2 Death at Crooked Creek

by Mary Ann Cherry

  “Financial.” He handed her a business card. “I don’t believe your director had an out of town family emergency, nor do I believe he plans to return. And it would be wise to inform your CHS board—if there are members of the board other than the absent Clifford Schultz—that it would be prudent to conduct an immediate financial audit.”

  “Schultz? It sounds as though you think he may have defrauded the society.”

  “We know of at least $32,000 that was donated to CHS and evidently did not get deposited into your accounts. According to Schultz, he had been told the check had not been viable, but that seems not to be the case. There may be other …inaccuracies if it is the director who has the access to the bank accounts and books. Of course, people are innocent until proven guilty, but I wanted to share our concerns.”

  “Why that scumbag!”

  “We would like to speak to him. Do you have any ideas on where Mr. Schultz would go?”

  “Not a clue. But I do know he is a firm believer in chipping his pets, Agent Kennedy. And he is very attached to his dog, which is an escape artist—digging under the fence, bolting out the door when Schultz gets his mail. That type of thing. Once Schultz feels he has found a new place to stay, he will probably update the location data on his corgi. I don’t think he will expect anyone to be monitoring a change in the information, but I am assuming that the FBI could do that.”

  “That’s a great idea, Dr.,” Grant smiled wickedly, “And yes, we could make that happen.”

  “Then finding him is just a matter of time. Either he’ll update the data, or the dog will get loose and someone will pick him up and take him to a vet to see if he’s chipped. When they inquire, you’ll be able to see where the inquiry came from. Let me get you the chip number and write down the dog’s name so that you have it. If I can’t find it in our records, I seem to remember that he wrote it down and put it in his desk drawer the day he had Porgy chipped.”

  “Oh, he didn’t.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Her expression was rueful.

  “Porgy the corgi?”

  She nodded.

  “Man, someone should arrest him just for that.”

  Grant’s phone vibrated, and he pulled it from his pocket to glance at the screen. Woodcastle. He looked at the vet, gestured to the phone and said, “Please excuse me for just a minute, Dr. Sullivan.’

  She nodded.

  “Kennedy speaking,” Grant said. “You have something?” He listened to Woodcastle’s response and, as the other man spoke, Grant’s smile grew wider and wider.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Nielson’s Barn

  Sunlight burnished Jessie’s red hair into flaming curls as she walked around the picturesque old barn, looking through the Nikon viewfinder and snapping photos. After issuing dire warnings to watch for a snake that Helland described as about the size of Cincinnati—the King, he’d called it—he and Cheri unlatched the huge double barndoor, slid it open and disappeared inside.

  Jessie skimmed through the reference photos, deleted several that were out of focus, then walked back to the spot where she’d taken them and did re-takes. Finally, she turned off the camera and walked into the barn, the dim light filtering through cracks in the old barnwood and tossing patterns onto the walls in fascinating stripes being the only illumination. Before her were two horse stalls and a pile of loose hay with a pitchfork sticking out of it. The smell of alfalfa hung thick in the air.

  What a neat old place.

  Helland and Cheri had climbed the rickety looking wooden ladder leading to the loft. Jessie could hear Cheri exclaiming about vintage leather bridles that were hung on the walls of the loft, and the neat antique trunks.

  “You should come up and see this, Jessie,” she yelled down. “One of them is a gorgeous old steamer trunk. I saw one almost like it in an antique store in Denver.”

  Helland had forgotten to check for roof leaks the last time he’d been to the ranch, so he was doing due diligence, muttering to himself about one corner where damage appeared to have allowed rain or melting snow into the barn.

  Jessie stood still. It hit her what bothered her about the visit to see Evan in jail. He had said that ‘Benny wouldn’t have known how to book flights, and that the Denver and Chicago airports were crazy busy’. She had flown to Savannah before and remembered there was a direct flight from Billings. Had Benny flown through Chicago one direction and Denver the other? If he had, how would Evan know that?

  Unless Evan had booked the flight. Could he have coerced Benny into going to Savannah, but also gone himself? On a different flight? He could’ve killed Harris Freemen and then got rid of Benny so that he’d be blamed for the murder after his death. And for Adele’s. Dead men can’t defend themselves.

  She needed to call Arvid or Sheriff Fischer and tell him about Evan’s comment. She patted her pocket. She’d left the phone in the pickup.

  I’ll call as soon as we’re done here.

  Jessie looked at a curious form covered by a dusty green tarp and wandered over to it, wondering if it would be horribly nosy to take a quick peek. After all, it wasn’t Joe Helland’s ranch, even though he’d gotten permission to bring her out to take pictures. That didn’t mean she could snoop around. Hannah O’Bourne had taught her better.

  Still, she wondered what was under the tarp. She lifted a corner. Then uncovered half the object. It was a bike. Not a bike—a vintage motorcycle. What she thought was called a ‘strap tank’, according to the old magazine in Glen’s art room. She yanked on the tarp and tossed it to the side. A strap tank Harley. Old…very old. She’d seen one very similar to it in the motorcycle magazine in Glen’s art room. In the article she saw, the 1907 Strap Tank Harley had sold for over $700,000. Her hand flew to her mouth. Glen. Glen would know how valuable this Harley was. And many men would think it worth killing for.

  “Hey!” She shrieked up at the loft. “Hey! I found something. Come down.”

  “Be down in a minute. And it looks like someone’s coming, Jessie. Looks like maybe Glen.” Cheri sounded cheerful.

  “Yeah. That’s just Glen. He’s pulling in.”

  “Cheri, call 911!”

  “What the heck? Why?”

  “It’s Glen. Glen’s the killer. Call right now. Stay up there and be quiet! He won’t know you’re up there.”

  But I’ve got nowhere to go…

  She looked around in desperation. Should she cover the bike and try to bluff her way out? She spotted the pitchfork and moved toward the pile of hay. A pitchfork would be a good weapon.

  Blast. I hate sharp things. I should just carry my gun when I think I might get into a dangerous spot.

  A pickup door slammed.

  “Hello? You in there, Jessie?” A silhouette of Glen’s large form appeared in the wide doorway. “Oh, there you are. What the heck are you doing out here?”

  “Hi, Glen.” She hoped he didn’t notice the slight tremor I her voice. “I know I shouldn’t be such a snoop. But I got a commission to paint this barn and came out to take reference photos. After that, I just couldn’t resist looking around.” She waved her arm in a sweeping motion. “It has so much atmosphere, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, yeah. But who gave you permission to come out here?” He stepped into the interior and walked toward Jessie.

  “Joe Helland. He’s the caretaker at the moment. He’s the one who wants the barn painting, too.” Jessie was pleased to hear that her voice was now steady. “I stopped to see his carvings and he mentioned the barn. Thought I’d come right over and get my photos. Strike while the iron is hot, so to speak.”

  Geez, now I’m babbling. Get a grip O’Bourne.

  “Oh, Joe Helland. That’s all right, then.” He looked relieved. “I thought you were trespassing or something. I didn’t want you to get in trouble. Of course, now that I’m here, I guess if we get caught trespassing I’ll be in the next cell.” He laughed at his joke.

  “What are you doing out here, Glen?’

 
“Oh, I saw your red truck and I wanted to stop and thank you, Jessie.’

  Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me? Thank me for what, exactly?” She tried to think.

  “Well, for finding my step-mom’s cat. It’s been a horrible week for Althea. Actually, for both of us. But finding Moxie and taking her out to her . . .it made things a little more bearable for her. That cat is like her child.”

  Jessie relaxed a little. “Oh, I was glad to do it.”

  “You can imagine how awful I felt when the cat disappeared. I think I was just gone too much. To a motorcycle rally in Oregon, for one thing. But one of the neighborhood teenagers was supposed to come and check on Moxie and accidentally let her outside. I never saw her again until you found her.”

  “Poor thing. But all’s well that ends well, right?” She edged toward the pitchfork.

  “What the hell?” He was looking at the motorcycle.

  “What?” Jessie started. What?”

  Bluff. Stay Calm.

  “Will you look at this? Oh, man! This thing must be old!” He circled the motorcycle, then reverently caressed a handlebar. “A strap tank Harley. Wow. I’ve never even seen one.” He squatted and looked at the tires. “This thing belongs in a museum.”

  Jessie felt confused. Glen sounded sincere. As though the bike was a complete surprise. Maybe he was innocent.

  “Or Nielson could have sold it for good money. Someone left an old magazine in my art room. There was an article in there that said a strap tank model sold for over $600,000.”

  “$715,000. Artists aren’t that good at remembering numbers,” came a voice from the doorway.

  Jessie knew the voice. “Hello, Evan. I imagine it was you who left the magazine in Glen’s room. A bit of window-dressing?”

  “You’re a good guesser, Jessie. Adele wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about it, but one day I was helping her with chores and I took a look under the tarp. Imagine my surprise. The strap tank used to belong to Dom’s grandfather. And now it’s going to belong to me.” He raised the gun that he’d been holding at his side and looked at Glen. “In fact, you’re going to help me load it in the back of my pickup and cover it—probably we can use the same tarp. I’m going to salvage something out of this ridiculous mess.”

  “What mess? What are you talking about?” Glen didn’t turn his head. He continued to examine the Harley.

  “He means all the deaths that have happened since last fall. He’s been involved in all of them.” Jessie gestured toward the bike “Was this what it was all about? This old hunk of metal?”

  At the ice in Jessie’s voice, Glen glanced up at her, startled, and then he stood. “Jessie?”

  Jessie’s voice was scornful. She waved her hand toward the motorcycle again. “For this, he killed Adele. And Benny. And planted all the notes to harass Berg Nielson. He probably killed Harris, too.”

  “Dear God!” Glen sputtered. He had finally focused on the smaller man, and the gun.

  “Here’s what he probably did.” Jessie didn’t dare look up at the loft. She hoped Cheri had called the Sheriff’s Office. And she prayed that Cheri and the Gingerbread Man would stay quiet in the loft, no matter what. I need to stall. “He left a day or so before Benny, then threw the blame on him by manipulating him into going to Savannah…probably asked him to deliver something to Harris…maybe just an empty envelope, or one with an Expo brochure in it that Benny had actually touched.” Jessie bit her lip. “Yes. That would get his fingerprints on the brochure. Benny thought he was delivering something important, and Harris was alive and fine when Benny left to head home. After he’d gone, Evan killed Harris and then returned home by flying out of an airport some distance from Savannah,” Jessie said.

  “How did you figure that out, Jessie?”

  “When we visited you in jail, you talked about Benny not being smart enough to find his way around the big airports like Denver and O’Hare. Most people wouldn’t know where you’d have a layover on the way to Georgia unless they checked flights. You must have booked your own flight through Denver one way and Chicago the other. I’ll bet Benny didn’t suspect he’d been gulled until he’d heard a man’s body had been found near Savannah. He must have panicked, thinking he’d be blamed and not knowing you’d been the one to kill Harris. The poor guy was trying to find homes for his dogs, because he planned to leave town. But instead, you decided you had to get rid of him.”

  “You think you’re so smart, Jessie. And yes, I could always talk Benny into doing anything I wanted. Ever since grade school. Of course, it wasn’t all about the bike. It was about the land. Adele and I were supposed to get married. Her dad didn’t like me and talked her out of it. I figured if I got rid of Berg, she’d lean on me. She’d come around. Instead, she spoiled everything by taking her dad’s place on the tractor that day. So, I had to do some quick thinking. I had to find someone to take the fall for Adele’s death. Dom told her in a letter about him and Harris making wills. I decided I’d make it look like Glen wanted to inherit and hurried things along. It was like building a jigsaw puzzle from scratch. I thought I’d have to find a way to put Dom out of the picture myself. It was pure luck that Berg shot Dom and his own heart gave out. Man, I should have gone to Vegas that week. I’d have made a killing.” He gave an ugly laugh. “Poor choice of words.”

  Jessie heard a faint rustling in the loose hay behind her. Mouse? Near the pitchfork. Was she blocking Evan’s view of the pitchfork? I think I am. Then she heard a slithering sound. Oh, God. It’s the King. Jessie froze.

  “Get behind me, Jessie,” Glen said quietly.

  “No! Stay right where you are. It doesn’t matter how big a man you are when I’m the one with the gun, Glen. Don’t be stupid. It was gullible of you that night to deliver Berg’s dinner for me. While you were gone, I switched the drawing tablet I used to write my note on with one in your studio. You really should get away from that country mentality of leaving your doors unlocked. I’d been leaving Berg threatening notes for a month by then and I offered to set up the trail cam to catch who was harassing him. I only got your boots on the video because Berg moved the camera, but if you hadn’t lost the Harley emblem on the boot that showed best, it would have been easy to identify. Of course, I wouldn’t ‘remember’ about the trail camera until after Harris was dead. But it would have pointed the Sheriff right to you. Jacob at the Sheriff’s Office let slip that Jessie watched the video and identified your boot anyhow—just this morning. From a faint mark.”

  Glen looked at Evan. “You were bothering that poor old man? Why?”

  “Promotion, Glen. You tell someone something ten times and they start to believe it. I hoped he’d either have a heart attack or shoot someone out of paranoia when someone—anyone—came to the house. I was angry that I killed Adele by mistake.”

  “I hope you didn’t think I’d terrorize an old man,” Glen said to Jessie. “We’ve known each other for years.”

  “Of course not,” Jessie fibbed. She forced her gaze back to Evan, even though the slithering sound was getting more obvious. She reached her hand behind her back. Where exactly is the pitchfork handle?

  “You had it all figured out, didn’t you?” Jessie said in a scathing tone. “And I’ll bet you borrowed Benny’s truck and drove around shooting at outbuildings to make people think Benny was a loose cannon. You borrowed his truck whenever you went shooting, didn’t you.”

  “Sure. Ten times, Jessie. And this is the type of place where a person is identified by their truck…folks see an old blue pickup going by and someone in it is wearing a cap like Benny’s, so it must be Benny. Folks already thought he had a screw loose. I just gave their attitude some reinforcement. It’s promotion. It’s all promotion. Glen knows. He’s taken the class—just like me.”

  “I’m nothing like you, Evan. Nothing. I’m not a common criminal, and I’m sure no killer.” He took a step to the side to try to put his body between Evan and Jessie.

  “Get back over there.” Evan waved the gun
at him until Glen took a half-step back. “And I’m not a common criminal, either. Circumstances warranted action, and I took action. Most men are too weak.”

  “It’s obvious you sent Benny out to my motorhome. The text was just window-dressing in case someone heard you. Why did you leave me the threatening notes, Evan? And the toy tractors?”

  Glen looked surprised. It was obvious he hadn’t known.

  “Hey, a damsel in distress makes every man around stand up and focus on her problem. You were a pretty woman, and you were handy. While the Sheriff was looking into that, he didn’t take time to check airlines to see if anyone besides Benny went to Savannah. I speak fluent Spanish. There’s a fellow doing odd jobs around the lodge, and I told him I was leaving you love notes. I asked if he’d deliver them each day for ten bucks. I told him to take the rest out to my pickup. I snagged the one off the check-in desk, too, just to confuse things a bit.’

  “And parking the big tractor at the lodge was as a warning to Benny?”

  “I’m a showman, Jessie. It made a huge statement, didn’t it?”

  “Why—,” Glen began.

  “It’s enough explanation. Let’s move the old Harley out to my truck. That baby’s going to reside in an old outbuilding of Benny’s for a while.” He gave Jessie a condescending look. “I’ll bet that’s one thing you didn’t know. Benny didn’t have much, but he had a house, 600 valuable acres, and no family. I sympathized with him. Told him since we were both without brothers, we should make a will leaving each other our worldly goods like Dom and Harris had done. So that I could take care of his dogs, legal like, if anything ever happened to him. When I shot Adele by accident, I lost any hope of ever getting this place. But I’ll salvage something—600 acres and a motorcycle worth about a million dollars by the time I sell it.”

  “You’ll get caught, Evan.” Glen’s voice was harsh. “And no motorcycle is worth jail time. Or murder.”

  Evan looked smug. “This one is. Besides, I had to find a patsy to take the fall for Adele’s death.”