Dangerous

by Lee Magner

  “And I’ll be doing everything I can on that front,” Case agreed.

  “What brought this on? If I’m allowed to ask,” Logan said dryly.

  “Seamus says he didn’t murder her.”

  “As I recall, that’s more or less what he claimed at the time,” Logan said.

  “The difference is, now I believe him.”

  Logan was silent.

  Case remembered the other matter he wanted help on.

  “Do we have a pharmaceutical expert who could give me some advice on memory-enhancing drugs?’’

  “Is your memory failing?” Logan asked in surprise.

  “Nope. But I’d like to try to recover whatever can be recovered of Seamus’s memory… before he dies.”

  There was a long, poignant silence.

  “I’ll see what I can do, Case.”

  “Thanks, Logan. I owe you.”

  Chapter 10

  The problem was where to keep Seamus while Case tried to discover the truth.

  “I got you a ticket to Chicago,” Case told him, as he put him in the car the next day.

  “The only way I’m goin’ to Chicago is if I’m dead and can’t crawl off the plane,” Seamus said angrily. “I made a vow not to step on the soil of that state—”

  “I don’t give a damn about your vows,” Case growled. “You’re in danger here, if you’re right about there being another murderer and people spread that idea around town. Sooner or later, the murderer might hear about it.”

  “You should have thought about that before you started talking about boosting my old memory,” Seamus said indignantly.

  “Believe me, I’ve cursed myself over that,” Case muttered. “But it can’t be unsaid. Besides, someone’s been stalking us ever since you came to Crawfordsville. So you’re a magnet for danger, anyway.”

  “Why do you say that?” Seamus asked, his bleary vision as bad as ever. He couldn’t make out Case’s face and that made it harder to understand things, for some reason.

  “The police told the mayor that there was a car parked outside the farm the night you arrived, but no one paid any attention to it, and they didn’t have a license plate. Clare heard about it during a meeting this morning and called me about it before I came to the hospital to pick you up.”

  “Oh, that Clare’s a glorious girl, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, but let’s not get sidetracked,” Case muttered.

  “Is that the only thing that makes it seem I’m being—what’d you call it—stalked?”

  “No. Luther’s dog…”

  “What about it?”

  “I found him behind the barn this morning when he hadn’t shown up for breakfast. He’d been given poisoned meat.”

  “Ah, what blackhearted coward would poison a man’s dog!” Seamus exclaimed irately.

  “Someone who murdered a girl and doesn’t intend to be caught for it fifteen years later?” Case suggested.

  “Could be,” Seamus agreed slowly. “’Course there are some pretty mean boys in this town,” he observed, touching his bandaged head gingerly. “Could be something they’d do, just being malicious.”

  “Could be,” Case agreed. “But I don’t intend to gamble all our lives on that. So you’re going to Chicago, where Logan can keep an eye on you in his big, fancy house. And I’ll keep digging for the truth around here.”

  Seamus frowned.

  “What about that memory medicine you were talking about?” he asked.

  “There are doctors there who can see you,” Case said. “And if things quiet down here, I’ll fly to Chicago and keep you company while they give you the treatment. It’s just a gamble, you understand? Nobody’s ever actually had much luck with this.”

  Seamus smiled a little. “Well, then, I’ll be a first, won’t I? And even if it fails, you could spread it around that it had worked and I remembered, and I was going to tell what I remembered to the authorities.”

  “Yes. I suppose we could consider floating that kind of bait,” Case agreed reluctantly. “But I don’t think that would be a great idea. If you put out bait like that, sometimes the animal swallows you along with the bait.”

  Seamus shrugged.

  “Remember, lad, I don’t have much to lose anymore.” He reached over and patted Case’s hand on the steering wheel. “But it would be a great gift to leave my only son, now wouldn’t it? Clearing my name of the charge of murder. You could walk with your head up high, and not fear to tell your children someday just what kind of man you sprung from.”

  Case swallowed. “I’m not ashamed of you, Da.”

  “No?” Seamus laughed harshly. “I’m glad of it, boy. But I think there’s still a bit of shame buried in a deep corner of your heart. And I feel badly for it. I put it there. And I’d like to take it away.”

  They reached a crossroads and Case signaled to turn on the highway that would take them to the airport.

  Seamus turned the turn signal off.

  “No, lad. If we’ve cornered a rat, we need to keep the pressure on him, and flush him out where we can see his face. If I’m behind those guarded gates of Logan’s up in Illinois, I’ll be safe, but maybe so will he be. Leave me at Luther’s.”

  “I’m not letting you be bait for a murderer!” Case exclaimed.

  “I’m not asking you for permission,” Seamus said in a hard voice. “I may be sick and dying, but I don’t think the airlines will put me on if I say I won’t go. So take me back to Luther’s. Luther and I have lived long enough to know how to fight off evil. We’re not so weak as you may think.”

  Case laid his head on the steering wheel and cursed.

  He raised his head a moment later, stymied. “I can’t throw you on the damned plane!” he shouted.

  “That’s right,” Seamus said, grinning.

  Muttering dark curses of intense frustration, Case headed back toward Crawfordsville.

  “Maybe you should teach me a few of those prayers you’re so fond of,” Case said angrily.

  “Why, sure. Religion comes in handy at times.”

  Case snorted and shook his head.

  Clare had been sitting through hours of interviews, collecting all kinds of wonderful reminiscences about life in Crawfordsville. She’d put so many hours into taperecording in the field that she needed new batteries. She’d been in meetings almost every day here at the courthouse, too, interviewing the men and women who formed the backbone of the local lodges and charitable groups, the school alumni committees, the volunteer fire-and-rescue fund-raising organizations.

  And sitting in her chair that afternoon, she suddenly realized she had in her hands a tool that might be useful in finding out the truth about Lexie Clayton’s murder.

  She was scheduled to meet with the Crawfordsville Ladies Aid and Comfort Society at the monthly tea. There were lots of members, but only the core leadership was planning on talking with her about the history of the town and the memoirs their ladies might have to contribute.

  Honoria Bonney was the chairwoman. Martha Lightman was the recording secretary. And Anita Clayton was the treasurer.

  Clare chewed on her pen and tried to imagine how she could steer the conversation toward the time surrounding Lexie’s death without being obvious. Surely there had been some things happening at about that time that would merit a little interest by a social historian such as herself, she thought. But what?

  She picked up the telephone and dialed the number of the county library. A moment later, she was connected with Thalia Odensbrucker, the reference librarian.

  “Thalia, I need a favor…”

  “Anything for the Crawfordsville historian,” Thalia teased.

  “I was wondering what important local events were occurring around here fifteen years ago between January and late July?”

  “Other than Lexie Clayton’s murder?”

  “Yes,” Clare said, shrinking in her chair. She popped up straight, perplexed. “How did you know that was when Lexie died?”

  “I�
�m the reference librarian,” Thalia said with a laugh. “We know all, see all.”

  “I’m really impressed,” Clare said, a note of genuine awe in her voice. “I mean, out of the blue, you knew that was when she died…”

  “Not exactly. It’s one of the popular topics of recent local history. I get asked all the time about murders. Usually students doing term papers or articles for a journalism class or something. Besides, those newspapers were destroyed in a fire some years ago, so I always have trouble getting local news for that time period.”

  Clare frowned. That was an odd coincidence. Well, maybe just a coincidence, she thought. It wasn’t good to get too paranoid and see an evil hand at every bend in the road.

  “Can you help me out, Thalia?”

  “Certainly. I’ll call you back in an hour or so. Would that be all right?”

  “That’d be terrific! Thanks, Thalia.”

  “Just remember me kindly in the historical archives,” she said dryly.

  “On my honor!”

  She’d no sooner hung up the phone than Paula Lightman came into her office and closed the door behind her.

  “I’ve got to talk to you, Clare,” Paula said, looking around to make sure there was no likelihood of being overheard by anyone.

  “Well, sure, Paula.”

  Clare wondered what on earth Paula could have to say. She’d never come to the office before. She’d only occasionally dropped by Clare’s home, for that matter.

  “It’s about what happened at the cemetery,” she said, leaning over the desk and speaking in a low voice. Her normally animated face was lined and there were faint smudges under her eyes.

  “You look exhausted, Paula.”

  “I am. And the rest of the family isn’t looking much better.”

  “Why not?” asked Clare in concern. She leaned on her elbows and folded her hands on top of the handwritten notes piled haphazardly across the desk.

  “They’re all terrified that Seamus is going to stir up things that everyone had thought were buried and forgotten… and I don’t mean Lexie Clayton’s body,” she said succinctly. She buried her face in her hands and ran her fingers nervously through her long, dark hair. When she lifted her eyes, she looked straight at Clare, and the look she sent was one of anger. “You’ve got to get Case to take Seamus away.”

  “What?” Clare laughed, but without any particular humor. “How on earth would I do that? And why?”

  “How?” Paula looked Clare over. “You’re a woman. Case obviously cares about you, much more than he cares about any of the rest of us, that’s for sure. He’d listen to you, Clare. If you convinced him that his best interests—and Seamus’s—lie in leaving town and never coming back, well…”

  Paula stared at her.

  “Tell him you don’t want him hanging around your door, sniffing after you like some male hound, if you have to!” she exclaimed, pounding one well-manicured hand on Clare’s desk.

  “Paula!” Clare said in surprise. “I doubt that would work, but even if it would, I wouldn’t do it.”

  Paula’s expression shifted into determination.

  “Whose side are you on, Clare? The side of all the people who live here, who love you and care for you, who’ve been here for you since you were born and will be here after you’ve died? People you’re related to by blood and by marriage? By land we live on and by a history we all know because it was made by our own grandparents and uncles and great-aunts?”

  Clare was stunned by the intensity of Paula’s argument. She was leaning forward, her eyes bright with conviction.

  “Paula, I always thought you wanted to move away. I mean, after you and Rudy Zinhof are married, I thought you were talking about relocating to Columbus or Cleveland…”

  Paula nodded and lowered her eyes.

  “Yes. But this is where my roots are and always will be. Anything bad here will follow me. Rudy…” She looked away, staring at the wall where Clare had hung the timetable for the social history project. “Rudy might not marry me if he thought he was bringing bad blood into his family.”

  “Paula! Why on earth would he think that?” Clare asked in consternation.

  “Because there are a lot of skeletons in a lot of closets in this town, Clare,” Paula said in a hard, warning voice. “And there are a lot of people who stand to lose a lot of things if some of those old skeletons are laid out in the sunlight for all to see.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as…” Paula bit her lip.

  Clare lifted her brow, silently demanding that Paula tell her what old peccadilloes she was trying so desperately to hide.

  “Did you know that Lexie was pregnant?” Paula whispered. Her eyes darted to the door and the window, as if she were afraid someone might hear.

  “Pregnant!” Clare stared at Paula in shock. “No. I never heard that. I heard rumors that she might have been sleeping with someone…” And there was Anita Clayton’s hysterical assertion at the cemetery that Case had seduced Lexie… Clare pushed that ugly thought away as hard as she could. “No. I never heard that she was pregnant.” Clare frowned. “That would have come up at the trial, if it were true, wouldn’t it? As part of the autopsy? It would have been reported, and general knowledge.” Clare relaxed, feeling a little better.

  Paula laughed cynically and leaned back in the chair, draping her arms over it in a posture of defeat and exhaustion.

  “Honey, by the time she was killed, she’d had an abortion. And the autopsy information was, shall we say, edited.”

  “How could that be? It was a trial.”

  “If you have connections or money, you can influence what facts are highlighted and which ones are buried in reports so dense that no one gets to the fine print. Besides, the prosecutors decided that the pregnancy couldn’t have played a role in her death, since the putative father candidates all had alibis.”

  “Putative father candidates?” Clare echoed weakly. She felt flushed with anxiety. She knew Paula was going to include Case on the shortlist of that group. “Did they do any testing to see who…?”

  “No. Without the offspring’s DNA, there was nothing to compare it with. They just had the suspicions that were floating around.”

  “But I never heard any of those suspicions!” Clare said in angry protest.

  “The grandes dames of Crawfordsville had them,” Paula said with a bitter laugh. “And if you listened carefully to their sly conversations, you could get an idea of what they were keeping an eye on.”

  “So you listened?”

  “At keyholes. Behind the kitchen door when they were over for bridge games on Saturday evenings. While I was babysitting or sitting in old Doc Graybond’s musty old waiting room.”

  “I haven’t thought about him in years,” Clare murmured.

  Dr. Graybond had been the town physician for forty years. He had died in a car accident about ten years ago, and since then, the town had been unable to attract a new general practitioner to the area.

  “You don’t want to believe me, do you, Clare?” Paula sighed. “I told Peter you wouldn’t.”

  “Peter knows you’re here?”

  Paula laughed, and again, it sounded more like distress than amusement.

  “Peter looks even more exhausted and anxious than I do. And he has very good reason for it. Do you know what it would do to our mother if people really started digging into Lexie’s boudoir activities?”

  Clare shook her head.

  “There are some very important, very well-respected…” Paula’s voice cracked and tears welled up in her eyes. Angrily, she brushed them away. “Very well-respected people who could have their reputations ruined if Case starts digging around. Or if Seamus…”

  “If Seamus remembers much more of that night?” Clare supplied.

  Paula nodded. “Seamus must have murdered her,” she insisted vehemently. “The men who were attracted to Lexie wanted her alive and…willing.” Paula blushed.

  “I didn’t think any
thing could make you blush, Paula!” Clare said in surprise.

  “Well, some things can.” She didn’t elaborate. Instead, she went back to what she’d been saying. “They wouldn’t have killed her. Only someone with a vicious temper, who was blind drunk, might have. If she’d said something to set him off… given him a lift, and then told him to get lost when he followed her into the motel room, say…”

  “That was the story the jury believed,” Clare said, pointedly.

  “Yes. Because that was the truth.”

  “You seem awfully frightened for someone who believes there is no other truth about Lexie’s death,” Clare said, frowning slightly.

  Paula rolled her eyes heavenward and came to her feet angrily.

  “Lexie’s dead. Nothing will bring her back. But those of us who are still living don’t need our lives ruined. And digging out a bunch of irrelevant scandal will not change the fact that Seamus Malloy murdered her. It will, however, ruin the lives of several people in this town!”

  “Who were the men?” Clare said, holding her breath.

  Paula stared at her for a long, anguished moment.

  “Tell me. Or I won’t even consider your argument,” Clare warned.

  “I guess I have no choice, then,” Paula said, sagging. “Peter was one of them. And Case.”

  Hearing Paula say his name was like a knife twisting in her heart. Clare refused to let it make a bleeding wound. It was just Paula’s accusation, she reminded herself. Case would have an opportunity to defend himself against the charge before she believed it.

  Paula didn’t look entirely relieved, though, and Clare realized these weren’t the only men Paula suspected of being Lexie’s lover.

  “Why aren’t you telling me the whole truth, Paula?” Clare asked gently.

  Paula looked as if she’d been caught red-handed. She flinched and shook her head vigorously.

  “That’s all I know of.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Clare reached out pleadingly. “Tell me everything, Paula. How can I help if I’m working in the dark?”

  Paula laughed and this time tears came to her eyes. She brushed them away and sniffed.

  “That’s all I can tell you. Please, Clare, get Case and his father out of town before everything is ruined. If you love this town, if you love the people in it, get him to go!”