“That’d be great. Thank you.”
“Bring Alex.”
“I’d intended to,” I said.
CHAPTER 9
IT WAS A FEW minutes before one in the afternoon when I got back. The muffled click of typing from Alex’s office told me she was still working.
I took the cordless phone onto the deck and called Sheriff Dickman’s office. He was off-duty. I asked to have him call me. “Please tell him it’s important,” I said. Then I tried his home number. His answering machine picked up. “It’s Brady Coyne,” I told the machine. “I really think something has happened to Charlotte Gillespie. Please give me a call.”
A few minutes later Alex came into the kitchen, where I was bent over peering into the refrigerator. She patted my butt. “Hungry?”
“Yep.” I found a big plastic bag that held the remnants from the salad we’d served to Susannah and Noah. I turned and held it up. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.” She tiptoed up and kissed my chin. “Did you see Charlotte?”
I shook my head. “Let’s dump this into bowls. I’ll tell you about it.”
Which I did while we ate at the kitchen table. When I told Alex about the swastika on the outhouse door, she put down her fork, dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, and muttered, “God!” And she sat there, her eyes peering intently into mine, as I recounted my search of the house.
Then I remembered the business card she’d been using as a bookmark. I took it out of my shirt pocket and showed it to her.
She shrugged. “You think this means something?”
“I don’t know.”
When I told her about meeting Susannah and our ride on Arlo the horse, she smiled. “And you’re the one who’s jealous when I go to a party without you.”
“She’s coming by later on to take us to meet Arnold Hood,” I said. “He’s Charlotte Gillespie’s landlord. I’m hoping he might shed some light on the situation.”
“Us?”
“If you’d like to come.”
“Sure,” said Alex. “I’ve heard Arnold Hood is quite the character. I’d like to meet him.”
We took coffee out onto the deck and lit cigarettes. “Oh,” said Alex. “I forgot to tell you. Noah called. He wants you to call him.”
“What’s he want?”
She shrugged. “He didn’t choose to confide in me. He sounded a bit anxious, though.”
I stubbed out my cigarette and picked up my coffee mug. “I’ll do it right now, lest I forget.”
Alex remained on the deck while I went inside. I found Noah’s number in the skinny local directory and dialed it.
Susannah answered.
“It’s Brady,” I said.
“Oh, hi. How are you?”
“Aside from a sore backside, I’m fine.”
She chuckled. “Did you talk to the sheriff?”
“Left a message,” I said. “Your father wanted me to call him. Is he around?”
“Sure. Sorry about your butt. Hang on. I’ll get him for you.”
I heard her call. “Hey, Daddy. It’s Brady Coyne,” and a moment later Noah said, “Brady?”
“What’s up, Noah?”
“Something I’d like to run by you.”
“Shoot.”
He dropped his voice. “I’d rather not on the phone. Why don’t you and your pretty Alexandria let us return the favor? Come on over, have dinner with us tonight. We’ll find a time to talk then.”
I opened my mouth to tell him I couldn’t do that, that I had a law office back in Boston that was open on Mondays, that this was Sunday, and that on Sundays Alex and I ate an early supper so I could drive back to Boston in the daylight, which, in late August, expired a little after seven o’clock. Alex and I treasured our quiet time alone on Sundays before I had to leave. Saying good-bye for a week was something we liked to do privately.
But then I thought of Charlotte Gillespie and her poisoned puppy and the swastikas. I had to tell Sheriff Dickman about the new one on the outhouse, and about my conviction that something had happened to her. I wanted to see if I could locate a local spray-paint artist, and I was curious to hear what Arnold Hood might tell me and to learn if he could suggest other people to talk to and other places to snoop around.
In the five seconds it took for these thoughts to zing through my brain, I decided I’d call Julie and tell her to cancel my Monday appointments. Julie, of course, wouldn’t like it, and she’d try very hard to make me feel guilty. She was very skilled at making me feel guilty, which was one of the reasons I treasured her. Without Julie, I’d probably go broke.
But, I reminded myself, it was my law practice, and if I chose to accrue zero billable hours once in a while, I could do that. That’s precisely why I worked in a one-man office.
So I told Noah we’d be there at six.
I hung up and went back onto the deck. “We’re having dinner with Noah tonight,” I told Alex.
She hunched her shoulders. “Oh, Brady…”
I knew what she was thinking. She was thinking that I intended to leave for Boston right after we ate with Noah, and we’d lose our little oasis of quiet time before I left. She was thinking that I didn’t care about that time the way she did, or maybe that I’d completely forgotten about it. I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m not going back tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
She turned and smiled up at me. “Really?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
“I’m worried about Charlotte,” I said. “She wanted to see me. I feel I’ve got to stick around, see what I can find out.”
Alex pulled away from my hand. “Oh. Right.”
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Sure. That’s great.”
I leaned back against the railing, folded my arms, and looked at her. “Okay. What’d I do now?”
She shook her head and gave me a quick smile. “Nothing, Brady. It’s just…”
“What? It’s just what?”
She blew out a breath. “Sometime it’d be nice if you decided to stay an extra day just because you wanted to have more time with me.”
“Ah,” I said.
“It’s like, on Sundays you can’t wait to climb into your fancy new car and drive away from here as fast as you can go. That’s how it seems. Am I crazy?”
I stared at her. “No, honey, you’re not entirely crazy.
There is this tiny little element of sanity in what you’re feeling. But it’s a helluva lot more complicated than that.”
She nodded. “You really are a bachelor through and through, you know that?”
“I love you,” I said.
“Yeah, I guess you do. Whatever that means. I should be grateful for that, I guess.”
“We’ve talked about this,” I said.
“Yes, we have. And I think we’ve said about everything there is to say about it, and I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
I shrugged. “Okay. Good.”
I went back inside and called Julie at home. She gave me the obligatory hard time about my irresponsibility, my commitments to my clients, and my meager billable hours. I listened and murmured “You’re quite right” in the appropriate places, and finally she sighed and agreed to cancel my appointments for the next couple of days.
Alex was loading the dishwasher when I went back into the kitchen. “Done,” I said. “I’m taking tomorrow and Tuesday, too.”
She turned and wiped her hands on her thighs. “That’s fine, Brady,” she said. “It’ll be nice to have you around.”
I pulled her against me. “C’mon, babe. It will be nice.”
“I guess so,” she mumbled into my chest.
I held her there, and after a minute her arms snaked around my back and squeezed, and then she lifted her face. I saw that she’d been crying, and I didn’t know what to say, so I began touching my lips to all the wet places on her face, and I eventually worked my way around to her mouth—
�
�when I heard a car toot its horn from out front. I peered out the window. “Susannah’s here,” I said.
“That woman’s got great timing,” muttered Alex.
We went outside and piled into Susannah’s Audi. I got in beside Susannah, and Alex climbed in back.
“Where’s Paul?” said Alex as Susannah backed out of the driveway.
“Paul lives and works in Portland,” said Susannah. “He only comes around to see me.” She shrugged. “He’ll be there tonight when you guys come for dinner. Daddy invited him, and Paul never turns down an invitation.”
I heard the indifference in her voice. Love comes in many complicated guises.
Susannah drove for about fifteen minutes over paved roads before she turned onto a well-used dirt road. I guessed I could find a shorter route to Arnold Hood’s place by taking my Wrangler over the lacework of less-traveled back roads.
A mile or so along the dirt road Susannah pulled into the front yard of a square, two-story nondescript farmhouse. Once upon a time it had been painted white, but now the paint was peeling and flaking away, leaving large bare patches on the clapboards. Where the paint remained, trickles of rust stain betrayed the old iron nails that held the place together. A recently washed black Dodge pickup was parked next to the house.
A country-and-western station was turned up to maximum volume on a radio somewhere nearby. An aluminum ladder leaned against the front of the house, and a man was kneeling on the roof tacking down shingles. If he had heard or seen us, he was choosing to ignore us.
“I assume that’s Mr. Hood up there on the roof,” I said to Susannah.
“That’s Hoodie,” she said. “He knows we’re here. He’ll make us scream at him. Then he’ll pretend he hadn’t seen us, and he’ll act annoyed, and he’ll probably stay up on the roof with his radio blaring and expect us to carry on a conversation that way, as if he’s too busy to be interrupted.” She grinned. “Hell, he’s been working on this house forever. It’s about all he ever does.”
“What’s his problem?” I said.
Susannah shrugged. “No job, no family, no interests, no money. He inherited a lot of property. He lives off what he can make from letting people cut his woodlot and run milk cows on his pastures and grow corn in his fields. He hasn’t got enough ambition to do his own cutting or raise his own cows or grow his own corn.” She opened the car door. “Come on. Let’s get him down here.”
CHAPTER 10
SUSANNAH WENT OVER AND stood near the foot of the ladder with her hands on her hips, looking up at Arnold Hood, who continued to bang his hammer on his roof.
“Perverse bastard,” she muttered. “He knows we’re here.” She went around the corner to an open window on the first floor of the house and turned off the radio that sat on the sill. Then she came back and shouted, “Hoodie!”
He looked down, using his hand as a visor, frowning as if he was surprised to see us. He appeared to be somewhere in his forties. He had thick black curly hair and the dark shadow of a few days’ growth on his cheeks and chin. He wore metal-rimmed glasses, work boots, and overalls with no shirt underneath, which showed off his thick knotty shoulders and biceps. “I was enjoyin’ that tune,” he said mildly.
“Git your old ass down here,” said Susannah. “I got some folks who want to talk to you.”
Hood shrugged, scrabbled over the roof to the ladder, and climbed down. He squinted at us for a moment, then nodded once. “How ’bout some ice tea?” he said, and without waiting for an answer, he turned and disappeared around the corner of the house.
“Lost both parents to cancer less than a year apart,” Susannah said. “Never been married. Hoodie’s not very comfortable with people, and maybe not the brightest guy on earth, but he’s a good soul.”
He was back a couple minutes later carrying a blue plastic jug and four glasses. “Sun tea,” he said, shaking the jug so we could hear the rattle of ice cubes. “Made it myself.”
We went over and sat on the wide front steps that led up to the porch. Arnold Hood poured tea into the glasses. I took a tentative sip. It was faintly bitter and strong, but the mix of herbs was tasty.
“This is our neighbor Alexandria Shaw,” said Susannah to Hood, “and this gentleman here is Mr. Brady Coyne from Boston. Miss Shaw is living in the Gartside place.”
“I seen her around,” he said, speaking to Susannah.
I held my hand to him. “Good to meet you,” I said.
His grip was tentative. “You, too,” he said. He let go quickly, then turned back to Susannah. “So how come you drug me off my roof?”
“I wanted to ask you about Charlotte Gillespie,” I said.
“What’s a man from Boston want with her?”
“She’s renting your place, isn’t she?”
He lifted his glass and took a long swig. When he brought down the glass, he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Guess she is,” he said. “Something wrong with that?”
I shook my head. “Of course not. I was wondering—”
“Paid me six months’ rent in advance,” he said. “Usually best I do is let a bunch of deer hunters from Portland take it for a couple weeks in November. Otherwise, that old place sits up there, doin’ nothing except costin’ me taxes. Six months’ rent, huh?” He arched his eyebrows as if he expected me to congratulate him on his business acumen.
“Mr. Hood,” I said, “do you know where she is?”
“Who?”
“Charlotte. Your tenant.”
He frowned. “Course I know where she is. She’s livin’ in my hunting camp up on the hill there by Cutter’s Run.”
“She’s still living there?”
He looked at Susannah. “What’s he gettin’ at, anyways?”
“Charlotte Gillespie is a friend of Mr. Coyne’s,” said Susannah. “He’s been trying to see her, but she hasn’t been home for the past couple of days.”
Hood switched his gaze back to me. “Whaddya want to see her for?”
“I’m worried about her,” I said. “Somebody painted a swastika on her outhouse, and—”
“That’s my outhouse,” he said.
“Yes. You’re right. But—”
“Who in hell’s painting swastikas on my outhouse?”
“That’s what I want to know,” I said. “They also painted one on my car.”
“That so?” He shrugged. “Well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Coyne. I ain’t seen Miz Gillespie for some time. She keeps to herself, and I don’t go up there to bother her. She said she wanted a place to be alone, and that’s just fine with me. I leave her alone. And I sure as hell don’t know who’s painting no swastikas on my goddam outhouse.”
“You said you usually rent the place to deer hunters,” I said.
Hood nodded. “Yep. Same bunch every year. Rich boys from Portland.” He shrugged. “I guess they ain’t gonna git it this year. It’s all rented and paid for by Miz Gillespie till New Year’s.”
“Has anyone else ever rented it from you?”
He shook his head. “Just them boys.”
“Is one of them an accountant?”
He cocked his head. “Huh? Accountant? Why’d you think that?”
I shrugged. “I guess I misunderstood something.”
“Those boys are scientists. They all work for a place there in Portland. Do some kind of research.”
“And no one else has ever stayed up there?” I persisted.
“At the cabin?” Hood shook his head. “Just those Portland fellas, for deer season. Well, actually, one of ’em took the place for a week the past couple of summers.” He grinned. “Gittin’ away from the old lady, I think. Know what I mean?”
“Shacking up?” I said.
“Believe so,” he said solemnly. “I never seen hide nor hair of ’em when they was there, if you follow me.”
“What can you tell us about Charlotte?” said Susannah.
“What I can tell you ain’t necessarily what I’m gonna tell you, missy,” he said.
“A person wants their privacy, by Jesus, far as I’m concerned, they’re entitled to it, and Arnold Hood ain’t gonna be the one to violate it. No, sir.”
“I’m afraid something’s happened to her,” I said. “The cabin doesn’t appear to have been lived in for the past several days. There’s that swastika, and her puppy was poisoned. You can see how it looks. I was just hoping you’d know whether she’s away for a while, or maybe moved out.”
“If she moved out, that’d mean she left behind four months’ rent,” he said thoughtfully. “Nope. I don’t think she’d do that. If she just went away for a while, I doubt she’d bother tellin’ me.”
“How did she come to rent your place?” said Alex.
He turned to her and smiled. “I got a call one day—oh, middle of June sometime. Woman, nice soft voice. She asked if she could rent the place and I told her sure, it was empty. She asked me how much, and I thought about it and said five hundred a month, figuring we’d end up at three-fifty, four if I was lucky, but she said five was fine, she’d send me a check and move in the first of July. I mentioned a lease, and she said it wasn’t necessary as far as she was concerned, was six months’ advance okay?” He shrugged. “Week later I got a check in the mail, and when I was drivin’ by sometime the first week in July maybe, I saw she’d stuck up a No Trespassing sign at the end of the road. I never posted it up there. Like I said, I useta rent the place out to deer hunters. But her puttin’ up a sign didn’t bother me none. Six months’ advance rent, I figure the place is hers, and as long as she’s there, she can do any damn fool thing she wants.”
“Had you advertised it?” said Alex.
“Nope.”
“Then how did she know about it?”
Hood rubbed his palm over his stubbly chin. “Dunno,” he said after a minute. “I never asked and she never said.
Guess she heard about it somewhere. Everyone around here knows about that old place.”
“Do you remember her check?” I said. “Was there an address on it, a phone number?”
“Bank check. I remember that. Portland bank, it was. Don’t remember which one. I was glad to see a bank check. Knowed that sucker wasn’t gonna bounce.”
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