by Aimée Thurlo
“What now?” Rachel asked.
“We need to get some damning evidence, anything the police will accept that’ll also clear me of any wrongdoing.”
“That’s going to be tough,” Rachel said. “Leigh Ann, do you think you and I will ever be able to settle down with nice guys and live happily ever after? The guys we choose … Well, the word ‘pricks’ comes to mind.”
Leigh Ann laughed. “There are some gems out there.”
“Like Melvin?” She saw Leigh Ann nod, and continued, “You used to go for those ultra-macho guys—like Billy Ray Jackson who went on to play pro football, or Jake Faulkner, who’s now racing cars down south. Melvin … seems like a stretch.”
“He’s more of a man than either of those guys, Rache. Believe it.”
“Too bad he doesn’t have a cool-sounding name.”
“What difference could that possibly make?” she said, laughing. “Besides, ever heard of Mel Gibson?”
“True,” she smiled. “But Melvin’s not at all high impact, you know?”
“Make up your mind—not high impact or pricks?”
Rachel laughed. “Good point.” She leaned back in her chair. “How are things going between you two? Is it getting serious?”
“No, that’s something it can never become. It’s just too complicated,” she said. “But when I’m with him, I feel like a whole woman again, Rache. It’s the most amazing feeling in the world.” Leigh Ann stared at the soda can in her hand, lost in thought. “There are lines neither of us will ever cross, though. We both carry a lot of baggage.”
“You guys don’t have much of a future unless you can be open with one another.”
“Some demons are hard to expose to the light, sis, and I have this Kurt thing hanging over my head. Friendship is as far as it can go between us.”
“But you’d like it to be more.”
“Someday, maybe, but I’ll keep what I have for now.”
“If things are right, don’t let him slip away, Leigh Ann. You’ve finally found a man who isn’t attracted to you just because you’ve got big boobs.”
Leigh Ann laughed, allowing herself to feel relaxed for a moment. Then she sighed and told her sister about finding Kurt’s lucky coin.
“I thought that was missing from the stuff the police gave you when his body was released,” Rachel replied.
“It was. I got back Kurt’s wallet, key chain, and credit cards. I also checked the list of items the police kept as evidence, but that was mostly the clothes he was wearing at the time of his death.”
“So you’re thinking his killer took the lucky quarter?”
“I’m positive Kurt had it with him when he left on that hunting trip, but I haven’t seen it since,” she said. “Now, out of the blue, it turns up in my glove box? What other explanation could there be?”
Rachel considered it. “He didn’t have the Jeep with him that day, did he?”
“No. I did. The three of them went in Pierre’s SUV.”
“Then I have no idea how to explain this,” Rachel said at last. “So what do you want to do about it?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Leigh Ann said, and sighed. The phone rang; Leigh Ann looked at the caller ID, saw it was Jo, and answered immediately.
“Is everything okay, Jo?” she asked quickly, knowing Jo never called after hours except in an emergency.
“Two detectives from the sheriff’s department came by and asked me some questions about you. It was just routine, they said, but they wanted to know about you, your marriage, and Kurt. I told them you came to work for me after your husband died, and that I’d never met you or him before that moment, so I couldn’t help them,” Jo said, sounding a bit anxious.
“That’s true,” Leigh Ann confirmed.
“Once I told them that, they wanted to know about your spending habits, whether or not you had a boyfriend now, and if so, how long you’d been involved with him.”
“What did you say?” Leigh Ann asked quickly, hoping Jo hadn’t ended up sending the cops to Melvin’s doorstep.
“That I know virtually nothing about your private life, other than the fact you share your home with your sister.”
Leigh Ann breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Who came to question you?”
“Detective McGraw, from the county’s violent crimes unit, and Sergeant Knight, the same officer who spoke to you the other day at The Outpost. It sounds like a lot more than just those papers you mentioned finding. What’s going on, Leigh Ann?”
Jo sounded worried now, so she gave her a quick update. “Sooner or later, they’ll discover the truth about Kurt and what’s going on over at Total Supply. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Let me know if you need any help,” Jo said.
Leigh Ann hung up and filled Rachel in.
Rachel said, “I wish we’d thrown out that box of Kurt’s instead of turning it over to the cops.”
“It’s what I get for trying to be honest and playing by the rules,” Leigh Ann said.
“Someone wants to make sure you get the blame for whatever Kurt did or didn’t do. You’re going to have to start digging even deeper into his past.”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Maybe with this?” Rachel said, holding up the small key that had been in the box with Kurt’s papers. Leigh Ann was startled.
“Rachel! What did you do?”
“I kept it.”
“Aw, jeez, Rache,” Leigh Ann whispered.
“Hey, you kept the revolver.”
“True enough. But why the key?”
“I’m sure it has something to do with Pierre and Wayne. Think about it, sis. They found out Kurt was stealing from them and Kurt ended up dead, but they still haven’t found the cash. That’s why one of them cleaned out that storage compartment, and why they kept asking you about Frank Jones.”
“Let’s assume they did find out what Kurt was doing. They couldn’t turn him over to the cops maybe because they had their own secrets to hide. Now I’ve become a liability because I’ve started nosing around. I’m drawing unwanted attention to them and Total Supply.”
“So they’ve got to make it look like you’re the bad guy.”
“I have half a day off tomorrow, I think I’ll pay them a visit,” Leigh Ann said.
“You’re going to drop by and just say hi? Oh sure, Leigh Ann, that’s a great idea,” Rachel said sarcastically. “That won’t seem suspicious at all, walking into the enemy camp.”
Leigh Ann shook her head. “I was planning to play the dumb blonde card and go in to buy a humane squirrel trap. They’re a ranch and farm supply place, so they’ll be able to get one for me.”
“Be sure to talk to Wayne. I think he’s sweet on you.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Leigh Ann said. “I’ll chitchat, then naturally let him know that I went up to the attic to chase out a squirrel and found a stash Kurt had hidden up there. I’ll say that it was a bit of cash and several business folders. Then I’ll watch his reaction. If he doesn’t say anything, I’ll ask if he and Pierre are still interested in Frank Jones, just in case I happen to come across something with that name.”
“Detectives have already questioned them about that. Wayne’s sure to know you’re trying to play him,” Rachel warned. “What you’re doing could be really dangerous.”
“The police are checking up on me and seriously exploring the possibility that I shot Kurt. I’ve got to do whatever I can to help myself.”
The doorbell sounded. Leigh Ann went to the door and saw two men standing outside, pistols on their belts. One was Sergeant Knight. Her stomach sank.
Leigh Ann reluctantly opened the door and gave the sergeant a nod, then glanced at the other man, a slender, dark-haired man in his early thirties wearing a gray jacket, light blue shirt, and tan slacks. “May I help you?”
“Mrs. Vance, this is Detective McGraw,” Knight said. “He’s with our violent crimes division. We’d like a moment of your time. May we com
e in?”
She stepped back and waved them into the large, open space that combined the living room, dining area, and kitchen. “What’s this all about, detectives?” she asked, trying to sound confident, or at least not intimidated. McGraw had penetrating pale blue eyes and sharp, narrow features that reminded her of a hawk, for some reason.
Seeing Rachel at the dining table, McGraw said, “Is there someplace we can speak in private?”
“Sure. How about my office?” Leigh Ann suggested.
“That sounds fine, ma’am,” McGraw said, eyeing Rachel a moment longer than necessary.
Leigh Ann led the police officers down the hall, to the first room on the left. She closed the door once they were inside, knowing full well Rachel would cross over to the sofa and listen in anyway.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, now a little more in control, hopefully.
McGraw spoke first, his voice softer than she’d expected. “Sergeant Knight recently learned that your husband had a bank account at the Rocky Mountain Bank in Cortez, just over the state line. Two days before he died, your husband withdrew a sum close to fifty thousand dollars. Do you know what became of that money?”
“No, sir. If I did, I’d have a nicer car, new furniture, and this season’s heels,” she said seriously.
The two detectives exchanged a look.
McGraw continued to speak softly, though his expression had hardened a bit. “We’ve also followed up on that storage locker he rented in Farmington. It was closed two days after his death by someone who posed as him. How do you explain that?”
“I discussed that with Sergeant Knight. As I told him before, that wasn’t me. Frankly, I’d have a hard time passing as my late husband. He was taller,” Leigh Ann responded, straightening her back, which projected her breasts even more prominently. If Rachel could distract him, maybe she could, too.
“Do you find this amusing, Mrs. Vance?” McGraw replied, his voice no longer soft, and his expression cold, almost glaring. Knight, however, was unable to hold back a smile.
“No. It’s your methods I find … humorous, as does your companion, obviously. You knew my answers to these questions already. I have no idea who it was, but clearly it wasn’t me. I’m not going to confess to any crimes I didn’t commit. Should I get an attorney?”
“Do you think you might say something that will incriminate you?” McGraw snapped.
“Listen carefully, detectives,” Leigh Ann said, more annoyed than worried now. “I did not harm my husband, and I’m not a thief. Look closely at my lifestyle—my bank records, my two credit cards. Do a credit check. My meager income goes to bills—the regular kind, like food, water, gas, and so on.”
“The bank account was in your name, too,” McGraw said.
“Kurt never said a word about it to me, and you won’t find my legitimate signature on any checks or application forms. I assure you I never saw a dime of that money, and, no, I have no idea where it is right now.”
“So you’ve said,” McGraw answered, and shrugged.
“I am not Kurt’s killer. If I were, wouldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut and let things lie?” she said, no longer concerned about showing her anger.
“Interesting that you’re now proposing that your husband’s death wasn’t an accident. Sergeant Dale Carson mentioned that all three partners frequented a local shooting range and recommended we check out Wayne Hurley and Pierre Boone’s association with that facility. He suggested that perhaps the weapon that killed your husband was rented or purchased there, maybe a private sale that was never recorded,” McGraw said.
“I suppose that makes sense,” Leigh Ann answered, suspecting from McGraw’s tone that her cousin had inadvertently made things worse for her. “But where are you going with this?”
“We paid the range a visit and the gunsmith at their shop provided us with some interesting information. It turns out your husband was considering the purchase of a used rifle, so he brought it in to be checked out first. The gunsmith recalled that the weapon was going to be a gift for you,” McGraw said, scowling.
“Yeah, Kurt bought me a rifle and we went shooting a few times. The last time I fired it was the summer before he died,” Leigh Ann said.
Sergeant Knight spoke, his tone almost apologetic. “Can we examine the rifle, Mrs. Vance? According to the gunsmith’s records and our forensics lab, it’s the same caliber as the one that killed your husband.”
“Shouldn’t you have a warrant for that?”
“Yes ma’am, here it is, and it also includes your husband’s laptop computer,” McGraw said, a smug smile on his face as he brought out a handful of folded paper from his pocket.
Leigh Ann’s stomach sank. She realized now that she’d been set up, maybe in more ways than one. If the killer had stolen the rifle, killed Kurt, then put it back, she was about to be royally screwed. Her hands shaking, she looked at the pages of the warrant. It all looked legal. She saw the judge’s signature and the description of the rifle, undoubtedly provided by the gunsmith at the club.
“Well?” Detective McGraw said. “You wanna show us, or do we have to search room by room? It’ll make a mess.”
Leigh Ann shook her head. “No problem, except I sold Kurt’s laptop months ago at a garage sale after erasing the hard drive. I needed to pay some bills. My rifle is here, upstairs. Follow me.”
She walked out of the office, glanced at Rachel, who was now sitting on the sofa pretending to read a magazine, and then led the two officers upstairs. Once inside her room, she pointed toward the bed. “It’s under there beside Kurt’s shotgun, inside the gun case, which isn’t locked. It’s probably covered with dust, so be ready to sneeze.”
McGraw nodded to Knight, who got down on his knees, peered underneath, then brought out the pump shotgun and a long, black plastic container. “Yeah, it’s dusty,” Knight observed. “No smudges anywhere. This has been sitting here, undisturbed, for weeks, maybe months.”
“Bet your wife doesn’t vacuum under the bed that much either,” Leigh Ann muttered.
Knight shrugged. “My ex-wife didn’t vacuum at all.”
“Enough small talk. Open it up, Sergeant,” McGraw grumbled.
Knight opened the three suitcase-style latches and lifted the top.
“Crap,” McGraw growled.
“Dammit to hell,” Leigh Ann blurted out at almost the same time. “Somebody stole my rifle.”
“Don’t think this is going to get you off the hook, Mrs. Vance,” McGraw said.
Leigh Ann didn’t answer. A few minutes later, after double-checking the rest of the bedroom, they went back downstairs. She stayed perfectly still on the living room sofa as he continued hurling questions at her. Rachel, meanwhile, had gone into the office and Sergeant Knight was searching the rest of the house and the garage.
“Wherever that rifle is, I didn’t take it, hide it, or use it in any crime,” she replied. “I’ve allowed you to search my home and garage freely. Now I’m through cooperating. Until that rifle turns up, you need to leave me alone,” she said.
Sergeant Knight walked back into the room, and looking at McGraw, shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, handing Leigh Ann the keys to the garage cabinets, which she’d freely offered.
“We’re done here,” Leigh Ann said, standing. “Investigate all you want. I’m innocent. More than that, my life’s in danger and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect myself.”
“We’d advise you to stay out of this, ma’am,” Sergeant Knight said. “Let us do what we’re trained for. If the rifle was really stolen from this house, it’ll turn up eventually. We have the serial number, and once the weapon’s found, ballistics will be able to determine if that was the rifle used to kill your husband.”
“And if it was, count on another visit from me,” McGraw added. “We’re not done, Mrs. Vance. If you’re really innocent, keep your eyes and ears open. If you learn something, give us a call.” He handed her his card.
“Count
on it, detectives. Once I figure things out, I’ll let you know—through my attorney.”
A few minutes later, as they were driving away, Rachel came out of the office and stood beside her. “Way to go, sis. So who’s your attorney?”
“Are you kidding? I can’t even afford to pay the light bill until I get my next paycheck.”
“So you were bluffing?”
“Yeah, but not about clearing my name. It’s all I’ve got left, and by damn, Kurt’s not taking that from me.”
“Change it. Go back to your maiden name—Carson.”
“No. I’m not going to try and hide from this. I’m tackling the mess head-on. Tomorrow, I’ll be walking straight into the lion’s den.”
— NINE —
Leigh Ann drove over to Total Supply right after eight the next morning, this time with the revolver in her purse, just in case. As she parked in the graveled lot in front of the large sheet-metal building, she realized that her hands were shaking. It wasn’t fear—it was excitement.
She wanted answers, and for the first time in her life she was taking the proverbial bull by the horns instead of waiting for someone else to lead the way.
That was what Kurt’s death had done for her—taught her to stand on her own two feet. The pretty little girl from a small town in Texas had finally grown up.
Back in high school, popularity had come as easily as breathing to her. She’d been head cheerleader and homecoming queen.
Right after graduation, filled with big dreams, she’d married the hunky high school quarterback.
Instead of the fairy-tale romance she’d hoped for, reality had pushed her dreams into the sand, sucking the life out of them. They’d struggled and put off having kids, waiting for a “right time” that had never come.
In her mid-thirties now, she still had her looks, though her innocence was long gone and trust didn’t come easily to her anymore. She tried her hardest to be friendly and cheerful, but cynicism had, for the most part, replaced hope. These days, she had a tendency to assume the worst and be pleasantly surprised if circumstances proved her wrong.
