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

by Maggie Pill

  They waited in the ferry company’s parking lot: Rory, Cramer, Doc Hopkins, and the horse. Dolly was the only one that didn’t seem worried.

  Barbara Ann gave a brief version of what had happened. When she finished, the old vet turned to Cramer. “They always make life this interesting?”

  Cramer grinned. “Most days they’re just three regular ladies. Some days, not so much.”

  Rory put one arm around Barbara and the other around Pansy. “Let’s try for regular tomorrow,” he said, “and the day after too.”

  News came from the Coast Guard that Farrell had been picked up along US-23 north of Cheboygan. “Stone is already blaming Farrell for everything, and I bet Farrell will blame Stone,” Rory said. “It makes things easier when the bad guys start pointing fingers at each other.”

  “Cramer’s going to put the horse into the trailer so we can head home,” Rory told the girls. “He can probably use some help.”

  After they walked away Rory said, “The verdict on Sharky is murder, not suicide. The sheriff will be looking at Stone and Farrell as primary suspects.”

  “I figured that,” I said, counting on my fingers. “First, Sharky didn’t sound to me like the kind of guy who’d commit suicide. Second, if he was going to kill himself, why’d he go out to our cabin to do it? It’s more likely he was waiting for the time to do their dirty deed.”

  “But Farrell and Stone knew the police were aware of Sharky’s involvement,” Faye said. “They hoped we’d conclude the plot was over when his body turned up.”

  “The last thing was the fact the grenade-launcher thingy was never found. If Sharky had it, the sheriff’s men should have found it.” I met Rory’s gaze. “How am I doing, Chief?”

  “Pretty well,” he replied with a grin. “Add to that the fact Sharky had no gunpowder residue on his hand, and we’ve got a pretty good case for murder.”

  A phone rang, and most of us made reaching gestures. It was Faye’s phone, and she crushed out the cigarette she’d been trying to keep the girls from seeing as she answered. “Hi, Hon. We’re just about done here, so—” Her expression changed. “I’ll be home as soon as I can get there.”

  Hanging up, she tossed the phone in her purse without conscious intent. “That was Dale. Harriet’s had a stroke, and they’re taking her to surgery.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Faye

  Dale and I waited outside the emergency room together, saying little. I flipped through a magazine I wasn’t reading. Dale sat with his hands on his thighs, flexing his fingers every so often as if preparing himself to do something. There was nothing to do, at least not for us.

  I thought of other times we’d waited together, dreading what was to come. The night when Bill, then eighteen, hadn’t come home, and we heard on TV there’d been an accident with fatalities. The day our middle son, Jimmy, called from North Dakota to say his wife was in labor with our first grandchild and the doctors were concerned for the baby. When Dale’s dad had the stroke that eventually killed him. My father’s death. My mother’s death. Each of those times, we’d sat like this, waiting for someone to tell us if our lives would go on as before or change forever.

  The worst for me was the day Dale was hurt. I left the three boys, then eighteen, sixteen, and eleven, in school, allowing them a few more hours of normalcy while I waited to find out if the doctors could relieve the pressure on their father’s brain and save his life. It was the only time since I was seventeen that Dale wasn’t by my side during a tragedy.

  That feeling of aloneness was the worst ever, but before Dale came out of surgery, Retta had showed up with our pastor in tow. She’d left my side only to pick up the boys from school, tell them what happened, and bring them to me. By the time Dale was settled in I.C.U., I had my sons and my sister for support. Barb had flown home the next day. We’d spent those critical first forty-eight hours together, speaking little and hoping much, until the surgeons said with cautious optimism that Dale would survive.

  Now Dale and I waited again. Such times are terrible, dreading the worst, hoping for the best. But they’re also when we most certainly feel the bonds between ourselves and those we love.

  What did I want for Harriet? Peace. What would she get? That was up to God, but I knew Harriet didn’t want to return to the room at the nursing home, split down the middle by an imaginary property line and decorated with signs that said things like, DON’T FORGET TO ASK FOR HELP!

  If she had a choice, Harriet would tell--no, she’d order—the doctors to leave her alone and let her die. I knew that, as did anyone who’d spent ten minutes with her in the last five years.

  A tired-looking man came out of the door marked authorized personnel only, his hair mashed from the surgical cap he’d just pulled off his head. “Mr. and Mrs. Burner? I’m Doctor Simon.”

  We stood. “I’m Faye. This is Dale, Harriet’s son.”

  He nodded at Dale but spoke to me. “Mrs. Burner came through the surgery well. She’s surprisingly fit for her age, but it only takes one tiny problem area to cause this to happen.”

  “She’s going to live?”

  His grin was surprisingly boyish for a neurosurgeon. “We don’t guarantee our work when the patient is over ninety, but she seems to be doing well.”

  We didn’t have to face Death today. Harriet would go on, for a week, a month, a year or more. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

  After Dr. Simon left, Dale took my hand. “I’m glad I’ve got you.”

  Like a lot of men, Dale isn’t much for expressing his feelings. I know he loves me. He’s told me he’s grateful I “stuck with” him, as if I could have walked away after he got hurt. He seldom says those things out loud, and that’s okay with me. I know people who say “I love you” ten times a day, all the time treating each other like dirt.

  For us, that’s marriage. Whatever comes, we face it together. When it gets really bad, we hold hands.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Retta

  When the doorbell rang, I looked out to see Carla and Bill standing on my front porch. I invited them in and offered coffee. As I made it we chatted about Harriet, who will live to be two hundred, in my opinion. Bill reported she was already ordering everyone around, as usual.

  As we talked, I tried to guess the purpose of the visit. Probably they’d come to tell me the farm was too much for them to handle. Bill’s never stayed at anything for long, and I was pretty sure Faye had taxed his abilities to the breaking point with this project. She wanted horses, but I never heard Bill mention liking them. Added to that, farming is hard work. I prepared myself to hear that Bill and Carla would be moving back to Chicago and I’d need to find new tenants for the farmhouse.

  I was so certain of what Bill would say I had to ask him to repeat what he did say.

  “We plan to take the girls,” he repeated. “We’ve applied to become foster parents. If things work out, we’ll make it permanent.”

  When I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, Carla said, “It’s unlikely Bill and I will ever have kids of our own, but we can make things better for these girls.”

  Recovering my senses I asked, “Have you talked to Faye about this?”

  “Yes, and Dad too.” Bill’s tone reminded me not to count Dale out.

  “How about your brother?”

  “Cramer’s all in favor.” Bill chuckled. “He says it would be a shame if they had to go live in a city somewhere.”

  I sighed. “It’s nice of you two to want to do this, but it’s a huge financial undertaking. Can you support three children?”

  “We’re pretty sure we can. We sat down with Cramer and figured out a whole year’s budget, and while we won’t get rich, we’ll get by. Cramer’s got some ideas that will hopefully pay off in the future, like offering activities at the farm, maybe class outings, hayrides, or a petting zoo. He also says reindeer antlers are in demand. Did you know both the males and the females grow them?”

  Selling antlers and
giving hayrides? They’d be living on a shoestring, but I got the sense they didn’t care. Maybe having a place to settle into was worth more than inventing the next ecological masterpiece.

  “What do you want from me?”

  They glanced at each other. “We thought we should ask the girls if they want to be with us before we go any farther with this.”

  Though I felt a little stab at the thought of my house being empty again, I had no doubt what the girls would say. “I have one request for you.”

  “Sure.”

  “They need a dog.”

  “They can each have one if they want,” Carla replied. “We’ll visit the humane society and let them choose.”

  Bill touched her arm fondly. “I think the motto at Prospero’s Farm is going to be ‘The more, the merrier!’”

  I’d been thinking of a purebred, but I realized Bill and Carla couldn’t afford to pay very much for a dog. The humane society would have to do. “All right, then.” I rose from my chair. “Let’s get them in here and see what they have to say.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Faye

  You’re never too old to be surprised by your siblings. I came home this afternoon to find Retta and Barb giggling like teenagers. When I asked what was funny, they came up with some lame joke, but I’d have sworn they were planning something.

  My morning had been spent at the farm, where the Isley girls were settled in nicely with Bill and Carla. Of course there wasn’t a lot of settling to do, since they’d simply returned to the house they knew well.

  Pansy is fast becoming a horse nut, and it pleases my heart to see how tenderly she treats old Dolly. She’s begun riding Anni-Frid and Agnetha, and neither seems to mind. Pansy sits a horse nicely, and she admits it might be because she’s ridden a few reindeer in the past.

  Iris and Carla have serious conversations about the garden, what’s doing well, what needs extra care, and what should be planted now that it’s mid-June. It’s cute to see them with their heads bent together over a row or a diagram, Iris so fair and Carla so dark.

  Daisy has a dog. After extended deliberation, she chose a middle-aged black Labrador retriever with one eye. “He needs me,” she told Bill. “Buddy and Styx are nice, but this dog wants to live on the farm with us.”

  There will never be a lot of money. Prospero’s Farm isn’t meant to make anyone rich. I’ll do what I can to help, and Cramer will no doubt contribute more than his share. The girls won’t go without necessities, and I believe they’ll be better off not having everything they see. They’ll be loved, which is worth more than all the money in the world.

  As Barb, Retta, and I chatted about the girls’ future, I thought about ours. Barb has apparently had a change of heart, because she speaks now of the three of us when she mentions the agency. She also asked if I thought the Sleuth Sisters was a better name for our business than the Smart Detective Agency. I had to admit that I prefer Retta’s proposal, though it’s a pain to change the name of a business once it’s started.

  I also observe that Retta is trying not to be pushy. I see her put her fingers against her lips sometimes, as if reminding herself to keep quiet.

  “Faye and I were approached by the city,” Barb said as we sipped iced tea. “They suspect one of the contractors working on the new parking ramp is padding his expenses. The company is based in Indiana, so it will require travel if we take the job. I propose that Retta could do the preliminary research down there. Is that okay with you, Retta?”

  She started to say something then made the little lip-stopping gesture. Turning to me she asked, “I could go if that works for everybody. What do you think, Faye?”

  I wanted to ask, When did the pod people come and replace my sisters? Instead I said, “With your contacts, Barb’s smarts, and my mad computer skills, I think the Sleuth Sisters can handle any job.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Maggie Pill is also Peg Herring, but Maggie’s much younger and cooler.

  Maggie’s website:

  http://maggiepill.maggiepillmysteries.com/

  Have you read Book #1, The Sleuth Sisters, yet?

  You’ll learn how the sisters started their detective agency, found a long-lost murder suspect, and almost went from three sisters to two.

  The Kindle edition is available here.

  The print edition is available here. (Also available from Ingram)

  The audiobook is available here.

  How about Book #2: 3 Sleuths, 2 Dogs, 1 Murder?

  When Retta’s “gentleman friend” is arrested for murdering his wife, she’s angry and embarrassed. Though the sisters would like to clear his name, Win hasn’t been honest with them. In order to save his life, and ultimately their own as well, they must brave a winter wilderness, far removed from any chance of rescue. Three determined women, with help from a couple of dogs and a pair of horses can do anything. Sister Power!

  The Kindle edition is available here.

  The print edition is available here. (Also available from Ingram)

  The audiobook is available here.