by Sharon Dunn
Ginger shivered. She must have made a small gasp because everyone turned and looked at her. She put her hand on her churning stomach.
Tammy cleared her throat. “Rem, that’s probably enough details.” She pulled a camera out of her purse and took several pictures. Ginger wondered what she was seeing but was afraid to ask. There were more white rocks in the clearing. Two with dark stains. It could be just moss. She didn’t want to get close enough to find out.
Ginger closed her eyes and turned away. Kindra came and stood beside her. Whatever fear she had about her friends’ safety, she needed to push through it. It wasn’t right for Mary Margret to die this way and to receive no justice.
Ginger would find a way to protect Kindra and Suzanne and figure out who did this to Mary.
Kindra shook her head. “This isn’t right. It just isn’t right.”
Ginger rubbed her goose-pimpled arms. “What else is around here anyway?”
“There are some luxury homes and a cabin or two. Not a lot. I already drove around to have a look,” Tammy said. “There’s a road not too far from here. Someone could have parked and come in.”
“Basically, it’s just forest,” Rem added.
Tammy turned toward Ginger. “Was there any reason for Mary Margret to be up here?”
“If she had shown real estate in the area, she might know about it. But she wasn’t an archer or a hiker.” Ginger shook off the chill, the sensation of cold fingers tapping the back of her neck. Even more evidence that Mary had been taken up here against her will.
They made their way back up the hill in silence. At the range parking lot, Rem said good-bye, lingering beside Kindra. “Maybe I’ll see you in class in the fall.”
“Maybe.” Kindra stared at her pink high-tops like they held the secrets of the universe. “Maybe, Rem.”
He walked back to his car, waved, and opened the driver’s side door.
Tammy kept her eyes on the Subaru as it headed down the mountain. “Sometimes the person who reports a crime is the person who perpetrated the crime, but I don’t think Rem had anything to do with your friend’s death.”
“That’s good news for Kindra.” Suzanne rose from her hay bale to join the group.
Kindra groaned.
Tammy said good-bye, mentioning something about needing to talk to her boss. She and Trevor walked back to her car after Trevor made arrangements to come out to Earl’s later. Suzanne wedged herself into her minivan. Kindra, Ginger, and Earl were the last to head down the mountain in the Pontiac.
Kindra gripped the back of the front seat. “If Mary Margret was kidnapped—which is what I think happened—we need to figure out why she was taken out here. There are lots of forested areas around Three Horses. Why out here? Why so close to the range?”
“I don’t know. We need to retrace her steps, every step.” It felt good to be doing something again to catch Mary Margret’s murderer. “After she bought the four items, Mary said she was meeting one of the other agents. I think we should start by going back to the real estate office and talking to that other agent.”
Earl drove the rest of the way down the winding road behind Suzanne.
Keaton Lustrum waited at the base of the mountain until the cars pulled out onto the main road. No need getting the Lexus all muddy and calling attention to himself by following them up the narrow road to the top of the mountain. This was where Renata said she had followed Mary Margret’s blue Volkswagen that Saturday.
It had been easier than expected to follow the momof3 car. One of these women in one of the other cars had to be Ginger, holder of his seashell box. He had already let a yellow car whiz by, taking time to read the last digits of the license plate. The momof3 car edged past him. Then a Pontiac went by slowly enough that he saw a flash of brassy colored hair in the passenger seat.
He pulled out onto the road, lagging far enough behind so as not to call attention to himself.
Close to town, the right signal on the momof3 car flashed, and the car turned off the main road. Keaton followed the Pontiac.
Ginger hadn’t noticed the light blue Lexus until Earl turned onto the gravel road that led to their home. She craned her neck. Unless some new construction she didn’t know about was going on, there were no other residences beyond their property.
Earl glanced in the rearview mirror. “I see him, too.” He braced his hands on the wheel, giving his biceps some extra definition.
Even the strength in Earl’s voice made her feel safe. Almost two weeks ago, when she’d been nearly run off the road by the brownish-gold car, she’d never been more terrified in her life. But having Earl here made it less scary. She sure didn’t want to lose that.
“Maybe we should drive past the house so he doesn’t see where we live.”
Earl hit the blinker. “He’s not signaling.” He turned onto their property. “We’ll take our chances.”
The blue car whizzed by.
Earl smiled at Ginger as he brought the car to a stop. “See, it was nothing. Think I’ll go get to work. Tammy said she could drop Trevor off later today.”
Trevor, Trevor, Trevor. Was that all he could talk about?
After dropping Kindra off on campus and making sure she was safe in her dorm room, Earl had talked almost nonstop about Trevor and the things they were planning on building. Ginger had listened, nodded, and smiled while her insides crumpled and compressed.
“Fine.” Her word had bite to it. She hadn’t been able to mask her frustration.
“Is something wrong, Ginger?”
Of course something was wrong. Didn’t he see? She was trying so hard to be a part of his life. “I couldn’t buy that full price dress because I was being trampled in the parking lot.”
Ginger clenched her jaw. The words spilled out of her mouth. What an illogical leap. That wasn’t at all what she intended to say. Why couldn’t she talk about how she wanted to help him in the garage? She wanted Earl to talk about her the way he did Trevor. She wanted to be his assistant.
Earl’s jaw dropped and his eyes glazed. “That’s okay, honey.” His words were slow and measured, and he had more wrinkles in his forehead than a linen pantsuit. “It was just an idea.”
Ginger sat up a little straighter. Now he changed his mind again? The other night it had sounded so important. She was going to tell him that she felt jerked around by his constant and bizarre requests, that he needed to be clear on what he wanted.
Ginger twisted her purse strap around her wrist. She opened her mouth. “I need to go inside. The house is a mess.” She sounded downright accusatory. “You need to invent something that reads my mind because I am tired of trying to explain my feelings to you, Earl Salinski.”
Ginger cringed and pushed open the door. Oh, forget it. She’d never be able to say how she felt. Saying she wanted to be Trevor sounded stupid. She stomped to the house, leaving Earl in the car with his mouth open and his head shaking.
Keaton drove down the road until he found a place to turn around He’d had a moment of clarity right before he almost turned into that Ginger woman’s property. If he knocked on the door and told Ginger he wanted the box, he would have way too many questions to answer. She was bound to think that something was suspicious about him tracking her down and going to all this trouble for a cheap shell box. If he offered her money, she might think something about the box was valuable, and then maybe she wouldn’t give it to him at all.
No, he needed to devise a better plan, some sneaky way to enter the house and retrieve the box. He wouldn’t try breaking and entering again. That was just way too risky. He had enough crime to try and cover up.
How do you get into a stranger’s house without breaking the law? He shifted into gear as a plan formulated in his head. He might need Renata one more time before he put her and her sister on that boat.
Ginger laid the garage sale stuff out on the table—the vest, the photo album, the paper with six numbers on it, and the shell box. Through the window, she could see E
arl still sitting in the car. Now he was just as confused as she was. Thinking about this mystery was easier than thinking about her lack of a relationship with Earl.
She flipped through all the photos, stopping to look at the one of Arleta’s late husband standing by the tall, old Ponderosa pines with a radio tower and houses in the background. She pulled the photo out of the album and turned it over. All that was on there was the date 1986. Twenty years ago. Then she removed all the photos and checked the backs of them.
What had Mary Margret seen that alarmed her? Most of the photos only had dates on them; some listed people’s first names. Ginger put her hands in the pockets inside of both covers. Empty. But maybe something had been there at one time. What if the thing that alarmed Mary Margret wasn’t here anymore?
Someone had tried to run Ginger off the road and then tried to break in to her trunk; they had come into her house and probably searched Arleta’s too. Whatever they were looking for, they hadn’t found it yet.
Ginger picked up the shell box and viewed it at all angles. She opened it and touched the velvet lining. Could there have been something in the box, something Mary Margret put somewhere else? Maybe it was none of these things. Maybe the fishing pole she had given back to that Frank fellow was gold plated. Nah, she knew gold plating when she saw it.
Ginger paced the kitchen floor. The next step to putting together the sequence of events for Mary Margret’s fatal Saturday was to talk to the people at Jackson-Wheeler Real Estate. She stood beside the window. Earl had gotten out of the car and was wandering around his Bobcat scratching his head. She touched the window.
She’d read about this kind of thing. A midlife crisis. Men bought sports cars, left their wives, and found girlfriends who were half their age. She took small comfort in knowing that Earl probably wouldn’t find a girlfriend half his age. The man had a potbelly, and it wouldn’t be long before he could join the comb-over club. But the rest could happen. He could just decide that Ginger was in the way.
She paced the kitchen some more. If she was going to question Mary Margret’s coworkers, a little help and company would be nice. She thought about calling Kindra or Suzanne but instead looked up Arleta’s number in the phone book.
Arleta picked up on the first ring. “Hello.”
“Listen, I have some things to look into with Mary Margret. Why don’t you come along with me? I don’t think your break-in was just because you are in a bad neighborhood.”
The invitation solved two problems. Arleta wouldn’t be alone thinking about the break-in, and she could pick Arleta’s brain about how to make Earl a soul mate.
On the other end of the line, Arleta sighed. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Gotcha, I’ll be there in two shakes.”
Tammy sighed. The chair in the captain’s office pressed hard against her back. Paul Stenengarter had told her she was back on patrol and then proceeded to type on his laptop like she wasn’t even in the room. The keys clicked for ten excruciating seconds while her teeth clenched tighter and tighter.
She’d come in on her day off, given up her precious free time with Trevor and her mom. “Is this because I’ve been hanging out with the Parker woman’s friends?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The way his fingers hovered momentarily over the keys told her he knew exactly what she was talking about. “You missed half your shift.”
Tammy gripped the edge of the desk. “The second I knew I was going to be late, I phoned in—twice. I had a crisis with my son that threw off my schedule. Certainly you have other officers who have missed work for family reasons.” She straightened her back and shifted in her chair.
Stenengarter’s cheek twitched, but he kept his eyes on the computer screen. A photo of the captain with his wife and two girls sat on his desk. All four of them were smiling.
“Your daughters are teenagers now. When they have a crisis, I bet your wife handles it. I don’t have that luxury.”
He lifted his chin slightly. “Your choices were your choices, Welstad. You’re back on patrol.”
“Am I being held to the same standard as the other officers?” She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the desk. “Because I feel singled out. I’ve never missed a shift. I’ve never taken a personal day. I’ve never been late before. I work hard, and I don’t expect special treatment because I’m female.”
“You’re back on patrol.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of blank paper. “If you push this issue, you’ll be suspended.”
Stenengarter spoke in code, but she knew the issue was her involvement with Mary Margret’s friends. Of course, he would never admit that he was abusing his power. Other officers had done worse and not received such a severe reprimand. The threats were always veiled and indirect, but she got the message loud and clear. What she couldn’t figure out was what he was covering up or who he was protecting.
While he’d always come across as a bit ivory tower, she had never known him to misuse the authority until the Parker death. Then again, he was from a political family; maybe he didn’t view it as an abuse of power, just business as usual.
He stopped typing and finally met her gaze. He pushed his rimless glasses up on his nose. “You are dismissed.”
Tammy stood. She pressed her feet hard against the floor. Her knees locked. Stenengarter just kept typing. She did not come in on her day off to be treated with so little respect. The demotion was embarrassment enough.
“Everything was given to you. Your family has pull and status in this town. You were the heir apparent for this job.”
The keys clicked away.
She pounded her fist on the glossy wood desk. “You have no idea what it’s like to fight and claw. To live paycheck to paycheck. Were you ever even on patrol?”
His fingers stopped, resting on the keyboard. Again, the twitch in his cheek.
“The men don’t respect you.”
He looked up at her. The rimless glasses hid as much as they revealed. At least he was paying attention.
“Maybe if you hit the streets yourself, put on a uniform, you’d understand better.” Her throat tightened. “And you would know how it feels…to be busted down like this when you fought so hard to get the promotion.”
He didn’t take his eyes off her. At the same time, his expression gave nothing away. It was only his reluctance to break eye contact that suggested she might have hit a nerve, said something that made an impact.
Tammy tapped her hands on her thighs while her throat grew tight. “I’ll be here for my shift tomorrow. I’ll pick up my assignment. And I’ll go out on patrol. I’m a good cop. I’ll do what I’m told.” She leaned toward him. “But I don’t deserve this, and I know what it’s really about.”
Stenengarter rose to his feet. His Adam’s apple moved up and down. A moment before his expression turned to granite, she thought she saw a flicker of something, maybe hurt. “You’ve got some nerve telling me that the men don’t respect me.” His voice was low, smoldering. “I will be checking to ensure that you make your shift.”
Tammy nodded, then turned and strode toward the door. Ever hopeful that she had reached him with something she said, she glanced back. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.
Why did she allow herself to hope?
Ginger drove into town. When she pulled up to Arleta’s house, the older woman was waiting on the porch. Arleta’s steel gray hair was pulled into a bun, and she wore slacks and a light blue button-down shirt. A sweater that looked like it had been in style during the Eisenhower administration was draped over her arm.
They drove to the Jackson-Wheeler Real Estate office. This time, the office was buzzing with activity. Several agents sat at desks flipping through piles of papers. Two agents dashed outside, cell phones and folders in hand.
A blond woman rose from her desk as Ginger and Arleta made their way down the center aisle. “I remember you. Mary Margret’s friend, right?”
Ginger nodded. That
whole day was a bit of blur, but she did remember this nice lady, whose name was Dana, Dana Jones. Arleta crossed her arms and wandered toward the wall of fame, where all the top sellers were pictured.
Ginger glanced over to where Mary Margret’s desk had been. A redhead in a short skirt sat in the chair where Mary Margret used to sit. There was no evidence left that her friend had ever worked in this office.
Dana must have picked up on her sadness. “I miss her, too. She was a very kind person.”
Ginger heard heavy footsteps behind her. She turned slowly. Mr. Wheeler, all six plus feet of him, loomed over her. Just like the day of the funeral, he was dressed in jeans with a saucer-sized belt buckle, cowboy boots, a brown blazer, and Western cut shirt. He must have come out of the glass-walled office in the corner.
Arleta wandered toward Ginger. Some almost undetectable signal passed between Mr. Wheeler and Dana—a slight lifting of his chin sent her scurrying back to her desk.
“Ginger Salinski, right?” He held out a huge hand toward her.
Hmm. He remembered her name, too. “Yes.” What was she? Some kind of celebrity?
Arleta whispered in Ginger’s ear. “My goodness, you are popular.”
After releasing Ginger’s crushed fingers from a death grip of a handshake, Mr. Wheeler put his hands on his hips. “Have you changed your mind about setting up that fund for Mary Margret?”
“Actually, Mr. Wheeler, I’m trying to retrace Mary Margret’s movements on the Saturday she died.”
He cocked his head sideways, like he expected her to explain further. She didn’t owe him an explanation. Behind Mr. Wheeler, she could see his office through the glass walls. The primary features were a huge desk that had only a telephone on it and some kind of dead wildlife mounted on the wall.
“She left a message on my machine saying that after she had hit a few garage sales, she would be meeting another agent at some property. I wonder if you know who that agent might have been and where the property was?”
