“Neither is mine, Avery,” I said. “By suppertime tonight, I’m apt to forget we even went to watch the Thunderbirds perform this morning. It’s a small wonder you don’t have to re-introduce yourself every time our paths cross. Well, Wendy, we need to get up to the office. And Avery, I hope a perpetrator is arrested soon so you’ll be able to take your wife home to Tennessee.”
“Thank you.”
Even though it was none of my business, I was curious about something Cassie had mentioned to Wendy that I knew my daughter was too respectful to ask about. She’d paid close attention when I’d been teaching her how to treat her elders, which was more respect than I often showed my own elders. I knew there were exceptions to every rule, and I repeated that to myself twice before asking Avery, “What is going to happen to the Vandersnoozeski Waste Management Company now?”
Avery showed no reaction to my question, nor did he seem surprised I knew about Fanny’s interest in the company. He didn’t even seem annoyed that I’d inquired about its fate. “It will pass into the hands of Claudia’s nephew, as stated in my wife’s last will and testament. And thank God for small favors, because I wanted no part of that cesspool of lawsuits and personnel problems. That’s why I insisted on signing a pre-nup before we got married. In the event something like this were to happen, I didn’t want that nightmare dropped in my lap. Just last month an employee was backed over by a trash truck, and now, as a paraplegic, he’s suing for ten million in restitution. I feel he deserves every penny of it, but I don’t need that kind of stress in my life.”
“I don’t blame you, Avery. Life’s too short to be burdened with something you had no interest in to begin with. Well, have a nice day. Wendy and I need to get going, but it was nice to see you,” I said.
“It was nice to talk with you ladies, too.”
As we continued our walk to the office, Wendy asked, “It doesn’t look as if Avery had any designs on getting his hands on Fanny’s money. But doesn’t it seem odd to you that he couldn’t remember which day he spent with his children?”
“Yes and no. It seems to me if you’re under as much stress as he’s under, your days truly might all run together. And, I know from experience, our memories start to get a little fuzzy after we hit that half-century mark. But what really seems more suspicious to me is that Kylie told me that Emily told her that Cassie told the—”
“Whoa.” Wendy stopped me mid-sentence. “How many degrees of separation is this hearsay going to be?”
“Okay, then let me rephrase it. According to a reliable source, Cassie supposedly told the detectives that she had no idea her ex and his new wife were going to be in Cheyenne this week. And Avery just told us he and Cassie worked the logistics out together specifically to give him and their children some time to spend together.”
“Then one of them is lying, huh?”
“It seems so,” I said. “I’m beginning to think there’s a fox in the chicken coop as far as those two are concerned. But I’m leaning toward Cassie rather than Avery as being the sly predator in this instance.”
“Me too,” Wendy replied in agreement.
* * *
As it turned out, there were four of us paying a visit to the police station. Emily thought her presence would give us more credence, since the incident took place on her property, and she was a citizen of Cheyenne. Her cousin, Rapella Ripple, whom I’d met earlier that day in the shower house, had developed an interest in the case after conversing with me and asked if she could accompany us. I’d been enchanted with her at our first meeting and was delighted to have her along.
We walked as a group into the police station at two fifteen and approached a woman sitting behind a desk. There was a banner behind her that read, “Protecting the Legend.” When I asked the receptionist if we could speak with the detective in charge of the Fanny Finch murder investigation, she looked at me as if I’d asked to pop in on the Pope. “I assume you have an appointment, ma’am?”
“No. I’m afraid we don’t. But we have some information we’d like to share with him, or someone else assigned to the case, that might be of some benefit in apprehending the perpetrator. We only need a few minutes of his time.”
“Are any of you a member of law enforcement?”
“No. I own and operate a bed and breakfast in Rockdale, Missouri,” I replied. As far as having credentials to be involved in a murder case, it sounded lame to even me as I said it. I didn’t think “assistant librarian” would impress the receptionist much, either.
“I see.” The expression on the woman’s face told me she thought I had as much business bringing “beneficial information” about a murder case to the detectives as I had trying to stay atop a raging bull for eight seconds at the rodeo event that afternoon. She sighed and asked, “Well, in that case, are you a member of the deceased’s family?”
“No, but I was somewhat familiar with the victim.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she replied, obviously having lost her patience with me. “The investigating team doesn’t have the time or resources to chase down every tip and random theory suggested by citizens with no law enforcement affiliation, or at least some form of connection to the case.”
“My daughter, Wendy—who is an assistant coroner back home in Missouri—and I were the two who discovered her body, which gives us a connection to the case,” I said to the snooty receptionist with a heavy dose of resentment in my voice.
As she was pondering the validity of my statement, two police officers walked out of what appeared to be a break room. Rapella, bless her heart, said, “Hey, officers, these two women here have vital information about the murder that just occurred in this other lady’s RV Park. Which detective in your department do they need to talk to about it?”
When both men turned to look at the receptionist, as if to determine who was responsible for letting four ditsy nutcases into the building, she shrugged and shook her head. I wasn’t certain if the information I had to pass on to the detectives would be considered vital or not. But I had to admire Rapella’s spunk in taking the bull by the horns and out of the hands of the receptionist, who was about to send us on our way without giving us an opportunity to speak with anyone, even the janitor mopping the entryway.
The older of the two officers said, “The lead investigator assigned to that case is out interviewing suspects at the moment.”
I was itching to ask who he was interviewing, but knew my question would go unanswered. Detectives weren’t keen on offering up information regarding a crime to just any bed and breakfast owner or library assistant who walked in with inquiries, which I found very rude.
“Do you know when he’ll return?” I asked instead.
“No, but if you want to step into the C.I.D. room for a few minutes, Detective Harrison can take the information from you and hand it over to Detective Colmer when he gets back.”
“The C.I.D. room?” I asked, as the four of us were ushered down a narrow hallway by the younger cop.
The police officer ignored my question so Wendy replied, “It’s just an acronym for the Criminal Investigations Department.”
The young officer introduced us to Detective Harrison, a handsome black fellow with a very serious demeanor, and explained to him that we had information about the Finch case. As the four of us shook hands with the detective and told him our names, I noticed a hand-held hair dryer in a large plastic bag on his desk. Shiny silver with red accents, I recognized it as the one that had been instrumental in taking Fanny Finch’s life.
“Isn’t that the—” I began.
“Murder weapon? Yes, it is.” Detective Harrison said, as he picked up the bag holding the evidence and dropped it into the deepest drawer in his desk. He retrieved two chairs from another desk so we’d all have a place to sit. “Detective Colmer set it on my desk after examining it one more time. He still found no trace evidence or fingerprints on it. I was just getting ready to take it back to the evidence locker. This model, the Hair Blaster 2
410, is way beyond a police officer’s salary. Who would pay over two hundred clams for a hair dryer, anyway?”
“Not me,” Rapella said. “My model is called the Air 24/7, and it’s free.”
As we all, except the stone-faced detective, chuckled at Rapella’s remark, I studied her hairstyle, and realized she probably had not been kidding. It definitely had a wind-blown quality to it. When the laughter died down, I began to tell Detective Harrison about my impromptu meeting with Vex Vaughn, and my conversations with Avery, Cassie, and Brandi Bumberdinger, as well as the two authors who’d participated in the book-signing on the morning of the victim’s death.
I told him about Vex Vaughn asking me who had killed Fanny Finch when I’d only said she’d died and hadn’t elaborated about her death being a homicide. I told how he’d acted as if it was the first he’d heard of the tragedy. In reaction to my comments, Harrison picked up a broken toothpick off his desk and used the tip of one end to clean underneath his fingernails.
I was surprised when the detective made a comment about Detective Colmer going to the campground that afternoon to speak to Sarah and Norma. Throughout my long-winded and detailed summary, with occasional input from Wendy, Harrison said very little and asked no questions, not even to have us clarify something we’d said. He wrote down approximately eight words on the pad of paper in front of him, and I’m pretty sure five of them were, Pick up milk after work.
It was evident Detective Harrison considered nothing “vital,” or of any relevance whatsoever in the information we’d related to him. It was also clear we weren’t being taken seriously, as if we were four busybody gossipmongers trying to stir up a hornet’s nest for our own entertainment. The detective even had the gall to patronize us as we stood up to leave. “Now don’t you all worry your pretty little heads about this case. We’re very good at our jobs, tracking down criminals and getting the bad guys off the streets. We take great pride in our ability to protect nice folks like you from harm. Go on home to the RV park now, ladies. Your time would be better spent piddling around the campground. Paint your nails, watch a couple soap operas, and leave investigating the bad guys to the professionals.”
We left the station with a bad taste in our mouths, feeling as if we’d been chastised for our helpful observations and genuine concerns about the case. We’d just wasted an hour of our time. I was certain Detective Harrison would have already tossed his notes into the trashcan if not for the fact he didn’t want to disappoint his wife when he arrived home without the milk she probably needed for their children.
After we’d piled into Emily’s car and adjusted our seat belts, I said, “Well, that was a futile effort, wasn’t it? I’d have liked to kick the chair out from underneath that buffoon when he told us to go home, paint our nails and watch soap operas.”
“I’d have been happy to bust that cop’s chops if you’d have only asked me to,” Rapella said, in a totally serious tone. Judging by the look of annoyance on her face, I didn’t doubt her sincerity.
“I would have done just that, Rapella, if I didn’t think our husbands would have been irked about having to come down to the police station to bail us out,” I said with a smile. “But I do think we can eliminate Sarah and Norma from our suspect list.”
“I agree,” Wendy said. “I think most of what they said to us on the Ferris wheel was pure hogwash, and perhaps fodder for a future novel. Having an active imagination is practically a necessity for an author, I’d imagine.”
“Not to mention the fact I can’t see either of them purchasing a two-hundred-dollar hair dryer. Eating out last night, a meal that probably cost less than fifteen bucks apiece, was their big splurge of the week. If they had purchased a hair dryer that expensive, I can’t see them sacrificing it, even as a means to kill a rival they despised.”
Vex Vaughn could easily afford the high-priced Hair Blaster 2410, and wouldn’t hesitate to purchase it, as was evidenced by the expensive cologne I’d seen on his bathroom sink. As much as I detested considering Kylie Rue as a suspect, I said, “Also, there’s Kylie, who made a living as a hair stylist. She admitted that she bought expensive professional-quality hair dryers, as I suspect most hair-stylists do. As we’ve discovered, she has some connection to the subject of Fanny’s incriminating book. If Vex Vaughn is truly her biological father, as we suspect, couldn’t she conceivably want to seek revenge on his behalf?”
I went on to tell Emily about spotting her young employee entering Vex Vaughn’s motor coach at the air show earlier that morning. Emily was astonished, having had no idea Kylie had ties to the entertainer. “Could that have something to do with why she applied for this job not long before Frontier Days, and then announced this morning she’s returning to her home in Florida on Monday after the conclusion of Frontier Days?”
“Could be,” I said. “Kylie’s an extremely likeable young lady, but Ted Bundy was an extremely likeable young man, too. Enough so that he was able to entice multitudes of women to go out with him. It’s possible Kylie’s friendliness is a ruse, and we’re all being duped. She appeared genuinely upset by Fanny’s death, but it could have just been a reaction to the realization she’d taken another human being’s life. Or maybe she was just improvising. I almost hate to say this, and I pray I’m way off base, but Kylie is starting to look like the most likely candidate to be Fanny Finch’s killer, with Cassie Bumberdinger a close second. A fashion model might own expensive hairstyling tools, too. After all, Cassie’s entire livelihood is based on her looks, and being in her early thirties now, she’s aware she’s in the waning years of her modeling career.”
Everyone agreed with my assessment, and we headed back to the campground. Emily was still steaming at the patronizing way we’d just been treated. She was speeding and weaving through traffic like a Nascar driver on the final lap of the Daytona 500. She said the traffic was ten times heavier than normal with Frontier Days in full swing, but I think her erratic driving was more a result of the way we’d been dismissed by Detective Harrison.
Like me, the other three ladies seemed to feel a little deflated by our humiliating and underwhelming experience at the police station. It was time to begin getting ready for the concert anyway. The entertainer we’d be watching that evening was one of my longtime favorites, Reba McEntire, who had many number-one hits dating back to the late seventies. But it was nice to see the younger women traveling with us were also excited to be attending the legendary singer’s performance.
Not surprisingly, Rapella had never heard of Reba McEntire, and when questioned by Wendy, had never heard of Pink, Lady Gaga, or Rihanna, either. However, she said, she’d almost worn out her Eminem CD. Her eccentric personality was just one aspect of her charm that I found so endearing. I hoped it wouldn’t be the last opportunity I had to spend time with Rapella Ripple. I was anxious to meet Rip, just to see if her husband was as intriguing as she.
Chapter 17
Sitting at the motorhome’s dinette table, which could magically be turned into an extra bed if needed, Stone and I were eating French toast for breakfast. I’d also heated up some pre-cooked sausage in the microwave, which was surprisingly tasty. I was mentally patting myself on the back. Wanting Stone to join in on my self-congratulations, I said, “Looks like my diligence in not drinking any beverages after lunch yesterday paid off. No bathroom emergencies all day.”
“Congratulations, you’ve really outdone yourself,” Stone said, rather mockingly. “But your ‘diligence’ in avoiding beverages did answer a question I’ve had since I met you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve wondered if your body was so accustomed to boatloads of caffeine every day that you couldn’t function without it. And you’ve now proven that theory to be so.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Honey, you fell asleep at the concert last night before the second song ended, and didn’t wake up again until the middle of the encore. I’m beginning to think you need caffeine to keep going like
the rest of us mortals need blood coursing through our veins.”
“I was pretty wiped out last night from the events of the last couple of days,” I said in an attempt to justify my napping during the concert.
“I was a little disappointed that you didn’t get to really experience one of your favorite singers’ performances, but it was nice to see the kids all enjoying it. Watching their reactions was more entertaining than watching the musicians on the stage, wasn’t it?” Stone asked, before teasing me with his next remark. “Oh, I’m sorry. You wouldn’t know, would you? You slept through the whole damn thing.”
“Laugh it up, buster. The next time you—”
A sharp rap on the door stopped me in mid-sentence, which was a good thing, because I had no idea what I was going to say, anyway. I opened the door to find Emily standing there. She’d parked her golf cart on our patio next to the picnic table. I opened the door wide and said, “Come on in. What brings you here so bright and early?”
“I wanted to tell you what I just learned from Detective Colmer, who is the lead detective on the murder case,” she added for Stone’s benefit, who didn’t seem to question how Emily and I knew his name. She recovered before she let the cat out of the bag about our true activities the previous afternoon. “He was here yesterday while we were messing around downtown.”
“Has there been a break in the case?” I asked anxiously.
“He felt Stanley and I deserved to know what our guards, Jack and Mike, were doing the night of Fanny’s death, since we were paying them a good wage to watch over the campground throughout the night while we got some sleep.”
“Oh, goodness,” I said. “What were they doing?”
“Well, not what they were being paid to do, that’s for sure. If nothing else, we at least found out we need to hire different guards next year. No telling what’s been going on at night this last week. It can get pretty crazy during Frontier Days. There’s occasionally a little too much partying and carrying on, and we try to control it by hiring night guards. We enforce a ‘quiet time’ for the sake of our customers who are trying to get some sleep.”
Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping Page 20
