In Plain Sight

by Lorena McCourtney

  “Oh no, I want to finish the year here. And I don’t want you to be here all alone.”

  “I will be later on anyway. I don’t mind.”

  “You can come to Hawaii with me!”

  “We’ll see.”

  “It isn’t that I’m really scared,” she said, frowning now, as if she were trying to sort through her feelings. “It’s just that things … and people … don’t seem the same anymore. You don’t know who to trust.”

  “God is still in control, just as he’s always been.”

  “I know. But …” She stepped back and looked at me.

  Looked down at me, I realized with a small shock at how she was growing. Her face was troubled. “Do they have any idea who killed Leslie?”

  “I think there are a number of ‘persons of interest,’ as they’re sometimes called. People she used to work with, maybe some local people she had run-ins with. Maybe even an ex-husband and some out-of-state relatives.” Although 192 I had to admit those were my suspects, not necessarily Sgt. Yates’s. “I know they’re working hard on the case.”

  The phone started ringing then, but I looked at Sandy anxiously before I went to answer it. I had the feeling she was still keeping something to herself. “Is there anything more than Leslie’s murder and the Braxtons coming after me that worries you? Talk to me if there is.”

  She looked a little better now. She tilted her head to study me and then laughed. “Oh, Aunt Ivy, you’re one of a kind. You find a murdered body in a lake, and you have this gang of psychos after you, and it doesn’t even faze you. You worry about me.”

  I was relieved to see her old spirit bubbling up again. “I don’t know that I’m exactly blasé about the murder or the Braxtons. But I don’t want you worrying.”

  “I’ll try to be more like you.”

  She kissed me on the cheek and ran up to her room then, taking the stairs two at a time, and I thought everything was okay. Which just shows how wrong I can be, I suppose.

  I picked up the ringing phone. “Hello?”

  “I’m trying to locate Ivy Malone. Is she available at this number?” An authoritative male voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar but I couldn’t quite identify. But good familiar or bad familiar? I wasn’t certain.

  Warily, since Sandy had just brought the ongoing Braxton threat to my attention again, I said, “This is the Harrington residence. Who’s calling, please?”

  “This is Jordan Kaine. Ivy and I worked together on a cemetery vandalism situation up in Missouri.” His tone was brisk and formal, in keeping with his before-retirement occupation. “I’m anxious to get in touch with her again.”

  “Jordan!” I said, relieved.

  “Ivy, is that you? Do you remember me?”

  “Of course I remember you!” He’d taken me to a lovely dinner and had been very helpful with the cemetery vandalism problem. But then the same uneasy question that always came to mind here in Woodston instantly surfaced. “How did you know where to locate me?”

  “I read a news story about a murder near Woodston, and an Ivy Malone was mentioned as the former employee who found the body.”

  “You read this where?” I asked, alarmed at the thought that my name was being served up to the Braxtons with their morning coffee.

  “The Little Rock newspaper. One of my daughters lives there, and I’ve been visiting for the past couple weeks. I’d earlier tried several times to get in touch with you on Madison Street, but you were never around. Which I eventually concluded had to do with that trial you were involved in.”

  “There were threats before the trial. Making myself scarce seemed advisable.”

  “Anyway, when I saw this, I decided I was going to check and see if that’s the Ivy I knew.”

  I was flattered but still uneasy. The Braxtons probably didn’t read the Little Rock newspaper, but if my name was gracing its pages, where else had my name appeared? Another disturbing question: “How did you get my niece’s phone number?”

  “I was on my way home to Missouri, and I decided it wouldn’t be much out of the way to come around by Woodston—”

  “You’re right here in Woodston?”

  “I drove in a couple of hours ago. I just started asking around town if anyone knew the lady who found the murdered woman’s body. They all knew of you in a general way, and in the third place where I asked there was a woman clerk who knew you through church and right away came up with the information that you were related to the Harringtons and living in their house. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not.” I was uneasy with the level of local notoriety, and “The Lady Who Found the Body” was not the way I wanted to have my fifteen minutes of fame, but at least information about my whereabouts wasn’t necessarily floating cross-country. “I’m delighted to hear from you,” I assured him.

  “I realize it’s a bit spur of the moment to ask, but would you be free to have dinner with me tonight?”

  “I’d like that.” Jordan Kaine was a retired lawyer. Given an unhappy experience long ago, this was not my preferred choice of occupation, present or former, in a man, but Jordan transcended the genre. A very nice man.

  I gave him directions to the house, and he said he’d check on a good place for dinner and be by around 7:00.

  I went upstairs to tell Sandy and ask if she wanted me to fix something for her dinner before I left. I found her sitting at her desk, just staring into space. I was momentarily alarmed at the troubled look on her face, but as soon as I told her about Jordan, she came to bubbly life again.

  “Aunt Ivy, another guy? I had no idea you had such a string of … what did they used to call them? Beaus?”

  “I have two male acquaintances, not a ‘string’ of anything.”

  She grinned. “Okay, whatever you say. But won’t Mac be ticked?”

  “At my going to dinner with Jordan? I can’t imagine why. Or what business it would be of his.”

  “Especially if he doesn’t know,” Sandy suggested. I rolled my eyes, and Sandy jumped up and gave me a hug. “That’s okay, Aunt Ivy. Play the field. Keep ’em guessing.”

  I started back down the hallway, and she called after me, “Don’t worry about my dinner. I’ll fix a grilled cheese or something.”

  Again I thought everything was fine with Sandy. Just a bit of teenage angst, perhaps. Nothing to be concerned about.

  Back on Madison Street, Magnolia had advised me to wear something “enchanting” the first time I went out with Jordan. Since my wardrobe has a low enchantment level, I wore the same dress I’d worn that time, a pale pink with matching jacket. Jordan had seemed to like it then.

  Sandy, apparently blessed with a curiosity gene of her own, rushed to the door when Jordan rang the bell. She introduced herself and looked him over like a critical parent sizing up an offspring’s date. After a few nosy questions, she gave me a surreptitious thumbs-up, but she also whispered an aside. “Nice going, Aunt Ivy. Though he might be a little on the stuffy side.”

  “He is not stuffy,” I whispered back indignantly.

  Jordan’s gray suit, blue tie, and polished black shoes were a bit formal compared to Mac’s usual attire of khaki shorts and knobby knees, but they were not stuffy. Besides, we were going someplace nice for dinner.

  “What was that all about?” Jordan asked with a bewildered look in Sandy’s direction as she ran up the stairs after quizzing him.

  “My niece tends to be a bit overly protective. It’s a wonder she didn’t make you fill out a questionnaire and put up a bond.”

  Jordan laughed. “Okay, I get it. My daughters have some of that attitude too. Though I’m sure they’d approve of you. Are you living here in Woodston permanently now?”

  “No, it’s just a temporary situation.” I didn’t go into a complete explanation. “How was your visit in Little Rock?”

  “Great. My grandson ran me ragged. I have to go home to rest up. But I’m curious about this local murder.”

  “I just stumbled int
o it by accident, of course.”

  I filled him in with details as we drove away in his Lincoln. He didn’t seem to find it shocking that I was involved with another murder. Perhaps because, in his legal career, shocking crimes were all too familiar to him.

  “I remember that whistle,” he said unexpectedly when I was explaining why I’d gone to Leslie’s. “You were wearing it that night we went out. I wondered about it then.” He gave me a sideways glance. “There’s something intriguing about a woman who wears a whistle instead of pearls.”

  Intriguing? Me? Again I had to admit to being flattered.

  I was surprised when we drove right on through Woodston. I looked at him questioningly, but he just smiled. We small-talked about his family and mine and the goings-on back at Tri-Corners Community Church until twenty minutes later he pulled in to the parking lot of a rustic-looking lodge with a lake behind it. A sign hung between two posts, letters branded into wood: The Inn at Lost Lake. Evening shadows hung over the lake, but a lingering glow of sunlight gilded a wooded hill beyond the water.

  “I asked the man at the motel where I’m staying where would be a nice place for a special occasion, and he said a local businessmen’s group he belongs to meets and eats here every month. He said everyone liked the food.”

  “I’ve never been here. It looks great.”

  The restaurant was busy on this Friday evening, and we followed several other couples inside. The interior was also rustic, dimly lit by tiny bulbs on wagon wheel chandeliers overhead and candles in old-fashioned lamps on the tables. Everything was oversized. The chimney of an enormous fireplace led up to a cavernous ceiling lost in shadows. The wooden tables looked hefty enough to hold entire carcasses. I was puzzled by odd, shiny pairs of dots gleaming high up on the walls. Then, with a jolt as my eyes adjusted, I realized what they were. The glassy eyes of an assortment of mounted animal heads hanging high on the walls. And in a far corner the full-size figure of a bear standing upright.

  I swallowed, suddenly feeling not so hungry under the glare of all those dead animals. And uneasily thinking that in a Stephen King world there might come a day of reckoning when all these glassy-eyed creatures took revenge on the meat-eaters below.

  Jordan had made reservations, and the hostess seated us at a table beside a window overlooking the lake. I felt uncomfortable even looking out on the beautiful lawn dotted with tall pines sloping to the lake. When I looked up, I knew why. An enormous buffalo head loomed over the window. And us. I wondered how securely it was anchored to the wall.

  “Are you a … uh … hunter?” I asked.

  He peered apprehensively at an antlered deer head beyond the buffalo. “I’m not sure I even want to be a meat-eater, with all these creatures staring at us.” He hesitated. “Maybe I should have inquired about what kind of businessmen’s group this was.”

  My gaze followed his. Carnivores-R-Us, perhaps?

  “Perhaps we should go somewhere else,” he added.

  Jordan Kaine, for whom I already had a strong liking and respect, took another enormous leap upward in my estimation. A man not afraid to admit he’d made a mistake. “Would you mind?” I said.

  “Don’t look back,” he cautioned as we stood up. “I think the bear may be gaining on us.”

  I was glad to be going, but we hadn’t taken more than a half dozen steps when I stopped short, startled by the sight of a man sitting a few tables away. I’d seen him only the one time, but I recognized him instantly. That blond hair and husky body …

  Then, when he turned his head, I was less certain. Maybe not. The curly blond hair was right, but he appeared older than I remembered. And not as good looking.

  Was it him, or wasn’t it?

  23

  A woman was with him, but definitely not a bombshell redhead. Her shape was on the dumpy side, and her long hair was brown, center-parted and flat on top but frizzed to a startling width on the sides. She wore a pseudo-cowgirl fringed vest, but a pair of undersized glasses perched low on her nose gave her an intellectual air.

  “Is something wrong?” Jordan asked.

  I looked at the guy again. In the dim light, I still couldn’t decide if he was Leslie’s ex. And it would take an extremely odd detour to get closer to his table for a better look.

  “I’ve … uh … changed my mind. I’d like to stay after all. Would you mind?”

  “Whatever you’d like.” Jordan sounded puzzled, but he didn’t hesitate about putting a hand on the small of my back and steering me back to the table.

  “The food must be excellent, if the man you talked to liked to come here,” I said brightly. Although I didn’t feel any more comfortable sitting below that monstrosity of a buffalo head. I’ve heard of buffalo jumps, where Indians ran a whole herd of buffalo over the edge of a cliff for their winter’s food. I felt as if I were at the bottom of the cliff with a herd of at least one oversized creature poised to plunge down on me.

  The waiter came. I asked for the vegetarian meal. Jordan, after a moment of hesitation, ordered chicken cordon bleu, perhaps influenced by the fact that we hadn’t spotted any glassy-eyed chicken heads decorating the walls.

  “So, what do you do there in Woodston?” Jordan asked conversationally.

  I managed to carry on a reasonably coherent dialogue. I think. I told him about church and Sandy’s gymnastic activities and my short-lived housekeeping position. Jordan had amusing anecdotes to tell about his grandson. I managed to laugh at the right places. I think. Our salads arrived, and Jordan offered the blessing. Mine, crispy greens and crunchy croutons, was delicious. I think.

  But I’m not certain, because my attention was more focused on that guy than on food or conversation. I didn’t want to outright stare, of course, but I kept shifting in the chair, trying to get a better look. Jordan looked at me as if wondering if I had an itch in some unmentionable place, but he was too polite to ask, of course.

  If it was Shane Wagner, what was he doing here? Had he been hanging around here all along, ever since that confrontation at Leslie’s house? Had it been him skulking in the bushes that day? Were we here in the same room with a murderer?

  Did he have any idea I was watching him? I didn’t think so. His gaze roamed the other diners a couple of times but never settled on me.

  Yet maybe it wasn’t him. I’d have to get closer to be certain. I also wanted to see if his face showed scratches or other marks of an encounter with a woman who surely objected to being smothered.

  Their dinners had already been served. Ours were just arriving. They’d be leaving well before we did. I didn’t have much time.

  I took a few bites of my stuffed eggplant, murmured, “Delicious,” and then interrupted Jordan’s story about a trip to the zoo to say hastily, “Would you excuse me for a moment?” I couldn’t think of any truthful excuse for my exit, so I just waved in the general direction of the ladies’ room.

  I had to make an odd zigzag detour to go by the table. I was afraid the guy would notice, but I needn’t have worried. My LOL shield of invisibility was operating at full power, perhaps aided by the fact that a knockout redhead two tables over suddenly stood up, and his attention riveted on her. I got a good look at him, full face, full on.

  Yes! Shane Wagner in the flesh. No doubt about it.

  I was so keyed up, however, that I was by him before I realized I’d forgotten to check for scratches. I made a hurried scoot through the ladies’ room and boldly strolled by the table again. Even without the redhead’s help, my invisibility held. In fact, I probably could have tromped on his toes and never been noticed. Such inconspicuousness may not be flattering, but it’s useful. I got another good look.

  No big scratches, but definitely one small one along his cheek just in front of his ear. There could be other incriminating scratches on his arms, of course, but he was wearing long sleeves, so I couldn’t tell.

  “Is everything all right?” Jordan asked when I slid into my chair again.

  “Yes, fine.”
r />   “You seem a bit … distracted.”

  I hesitated, feeling momentarily foolish about my elderly Nancy Drew moves, and inexcusably rude to Jordan as well. But I was stuck with my straitlaced stance toward fibs, of course. I couldn’t make up something just to keep from looking foolish.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I spotted the ex-husband of the woman who was murdered. I wanted to be certain. Don’t look,” I cautioned when Jordan started to turn in the direction of the table I’d been watching. “I don’t want him to know I saw him.”

  “Is he a suspect?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe. He has a motive. He was furious with her over some business matters and made an indirect threat when he came to the house.”

  Jordan looked troubled. He rearranged his silverware. “Ivy, should you be getting involved in this? Your last dabble in murder apparently had some unpleasant consequences.”

  True. It was why I was hiding out in Woodston. But I couldn’t just ignore this. “All I’m going to do is tell Sgt. Yates I saw the man here.”

  That wasn’t all I wanted to do, I realized a few minutes later when Shane Wagner and the woman picked up their checks and left. Separate checks, I noted. What did that mean? I wanted to know if they were staying here at the inn. I thought of a clever little ruse in which I’d inquire at the desk if my nephew was registered here. Whatever their privacy policy, they’d surely give such information to an innocent-looking LOL like me.

  But, while I often think of clever ruses, I don’t do them, so I devoted myself to focusing on relaxing and eating and Jordan. The stuffed eggplant really was delicious.

  When we got back to the house I invited Jordan for breakfast. Partly to make up for my poor showing as a dinner companion, partly because I really did like him. He readily agreed, and we settled on 7:15, since he planned to drive on home and wanted to get an early start.