The Sleuth Sisters

by Pill, Maggie

  “And brought him out here.” At Faye’s direction, I’d driven to a spot called Bayner’s Roost. Not far from Zack’s trailer, it was down a side road used mostly by kids looking for a place to party. After leaving the car we’d walked a short distance to an open, grassy space with the remains of a fire pit in the center, ringed by rocks and dug down to sand level.

  “Someone drove him out here, got him out of the car somehow, and ran him down?”

  “Judging from fresh beer cans we found over there, I picture it happening this way,” Rory said. “Someone Zack knows picks him up near the jail. They come out here to talk things over. The friend has brought along a twelve-pack to celebrate Zack’s release.”

  “Could be a source of prints,” Faye said, and I twitched a little at her assumption he wouldn’t have considered that.

  Apparently used to advice from the laity, Rory nodded. “We’re checking. Anyway, at some point Zack gets out of the vehicle, maybe to answer nature’s call. The driver says he’ll turn the car around then pick him up. We found where he did that about fifty feet farther along.”

  “But instead of picking Zack up, the other guy ran him down.”

  “Right.”

  “He might have been out here a long time before someone found him,” I said, looking around. Even the view from the two-track was screened by a scraggly stand of jack pines.

  “Luck,” Rory agreed. “A local guy was out looking for his black lab. He found the dog, and the dog had found Zack, right where his supposed friend left him.”

  “You think they fought about something?”

  His lips tightened as he shook his head. “I think Zack’s death was the intention all along. The vehicle will be a dead end.”

  “Because it was stolen?”

  “Because on Zack’s belt buckle we found black paint with traces of rust. I think he was run down with his own truck, which is probably back in his mother’s barn by now.”

  Rory was correct. When told what had happened, Mrs. Diamond said stoically, “He never killed nobody.” Her son had been bad; she knew it. Now he was dead; he couldn’t get any worse.

  She willingly led Rory and the sheriff’s deputy to the barn, opening a large door that slid along the outer wall to reveal Zack’s beat-up Dodge. Its use as a murder weapon was apparent in the broken grill and the blood on the hood. When Mrs. Dymond gasped and turned away, Faye put an arm around her shoulders, leading her gently out of the barn. Rory and I approached the vehicle, circling in opposite directions. “Is this the truck you saw in the alley?”

  The plate was still caked with dirt. “Yes.” I pointed out the missing trim. “That’s what I recall. And the rust.”

  “Okay.” Pulling out his phone, he called the crime scene team still at the site of Zack’s murder. As he talked, Faye returned, her expression revealing empathy for the man’s mother.

  “We’ll go over it,” he said when he finished, “but I’ll bet it’s clean. Whoever did this is staying a step ahead of us.”

  Faye’s eyes widened as a thought hit her. “A guy called a while back trying to hire us to investigate a kidnapping. We thought it was a joke, but it might have been Zack trying to distract us from this case.”

  “Possible,” I agreed. “It seems whoever hired him to stop us left the method up to him.”

  “The mastermind didn’t choose very well. A high school student could have done better.”

  “Zack was no genius. The shots he fired at Neil’s cabin made us more suspicious, and the attack in the alley failed to put me out of commission.”

  “And he trusted someone who brought him out here and killed him,” Rory added.

  Zack was a threat because he might have been convinced to tell who hired him. I made a mental note to investigate his background, but I doubted there was any possibility of his involvement in the deaths of Carson and Carina. He’d have been fourteen, maybe fifteen at the time. Still, I was learning that good detective work meant seeking out information, even when it was difficult to do or loathsome to contemplate. I was tired of surprises I should have foreseen.

  It was raining the next morning when the three of us went to see Chief Neuencamp. Faye had called and asked Retta to meet us there. She readily agreed, which was no surprise to me. She got to act like a detective and bat her eyes at the chief.

  Rory met us at the front and led us to his transformed office. The room was now a soft beige, and the furnishings were much different. The desk was highly-polished oak, the chairs were similar in tone with tapestry-covered seats. The sense of order and serenity pleased me. After a look around, Retta gave one of the smiles she summons when she’s about to tell you how far short you’ve fallen of her standards. “Very nice, Chief, but you know what would really set it off? A copper mobile. I know a Native American artist I can put you in touch with. It’ll be perfect, artistic and nicely in keeping with your heritage.”

  “I’m pretty happy with it as it is.” His tone was emotionless but definite. No discussion.

  She was quick; I have to give her that. “Oh, of course, Rory—Chief.” She tittered sweetly. “I’m just happy your home away from home has been rejuvenated.” She was babbling, probably because she wasn’t used to a man looking directly at her and saying no.

  Rory changed the subject to the matter at hand. He told us a little about the crime scene team’s findings, which bore out the scenario he’d imagined. They had no suspects, since no one had seen the driver of the truck and both Gabe and Neil were locked up.

  “I know how we could catch him,” Retta said. “Barbara Ann tells everyone she’s going out to Bayner’s Roost to look at the scene again. The killer follows her out there and you and your people charge in and arrest him.”

  “Mrs. Stilson.” I felt like smiling at the step back Rory took in his relationship with my sister. “This man murdered Zack Dymond.”

  “And he probably killed Carina Brown and Carson Wozniak.” Faye never passed up the chance to plug Neil’s innocence.

  “I don’t think Zach was supposed to kill Barb,” Retta argued. “He sounds more like a mean-spirited screw-up to me. I bet he was sent to scare you and derail your investigation.”

  Faye made a rude noise. “What’s going on here? Carson can’t tell who his partner was. Wozniak thinks Neil’s guilty, so he isn’t looking in any other direction.”

  “Even the scheme to steal the money can be laid at Neil’s feet,” I put in. “The killer could have simply waited for the hoopla to die down.”

  “Something’s out there that makes this person nervous,” Rory said. “A hint to his identity he’s afraid we’re going to find.” Looking at me, he added, “Since you were attacked, I’d guess it has something to do with you.”

  They all turned to me, but I shrugged helplessly. “No idea.”

  Rory stood, dismissing us. “Think about it. I’ll do what I can from here.”

  “Can you let Neil go?” Faye asked. “Like you said, he couldn’t have killed Zack.”

  He shook his head. “That doesn’t change the evidence. But I’ll talk to him, tell him we have a new operating theory. That should bolster his spirits a little.”

  Faye gave him her best smile. “Thank you, chief.”

  “Yes, thank you, Rory.” Retta gave him a flirty smile. She couldn’t help it.

  Rory glanced at me, and I tried to keep a blank expression. “Chief.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” His eyes sought mine, but I dug in my purse for car keys.

  “Thanks.” I brushed past Retta, unwilling to look back at them standing so close.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Faye

  I backed out of the drug store, using my butt to open the door, since my arms were full.

  “Hey, lady, can I help you with that?”

  I turned
to find Doris Larsen, a woman I knew slightly from church.

  “I’ve got the load balanced, but if you’d unlock the car door, that would be great.”

  Taking the keys from my hand and moving ahead of me, Doris unlocked the passenger side and stood back so I could dump several prescriptions, a half-gallon of milk, and two value-packs of toilet paper onto the seat. “It was on sale,” I told her with a grin.

  “What’s this I hear about you starting a detective agency?”

  My grin turned to a grimace. “It’s true.”

  She squeezed my arm. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

  Closing the car door, I admitted, “Actually, it’s scarier than I thought. My sister was attacked the other day because of a case we’re working on.” I’d suffered guilt pangs ever since, although Retta’s reminder that Barb only did as she wanted had helped a little.

  Doris’ eyes grew wide. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. And they know who did it, so she’s safe now.” I didn’t add that the guy was dead. Something clicked in my head, and I asked, “Didn’t you work at WOZ Industries once?”

  “Half the town does or did,” she replied cheerfully. “I left a few years back when Jim and I started our own business.”

  “Did you know Stan Wozniak’s children?”

  “Not really. I mean, we saw them sometimes, but I don’t think I ever spoke to either of them.” She gave a little chuckle. “Phyllis used to say they had a contest going to see who could say the least to the likes of us.” She raised a pinky finger in a prim gesture. “So above us, you know.” Looking ashamed, she added, “I’m sure they were nice when you got to know them.”

  I was thinking. “Who’s Phyllis?”

  “Phyllis Nesmith. Well, she’s not Nesmith anymore. She was Stan’s secretary once upon a time, but now she’s Mrs. Eric DuBois.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Barb

  Eric DuBois’ home had once belonged to one of Allport’s lumber barons. It was made of fieldstone, with a massive entry already lit by wrought-iron lanterns, though it was only a little after five. The porch, though a spot so large probably merited a fancier name, was empty. There wasn’t a swing or rattan settee or one of those lacy-metalwork table and chair sets yet, but it had been swept clean of winter’s detritus. The windows were shiny clean. Everything was. I made a mental note to do better with my own porch, which had cobwebs in its corners.

  Checking my watch, I rang the bell, hearing the muffled sound of chimes inside the house. It was too early for Eric to be home, which was what I’d intended. After a few minutes, the door opened, and I introduced myself. Mrs. DuBois, who appeared totally surprised to have a visitor, invited me in, but her expression said she expected me to refuse. When I thanked her and entered, she smiled like a child who’s talked someone into attending her tea party.

  “Call me Phyllis,” She said as I followed her into a living room that was tastefully decorated but hardly warm. At her urging I sat, while she teetered on the edge of a chair. A stunning brunette, she reminded me of Stan’s current secretary: same figure, same doe-like eyes, same better-than-average chest. I wondered if the job description included droits de signeur.

  Phyllis DuBois’ clothes were as tasteful as her furniture, but she didn’t look comfortable in either. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “I just made iced tea.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “Shall we sit in the kitchen? I’m always more comfortable there.”

  She smiled genuinely for the first time. “Me too, but Eric says visitors deserve better.” She led the way past an elegant dining room and indicated a small table in one corner of the kitchen, where she seemed to relax a little. There was something in the oven, pork, I guessed from the smell. This room, too, was squeaky clean, the appliances upscale and shiny, but touches of Phyllis’ personality showed. Cute oven mitts hung on a plastic hook, pictures of a gap-toothed boy decorated the refrigerator, and a hand-embroidered set of covers hid the smaller appliances.

  “Did you do these?” I asked.

  Turning from pouring tea into tall glasses half-filled with ice, she blushed. “Yes.”

  I ran a finger over the image of a bright bouquet of flowers. “My grandmother used to embroider. I think it’s beautiful, but I haven’t the patience for it.”

  “It isn’t hard if you practice. I’m trying to get real good at it.”

  There was a pause, and I knew she was wondering what I’d come for. “Your husband probably told you we’re looking into the Brown murder case.”

  “No, he didn’t.” She shook her head. “It was awful, though. Really sad.”

  “I understand you were working for Mr. Wozniak at the time.”

  “Before I got married, I was quite the career girl.” She laughed in a way that deprecated both her career and herself.

  “I was hoping you might go over what happened that day. We came to the case late, so we have to rely on those who were there for information.”

  Phyllis looked doubtful. “It’s all in the reports. I couldn’t add anything.”

  “I’m sure you were helpful.” I smiled as she handed me the glass of tea. “I’d just like to hear it from you, to get a clear idea.”

  She paused. “Sure. I guess.”

  “Great. Tell me everything you remember.”

  Her eyes rolled to the side as she thought. “It started out pretty normal.” I felt my lips tense. What kind of secretary didn’t know an adverb from an adjective? Forcing my mind away from grammar, I tried to listen to the message. “Eric and Mr. Wozniak were working on this contract that was giving them fits. They were at the lawyer’s, and around eleven, Carina came by looking for her dad. When I told her he was out, she seemed real upset. She said I should have him call her as soon as possible.”

  “You knew Carina Brown pretty well?”

  Another pause. “Not really. She came around a lot to see her dad.”

  “Your husband said she expected her father to drop everything when she called.”

  Phyllis seemed relieved that Eric had paved the way to the truth. “That’s for sure. Carina could get her way like nobody else.” Phyllis’ gaze strayed to the window. “I used to wonder what it was like, having everybody jump when she said jump.”

  “You didn’t like her?” I let it stay a question, though I thought I knew the answer.

  She gave a timid shrug. “I guess I envied her.”

  “I suppose all that money has its allure.”

  Phyllis looked surprised. “It wasn’t the money.”

  “Oh?”

  She blushed, twisting her hands in her lap like a child. “I was crazy about Eric from the first time I saw him, but he only had eyes for her. He was always trying to impress her.”

  Not many women will admit they were their husband’s second choice. Phyllis didn’t seem to mind.

  “When she married Neil I thought, ‘Maybe Eric will notice me,’ but he didn’t.” She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I even used to try to look like Carina. When she came in that day, her fingernails were this really bright green. I said they looked cool and she said she’d never tried green before but she was hoping it would change her luck.” She paused. “I guess her luck changed, but not in a good way.”

  “How did you and your husband finally start dating?” I asked.

  “After Carina died, it was like Eric finally looked around and realized I was there.”

  “Was that soon after the murders?”

  “Yeah. He asked me out, and in a few weeks, we was planning our wedding. I could hardly believe it.”

  I couldn’t either. “Were Eric and Carson Wozniak friends?”

  “Not really. At Carina’s wedding Eric and him spent some time talking. That was the only time I know of they e
ver spoke to each other. Eric says they mostly talked about fishing.”

  “Did you see Carson during that last visit?”

  “Yeah, a couple of times.”

  “Did he speak to anyone at the office, anyone in particular?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “We know he and his father argued sometimes. Were they angry with each other during that last visit?”

  “No. In fact, Carson went out of his way to be nice to his dad. They had a real nice visit.” Phyllis turned pensive. “I guess that’s good, because Mr. Wozniak has those memories. But if Carson hadn’t been at his sister’s that day, he’d still be alive.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but at that moment the back door opened and Eric entered. “Hey, Babe.”

  Phyllis sprang to her feet. “Eric!” She was smiling, but a note of distress sounded in her voice. I saw her glance around the spotless kitchen then seek her husband’s eyes as if asking for something. Approval?

  Whatever she wanted, she got a look I didn’t like from him, very different from the affable manner I’d seen before. “I didn’t know you were having company, Phyllis.”

  “I didn’t either.” She let out a brittle titter that cut off quickly.

  Sensing trouble, I hastened to explain my presence. “When I learned your wife worked in Stan’s office at the time of the murders, I thought she might contribute to the investigation.”

  “And did she?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Phyllis answered, though Eric had spoken to me and was looking at me. “You know how I am. I remember dumb stuff like Carina’s nail polish, but if there was something important, I didn’t notice.” She turned to me. “That’s why I stay home with our son now. I wasn’t that great as a secretary.”

  Her dismissal of her own worth was setting my teeth on edge. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. DuBois. I won’t keep you any longer.” Something fluttered in my brain but didn’t settle. I tried to catch hold of it. What had I just learned?