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

by Maggie Pill

  “Could it be one of Rose’s children?” she asked. “What would she be doing here alone?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, “but I think we need to find out.”

  Turning to face each other, we said it at the same time. “The cabin.”

  The original structure on our property is a log cabin built long before our father was born. Over the years, it had fallen into disrepair. Its chinking dried out and fell to the ground. Its door swelled from moisture and stuck shut. The windows no longer had glass, and to be truthful, Faye and I and a BB gun might have had something to do with that. Open to the weather, the cabin became the domain of small animals and dead leaves.

  From time to time someone fixed it up a little. As girls we did hours of work cleaning it out so we could sleep there. The plank floor was hard and damp, but the spirit of adventure kept things interesting. Faye’s sons had in their turn discovered it, again clearing away years of detritus and using the cabin for camping adventures and possibly a few drinking parties. When they were grown it was forgotten again, so isolated we seldom thought of it.

  If someone wanted to hide out on the farm, that was where he’d go.

  “Put the dog in the car,” I told Faye. “We need to move quietly.”

  She did as I suggested. Buddy didn’t like it, but he’s smart enough to sense the times Faye can’t be coaxed into changing her mind. Turning around once on the back seat, he settled his nose on his paws and closed his eyes. Taking up her shovel Faye led the way up the hill again, this time passing the barn and heading into the woods.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Faye

  Barb and I were quiet, side-stepping twigs and branches that might snap and signal our approach. The cabin sat beside a pond that was sometimes there, sometimes not, depending on the season and the amount of rain. It wasn’t far, perhaps half a mile, though as kids we thought the place as remote as Jupiter. Images rose in my mind of the two of us lumbering through the woods weighed down by old blankets, flashlights, crackers, and a half-jar of peanut butter. The last time I recalled making the trip, Retta had insisted she was big enough to go along. Not having the heart to refuse her, Mom had suggested in the strongest terms that we take Baby Sister along. I can still recall Barb’s disgust when Retta got scared sometime after midnight and started crying to go home. I’ll admit I wasn’t thrilled myself as we fumbled our way through the dark woods with her sobbing between us.

  We neared the cabin, puffing a lot more than we had as kids, and stopped to catch our breath. Looking down the slight incline, I saw that the pond was fairly big from the rainy April we’d had. The sun lit the water, hiding its murky underside with reflected sparkle. As girls Barb and I tried several homemade watercraft on that muddy mess, the most successful an old door we made into a raft. We had to stand on opposite ends, and our feet had always become soaked, but when we poled like mad and arrived at the opposite shore, we felt like we’d discovered land untouched by other humans.

  We moved forward again, keeping trees between us and the door and craning our necks to peer between the newly-sprung leaves. Someone had replaced the broken windows with plastic glass, and the door sat properly in place. At first we saw no sign of life, but then someone passed the window. It was a girl of perhaps twelve, her blond hair bright in the dark space. As we watched, she reappeared, stopping at the window but facing away. Barb touched my arm, and we moved closer.

  We reached the cabin wall without making any noise, stopped next to the front window and listened. “You can’t go back again,” a voice said. “They’ll catch us.”

  “But what about Mazie?” It was clearly the voice of a young child.

  “They’re going to take care of her from now on. Mazie will be fine.”

  “But she’ll miss us. She wants me and Pansy to feed her!”

  Someone sighed in frustration, and another voice chimed in. “Iris is right. We’ll get split up and you’ll never see me or her again!”

  “Pansy, don’t,” the first one said. “You’ll scare her.”

  The warning came too late. An unintelligible wail rose, ending in a few words we could decipher: “—want to stay with you!”

  The pain in that voice was too much. Pushing the door open, I entered the cabin. Three young girls turned to stare at me, their expressions horrified, as if I’d brought poisoned apples for everyone.

  Standing so close, they looked like a photo montage of a single child’s growing years. All three had honey-colored hair and round, blue-eyes, now shadowed by fear and distrust. Their fair complexions hinted at Nordic heritage, but several days in the woods had dulled them, as if they stood behind old glass.

  Wearing a cotton skirt and a faded top, the oldest girl was at the stage writers call coltish. She’d apparently had a growth spurt, because her shirt pinched at the shoulders and the hem of her denim skirt had been let down, revealing a darker color. Her hair was neatly braided into one plait and fastened with limp ribbon. Twelve going on thirty-five.

  The middle girl, a stair-step down in height, wore a skirt and top every bit as dull as her sisters’. Her hair was unbound and uncombed, and she’d stuck a screwdriver in her waistband, a nine-year-old’s means of defense.

  The littlest girl had the round cheeks that are often the last vestiges of baby fat. On one side of her head, a barrette kept her light hair away from her face. It was a mate to the one we’d found in the barn.

  Though they appeared to be healthy, none of them was old enough to be living in the woods alone.

  Barb spoke calmly from behind me. “Don’t be afraid. We want to help.”

  The oldest girl squared her shoulders, ready to face whatever she had to. The little one stepped behind her sisters, crying softly. I moved toward her, intending to offer comfort, but the middle girl blocked my way, her jaw tight. “Stay away from her!”

  “Stop it, Pansy.” The oldest girl bent to comfort the little one. “There’s nothing we can do now.”

  I glanced around the one-room cabin. The only furniture was a sturdy bunk bed in the corner away from the window. On each bed a couple of quilts lay neatly folded. In another corner was a cooler, and atop it were ready-to-eat foods: a jar of peanut butter, a stack of crackers, a box of raisins, and a bag of walnuts, along with three cups, three plates, and three sets of silverware. Next to the cooler was a thermal picnic jug.

  At the foot of the bed was a large black garbage bag, and spilling from it was an assortment of clothing. Half-covered by the bag’s edge was a doll that looked hand-made. Its skirt was the same fabric as the skirt the smallest girl wore, and I pictured Rose making it for her youngest child.

  “You’re the Isley girls,” Barb said.

  The oldest girl answered. “I’m Iris. That’s Pansy, and Daisy.”

  “Flowers,” I murmured, and she shrugged as if to say it was beyond her why her mother had chosen such names.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Daisy looked up, her face wet with tears. “Don’t let So-Servishes take us away!” she begged. “I want to live with Pansy and Iris!”

  We turned to Iris for a translation. “Ben said the social services people will separate us. We decided to live out here so we could stay together.”

  “But where are your parents?” Barb’s tone indicated disgust with adults who would go away without making arrangements for their children.

  More tacit communication. “We don’t know.” Pansy said as she stroked Daisy’s arm. “They just left.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Barb

  I’m not sure what I expected to find in the woods on our family farm that day, but three unchaperoned children wasn’t it. What were we supposed to do with them?

  Faye suggested we go back to the farmhouse, where she promised to fix the girls a meal. Food is Faye’s way of making everyone comfortable, and it worked. The oldest and youngest of the girls seemed relieved to see their adventure come to an end, and both of them ceded responsibility to the
adults without objection.

  The middle one, Pansy, had a little more fight in her.

  “You aren’t the boss of us!” she said when Faye made her proposal. “Our rent is paid until the first of June, so if we want to stay out here, we can.”

  Faye looked at me with a question in her eyes. “That’s not precisely true,” I said in my best barrister voice. “The rental contract is with your parents, who aren’t here.”

  She wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Well, you aren’t our parents, so we don’t have to do what you say.”

  Despite my irritation at having to argue with a child, I admired the girl’s active mind. “You are correct,” I replied. “In fact, you’re wise to consider the consequences of doing what a stranger tells you to do. However, you have to give yourselves up to someone, Social Services or some other government agency. We’re licensed private investigators, and I’m also an attorney. If you come with us, I promise to represent your rights as best I can. We’ll also try to ascertain the present location of your parents.”

  “Our mother,” Pansy said. “We want to know where Mom is.”

  “All right,” Faye said. “Let’s go to the house, where it’s comfortable.”

  I led the way. At first the Isleys walked with Faye, who’s the mom type. Halfway along, however, Pansy, trotted up to my side. “Are you really a private detective?”

  “I am.”

  “And a lawyer?”

  “Retired.”

  She was quiet for a few steps. “Is it hard to get through law school?”

  I smiled grimly. “Yes.”

  “So you have to be really smart?”

  I turned to look at her. “There are different kinds of smart, but yes, lawyers have to study hard, remember a lot, and learn to be good judges of character.”

  “Because people lie to you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “They lie, sometimes in words, sometimes by omission.”

  “What’s that?”

  I slowed my steps. “People often know more than they tell. Good lawyers have a sense for the things they don’t say.” Taking out a tissue, I wiped my nose. Something was pollinating in these woods. I seldom know what causes my sinuses to drip.

  “What does the lawyer do if someone lies?”

  “It depends on the situation. If the person gets to a point where she trusts the lawyer, she’ll probably tell what she knows.”

  After a pause she asked, “What if she doesn’t?”

  I shrugged. “It usually comes out some other way, sooner or later.”

  Glancing at her sideways, I saw Pansy’s shoulders droop. The kid was hiding something, and it weighed on her young mind. I put a hand on her shoulder. “In my years as a lawyer I learned that things generally work out if people think hard about what’s best for everyone.”

  “But how do you know what’s best?”

  I squeezed her shoulder. “It will feel right when the time comes.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Faye

  The girls seemed relieved to leave the cabin behind, and I guessed they’d been uncomfortable and afraid there. Barb led them through their story while I scoured the kitchen for things I could use to make them a decent meal. Finding ham, eggs, half an onion, and some cheese in the refrigerator, I made a large omelet and cut it into three chunks.

  She began by telling the girls the legal system’s position on abandoned children. I kept injecting hopeful comments, because Barb’s a little scary when she gets going on the law. I knew she was trying to convince the girls they had to tell us more than, “They just left.” Still, quoting precedent is no way to make people relax. In my experience, no matter how much they don’t want to tell something, kids will tell, given time.

  They had almost finished eating when the truck arrived with my horses. Though I was eager to hear what the girls had to say, I went outside to guide my new friends to their new home. They came out of the truck a little skittish, and I couldn’t blame them. It was a new place, and I was a new owner. I led the buckskin (I named her Anni-Frid) and the chestnut, (Agnetha, of course—Who doesn’t love ABBA?) into two of the four stalls available. Aware of how little I knew about the care and upkeep of horses, I substituted affection for expertise, petting and telling them how pretty they were. It seemed to work.

  I returned to the house, where Barb and the girls had washed the dishes and put them away. “They’ve agreed to come into town with us,” Barb told me. “We’ll see what Rory can do about finding their parents.”

  “Our mother,” Pansy corrected again. “Ben isn’t our dad.”

  “Okay,” Barb said agreeably. “We’re going to find your mother.”

  They seemed encouraged by Barb’s positive tone, and we gathered up their things and went outside.

  I’d let Buddy out of the car, and he was back at the lawnmower, digging at the dirt around it. “Buddy, come here!” I called. He didn’t obey immediately, and I called again. “Bud! We’re leaving.” Reluctantly he came to the car, where I introduced him to the girls. Iris and Pansy were polite. Daisy was thrilled. “A dog!” she squealed. “I always wanted a dog, but Ben says they chase animals and make them sick.”

  “Some do,” I told her. “You have to teach them not to.”

  She climbed into the back seat, calling, “C’mon, Buddy! Want to sit on my lap?” Amazingly, Buddy did. He jumped nimbly into the car and onto her lap, giving her an adoring look he usually reserved for me. Iris and Pansy got in on either side of Daisy, patiently enduring her comments about what a great dog Buddy is and how it would be nice if they could have a dog just like him. They agreed, but I could tell they had little hope such a thing could ever come to pass.

  “This is a really nice car,” Iris said from the back seat.

  “Yeah,” Pansy agreed. “We don’t have to sit sideways like in the truck.”

  “Did your mom and Ben take the truck?” I asked.

  “Iris drove it into the trees,” Daisy said proudly. “She didn’t even hit one.”

  I looked at Iris, whose face turned crimson. “We wanted people to think we left,” she said, “but I’d never drive on the road without a license.”

  Rose was gone. Ben was gone. Neither had left in the family vehicle.

  Each girl had packed a bag—literally, since they didn’t have suitcases. When we got to the house, I put them in our only guest room, which was fine with them, since they seemed to feel better staying together. Using the guest bath, each girl took a shower and put on clean clothes. They looked better, but I couldn’t help but notice that their new outfits, though cleaner than before, still screamed rummage sale.

  While the girls cleaned up, Barb called Rory to tell him the morning’s events. He said he’d call the sheriff’s office, since the farm was out of his jurisdiction. He called back to report that Rob Brill, the recently elected sheriff of Milldon County, was busy with a multiple vehicle accident. He suggested Rory talk to the girls about where their parents were.

  Rory arrived as I was helping Daisy put her hair into pigtails. She smelled of shampoo and soap, and I hugged her, unable to resist her cuteness. I loved raising boys, but I’ll admit it would have been nice to have one little girl to fuss over. “The police chief is going to talk to you,” I said, turning her so I could look into her eyes. “You have to tell him everything, okay?”

  She nodded emphatically. “It’s a sin to tell a lie.”

  “That’s true. Let’s go meet the chief.”

  Rory met the girls in my living room, which we thought was a better choice than an office. He introduced himself, telling the girls he was trying to get permission for them to stay with Barb and me for a few days. I saw Pansy bite her lip at his phrasing. There were no guarantees, but foster homes are always in short supply, and I thought our reputation would serve us well. Once that was established, he set his hands on his knees and leaned forward, ready to listen. “I need you to tell me everything you can about how your parents disappeared.”

&n
bsp; Iris glanced at Pansy, who gave the slightest of nods. Iris sighed. “A month ago, we came home from school and Momma was gone.” She paused, swallowing hard at the memory.

  “Where did she go?”

  “Ben said she ran away.”

  Pansy made a small noise of disgust, and her lips formed the word liar.

  “Pansy?”

  She shivered. “Nothing.” She turned to Iris, encouraging her to go on.

  Iris smoothed her hair, still wet from the shower. “We didn’t know what to do. Ben said if anyone found out our mom had left, we’d have to go to Social Services and they’d put us in foster homes. Ben said he’d take care of us if we kept up the work around the place.”

  “Slave labor!” This time Pansy’s voice was audible.

  “Pansy.” It was less a reprimand than a warning. Their eyes met, and that unspoken communication thing happened again. Biting her lip, Pansy turned her face downward.

  Iris went on, still fiddling with her hair. “Ben said school was a waste of time, and the teachers might stick their noses in our business.” With a maturity that was heart-breaking for one so young she added, “We tried to keep up on our lessons. We read a little bit every night.”

  “I can read a whole book!” Daisy announced. “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.”

  “That’s really good,” Rory responded. “You’ll have to show me sometime.” He turned from littlest to oldest, a question in his eyes.

  “We did what Ben said,” Iris said, putting a hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “I cooked, Pansy took care of the animals, and Daisy helped.”

  “Did Ben ever—hurt you?”

  “No.” It was plain Iris knew what he was thinking. “He’d holler sometimes, but he never hit us or—anything.”

  I heard Barb’s sigh of relief. She’d no doubt encountered many abused children in her work as a district attorney, though she seldom spoke of it.