. I steamed the sliced asparagus and stirred in dark, tangy black bean sauce. At least I was making something for Marla that was lowfat, I thought grimly.

  “Marla, I need to talk to you about something,” I said when we dug into the heaps of steaming Chinese food. “I’d like you to take a good look at that map. You know the partners and the investors better than any of us. There could be a bank, an airstrip, somebody these guys know in a nearby town… anything that looks reasonable as a possibility of where one or both of them could have gone. We could skip going back to where we were tracking Tony, and try to assess his direction, pick up a fresher scent.”

  When we finished, Bo and Arch washed the dishes in water they’d brought in from the pump and heated on the cookstove. Marla and I spread out the map on Lady Maureen’s striped back. We studied it and tried to peer into the mind of Albert Lipscomb. Or were we trying to psych out Tony Royce? Or both? Or someone else?

  The campsite was a stopping point amid a network of trails that ran through the Arapahoe National Forest: The trail we’d been on with Jake was clearly marked. It followed Grizzly Creek and then crossed it, then came down to a four-wheel-drive road that led to Interstate 70 and Georgetown to the west, Idaho Springs to the east.

  I pointed to the map. “Whoever we’re tracking, whoever has Tony, has a two-day lead on us. So where would one or both of the Prospect partners, or one of their clients be going?”

  Marla nestled her large body into the tiger skin and stared down at the map. A scarlet-painted nail pointed. “If one of the clients is behind all this, then I have no idea. They could be at Denver International Airport, they could be in the Nevada desert.” She paused. “But if it’s Tony and/or Albert, we could look in one of two places, I’d say. The two of them shared a house, sort of a mountain hideaway, in Estes Park. What’s that, seventy miles from here? But you’d have to go east and then north from here. That’s not the way Jake was leading us.”

  “Seventy miles,” I repeated. I was suddenly so tired. My wet hair had dried, finally, but my muscles ached from the strain of the day. “What’s your second idea?”

  Marla said, “If Albert has three and a half million in cash from the Prospect account, he wouldn’t want to carry it in this weather across a mountainous forest trail to find his partner, for whatever reason. So he’d have to stash it someplace.” She tapped the map. “This is the direction we were heading. Northwest. Straight in the direction of the Eurydice Gold Mine.” She looked at me. “Someone could have stashed the cash in one of those buildings by the mine. There’s nobody up there, since they haven’t hired a team to start exploration work. Plus, there’s that safe deep in the Eurydice Mine, about a half-mile in. You know, that’s where they keep those gold bars and samples.”

  I said, “And guess what I’d be willing to bet? They weren’t samples from the Eurydice. But why wouldn’t somebody, Captain Shockley especially, have gone inside the mine in the last week to check whether the samples were still there? I know he went up there when Albert was first missing, but the place was all locked up.”

  Marla shrugged. “Well, Albert knows the place well.

  Stir-fry Chicken with Asparagus

  4 chicken breast halves (approximately 1 ˝ pounds), cut into 1/2-inch-thick, bite-size pieces

  1 egg white

  1 tablespoon cornstarch

  1 tablespoon dry sherry

  1 tablespoon soy sauce

  1 small (6-ounce) onion, halved and thinly sliced

  1 garlic clove, pressed

  2 tablespoons canola oil

  1 ˝ cup water

  1 pound fresh asparagus, trimmed of woody stems and cut diagonally into 2-inch slices

  ˝ cup canned water chestnuts, drained and sliced

  ˝ cup black bean sauce (available in the Oriental food section of the grocery store)

  Freshly ground black pepper Approximately 4 cups of cooked, hot medium-grain rice In a glass pie pan, thoroughly mix the egg white, cornstarch, sherry, soy sauce, onion, and garlic. Marinate the chicken pieces in this mixture for 30 minutes to no more than an hour.

  In a large frying pan or wok, heat the oil over moderately high heat. Stir-fry the marinated chicken for several minutes, until it is just done. Do not overcook the chicken. Remove from the pan and set aside.

  Reheat the pan over high heat and add the water. Quickly stir up the browned bits from the bottom of the pan, then add the asparagus, water chestnuts, and black bean sauce. Cover the pan and cook over medium heat for 2 to 5 minutes, until the asparagus is bright green but still crunchy. Add the chicken. Stir over medium-high heat until the mixture is heated through. Season to taste with pepper. Serve immediately over hot rice.

  Serves 4.

  If you cannot find flack bean sauce in the Oriental section of your local grocery store, the grocery manager should be able to order it for you. The brand I use id Ka-Me. I ceased being frustrated by its frequent unavailability at my local store once I started ordering it by the case. Order forms are usually available at the cust
omer service desk; the order generally takes about two weeks to a month to fill. Ordering by the case usually means you will receive a substantial discount.

  I mean, he’s the owner, but they didn’t have him around to sign a consent-to-search. And what are the cops going to do, get a warrant to traipse through a mine? That string of lights doesn’t go back very far I can’t believe someone from law enforcement would go deep into the Eurydice Mine just to look around.” She paused. “On the other hand, Albert certainly wouldn’t make a getaway without all that gold. It’s worth a couple hundred thousand at least.”

  I said, “But still… if Albert’s – or the disguised bald person’s – point was to steal Prospect’s assets, why wouldn’t he or she have gone into the mine to get the gold samples sometime in the last week?” Wait a minute. I remembered back to the party, when Albert and Tony had both entered the mine to get the samples. Why wouldn’t just one of them have gone, with a wheelbarrow? Why would they both go? “What do you know about the mine safe?” I quickly asked Marla. “How hard is it to get into?”

  “Oh my gosh,” Marla said suddenly. “Oh, Lord. This isn’t generally known. I’ll bet even Captain Shockley doesn’t know. Opening that safe is like using nukes on a sub.”

  “Wow,” Arch interrupted. “You mean when you have two guys with encoded messages? Then each guy uses his key to activate the weapons? It’s so cool. You can’t do it alone. That’s to keep some crazy guy from like, blowing up the world.” I gave Marla a hard look. She said, “It takes Albert and Tony both to open the mine safe.”

  19

  General Bo rubbed his hand over his mowed scalp. “So,” he observed, “if our villain is after money – and so far he’s proven that he is, if he’s the same guy who hit the bank-then he’s got to drag his partner up to that mine to get the gold out. Framing Marla was a brilliant way to get the authorities off his track, so he could have time to cash in and then get out.”

  “But why ruin the company?” I asked. “And why wait a week to do all this? There has to be some other explanation. Maybe this evidence points to some other person. Some other motivation.”

  Marla and I hashed it through. Eileen Tobey would know about theatrical disguises, the proximity of the cabin, the existence of the gold bars. Plus, she hated Tony and loved money. The clients closest to Tony and Albert were the Trotfields and the Hardcastles. They stood to lose a lot of money if the mine investment was a scam. Sam Perdue desperately needed capital for his soup restaurant chain. Victoria Lear, one of the primary rebuffers-of-Sam, had learned the lie of L-208.

  Had anyone else? Who besides Marla and the two partners knew of the two-lock safe deep inside the Eurydice? Maybe Tony had another girlfriend. Maybe Albert had told someone else, like the police captain in charge of security.

  “Go to sleep,’: Bo chided after we’d spent a fruitless hour trying to figure out who knew what and when they knew it.

  Marla and I lay down on the cold, musty-smelling beds. Arch and Jake claimed the back of Lady Maureen. The general extinguished the kerosene lamps, and stretched out on the floor. The fire’s embers glowed, crackled, and waned, from time to time shooting up a flare of flame. I tried to sleep. Exhausted as I was, slumber eluded me. After a while I crept over to one of the windows arid tried to send thoughts to Tom: We’re all right. We’ll be home soon.

  Eleven o’clock. My son’s measured breathing, a sound I would recognize even if he were thirty feet away, filled the darkened cabin. Midnight: The rain ceased, and Marla was snoring. By two, I thought I was the only one awake, although the general’s breathing was as hushed and catlike as his movements. Out the window, the clouds had thinned to fast-moving wisps. When the moon emerged from behind a skein of haze, I glanced in the direction of the creek, half expecting to see the ghost of that tragic, long-buried bride. But there was only fog, wafting through the trees. Tom, I thought, how are you? But I heard no answer and saw nothing. The only spirit I felt was my own, and it was full of pain.

  I must have fallen asleep. I was startled awake with my forehead pressed against the frigid windowpane. I tensed and brought my head up abruptly. What was that sound? It was nearby: a door creaking open. Narrowing my eyes, I could make out Arch and General Bo Farquhar moving through pewter-colored predawn light. My son gripped the leash of a panting, nervous Jake. For a fleeting moment, I thought I must be trapped in a lost episode from Little House on the Prairie. Where was Michael Landon and his ever-hopeful little family? And why was I staring at the large head of a dead tiger?

  I rubbed my eyes, surveyed the cabin interior, and tried to think. The chaotic events of the previous day welled up. I shivered and checked my watch. It was Tuesday, June 15, just after five in the morning. Outside, Bo, Arch, and Jake stopped beside the pump. The bloodhound was sniffing, his nose pressed to the soggy earth, his tail curled high. Ever wary, Bo held his deadly-looking gun at his side. Below the cabin, a milky fog poured between the trees. Usually a fast, low white cloud means a front is moving through. With any luck, the frigid vapor would soon burn off. Maybe we’d even have a clear day.

  Marla roused herself to her knees, peered out, and grunted. “If we’re going to have English weather, can’t we at least have crumpets?”

  Her eyes met mine across the cabin space. A lump formed in my throat. What a mess. My best friend had been arrested for murder and neither ‘my policeman husband nor I had been able to help her. Now we were all outside the law, and the person who’d framed her for the crime was probably long gone.

  I said, “How are you doing?” Marla answered ruefully. “Wait until I have some caffeine, before you ask me that. I know, I know – I’m not supposed to drink the stuff, but I’m desperate. Is there any?”

  “Is there what?” General Bo Farquhar’s arrival startled me, as he always moved so silently. He entered with a load of firewood, Arch and Jake behind him. The dog looked crestfallen. “What do you girls want now, eggs Benedict?”

  I pointed my finger at him. “Don’t call me a girl, boy. Did you bring in that cell phone?”

  He deposited the wood, spanked his hands together to rid them of mud and bark, and brought me the phone. “Try not to get the police onto us. Also, if you want breakfast, you’ll have to improvise, since all the eggs are broken.”

  Breakfast could wait. Bo had activated the cellular; I punched in our home number and suppressed a worry of how cops traced cell calls. In any event, I seriously doubted the Furman County Sheriffs Department possessed such technology. The phone rang once.

  “Schulz.” His voice was scratchy with sleep. “

  It’s me.”

  I heard him sigh. “Where are you? Are you coming home? Is Arch all right?”

  “He’s fine, we all are. We’re out in the wild trying to track Tony.” He groaned. I went on: “Listen, I’m certain that Tony Royce didn’t drown in that creek. And after I talked to you yesterday, I got information that Prospect Financial was lying about the mine being closed down during the 1940s. Also, we’ve found a bloody test tube and a disguise.”

  “A test tube and a what?”

  “A bald disguise. Like a cap. That someone would wear to look bald. Say, if a person wanted to look like Albert Lipscomb. Think those two items would be enough to clear Marla of drowning her boyfriend? Talk fast, I don’t want anyone to trace this.”

  “No way. Your skipping with Marla makes her look more guilty. And I’m supposed to remind you to obey the law, wife.”

  “But what about that evidence?”

  “I’d have to see it, Miss G. And with the current atmosphere down at the department, it’ll take an act of God to clear Marla. Please – “

  “I’ll call you later. I miss you.” I hung up abruptly.

  With the possibility of a trace, there was no time for extensive sentimentality. Unfortunately. Poor Tom. I hadn’t even asked what kind of fallout had rained on him from the ambulance incident. I took a deep breath. Time to think of food. Cooking was low on my agenda. On the other han
d, feeding everyone brought a sense of purpose, and might help me move beyond the guilt I felt for betraying Tom. While the general built up the cookstove fire and hauled in water, I scrounged through the Hardcastles’ meager cupboard again. Flour, sugar, cinnamon, baking soda, buttermilk solids. No beef jerky, no dried fruit. I guess the Hardcastles thought trappers would feast on the fresh game they’d snared. After a few moments of grumbling, I came up with three stray teabags, an unopened jar of apple butter, shortening, cream of tartar –a find – and a griddle. A silly memory intruded-Arch’s fourth-grade science fair question. What makes cookie batter puff up? The answer: an acid-cream of tartar – and a base – baking soda. Mixing the reconstituted buttermilk and dry ingredients to a soft batter made me stop fretting, if only temporarily. I kneaded the feathery dough, patted it into a circle on a wooden board, cut it into wedges, then dropped the scones into hot, bubbling shortening.

  Cinnamon Griddle Scones

  1 cup all-purpose flour

  ˝ teaspoon cream of tartar

  ź teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon sugar

  ˝ teaspoon baking soda

  ˝ teaspoon cinnamon

  2 tablespoons dry buttermilk solids (available canned in the baking goods section of the grocery store)

  ˝ cup water

  2 tablespoons solid vegetable shortening such as Crisco

  Preheat griddle over medium-high heat. Stir together flour, cream of tartar, salt, sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, and buttermilk solids. Add water and stir until well combined. Turn the batter out on a well-floured surface, knead a few turns, and pat into a circle about 6 ˝ inches in diameter. With a sharp knife, cut the dough into 8 wedges. Melt the shortening on the griddle. When the shortening is hot, lower the heat to medium and place the scones on the griddle. Cook until the first side is golden brown, then turn and cook the other side. Test for doneness by splitting one scone. It should lot be doughy, but should look like biscuit. Remove the scones from the griddle and serve with butter and apple butter.