“Did you press charges?” I asked, although I’d already been told that he hadn’t.
“Now there’s a funny thing. I wanted to. I called the police and filed a report right away. I sure didn’t want to have the insurance turn down my claim for these big windows.”
“But they wouldn’t let you? That seems odd.”
“It wasn’t that simple. Cherry Hill called in the Sheriff’s Department, and they came over with an FBI agent, of all things.”
“The FBI? Why?”
“The drugs. Apparently Larry was in so deep, even at sixteen, that they were trying to use him to get to some of the big distributors.”
“So they didn’t want to send him to a juvenile home and lose their connections?”
“That’s about the size of it. The government paid for my windows, and everything was played down.”
“What became of him?”
“Nothing good. He kept on dealing drugs—everyone knew that—but he managed to balance on that line between giving the authorities enough information to keep out of jail, and continuing to make plenty of money himself. Finally ended up in state prison for cutting up someone in a fight, downstate. But he’s out again, so I hear.”
“I’ve been told that, too. I heard a rumor that connected him with the death of a businessman in Emily City.”
“Yup. J. Everett Bailey. Different county, of course, but he was a bit of a celebrity. He gave lots of money to local causes. Really a big deal when it happened. He was shot in his own motel. Left on the floor, and he bled out.”
“Why wasn’t Larry arrested for that, if he was there?”
“I don’t remember. Probably no witnesses.”
“But he was with DuWayne the day Angelica disappeared?”
John nodded. “He sure managed to have an alibi on an important date.”
“It sounds like they just covered each other, but why did anyone believe them?”
“That’s a really good question, don’t you think?”
Chapter 24
Friday dawned clear and surprisingly cool for July. There were no meetings or pressing errands, and I hadn’t had a chance to enjoy my new screen porch yet, so I decided this was the day. There was no furniture in the room, and the walls were only primed, but while Paddy was out on his cable run I set up the card table and a folding chair. I owned some of my family linens, and found a lovely drawn-work tablecloth my grandmother had made. With a bright-red paper napkin and a blue plate the table looked festive. I hunted through the silverware drawer to find a matching set of flatware. Then I made myself a massive vegetable omelet, a slice of toast, and a pot of coffee.
I brought Paddy in and he pushed his bony frame past me as I carried the food up the narrow stairs. The dog was so tall he could see out through the screening even sitting down. While I ate, he surveyed the trees beyond the yard. He loved the space as much as I did.
It was mid-summer, and the birds weren’t singing with the enthusiasm of spring, but robins were insistently calling “cheeri-up,” and various sparrows twittered. I heard a blue jay’s accusing, “Thief!” After eating, I brought in a pile of pillows from my bed and sat leaning against the wall. I was too low to see anything but branches against the sky, but a light breeze made the leaves dance, and I sipped coffee and let my mind wander.
It still mystified me that DuWayne and Larry hadn’t needed to do more than vouch for each other on the day Angelica had disappeared. Len had said something about them hauling sand. I supposed someone at either the pickup or delivery locations, or both, had seen them a few times. I watched the leaves and unfocused my eyes. When was Angelica actually killed? That was the real question. And it couldn’t be answered. No wonder the alibis weren’t important. Until this week, no one had even been sure anything had happened to her.
Finding her body made it likely she had never left the area, but unless someone confessed, it would probably never be known if she died the day she was walking to Paula’s Place, or the next day, or even the next. I was no forensics expert, but I doubted the exact day of death could be determined after seven years.
And then there was Ralph Garis and his son, Frank. Why was Ralph interested enough in the discovery of the body to fight for a seat on our Family Friends Committee? Clearly, he had come to try to get information rather than to be helpful. Why had Frank given a note to Adele about Larry being free, instead of just saying it out loud? If Frank knew Adele at all, he knew that anything he passed along to her wasn’t going to remain under wraps. Maybe Ralph had accused Frank of being involved with the disappearance, and Frank didn’t want to discuss it with his father.
Who had been the visitor to the grave site? I couldn’t figure that one out at all. If it had been a thrill-seeker, why had he or she run away? Fleeing pointed to someone with guilty knowledge, since they had gone directly to the correct location. And that could be anyone. Larry, DuWayne, Frank, even Ralph might have been there, although I couldn’t see Ralph wearing running shoes. The prints were so obvious, maybe it was Ralph or someone wearing those distinctive shoes to leave a false clue. I came to the unhelpful conclusion that it could have been anyone at all. So far, there was absolutely no way to narrow the field of suspects since we had no idea who knew how to find Angelica’s grave.
The sky was warming to a bright clear blue, and white clouds drifted behind the treetops. I slid down and snuggled deeper into the pillows. Adele’s ridiculous idea that Dennis Milford liked me intruded on my efforts to think about Angelica. Was it possible she was right? If she was, how did I feel about it? Milford was attractive in a rough sort of way. He reminded me of George Peppard at the age when he played Banacek on television, although he didn’t seem to have Banacek’s smooth way with women. I had enjoyed the reruns of that show, back when I had cable TV. I’d lived in Dead Mule Swamp for three months and hadn’t even thought about hooking up my television yet, although I had brought a small set with me. I had no idea how one got reception out here; I hadn’t seen a cable box along the road. I supposed I’d have to get a dish, or an antenna and converter box.
My thoughts continued to jump from one topic to another. Could Milford show Banacek’s skill in solving cases, and find Angelica’s killer? If Adele was right, did I want to date someone yet? That answer was a definite “no.” Having one solid fact was like a corner fencepost. Maybe I could build from there.
I debated teal or plum for my accent wall. No answer for that question. I pondered whether DuWayne was harmless but insensitive or dangerous and threatening. No fence post there either.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I proposed to the dog.
Chapter 25
My back was stiff from sitting on the floor, and the large breakfast was sitting heavy in my stomach. Paddy whined and lunged at a fly buzzing against the screen. Instead of worrying about these many puzzles that I couldn’t solve I decided to take on one I could solve. I wanted to connect the railroad bridge with the other section of South River Road, and decided if we drove to the bridge we could find out without doing a ten-mile hike.
My spine cracked when I stood up, and I stretched to loosen the muscles. I wasn’t twenty-five any more; that much was certain. I carried the dishes down to the kitchen, and checked the new cell phone that was sucking up its initial charge from a wall outlet. Not quite ready. I didn’t care. Being able to call anyone from anywhere, or worse yet, being able to be called at any time, didn’t appeal to me very much.
When I picked up his leash, Paddy began dancing around, and eagerly jumped into the Jeep when I said “go to the car.” Within ten minutes we were parked on the west side of the Thorpe River beside the old Indiana & Northern Railway. I leashed the dog to cross the bridge, and although he was again slightly reluctant to begin, he walked the open bridge confidently.
Once on the east side, we turned north, moving downstream along the Thorpe. I released Paddy from the restraint of the leash. The trail that I guessed was made by anglers to access the bank was well defined
, although in some places the ground was low. I suspected that in the spring this wasn’t a pleasant walk. Obviously, much of the area along the river was inundated when the water was high. Even now, there were dark matted patches of brown muck between the trees, although the ground right beside the river was a bit higher, and provided a dry right-of-way for the trail. Occasional wildlife paths snaked off through the woods on high ground beneath the trees. Now, in July, we had no problem getting through, and quickly came to the guardrail at the end of this section of South River Road. I debated whether I should let Paddy run free, but there couldn’t be much traffic on this road, and surely I’d see any cars in time to call him to safety. I left him free.
We strolled eastward on the dirt road. Very quickly we passed the abandoned house on the south side of the road that I’d noticed when we drove this way.
“Who lived here, Paddy?” I asked. “I bet Cora knows the answer. Maybe I’ll ask her. When the road still went through, they would have been neighbors to the Moshers, in my house.”
This house had been painted white at one time, but most of the paint had peeled and the wood had weathered to a soft gray. It appeared to be even older than my house and had a modified Federal design, if I remembered my basic architecture, except for the ugly attached shed. I thought it looked different from when I’d seen it before, but I was approaching from the other side and the light was different. Clearly, no one had been here for ages. The weeds grew tall and were unbroken around the sad, but once proud old building.
On the opposite side of the road, the river side, an opening had formerly been cleared to the water. I thought it must have been done to provide river access to the house. A faint trail led through a swath of daisies and Queen-Anne’s lace. Paddy was already poking his way along it, and I followed him. Sure enough, the river was very close, and the bank had been cut to provide a sloping access to the water. If there had been a dock it was long gone, a victim of winter freezes and spring floods. However, just downstream the river curved, and on a sandbar a great blue heron stood on one foot, alert at our appearance, but not alarmed enough to fly away. On the opposite bank, the curved branches of large white cedars dipped to the water and hid the far shore. A huge green dragonfly whined past. Until I was able to focus my eyes to the proper distance, I could have been convinced it was a low-flying helicopter. The noonday sun shone down the cut from the road and beat on my back, while the cool water freshened the air in front of me. This was a lovely spot, and I pictured residents from another century taking tea on the lawn, and small boys playing ball or romping with a dog of their own.
Suddenly, Paddy jumped in the river and paddled away from the shore. The heron flapped into the sky without a noise or a backward glance. Momentarily, my heart jumped into my throat, as I thought the current might carry the dog away, but he swam strongly back to the sloping bank and shook himself off.
“I hope you’re cooler now, you rascal,” I scolded. “Don’t scare me like that.”
The magic of the moment by the river was broken, but it was wonderful while it lasted. Paddy rolled in the weeds, filling his long coat with twigs and bits of grass. I was thankful it wasn’t August when the stick-tights and burdocks would be ripe. We returned to the road, and picked up our walking pace, both needing to stretch our legs. We passed Mulberry Hill Road, and I discovered it did have a road sign; however, it was hand-painted, faded and nailed to a tree. No wonder I hadn’t seen it while driving. Continuing east, we walked for about another mile and then turned around.
The mid-day sun had quieted the birds and a light breeze was keeping the mosquitoes at bay. I had slipped into a pensive mood, and Paddy was tracking something through the daisies. The road was benched here, falling off steeply on the river side, so Paddy was about five feet below the level of the road.
From out of nowhere, the sound of a vehicle, very close, bore down on me. Gravel sprayed, and I turned around just in time to see a black truck, driving much too fast for the condition of the road, heading right toward me. The road was narrow here; the driver apparently wasn’t paying any attention. Not having a moment to waste, I jumped for the extreme edge of the berm. I felt a thrust of air pressure as the truck flew past me, pushing me off balance. I bounced on my rear, but momentum carried me over backward, and I bumped my head and skidded awkwardly down the gravel bank, totally out of control. The truck roared on, never slowing a bit. I ended up in the daisies at the bottom of the slope. It wasn’t too hard a landing, but the fall had been a shock. Paddy ran to me and I put my arms around him and held him tight, thankful he hadn’t been on the road with me.
“What was that about?” I asked him. My left elbow smarted, and when I stood up I discovered that my left ankle also hurt. I took a few tentative steps, and decided it wasn’t serious, but walking home wasn’t going to be a lot of fun.
Just then, I heard gravel crunching on the road again. A silvery blue Mazda crossover stopped. The bank was just a little too high for me to see who it was, but in a moment the woman in leather from Angelica’s memorial service, Juanita Ybarra, was peering down at me.
“Are you hurt?” she asked. “I saw that truck swing too close to you. Oh. You’re the lady I met the other day.”
“I think I’m all right,” I said. I stretched some more to check all my moving parts. Something warm and wet slid down my arm.
“You’re bleeding,” she gasped.
I rotated my left arm and saw a good sized patch of road rash between the elbow and wrist. It was oozing blood and was black with dirt. “I don’t think it’s serious. But, this bank is too steep for me to get back up to the road.”
Once again, Paddy saw the solution first, following the bottom of the slope until it rose to return to almost road level. Juanita walked along the road and offered me a hand when she could reach me. She wasn’t wearing leather today, but had on a purple tube top, tight jeans and high-heeled boots. They weren’t too practical for walking on the rough dirt road, but she tried to assist me to clamber up the bank.
“Thanks,” I said. “What are you doing out here? I thought you lived in Detroit?”
“I do, but I haven’t left town yet. My brother has a friend who lives on Mulberry Hill. I’m meeting them there.”
“Was that your brother in the truck?” I was probably glaring, but I didn’t care.
“No, I don’t know who that was.”
I wondered if that were true. “Surely there aren’t many people who drive this road,” I protested.
“Beats me,” Juanita said. “Look, you’re really bleeding. I have some tissues in my car. Do you want me to take you home?”
I walked toward her vehicle, and was happy to discover that the ankle wasn’t too painful. “My car is on the other side of the railroad bridge. Can you just take us to the end of this road?”
“Sure. Um... does the dog have to come in the car?”
“He can’t really run along beside it.” I thought this was obvious, but Juanita clearly wasn’t a dog lover.
“He’s wet and stinky. Won’t he just find his own way home?”
“He might, but that’s not how to treat a pet. He’s not even mine. My cousin would kill me if something happened to him.”
She grimaced. “All right, but put him on the floor in the back seat. Maybe you better sit back there with him. Have you got that arm covered? I don’t want any blood on the seat, either.”
Juanita was certainly worried about her car. If my ankle hadn’t been sore, I never would have accepted a ride. However, I managed to convince Paddy to squeeze into the space behind the passenger seat, and I perched on the edge of the back seat so that my arm wouldn’t touch the upholstery. We drove to the end of the road, but never saw the black truck. It must have turned up Mulberry Hill. There was nowhere else it could have gone.
“Thanks for your help,” I said, as I prepared to walk down the short trail to the railroad bridge.
“No problem. Take care of that arm,” Juanita said. They were kind w
ords, but she no longer sounded interested in me. Yet, I was grateful she had stopped. I would have been really sore if I’d had to walk the extra two miles on a strained ankle, with a bleeding arm.
Paddy and I returned slowly to my Jeep and reached my house around two o’clock. There was a county car in the driveway, so I knew someone was still out in the woods, keeping watch.
I tied a zipper bag filled with ice on my ankle with a dish towel, and scrubbed my raw arm with hydrogen peroxide. This made it bleed even more, and smart like the devil. I had just enough pads and sterile gauze to wrap the forearm but would have to buy more before I could change the bandage. When I carefully peeled off my t-shirt, I discovered the left shoulder had a long jagged tear in the cloth. As the adrenaline wore off, I realized just how sore I was.
“I’m having a hot soak,” I told Paddy, as I turned on the water, and added bath salts to the old-fashioned claw-foot tub. He curled up on the bathroom rug and watched me with one eye open. I eased my aching body into the water, resting the bandaged arm on the edge to keep it dry. My eyes closed, and the next thing I knew I awoke with a jerk. The house phone was ringing.
There was no way I could reach it in time, and I let the answering machine pick up. However, as I came awake I realized I’d been dreaming of the abandoned house we’d walked past. I knew what was different today. The front door was now closed.
Chapter 26
I toweled off, and slipped into yellow cotton pajamas decorated with cheerful daisies. It was only mid-afternoon, but I knew I wasn’t going anywhere else for the rest of the day if I could help it. Before going downstairs, I swallowed a couple of ibuprofen, and brushed my hair. Being clean made me feel somewhat better even if my muscles were stiffening.
Paddy Plays in Dead Mule Swamp Page 12
