“I take it you are looking into Palmer’s death as you have other cases?”
“I’m part of a group that’s done that in the past. We hope to look into this situation, too.” Though, as I said it, I felt a twinge. My group felt sadly depleted of late.
“Good. What do you want to ask me?”
Genuine approval of an inquiry into her ex’s death? Or an effort to deflect my suspicion?
At this point, did I care?
I looked over at the piano, topped by a forest of family photos, mostly of young people who had to be her children.
That, as well as other impressions of the house, had me thinking Palmer kept the marital home in the split. Not unheard of, but it did raise the question of how well Willa Rennant did in the divorce. Can you say motive?
“When did you last see your ex-husband?”
“I would not ordinarily be able to tell you with precision, but the instances are fresh in my mind after speaking with the sheriff’s department, as are the distinctions.”
“Distinctions?”
“I last saw him Thursday morning, entering the pharmacy on Cottonwood Avenue, near the courthouse. I last saw him face-to-face and had a conversation with him the week before at the country club. I had played a round of golf with friends and he was waiting for members of his foursome. We had a drink — water,” she specified with a faint, wry smile.
“Was he sick? Was that why he was going to the pharmacy?”
“You would need to check with someone else about that. Someone who saw him frequently. I wouldn’t know.”
An ever-so-subtle edge to that prompted me to ask, “Do you have someone specific in mind?”
She shrugged. Quite convincingly, actually. “The most recent rumors I have heard say he switched to seeing a woman named Jolie. I’m not acquainted with her, nor did I see him with any one woman enough times to make me think a particular person is the Jolie of rumor.”
Her mouth and the lines at the corners of her eyes relaxed.
I felt myself relaxing, too.
Not because she did, but because if Shelton had told Alvaro to kick me out, I’d be gone by now.
“You heard about other women he’d dated?”
“My dear, I heard about other women he’d said hello to. Some people feel it is their duty — or their privilege — to keep the ex-wife informed of the ex-husband’s romantic status at all times. However, if I had to guess why he was going into the pharmacy, I would suspect it was in search of candy corn.”
“In August?” That slipped out unintended. Not one of my better questions, since I’d seen Halloween stuff creeping out earlier and earlier.
Willa Rennant’s slight smile reappeared. “All year round. The man loves it. He has been known to order it at astronomical prices online during the offseason, despite my telling him it is almost certainly old … and then be crushed that it was stale. I know he’s begged the supermarket to get it in early, but he has not budged the manager — or should I say Penny? He has been more hopeful of persuading the pharmacy.”
The man’s craving for pre-season Halloween sugar made him more human than anything else I’d heard about him.
And his ex-wife’s slipping into present tense when she spoke about it had the same effect for my view of her.
But I wasn’t here to like either one of them.
“To your knowledge, did he have any ongoing diseases?”
She slowly and somewhat tentatively shook her head.
“Anything like pneumonia or Huntingdon’s disease?” I pursued.
Her eyebrows rose. Most people would have asked why I was asking. She tried to figure it out herself.
“Not as of a year ago. The last I knew of his medical situation was that he had slightly elevated cholesterol and seasonal allergies. I do believe he would have told me if he’d had a serious diagnosis. We have remained… I was going to say cordial and that might not be entirely accurate. It is — was—”
If she faked that slight wince, she did it well. On the other hand, someone who killed an ex then regretted it might well wince.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Willa pulled in a slow breath and restarted.
“It was more distant than that. More like someone you spent time with on a long cruise. Have you ever done that? And it’s a true friendship for the time you are in it, but when the time comes to go your separate ways, nothing remains of the feelings, except the memories. The difference with Palmer and me was that we still were and always would be connected to an extent through our children. We retained a polite, even friendly distance.”
“Did he exercise vigorously?”
She smiled slightly. “Seldom.”
“Did he ride horses?”
Back to bemusement. “Was he ever on a horse? Yes. But my children and I ride far more than he did. The horses came with me in the divorce and there was no dispute over that. He far preferred mechanized transport.”
“That’s his red truck out front?”
“It is.” She made a sound between a sob and chuckle. “For once not parked to block the middle of the stairs. I was after him all the time about parking there because it was convenient for him, but blocked everyone else trying to come in that way. And now, the one time he didn’t park there…”
She pushed at tears in her eyes. Not rubbing, which would have disturbed perfect eye makeup, but using the side of a finger below each eye to dam the moisture.
“Did he like to explore in areas of the county unfamiliar to him?”
She clearly made the connection to where his body was found. “You mean hiking?”
“Or in a vehicle?”
“He hiked at times with the family, but on his own? Not that I was aware of. As much as he loved vehicles of all sorts, he also respected nature. He was not one of those people who went off-roading across wildernesses. Not at all.” She caught herself up. “At least he was not when we were married. I cannot vouch for what changes he might have had in attitudes and actions while in the company of other people over the past year.”
Ah, back to Jolie.
“Did he have an interest in Cottonwood County history?”
A glaze of caution slid into place. “No. He viewed himself as an iconoclast in that area. He said fads, trends, and self-interests of modern populations keep monetizing it, changing it, reinterpreting it to suit agendas, making it a constantly moving target, and therefore false.”
She shot the words out like she’d memorized them from hearing them so often.
Curious at her reaction, I asked, “Do you agree?”
“Oh. Agree? … Well, he had a point about it changing, especially about self-interests of people applying their biased filter. But that doesn’t negate history’s importance. It means you need to work harder to find the truth.”
“Did his view on history come into play in his decision to not allow the Miners’ Camp Fight reenactment to take place on the property he purchased?”
She shifted in her chair, bringing her left hip farther forward, giving me a better view of her left shoulder and less of her face.
Body language 101 said she wasn’t comfortable, likely wasn’t going to be forthright.
Maybe that glaze wasn’t caution. Maybe it was something else.
“I’m sure his views did play into that.”
Talk about an anticlimax…
“Did you agree with his move to stop letting them use that property?”
“It wasn’t my property when he made the decision, which made it also not my decision.”
There was something else there.
I wanted to dig more.
But that risked alienating her. Better to leave the door open. I could always alienate her later.
“What kind of man was he?”
Her shoulders relaxed.
“Flawed — as we all are. More good than bad in him. And not even bad. Mostly oblivious.” She paused a moment before adding, “Self-centered, which caused the obliviousness. Li
ke parking where it was convenient for him, but inconvenient for others. Waking him up to the reaction of other people or the impact his actions had on them… Not easy.”
Although she smiled, she looked older and more tired.
“And this association with Jolie…?”
“Truly, I know only the rumors. I can say that after our divorce, there were rumors of other associations. They were none of my business.” The glint of amusement was back. “During our marriage, his infidelity was not marital. It was occupational. In addition to moving from job to job, with considerable compensation increases each time, he consistently had side-gigs. He liked to move from one endeavor to another. That was his particular brand of wanderlust. Two of those became promising businesses, which he sold profitably.”
Was that a hint of dissatisfaction I heard? Because he’d sold them, rather than holding on to reap larger rewards? Or something else?
A direct question wasn’t likely to take us where I wanted.
“How about you? I understand—” Always a gentler way to introduce what I knew, rather than saying, I dug as deeply into what of your past is available online as I could in the limited time I had. “—you had an impressive career in tech.”
“Not really. I stayed with the same company, which is seldom the way to advance by leaps and bounds in those companies—”
Or a lot of other companies that value the new and shiny employee over the reliable and proven one.
“—which are often run by people with very short attention spans. However, I did advance some and that offered stability in benefits that allowed Palmer to move around. Well, I say allowed. He would have done it regardless. I should say it allowed our family stability in benefits it would not otherwise have had.”
Definitely some dissatisfaction. How deep and how sharp?
“Did you have side gigs, too?”
She chuckled. Genuinely amused, but with more than a dash of dryness.
“Me? My side gig was having and raising our children. A business I never intend to sell off.”
Her gesture to the photos landed somewhere between a command and an invitation to comment. Invitation would have done for me, since I wanted to keep her talking. I suppressed the urge to reject the command. Keep her talking, that was the priority.
“I can see why. Your kids are impressive. I heard about your son running track here from Michael Paycik, who was KWMT-TV’s sports anchor.”
“Track as well as cross country and playing basketball.”
“Ah.” I hoped that sounded impressed. “Your daughter must have already been in college when I arrived here, but clearly she cornered the market in county accolades.”
“After initial resistance, they loved growing up here. That is one thing their father did for them.”
I left a beat of silence, to see if she’d say more. She didn’t.
“It must be hard for them with all this.”
“Yes.” That didn’t carry much conviction. “They’re flying into Denver and driving up Tuesday night. I told them there was no need to rush home, since the funeral cannot happen until the sheriff’s department releases Palmer’s body. Still, it will be good for them to have time together to process their father’s death before…”
Her phone dinged a notification. She looked at it and seemed to brighten.
One of her kids … or did someone else make her happy?
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to take this call.”
“Of course. We can talk again another time.” That prepped her for the inevitable revisit. “I’ll see myself out.”
What accompanied me out of Palmer Rennant’s house were layers of questions, most of which would not be answered until we dug deeper, some of which would never be answered. The question on the top layer came from that final, trailed off word.
Before what?
Before encountering the reality of an investigation into his murder?
Before encountering a mother not plunged into deep mourning over their father’s death?
Either way, she deserved some points for recognizing whatever that what was and trying to make it easier on her kids.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
On my way back into town, I stopped at the station on the eastern edge of Sherman.
I put together a follow-up story on yesterday’s events in the near isolation of a Sunday afternoon at KWMT.
The substitute assignments editor said there was no news from the sheriff’s department.
I focused the package mostly on recapping the finding of the two bodies, wrapping up the camp and the fact that the reenactment hadn’t happened, and KWMT was working the story. It let us use more of Diana’s great stuff.
Then I sat at my desk, searching for more on the members of the Rennant family. And letting my mind drift a bit so it sorted priorities in the background.
I hadn’t been at that long when Diana came in.
“Saw your vehicle in the lot as I went by,” she said to me. “Something up?”
“With the case? Nope. Did you hear about Sally?”
“Yeah. That’s not why you’re here, is it?”
“No. Did the recap story for tonight.” I explained about the call cutting short lunch — and conversation — with Mrs. P and Aunt Gee. “Not that I was making much headway. Then I met the ex-Mrs. Rennant at Palmer’s house. Oh. Mike messaged and said he and Jennifer would call about ten our time to share updates. Want to come over?”
He wouldn’t have much to share. He was covering a Cubs game. Ah, to be at Wrigley Field on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Especially if they won.
“Can’t. Kids. But I have time for you to fill me in on your conversation with the ex-wife.”
“Of course.”
Yet I didn’t start right away. Something felt off. Odd…
“Me, too,” she said.
“You, too what?”
“I miss the rest of them, too — Mike, Jennifer… and Tom.”
“That’s not—”
“Yes, it is.”
I wouldn’t win this stare-off — not with the mother of two.
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
“I want.”
“The ex-wife’s attitude interested me. Outwardly, she seemed fine with the divorce… But is she really? Can anybody be that okay with a divorce? And she had a definite edge about a couple things — him refusing to let the reenactment continue on the property he bought and a possible other woman.”
“I want to ask you about the possible other woman, but in the interests of saving the best for last, I’ll ask about the property first.”
“She said he had a hate on for history, but that didn’t explain her edginess. I figured I’d try to get more information before I tackle her again on that topic.”
“Good. Then we can skip to the other woman. Did she seem jealous?”
“Mildly irked. She was more willing to talk about that than Rennant kicking the reenactment and camp off that property.”
“That is weird. Did she say who the other woman is?”
“She said all she knew was the first name — Jolie.”
“Oh.”
My head came up. “You know her?”
“Assuming there’s not more than one Jolie in Cottonwood County, yes. But only a little. More like I know of her, especially after hearing her name today in connection with Palmer Rennant.” Diana paused, then gave me a significant look. “She’s married.”
“That sure tosses her spouse into the suspect circle. What’s his name?”
“Kamden. Kamden and Jolie Graf.”
Something niggled at me, but I put it aside to listen to Diana.
“There’s also lots of talk about Kamden Graf having affairs. In fact, I’d say he’s notorious. They’ve been married a while. They belong to the country club, but live in town. He’s in insurance.”
Insurance… Now I had the niggle. Something from Verona and Paige about Kamden Graf and insurance and taking a client.
&n
bsp; I waited for Diana to expand. She didn’t. Instead, she said, “Huh.”
“Huh, what?”
“You’re back to playing Free Cell. I wondered if last night was an aberration.”
“Last night? I didn’t play—”
“Yes, you did. While we were in the editing bay, talking about follow-ups.”
I wanted to deny it. Her expression didn’t let me. “Habit, I guess. Calming. Lots better than smoking.”
“No arguing that. Apparently, a habit you’re not aware of.” She tipped her head for a new angle as she studied me. It was unnerving. “You used to do it all the time and especially when we started working on these inquiries. The habit faded away. And now you’re back to it.”
“I can tell you think that’s significant, but I have no idea why.”
“Your fade-out of Free Cell-playing coincided with Tom being a more willing participant. Now, with him distant, you’ve taken it up again.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is true. I’m not sure what it means,” Diana continued. “Unless Tom being around distracts you the same way Free Cell does. Of course, Mike’s gone, too, so maybe it’s him.”
She waited for me to argue.
I resisted.
“And you just lost that game.”
I shifted my focus to the screen. The game had ended. I’d lost.
She chuckled softly. “I’m going to load footage on drives for you to bribe organizers to talk, then I’m out of here.”
When she came back, I was hard at work. Not playing Free Cell.
As she plunked the drives on my desk, I said, “Aha.”
“If I don’t ask aha what? are you going to keep whatever you found to yourself?”
“Absolutely.”
She exhaled through her nose. “Aha what?”
“I found a reference to Sears starting to use the Roebucks name on jeans for men in 1949. And, remember, Shelton didn’t say jeans from Sears, the way most people would, but specifically Sears Roebuck, like he might have seen that name on the label.”
“Or he was simply using the more old-fashioned name. I remember my grandmother referring to it always as the Sears Roebuck catalog, never just Sears.”
Body Brace (Caught Dead in Wyoming, Book 10) Page 13
