Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3)

by Maggie Pill

  “Yes,” Barbara said. With that she ended the call.

  Gabe was still at the corral fence, and one of the reindeer was eating something out of his hand. I tugged at Styx’s collar, coaxing him toward the car. He gave the animals a few parting barks before climbing onto his towel-covered seat, sorry to leave such an interesting place but happy to be going anywhere I was going.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Barb

  It isn’t that I mind doing things for Retta. It’s the way she expects me to do as she says that irritates me. When I told Faye I’d been ordered to visit the church McAdams attended, she played peacemaker, offering to go. “That isn’t the point,” I told her. “The question is why doesn’t Retta do it? Apparently it’s something about graduation.”

  Faye chuckled. “Last year someone decided that instead of blue and gold flowers for graduation, they’d have blue and gold and white. Retta almost had a fit. Nobody changes tradition if she can prevent it.”

  I sighed. “Okay, so while Retta saves Allport High from eternal embarrassment, I get to interview a man I don’t know about a family I never met concerning an emergency that probably never happened.”

  Faye grinned. “Good luck with that.”

  The church was a modular building in a mostly residential neighborhood. There were chairs instead of pews, narrow windows with regular glass, and a slightly rickety-looking speaker’s platform up front made of particle board covered with wafer-thin, fake wood paneling. The pastor, a slightly round young man with Buddy Holly glasses, greeted me politely when I tapped on the door of his office.

  “Aaron Cronk,” he said, shaking my hand. “What can I do for you?”

  He frowned as I explained the McAdams family’s move. “I didn’t know they were leaving,” he said, “but that’s no surprise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ben doesn’t trust many people, and he often doesn’t share his plans.” A moment later he added, “I guess it’s good they left as a family.”

  “Meaning you thought Ben and the woman might split?” Though I’d tried to recall her name on the way over, I couldn’t. Retta had no doubt mentioned it more than once, but I often don’t listen when she goes into one of her stories about people I don’t know and don’t need to.

  Cronk shifted his feet. “It isn’t my place to tell tales.”

  “Mr. Cronk, we’d like to return the family’s possessions to them. That means we need to know where they are. If the woman and McAdams went separate ways, it would be helpful to know that.” Gathering bits of memory I said, “Ben rented the farm as a single man, right? The woman and her daughters joined him later.”

  He nodded. “When Rose’s husband died in an accident, she tried to make a go of a yarn shop. Though she’s a talented artist, she couldn’t handle the business part. Ben, a strong church member, lived all alone in that big house.” He clasped his hands as if it were natural for a single female to join with the first unattached male who came along. “Rose came to me for counsel, and I encouraged her to accept Ben’s offer of protection.”

  “Moving in with McAdams gave her financial security.” I’d have suggested a college business course, but I kept that opinion to myself.

  “I thought they’d marry. Rose said she wasn’t sure she cared for Ben in the way a wife should for her husband.” His hands fluttered to demonstrate how helpless he’d felt at her decision. “I hoped she’d come to her senses in time, but I’m afraid things got worse between them.” He shook his head. “Rose couldn’t see that Ben was God’s match for her.”

  A preacher who spouted commercial taglines? If Rose had refused to marry Ben, she’d probably had her reasons. Judging from Retta’s reports that Rose and the girls had always been busy tending, making, and fixing, it seemed that McAdams had benefited as much as the woman he offered his “protection” to.

  “You said you aren’t surprised they left. Did one of them mention it?”

  Again the pastor paused, reluctant to share what he knew. “They’d become less involved in the church lately.” He rubbed his chin. “I’ve been meaning to go out there for a month, but something always came up. You’re sure they’re gone?” He seemed embarrassed, and I wondered if he suspected Ben wasn’t as good to Rose as he should have been.

  “They sent my sister a letter,” I said. “It mentioned moving to Detroit.”

  He looked up sharply. “I don’t think so.”

  I shrugged. “That’s what the note said.”

  He chewed on his bottom lip for a while. “I can’t imagine Ben moving there.” He leaned in as if confiding a secret. “It’s full of Mohammedans.”

  “Mo—You mean Muslims?”

  “Yes.” Cronk shook his head, making his jowls shudder. “I don’t think he’d expose his family to those people.”

  “I see.” Irritated by the man’s blanket prejudice, I took out a business card. “If you hear from Rose or Ben, please ask them to contact me or my sister.” I wrote Retta’s cell number on the back.

  Cronk studied the card with interest. “Are you the lady who caught those killers last winter?”

  “My sister and I helped out with the case.” I didn’t say we got involved because the man accused of murdering his wife had been Retta’s boyfriend. We’d been relieved when it turned out he hadn’t committed murder on Retta’s behalf.

  “A detective agency, eh?” The way he said it implied that our offices must be located between a bar and a brothel. Still, he set my card carefully on his desk and wished me a blessed day.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Faye

  I was in my car Wednesday morning when the phone rang. Pulling into a nearby parking lot, I took the call.

  “Good morning, Mom. Are you busy?”

  “Hi, Bill. I’m on my way to the Meadows, either to rescue your grandmother from something or to rescue the staff from your grandmother. There’s no hurry, though. How are you, Sweetie?”

  “We’re good—actually, really good after Cramer’s call last night.”

  My heart gave a little skip. “You like my idea?”

  “It couldn’t have come at a better time for us.”

  That meant things were getting down to the wire. “So tell me what you think should happen, and I’ll try to help.”

  “Well, Carla and I thought we’d drive up this weekend and see the place. I mean, I remember it from when I was a kid, but it’s been a while. Once we know what’s there, we’ll rent a truck and make the move.” He cleared his throat before adding, “We’d like to be out of here by June first.”

  Ten days. Rent was no doubt due at the first of the new month.

  “I think we can do that. I talked to Retta, and she’s happy to get someone to take on the animals. She’s looking for the previous renters so we can make them take their stuff, but if she can’t locate them, we’ll dispose of it later.”

  “We don’t have that much to bring.”

  I heard tension in Bill’s voice and felt a pang of sadness. He was so smart, so good! He’d just never found the right way to use his talents. I said a little prayer this would be his answer.

  That made me think of my daughter-in-law. “Is Carla okay with this?”

  He chuckled. “I think she’s more excited than I am. She’s filled sheets of paper with diagrams of garden plots.” He lowered his voice. “I’m hoping this will take her mind off the other thing, you know?”

  “I know.” Carla had recently had her third miscarriage in four years. Their childless marriage had begun worrying her, and her worry made Bill sad.

  “Okay,” I said, turning to a happier subject. “I’m going to call Retta right now, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Right. And Mom,” Bill’s voice turned soft. “Thanks so much for this. We’re going to make it work. I promise.”

  “Good.” No one knew if my sons could pull off my crazy scheme, but the fact they were willing to try meant a lot to me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  B
arb

  A few minutes after Faye left for the nursing home, I heard the front door open. We operate our agency out of my home, so far with no complaints from the neighbors. The rambling old Victorian had two parlors at the front when I moved in, one formal and the other less so. After we re-varnished the wide, dark woodwork and applied cream-colored paint to the walls, the parlors became our business space.

  I stepped out of my office, the former second parlor, to see who was there. Standing in the reception area was a thirtyish man with dark, curly hair and the kind of face that will never look old. “Good day, ma’am.”

  I stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Barb Evans, half of the agency.”

  His handshake was brief. “Colt Farrell. I think you ladies might be able to help me find some people.” Something in his tone hinted he was favoring our business with his presence, but I smiled, withholding judgment.

  “Come in, Mr. Farrell.” I led him into my office, glancing around to reassure myself it was as I like it. If I’m not vigilant, Retta adds touches to my space that she thinks add style and color. She favors Southwest decor, and early on it was cactus plants and desert paintings. I’d explained to her that while I have nothing against the Southwest, I don’t want it in my stately Victorian home.

  I invited my guest to be seated then asked, “Whom do you want to locate, Mr. Farrell?”

  “Some friends who left the area. I’m hoping you can give me their forwarding address.”

  I folded my hands on the desktop. “Why do you want to locate them?” While clients don’t always tell the truth about their motives, it’s best to ask straight out. We try to avoid cases where the client has spiteful intentions.

  Farrell made a vague gesture. “I thought we were friends. I mean, Ben and me were friends. I knew Rose and the girls, of course, but—”

  The name caught my attention. “You’re speaking of Ben McAdams?”

  “Yes. I understand you own the farm him and his family were renting.” He repeated the gesture, and I thought it signaled frustration. “I didn’t think Ben would move away without letting me know where he was going.”

  “Was there any indication of trouble between the two of them?”

  He shrugged. “Ben thought everything was fine.”

  “What about finances? Did they have money problems?”

  “I think they were doing pretty good, better together than either one ever done by themselves.”

  Trying to ignore the man’s grammatical messes, I focused on his purpose. “We don’t share information, but I can say we don’t know where they are.”

  Farrell rubbed one side of his face. “I just don’t understand it.” He glared at the items on my desk as if Ben might be hiding behind one of them. “I just hope none of them got sick or something. Not a week ago I was out to the house, and he never said a thing about moving away.”

  There was something false in Farrell’s voice. It occurred to me that McAdams probably owed Farrell money. He didn’t seem angry about it, however, just disbelieving.

  I opened my mouth to say that if we located the family, we'd ask McAdams to contact him. Farrell picked up a cup of pencils sitting on my desk and read aloud Clare Boothe Luce’s words: If I fail, no one will say, “She doesn’t have what it takes.” They will say, “Women don't have what it takes.”

  He frowned. “Did this Clare have what it takes?”

  “She was a writer, an ambassador, successful at a lot of things.”

  “And what did her husband do for a living?”

  His tone was like a poke in my side with a stick. “Why do you ask?”

  Farrell shrugged lightly. “I notice that a lot of successful women have wealthy husbands that support them so they can write books and go to ambassador balls and like that.”

  My lips were stiff as I replied, “I don’t.”

  He seemed confused. “You mean you don’t have a successful husband?”

  “I don’t have any husband, Mr. Farrell. Never have.”

  His jaw jutted. “Now, that’s sad.”

  “I don’t find it so.”

  He looked as if he pitied me. “Then you don’t understand God’s plan. For a woman, the purpose of life is marriage and children.”

  I leaned back in my chair, possibly so my fist couldn’t reach his chin. “And what’s the purpose of life for a man?”

  He sighed at the weight of the question. “A man has lots of things he’s meant to do, but an important one is taking care of his woman.” He set the cup back on my desk. “I’m sorry you missed that in your life.”

  I stood abruptly. “I’m afraid we can’t help you, Mr. Farrell.”

  He rose, brushing his black polyester trouser legs lightly. “Ben will probably contact me once they get settled. Thanks for your time, Miss Evans.”

  As he left, I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw something at the back of his head. His parting shot, the use of Miss, was a pointed reminder that I exist in a state he believed to be unnatural for women. I guess I should have been grateful he didn’t address me as “Spinster Evans.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Faye

  I spent an hour with Dale’s mom, listening and sympathizing until she talked herself into admitting she needed help to get out of bed. Though she’d failed in the last few months, Harriet’s sense of independence and modesty remained strong. There were days when she got feisty and tried to do for herself, as she had for many years. This time she’d fallen trying to get to the bathroom. She wasn’t hurt, but she insisted, “If they’ll just give me a cane, “I can pee without some nurse watching!”

  The staff at the Meadows had called me to see if I could make Harriet see reason. Though she never liked me much, my mother-in-law had come to see me as an ally in her battle for independence. Everyone in the nursing home wanted her to do things they hoped would keep her alive. While I’m not a big cheerleader for death, I agree with Harriet that dying isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person after ninety.

  When I returned to the office, Barb was slumped toward the computer in a very un-ergonomic position. After she caught me up on Farrell’s visit she asked, “Was this Ben McAdams as pompous as his buddy Farrell?”

  “I never met him, but Retta can tell us.” I called her, putting the phone on speaker.

  “I really don’t know,” Retta said. “Ben didn’t talk much, and he never offered an opinion on anything. I don’t know if I intimidated him or it was just his natural way. Rose was much easier to deal with.”

  “The pastor didn’t know McAdams was moving and neither did his buddy,” Barb said. “Retta, do you think they were running away from something, a debt or a legal problem?”

  Retta chuckled. “I don’t suppose they’d tell their landlord if they had trouble like that.”

  “Barb’s going to see what she can find out from Rory,” I told Retta. Barb was already calling the city police department. Listening in on their conversation, I gathered the chief wasn’t overly busy and would check their databases for warrants and watches. After a few minutes of silence I heard Barb say, “No legal issues. Thanks, Rory. I owe you one.”

  He said something that made her blush, but she simply thanked him again and hung up. “No record of law-breaking for either Ben McAdams or Rose Isley. Ben had some trouble as a kid, went through the foster care system and the juvenile courts, but he joined the military and apparently straightened himself out. No recent events that would explain them moving away abruptly.”

  I turned the phone toward me. “I’ll try the school. The elementary secretary knows me pretty well, and she’ll know if there was something going on, even if she can’t tell us exactly what it was.”

  It took a few minutes to connect, and I pictured the busy office with teachers, parents, kids, and staff all making demands on the secretary’s time. Even after twenty years on the job, Madge never failed to be patient with everything and kind to everyone.

  When Madge finally answered I got right to the
point, knowing she didn’t have time for idle chatter. “I’m calling about the Isley children. I think two of them are in elementary. Did they tell you they were moving away?”

  “No, but we wondered. They withdrew from school about a month ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Ben said they’d decided to homeschool, but April is a funny time to start that. They’d be smarter to start in the fall.”

  “Did anyone talk to the girls’ mother to see if she agreed with Ben?”

  Madge chuckled. “Mrs. White tried, but you don’t just call out there. Ben is kind of a Luddite, so Rose and the girls don’t have phones or computers. He has a cell phone, but he turns it off most of the time. You have to leave a voicemail, and he answers if and when he feels like it.”

  “Hard to believe in this day and age.”

  “Inconvenient, if you ask me.” She sniffed. “You say they’re moving?”

  “Retta got a letter saying they were, so she went out there. They’re already gone.” Not wanting to start rumors I added, “We were surprised, but we have no reason to believe there’s anything wrong.”

  “Hmmm,” Madge seemed skeptical. “I’ll ask the kids who are friends with Pansy and Daisy.” After a beat she added, “And I’ll check with the middle school secretary. Iris might have said something to one of her friends.”

  “Thanks, Madge.”

  Barb had been checking computer records as I talked, an ever-present tissue crumpled in one hand. People with sinus problems probably shouldn’t live in century-old houses. “I can’t find credit card accounts under either Rose’s name or Ben’s,” she said when I ended my call.

  “I think we’re dealing with a guy who won’t have credit cards,” I told her, “maybe not even a bank account. Retta says the rent came by money order, sometimes in cash.”

  “Is he a survivalist or something?”

  “I guess he’d call himself an individualist.”

  “What about the woman? Did she go along with it?”

  “She must have.” A hot flash hit and I stripped off my sweater. Barb gripes about her drippy sinuses, but she’s never had a single hot flash, so I contend she’s the lucky one. “Ben isn’t Rose’s husband. He has no say over her or the girls.”