by Linda Lovely
Darlene’s hand flew to cover her open mouth. Shock. Time to disengage my motor mouth. “Sorry, Darlene. When I get excited, I blurt things out without thinking.”
“It’s okay.” She exhaled. “I didn’t call you and Duncan to be coddled. If Sheriff Delaney even hints Julie and I are suspects, I’ll hire a criminal lawyer.”
“I wouldn’t wait,” I put in, “even if the sheriff acts like your best buddy.”
I longed to blab about Hamilton’s pressure on his FBI liaison. That was a far bigger worry than the local constabulary. My tongue practically bled as I kept my promised silence.
“You might consider hiring a private investigator,” Duncan added. “The sooner somebody uncovers the real murderer, the sooner you’re in the clear—and safe. Until we figure out why it’s open season on the Olsen family, I’ll worry plenty about both of you.”
Darlene shot a horrified look at her daughter. “My God, what if the killer comes after you?”
She knocked over her coffee as she leapt up. “Julie, I want you to go away—far away—until things settle down. Duncan, can you find a safe place to hide her?”
Julie put her hands on her hips. “Calm down, Mom. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m staying.”
“We’ll see.” Darlene swiped at the puddled coffee with a napkin.
I remembered that someone had been in the cabin. “Sheriff Delaney ought to give that old cabin a once-over. Someone’s been using it, maybe the killer. Yesterday Duncan and I spotted disposable gloves on a counter. Maybe the murderer wore them when he mixed up some little surprises to knock off the Gastons.”
Darlene bit her lip, nodded. “The cabin would be a good hiding place.”
The doorbell trilled. Duncan answered it and ushered the sheriff and Deputy Marshall into the kitchen. When Delaney spotted me, his frown deepened. My presence didn’t delight him.
Both men accepted Julie’s offer of coffee and claimed vacant chairs. Though the blush of sunrise warmed the kitchen windows, the faces around the table looked gray, exhausted.
“We need to get statements,” Delaney began. “I posted deputies on the grounds for your protection. If you want to go anywhere, they’ll escort you.”
Duncan frowned, opened his mouth to speak. Delaney held up a hand. “Don’t get all lawyerly on me, son. This isn’t house arrest. I’m not trying to step on anyone’s rights. But this has gotten way out of hand. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t try to protect Jake Olsen’s remaining heirs.”
Darlene spoke. “Fine by me. I’m frantic with worry about Julie’s safety. I’ll welcome any protection you offer.”
The sheriff nodded, pulled out his pen and a recorder, and asked Darlene and Julie how they’d spent the evening. He didn’t bother to quarantine them for questioning. Probably figured if any of us were in cahoots we’d had ample time to synchronize stories.
Mother and daughter claimed they never left the house after eight p.m. Unfortunately they only had each other for alibis. When the storm took a breather between six and eight, Julie soaked for a while in the poolside Jacuzzi. Once the storm renewed, she hunkered down with her mother, who’d shaken her migraine and wandered downstairs.
The women said they saw nothing unusual through the home’s vast windows, except the storm’s awesome lightning display. While the house lost power, a backup generator—part of the estate security package—kicked the lights on within minutes of the initial outage.
“The guards called to make sure we were all right when the power went out,” Julie volunteered. “I answered the phone. That was around nine-thirty.”
The sheriff turned to Darlene. “Tell me about the health of the deceased.”
She frowned. “Everyone knows Gina was an alcoholic. She had liver disease and asthma attacks. Robert popped pills regularly. I don’t know why. We weren’t close.”
Finally, the sheriff focused his attention on Duncan and me. The look wasn’t friendly when he asked our whereabouts. Duncan said he dined at the Outrigger with my family, squired May and me home, and stayed until shortly after midnight.
I substantiated his story, though I failed to mention May could only vouch for our whereabouts until nine-thirty. After that, my aunt was sawing logs.
I saw no reason to expound on our entertainment.
Once the sheriff closed his notebook, Duncan suggested the cabin search. He described how we’d tramped through the place and gave a neutral account of our encounter with Eric.
Delaney’s jaw clenched. No tealeaves needed to read his mind. If the cabin was a crime scene, we’d botched any evidence of value.
“Where’s Eric?” Darlene asked.
“He took ill—shock I imagine,” Delaney said. “A deputy delivered him to his uncle’s house. His aunt said she’d call a doctor.”
I hadn’t met Kyle’s wife, Olivia, but sympathized with her sight unseen. Nursing Eric wouldn’t be a barrel of laughs, but I’d prefer it to sitting down to dinner with her beady-eyed hubby.
“One more thing.” The sheriff held Darlene’s gaze. “We don’t know what killed the Glastons. Not a mark on either of ’em. We’re guessing they ingested some killer chemical, just like Jake. They didn’t use eye drops, but there’s more than one way to poison a victim. Be careful what you eat and drink. Hell, if I were you, I’d clear out of this house.”
Delaney arched an eyebrow. “We can escort you to a hotel if you decide. Meanwhile, I’m gonna remind everyone—this is a real, live murder investigation. You will not tell anyone outside this room about our conversations or share details about this case.”
As the sheriff added this last pronouncement, his eyes bored into mine. Was I being paranoid? Nope. Sheriff Delaney was acquainted with Aunt May. Maybe he’d even experienced her devious and effective interrogation methods.
Or did he suspect I had a pal with the FBI?
Duncan walked me to my car. “Hope I didn’t scare you by rushing things last night.”
I grinned. “I’m a charge-ahead type myself. Guess it’s my Taurus birthright.” My attempt at a seductive smile short-circuited when I realized my breath must smell like stale coffee.
He tucked a wayward curl behind my ear. “I realize we’re on call for Darlene, but maybe we can steal a few hours for ourselves. How about dinner at my place? Say, six? I can pick you up at May’s.”
“Sounds wonderful. I don’t know May’s plans so it’s probably better if I just drive myself. Can I bring anything?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m a big fan of dessert.”
A blush sauntered up my neck. Duncan’s eyes said he wasn’t talking strawberry shortcake. “I’ll bring dessert—the chocolate variety.”
A Cadillac fishtailed to a stop beside us, putting an end to our teasing banter. Hamilton jumped out and slammed his car door. Great. Darlene was in for more laughs.
“Where’s the sheriff?” Hamilton barked. “I need to speak with him.”
“He just left,” Duncan answered.
“Dammit. Why wasn’t I informed? Are Darlene and Julie inside?”
I felt my Irish rising. “The sheriff just finished talking with them. Let them be.”
“Stay out of my way.” Hamilton enunciated carefully. Ice frosting every syllable. “I warned you. My company’s in charge of security, and I don’t have to put up with your idiocy. Maybe I should instruct the guards to do a full-body search each time you visit.”
“Peachy,” I answered. “Nice to know your guards are good for something. They’re pretty lame at stopping killers.”
Hamilton’s hands tightened into fists, and Duncan shouldered between us. “Let’s stay calm. Remember Darlene is one of your clients, and Marley’s her friend.”
Before Hamilton could fire a rejoinder, Duncan turned to me. “Marley, don’t you have an appointment this morning? Go. I’ll handle this.”
His gaze flicked from me to my car. The visual cue urged a rapid departure. I nodded. He’d protect Darlene and Julie from the arrogant bul
ly.
“Right, see you later.”
I pulled away, keeping one eye glued to my rearview mirror. Both men stood a tetch over six feet. Nose-to-nose, Hamilton yammered at Duncan, who’d adopted the classic arms crossed over chest stance. A self-imposed straight jacket arguing restraint?
Even absent the soundtrack, I could guess the source of Hamilton’s ire. His own Thrasos employees had failed to call him the minute two new corpses popped up. Multiple heads would roll for that oversight.
My mind seesawed between murder and romance. I repeatedly punched the replay button on Duncan’s warm lips. That memory cushioned the shocks that seemed to come with every visit to the Olsen estate.
It was not quite nine a.m. when I yoo-hooed loudly and used May’s spare key. An irritable pout greeted me. Good thing I’d kept my promise of an early return.
“Well, well.” May closed the ‘A’ section of her fat Sunday Des Moines Register. “I didn’t expect you to finish counting body bags so quickly.”
Before she could launch into Q&A mode, I let her know that Sheriff Delaney had sworn everyone to secrecy. “I can’t talk about the murders with anyone.”
My aunt rolled her eyes. “I’m quite certain Sheriff Delaney didn’t mean me. The old buzzard knows I’ve never blabbed about police business—not child abuse cases or rapes or suicides. Saw them all in my twenty-five years at the hospital. Always kept my mouth shut.”
I sighed. “May, forget it. I’ll give you one tidbit, no juicy details. Here it is—what the authorities know doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.”
Collapsing on the sofa, I tried a conversational feint. “In my humble opinion, the investigation’s headed up a blind alley. Because Jake had so damn much money, everyone’s fixated on his will. But money’s a far-fetched motive for the Glaston murders.” I toyed with a throw cushion. “Somebody ought to be noodling around with other possibilities. Does anyone have a grudge against the entire Olsen clan?”
May sat straighter, and her eyes brightened. “Plenty of folks hate all of them, including that son-in-law Glaston. Jolbiogen sucked the blood out of one local business like some giant mosquito. Then there’s that botched drug trial. Six people died from liver failure—one a teenager—before Dr. Glaston pulled the plug. A civil negligent homicide suit is still lingering in the courts.”
“Wow. I vaguely remember. About three years back?”
“Yes. Jolbiogen got a regulatory slap on the wrist. Stock prices dipped a few bucks. Didn’t hurt the Olsens one whit. When you’re rolling in it, you can afford a long-term view.”
“You mentioned a local business. What happened?”
“Jolbiogen bought a local start-up that employed fifty people—a big deal in our tiny burg. Folks were thrilled. Figured big brother would pump in capital, create more jobs. A few locals borrowed money to buy land near the lab. Thought they’d strike gold when the expansion started. Jolbiogen closed the lab, kept four employees. Boom. It only wanted the patents.”
My fingers fiddled with the fringe on the throw pillow. “Think the sheriff will check out links between the murders and Jolbiogen?”
May harrumphed. “Delaney looks like a hayseed, but he’s no dummy. He’ll turn the Jolbiogen mess over to the state police or Feds. He’d better with three dead bodies.”
My aunt eyed my casual attire and frowned. “Stop talking and start scrubbing. We leave for church in fifteen minutes.”
TEN
As we stood for the opening hymn, I wondered when May became a regular churchgoer. In my childhood, Sunday was the day Uncle John cooked mounds of fried eggs, bacon and toast, while May sipped coffee, kibitzed and planned everyone’s day. Her agendas seldom included church.
I smiled recalling the Sunday May whisked me to a rickety clapboard church after I stubbornly insisted I had to attend Sunday School to earn a white Bible. That reward for two years’ perfect attendance still claims a place of honor on my bookshelves.
Unwilling to risk holy wrath, May checked newspaper listings and deposited me at the earliest option. When she picked me up, she was eager for details. “Do those holy rollers really shout and roll in the aisles?”
The pastor’s voice rose. “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”
The well-heeled parishioners around us squirmed as the minister meandered through parables about people tested by wealth. The fidgeting lessened slightly when he noted that being too poor presented its own spiritual hazards.
Had Jake’s death prompted the themes?
As we stood in line to greet the preacher, a large hand settled on my shoulder. “Good to see you, Colonel.”
I looked up into General Irvine’s lined face. “General Irvine. What a surprise.”
Aunt May nudged me in the ribs. No way to get around an introduction. The general bowed slightly, held her hand, smiled. He claimed he had business in Omaha. Since he had some free time, he’d driven over to see firsthand the lakes region I’d raved about.
The old boy laid it on thick, but I had to give the wily old coot his due. Though his Mississippi accent no longer dripped molasses, he could still ooze Southern charm. The general could abduct me at gunpoint, and Aunt May would wave bye-bye, murmuring what a nice gentleman.
“I won’t keep you,” General Irvine closed. “I’m meeting a colleague. Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee later, Marley. Give me a call.” He slipped a card into my palm and disappeared. I glanced at the note before tucking it into my purse.
Today. 1400 hours. Spine Trail, Mile 4. Come alone.
Why was General Irvine here? Weaver said he was focused on trying to figure out which terrorist group had taken possession of Jolbiogen’s stolen bioweapon recipe. I’d assumed his involvement in the murder investigation was tangential.
I drove May to Walmart where we bought silk flowers for our visit to Lakeview Cemetery and Uncle John. Once a rural graveyard, the cemetery now sat a stone’s throw from the buzz of Highway 9 traffic. My uncle—an inveterate Jaycee booster—probably cheered.
With May’s arm linked through mine, we shuffled over uneven ground to the hilltop grave. May’s name and birth date already etched the joint headstone. Only the “Died” date waited to be carved. Years of nursing gave my aunt a matter-of-fact acceptance of death. “There are things a lot worse than dying,” she reminded whenever someone passed peacefully.
But, oh how I’d miss the crusty curmudgeon, my last family link with her generation.
May turned up the bronze vase attached to the headstone. “Wonder how many times I’ve come here to talk to John?” She fiddled with her arrangement of lavender lilacs, red tulips and lily-of-the-valley sprigs. “I know it’s silly. I can speak to John from my heart anywhere. But it’s a comfort to visit. We’ve held some long conversations, I’ll tell you—though I imagine he still complains he can’t get a word in edgewise.”
She chuckled. “I’ve told John everything that’s happened with my boys, you and Kay. But, oh kid, it saddens me to think of all the pleasures he missed—the wonders life offers to compensate for cranky joints and cataracts. He’d have popped his buttons bragging on you.”
My throat tightened. “I’m sure he’s enjoyed your stories. Remember how Uncle John answered that neighbor who asked if he tired of hearing you tell the same tale? ‘Why not at all, I’m always anxious to hear how things turn out—May’s stories never end the same way twice.’”
The oft-repeated anecdote coaxed the expected smile from May.
Walking toward the car, I spotted a vehicle parked on a gravel loop off the main service road. Motor running. It wasn’t there when we arrived.
I scanned the graveyard. No sign of people paying respects at family plots. The tan car’s darkened windows precluded a look inside. I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck, then chastised myself. For heavens sake, who’d bother to tail me to a graveyard? Or was it General Irvine?
“So what shall we do for
lunch?” I asked.
“Oh, dear. I plain forgot my open house at Pillsbury Point, a stone and log beauty near where Vern & Coila’s Restaurant used to stand. The house wasn’t built when you waitressed there.”
She rummaged in her purse for her date book. “Have to park my fanny there from two until five. Shouldn’t complain though. If they get anywhere near the asking price, I’ll be flush. Come first snowflake, I’ll jaunt down to South Carolina to visit you.”
I smiled. “I’d love that. But, May, you still haven’t told me where to head—home or a fast-food dive?”
“Hy-Vee.” Her answer came an instant before the turn. “You order us sandwiches from the deli, while I buy nibbles for the open house.”
“Sounds like a plan. I needed to pick up a few groceries, too. This will save me a trip.”
“We out of something?” May asked.
Okay, time to evict the bagged cat. “Duncan invited me for dinner. I’m bringing dessert.”
“Well, well, his invite includes me, right?” She elbowed me. “You should see your face. I’m kidding. You could do worse, Marley Clark. Nevertheless, be careful. I’ve heard tales about these sex-crazed divorcés.”
She hoisted her eyebrows. “By the by, what time did Duncan leave last night?”
“Look for a parking place,” I suggested.
Not that busywork would derail May’s curiosity for long.
***
After helping Aunt May organize her open house, I threw together a Death by Chocolate trifle. While relying on store-bought brownies, chocolate mousse, Cool Whip and Heath bars, I took time to soak the brownies in Kahlua. I have a few culinary scruples.
Employing Hy-Vee as my prep chef halved my kitchen time, leaving ample leeway to keep my date with General Irvine. If our visit was short, I also planned to drop in on Cousin Ross and pay my respects to Spirit Resort’s skeletal remains. My reunion with Darlene had triggered an itch to check out our old haunt. If the grounds were as deserted as advertised, my reminiscing could include a little Tae Bo and a few weapon tests.
