by Maggie Pill
Barb paced a little. “He needed to hide her body until he used the weapon hidden in the bunker for whatever they’re planning. After that, he probably intended to disappear.”
“Or kill himself in his crazy plot,” I said. “Either way, he didn’t care what happened to the girls.”
Barb smiled grimly. “They’re girls. How much could they matter?”
Sheriff Brill pulled up out front a few minutes later, and I saw he’d stopped to get the psychologist, Julie Walters. I was surprised when Bill’s Honda pulled up and he and Carla got out.
The four of them entered together, and I made introductions. Carla told the sheriff, “We came to support the girls.”
Brill and Julie joined the girls in my living room. Barb, Retta, Carla, Bill, and I stayed in the kitchen, waiting. Dale came in and stood near the door, his eyes sad.
First the sheriff came out. “Julie will do what she can to help them cope. She’s also going to arrange things with the school. When they’re ready, the girls can finish this year so they can start in September in the right grade levels.” He shook his head. “It’ll give them something to concentrate on, Julie thinks. So they can begin to deal with their mom’s death.”
“I could help,” Carla said. “I have a teaching degree.”
Brill nodded. “I’ll get out of your hair now. You people have been seeing way too much of me lately.”
“And you’ve been wonderful.” Retta patted his arm. “Let us know if you find out more about what those men were planning.”
Assuring us he would, Brill left. We sat at the table, waiting for the girls and hoping they’d be able to handle their latest tragedy.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Barb
Retta did a good job with the girls over the next few days. Faye and Carla went out to her house at some point each day, taking little treats and gifts. I only went once. It was hard for me to witness Pansy’s sadness, and though I thought she liked me, she retreated from everyone except her sisters.
I understood. There are griefs that can’t be spoken, that are somehow trivialized by talking to strangers about them. That’s how I see loss, and I suspected Pansy felt the same way.
The cat was coming to my window pretty regularly, trusting I’d have food for her. She still didn’t want to be petted, but if I set my hand on the windowsill, she’d nudge it the way cats do in order to transfer their scent to you.
I toyed with the idea of capturing the cat as a gift for Pansy. It might make her feel better, since I hadn’t yet seen an animal she didn’t connect with. On the other hand, Pansy’s future was undetermined. She might not be allowed a cat at her new home. I decided next time she was at the house I’d bring her upstairs and introduce her to my cat. It might help a little.
It didn’t take long for the authorities to complete Rose’s autopsy and release her body. Rory reported she died from a blow to the back of her head. Searching the house, they’d found blood on one of the kitchen cabinet doors. “They think the door was open, probably because Rose was putting away dishes,” Rory said. “They argued and Ben struck her, causing her to stumble back and hit her head on the corner of the door. She died almost instantly.”
“Are they sure Ben did it?”
“They’re sure he dumped her body into the pond.”
“I wonder if she asked one too many questions about what he was doing down in that cabin,” I murmured.
“Possible,” Rory agreed. “Ben was a tense guy, and if he was planning to use that grenade launcher for some big event, he was likely more stressed than usual.” He sighed. “Anyway, there’s no sign anyone was in the kitchen except Ben, Rose, and the girls.” He grinned. “That’s assuming we eliminate Faye, Dale, Carla, and Bill from the list of possible suspects.”
With the verdict that a domestic dispute had turned tragic, we were allowed to bury Rose four days after she was found. We looked forward to the funeral, hoping when it was over, the girls could begin to recover.
The question of what would happen to them afterward was unsettled. Despite our fondness, none of us was prepared to take on three children. Faye fussed about it but had to admit we were all past the desire to take on parental duties 24/7.
We included the girls in the funeral arrangements, feeling it would help if they were part of things. I was prepared to pay, but Sheriff Brill called to tell us Rose had a small life insurance policy that would cover a simple funeral. I added a few extras I thought the girls would appreciate and, with some reluctance, asked Cronk to officiate. While he wasn’t my idea of a shining pastoral example, the girls were used to him, even seemed to like him.
We entered the church in a clump, aware of the stares of the curious. I’d paid for the girls’ funeral outfits, though Retta had insisted on doing the shopping. I was proud of the way they held their heads up. Funerals test a person’s mettle, and when I must attend one, I prefer to do so with a dignified mien.
The little church was full. The whole regular congregation was there to support the girls. After we were seated and before the pastor started, Colt Farrell entered, head up like the lord of the manor and took the last chair in the front row. His wife Joan was in the kitchen, Retta whispered, readying treats for afterward.
I turned, pretending to search for someone, and took stock of the men present. One of them resembled the picture we’d found online of Floyd Stone. When I turned back, Pansy met my eyes and nodded assent. “Grave Stone,” Daisy had called him. He certainly looked grave.
Since Pansy had noticed what I was doing, I mouthed a question: Sharky? She looked around again, hiding her search with an expression of casual interest. A few seconds later she met my gaze again and shook her head. He wasn’t there.
After the service, we stayed for the sake of politeness, chatting with members of the congregation who came to express their condolences. Retta was unrepentant about her earlier charade, and I noticed Joan Farrell shooting metaphorical daggers at her with her eyes. A woman she introduced as Dee gave each of the girls a hug, telling them to call her if they ever needed anything. A couple of the men made attempts to be supportive, and I admitted to myself this was a group of well-meaning, kind people for the most part. Only Farrell and Stone stood in a corner, pointedly avoiding us.
With a burst of decision, I approached them. “It seems things turned out badly for your friend.”
“Rose’s death was an unfortunate accident.” Farrell spoke to Stone, barely glancing at me.
“A good person doesn’t hide an accident, Mr. Farrell.”
He sniffed. “The girls hid Ben’s body to hide their sin, just as Ben hid Rose’s body to hide his.”
“They’re children. They were afraid. What’s Ben’s excuse?”
Again Farrell spoke more to Stone than to me. “Maybe he had things he needed to get done.”
I felt my face burn as anger shook me. “Did you know McAdams killed Rose? Did you leave the girls out there with that monster?”
The look I got was full of contempt. “Miss Evans, it might surprise you to know that men--unlike you women--can keep a secret. They don’t run to their friends and confess everything.” He raised a hand. “Ben kept his secrets to himself. I respect that, though I cannot condone what he did. None of us are perfect.”
None of us IS perfect! I wanted to say. The pronoun none is singular. But it was a funeral. In a church. Not an occasion for a Correction Event.
When cookies had been eaten, condolences offered, and most of the people were gone, I escorted the girls to Retta’s car. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow around 11:00,” I told them. “You’re going to meet a foreign dignitary.”
“What’s a digunterry?” Daisy asked.
“You’ll see tomorrow,” Retta told her. “Right now, I think we should go back to my house, change our clothes, and take Styx for a long, long walk along the riverbank.”
Faye and I stayed at the church, having a secondary task to accomplish. Ben McAdams’ body awaited burial, but we
hadn’t mentioned that to the girls. Retta had suggested we might use the deposit money Ben had paid when he moved in to cover a simple cremation. We intended to ask Cronk to handle it, since we felt no further obligation to Ben McAdams.
Faye began by thanking Cronk for the moving tribute he’d given Rose. When he bowed gravely, hands crossed at his waist in a pious stance, I brought up the subject of McAdams’ burial.
“I believe Ben was at heart a good man,” Cronk said as his cheeks flopped. “He made one tragic mistake and followed it with a second, but he was a man of Bible principles. I’ll be honored to send him to the Lord.”
“The Lord might not want him,” I muttered.
I doubt Cronk heard the words, but he caught my tone. “Miss, all of us are welcome in the Kingdom if we admit our sins.” As if he couldn’t stop himself, he added, “And pride is a terrible sin.”
“So is killing someone and hiding her body.”
His lips clamped closed, and I told myself it would do no good to antagonize the man. Faye stepped in to smooth things over. “Pastor, we’ll very much appreciate you taking responsibility for the service.” She explained about the deposit we intended to use for Ben’s final expenses.
It was better than Ben deserved, in my opinion, but I saw a way to turn Cronk’s cooperation to our advantage. “It will give your congregation a chance to say goodbye. Surely there are some people who liked Ben, even if he was a misogynistic murderer.” After a pause I asked, “Who would that be, Mr. Cronk? Who were McAdams’ closest friends?”
The pastor held his pious pose, but his eyes flashed with anger. “I doubt anyone could say he was Ben’s close friend, Ms. Evans.”
Beside me Faye’s fingers flexed spasmodically. She was dying for a cigarette. Though she doesn’t smoke much anymore, when Faye needs her fix, she needs it.
“All right, then who thought the way McAdams did? Who in your congregation agreed with his radical views on women?”
Cronk hesitated before answering. “This church preaches values we take directly from the Bible.”
“Yes,” Faye shot me a look that warned me to keep quiet.
“One of those values is the family. The husband is the head, the wife supports him, and the children are the future generation.”
I wanted to argue, but Faye shot me a look, and I didn’t.
“Everyone here accepts that?”
He smiled grimly. “To a degree. People like Dee Johnson are on one end of the spectrum. They accept male leadership but contend women should still have a voice.”
“And Ben McAdams was on the opposite end?”
He sighed. “Yes.”
I’d have bet that only men who shared Ben’s prejudices deserved any consideration from his God, and probably white Anglo-Saxon Protestant men at that. “Thank you for officiating, Mr. Cronk. My sister and I will let you get back to your flock.” I wanted to add “of sheep,” but I restrained myself.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Retta
When the girls and I pulled into the driveway, there was a pickup truck that looked vaguely familiar. As the occupants got out, I realized Gabe was the driver. On the other side was a pretty girl so tiny she appeared at first to be a child. It was only when I looked closely that I saw she was in her twenties with dark brown hair, green eyes, and a delicate face.
“Hi, Mrs. Stilson,” Gabe said. “This is Mindy. We wanted to come to the funeral, but Mindy just got off work.”
Mindy had brought a small gift for each girl, hair bands she’d crocheted and decorated. She expressed her condolences in a piping voice that matched her youthful appearance. Iris, who was an inch or so taller than Mindy, thanked her for her concern.
Delaying our walk, we invited them to sit on the patio. I introduced the girls then went inside to get drinks for everyone. When I came back out, Mindy had the girls talking about some singer they all apparently liked. She had the interpersonal skills to be a good social worker, for she listened as each girl spoke and responded in a way that let them know they were taken seriously.
Gabe sat watching her, his face shining with affection. It was hard to see what Mindy saw in him. She was nearing a college degree, dressed fashionably, and presented herself well. Gabe was recently out of jail, a high school dropout who spoke like he’d skipped most of his English classes. That’s often the way with people, though. Gabe has a good heart, and maybe that’s exactly what Mindy was looking for.
As we talked, I remembered something Faye had mentioned. “I understand you’re going to attend a conference soon.”
“Yes,” Mindy replied. “A few of us who’ve shown leadership at the college were asked to attend.” She twisted her hands. “I’m a little nervous, because we’re going to be introduced as WALL’s Leaders of Tomorrow, and we each have to say a few words.”
“You can handle that,” I assured her. “When will this be?”
“Less than a week now,” she said. “We’re going to--”
At that moment, my dog decided he wasn’t getting enough attention. Bounding up to the table, Styx knocked it sideways with his big old body. All the drinks went toppling over, and Mindy’s iced tea landed directly in her lap.
She was really nice about it, but that was the end of the visit. Walking stiffly because of her wet pants, Mindy told us goodbye, and Gabe took her home to get dry clothes.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Barb
The day after Rose’s funeral was the occasion of President Bahn’s visit. We’d had a serious discussion about whether to take the Isley girls along. As an alumna, Retta had been involved in the planning, and she thought they should attend. “How often will they get to see a head of state, and a female one at that?” she asked. “They can even meet her.”
“Somebody’s out there with a grenade launcher,” Faye argued. “No matter how many cops are there, it could be dangerous.”
In the end I sided with Retta. While I recognized the danger, I was confident our police could locate and stop them.
President Bahn made a gracious speech, refreshments were served, and we all continued on our way without incident. Anyone paying attention would have noticed a considerable police presence in addition to the president’s own security. Rory had most of his people on duty, as did the sheriff. State police officers stood guard, and several men and women with ear buds, probably federal agents, scanned the crowd with no-nonsense scrutiny.
Retta finagled an introduction for the six of us. We got no more than a gracious nod and a murmur of acknowledgement from the president, but the girls were awed by the experience, stiff with tension at the moment they faced the lady, and overcome with giggles once we were away.
Faye took the girls to our house, Retta stayed to help with the clean-up, and Rory and I unwound a little by taking a drive along the shore of Lake Huron. Being near the water is a calming influence for me. In Tacoma, when things at the D.A.’s office got really difficult, I’d often gone somewhere to watch marine animals play or listen to the water slap against the shoreline. When life gets tough, it helps to remind yourself of the enormity of the world and the transitory nature of one person’s problems.
As we drove southward, racing an ore-boat headed the same direction, we spoke of the danger that hadn’t come to pass. Rory told me what those up the chain of authority had shared with him. “There’s no evidence linking Farrell or Stone to the stolen weapon. They admit to meeting Sharky twice at Ben’s, but as far as they knew, he was there only to play cards.”
“Do you think the plan was all Ben and Sharky’s doing?”
Rory scratched absently at a mosquito bite on his arm. “Honestly? No. The bug in your office has to be Farrell’s work. He was caught on your farm twice, clearly looking for the weapon.”
“And Stone?”
“From what Faye said, he seems to be the type to be part of it.”
“So there were four of them. When Ben died in the fall, it was a problem to continue but not an impossibility.”
“But now Sharky’s taken off, and their secret is out,” Rory said. “They still have the weapon, but without their sharpshooter and the element of surprise, they knew they were likely to fail.”
“Sharky missing, Ben dead,” I said thoughtfully. “Easy for the other two to walk away and let the blame fall on them.”
“Farrell admitted to the feds that Sharky was kind of creepy.”
“If full-grown adults get that feeling from him, it’s easy to see why the girls did. “There’s no word about where he might have gone?”
“It appears Ben taught Sharky some of his tricks for going off the grid. Sharky hasn’t had a job since the nursing home fired him. He rented his house, and we found his car sitting behind it. He might be on a train bound for California, or he might be living in somebody’s garage in the middle of Allport. We just don’t know.”
As Rory spoke, the cabin came to mind. Sharky knew it was there, knew it was stocked with supplies. “Are you working tomorrow?”
He grinned. “Is this your way of asking me for a date?”
“Not exactly. We’re going to the farm to see if Sharky’s hiding out in the cabin down by the pond.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Faye
I almost let the phone go to voicemail, since the readout showed a number unknown to me. I try not to answer when I don’t recognize the source, but there’s always a nagging fear I’ll miss something important. On the chance it wasn’t a robot trolling for responses, I answered.
“Is this Faye Burner?” The man’s voice sounded strained, like someone who didn’t enjoy talking on the phone.
“Yes.”
“Walt Dunham here. I live in the U.P. near Hessel, on Second Home Farm.”
“Oh! Yes, Mr. Dunham. I wrote to you.”
“That’s why I’m calling. You said you’d like an old horse.”
“Well, not me. My sons have taken over the family farm, and we’re exploring the idea of retiring draft horses there.”
