Devil was otherwise occupied. Lured by those good smells, he and Max stood right in front of the door. Max jumped up, resting his front paws on the crossbar set handle-height on the door.
Then Devil rose up, too.
I’d been mistaken.
With the cast on one back leg and the brace on the other, Devil couldn’t do the full stretched-out reach with his front paws that Max accomplished. Instead, he squatted in back and stretched up his front legs. Reaching right where I’d seen those scratches on Palmer Rennant’s front door.
I started the SUV and Devil’s head pivoted toward us. He barked rapidly, lunged toward the steps, realized he was tethered. Still barking, he returned to the smells coming through the door, jumping up again, scratching at the door.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Back at Connie’s, we called Mike from the SUV. Jennifer was still at Northwestern, now having dinner there. He was awaiting her call to pick her up. He pledged to share everything we said with her.
He repeated his news on Teague’s will for Diana’s benefit, then we gave him today’s highlights, ending with Otto.
“Planting dogbane? That should be criminal.”
“That’s the headline you take out of our visit with Otto Chaney?” I asked. “Rennant hit Devil with a truck, Otto might have killed Rennant, and you’re focused on a plant? Even if it is called dogbane—”
Diana said, “Dogbane is a problem for livestock and other animals. But plants in the same family are decorative. Rennant might have been talking about that. He might not have been aiming to kill Otto’s dog.”
“Better not be dogbane,” Mike grumbled. “Still, if Rennant nearly killed Otto’s dog with the truck Tuesday, why wait to kill him until — what did we say with the rigor? — very end of Thursday or early hours of Friday?”
“Because he heard Rennant driving fast again that night. Rennant had been careful earlier in the day, returning from town, where he was seen at the pharmacy, then the supermarket. But Otto heard him tearing down the road during the small hours. Made him furious again and he acted. That’s a theory, anyway.” Diana’s finish indicated she didn’t particularly want that theory to be true.
“Or maybe Rennant went after Devil for scratching his truck,” I said.
“The dog? Scratched the truck? That’s no big deal to fix.”
“Otto said Devil had red paint on his paws,” Diana pointed out.
I added, “But Rennant’s front door is red, too, and there were scratches at the right level.”
“Much more likely,” Mike said. “Scratches from dog nails on vehicles can mostly be buffed out. An old dog like you described, especially only a few days after being hit and hurt… I’d really doubt it could do major damage. All you have to do is…”
Only half-listening, I missed when he finished.
“Elizabeth? You there?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Thinking.”
“What are you thinking?”
“That we actually have three mysteries going on — Palmer Rennant, the cave body, and Mrs. P acting weird.”
“Really, you’re putting Mrs. P in the same category?” Mike asked.
“Your aunt does. In fact, I’d say she ranks it as more important, since that’s the reason she gave me the ID on Palmer Rennant.”
“How are they connected?” Mike asked.
“Aha,” Diana said. “That’s the whole question, isn’t it?”
“It’s sure a large part. And I’ll admit, knowing there are three doesn’t help us much. Because all three might be woven together or all three might be separate or any combination of two.”
“You’re right. Not real helpful,” Mike said.
“Knowing what we don’t know is always a place to start.”
“It’s not as good as knowing what we do know,” he persisted.
“Can’t argue with that.”
I told them my thinking about the narrow window when the cave body was visible pointing toward the two bodies being unrelated.
“So, one murderer chose the buttes to hide a body and another chose the place to be sure a body was found? Weird,” Mike said.
“Weird, maybe, but that’s a good synopsis. And, if you think about it, it worked out for each of them. The cave body was there for decades without anybody finding it, while Rennant’s body was there twenty-four to thirty-six hours before it was found. Each murderer got what he or she wanted.”
* * * *
I made a detour on the way home to the part of town with big, old houses mixed in with more pedestrian structures.
My destination was one of the latter, but I parked in front of one of the former, its yard decorated with a sign advertising an estate sale the next month. This must be the Ferguson house Paige Schmidt and Nadine worked on.
I’d had no idea it was next door to Jolie and Kamden Graf.
Jolie Graf went white under that dusty tan again when she saw me at her front door.
It rarely bothered me when I had that effect on people. I wouldn’t let it this time, either.
“No, no. Go away,” she whispered immediately.
“Who is it?” called a man’s voice. From this angle, I saw, reflected in the hallway mirror, a match for the photo of Kamden Graf. He looked taller and broader in the mirror. “Are we ever going to eat? You can live on air, but I can’t.”
I told Jolie, “I will go away now if you’ll talk to me later. I’ll meet you in the supermarket parking lot at eight-thirty.”
“I can’t—”
“I said, who is it? If I can’t get dinner at home, I’ll get it somewhere else. Told you I have to be out of here soon.”
“No, no. I’ll be right there, darling.” To me she whispered, “Please—”
“Meet me,” I repeated as the door closed on me.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Shadow sniffed industriously and a bit indignantly at my hands, shirt cuffs, and jeans when I got home. He was far more interested in where I’d been than in me. That was how jealousy worked.
I thought about that.
Could that sort of dynamic be operating between Willa and Palmer Rennant? She hadn’t been all that interested in him, but she was jealous of the other women? And she took Penny’s thinking to heart about disposing of the man, rather than the other woman.
Or in this case, other women.
But why wait until there was a string of them? Why hadn’t the first two, three, four triggered the reaction.
Or could it be one of the other women who responded that way? If, so that pointed at Connie Walterston, being replaced by Jolie Graf, which I simply didn’t believe. She’d never do that wasn’t evidence, but it sure as heck satisfied me for the foreseeable future.
Oh, wait, Connie thought there’d been another woman. And Penny hinted at it. One between Connie and Jolie. We needed to track her down.
If there was, that didn’t leave Jolie Graf out, especially if Palmer Rennant dumped her. Could that be what she was hiding?
And then there was Otto’s revenge motive. Didn’t seem strong to me, but I might be prejudiced based on dog ownership.
And it sure beat Clara’s would-have-had-a-motive-a-year-ago.
Heck, at this point, Palmer Rennant should still be alive based on the weakness of known motives.
Time for my supermarket parking lot rendezvous.
* * * *
I was there first.
Twilight remained. And with the store open until ten it was far from deserted. I chose a spot near a light but well away from any other vehicles.
Five minutes after the appointed time, here came an old four-wheel-drive with a wraith-thin driver … and vanity plates that included J-O-L-I-E.
I blinked my lights. Twice. Then I tooted. Finally, she spotted me, parked alongside me, and got out. I gestured for her to get in the passenger seat.
She really wasn’t good at this. She should have insisted I get in her vehicle, where I’d more likely need to be wearing a wire to re
cord her. In my own vehicle, I could have set up enough listening devices to please the Russians.
I didn’t start with questions immediately, because waiting made her anxious, and I hoped that would make her more pliable.
“You… You can’t come to my house again.”
“I won’t have to if you tell me what I need to know.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“You know Palmer Rennant.”
Her chin sank lower.
I prodded. “How long have you dated?”
“A few weeks— only a few weeks.”
“Are you afraid your husband will find out?” What I really wanted to ask was if she was afraid of her husband.
She swallowed. “Are you going to tell him?”
“That’s not my job, Jolie. My job is to try to find out who killed Palmer Rennant.”
“But I don’t know,” she wailed. A wail without much behind it, but a wail nonetheless.
“Did he ever talk about being afraid of someone?”
“No.”
“Having a dispute with anyone?”
“No.”
“His ex-wife?”
“Oh, no. Not her.”
“Did anyone threaten him?”
“No.”
“What did you two do together?”
“What?”
I’d thrown that in to break up the monotony. She seemed to think I wanted a step-by-step on their sexual exploits.
“You must have done activities together. Movies? Dinners?”
“We couldn’t go out.” She sounded appalled.
I was half tempted to say that from what I’d heard her husband hadn’t been nearly as discreet.
“Was he working on projects? In business with anyone?”
“Well…”
“Yes?”
“He and my husband were doing something together. But he wouldn’t talk about it,” she said hurriedly.
“Still, you must know about it from your husband.”
She wilted a bit. “No. He doesn’t talk about it to me. I just know it’s not his insurance business. It’s something else.” And then she seemed to rally. “Something he — Palmer, Palmer Rennant — was excited about.”
That was the cream of the evening’s very poor crop.
I didn’t know which of us was happier to have it over when I told her she could get back in her vehicle and leave.
I was too dispirited to even go inside. A totally wasted trip to the Sherman Supermarket — and that didn’t happen often.
I spent the rest of the evening watching Dial M for Murder while I read information on dogbane, the little available on Russell Teague’s condition, financial independence links Jennifer had sent me, and wondering if Jolie could be trying to protect — or frame — her husband.
DAY SIX
TUESDAY
Chapter Forty-Nine
Journalists can often feel something big coming. Most likely it’s industrious brain elves putting together bits and pieces swimming around in our heads into something semi-coherent, but still below the conscious level.
A few revel in that sense. The rest of us don’t, because what makes a big story rarely means butterflies and cupcakes. More like that bad moon rising feeling.
Except it was the sun rising. And I was awake to see it.
Not a good omen.
* * * *
I knocked on the open trailer door and accepted the invitation to come in.
Under Connie Walterston’s hand, the inside of the trailer west of Sherman looked clean, organized, and neat, with no evidence of spiders in sight. Quite different from my first visit.
“Looks like business is booming,” I said.
She gestured me toward a visitor’s chair across the desk from her. “This season has been a vast improvement and next year promises to be even better, which I wish was enough to make my boss happy.”
Not a direct poke into my personal affairs, but close.
“That’s what you get for working for a grump,” I said cheerfully. “Was really glad to run into you yesterday. And thanks for letting me ask Austin those questions.”
“As the beneficiary of your question-asking abilities, I have a lot of confidence in them, Elizabeth. How did you know Austin and his friends had been up to the buttes?”
“Mike Paycik went up there in his high school days. Jennifer Lawton, too. It seemed unlikely that suddenly stopped in the past few years.”
“I’m his mother, but I would say he was being entirely truthful with you. Especially about telling someone if he’d seen — or heard that others had seen — a body up there.”
I suspected Brian Walterston’s death and the circumstances surrounding it had sensitized his family and a number of other people to the impact of people going missing.
“I think so, too. As a matter of fact, I have information that the body most likely wasn’t revealed until rocks shifted a week ago.”
“Oh.” That syllable of interest rested on a foundation of relief. Austin had told the truth and I had information that verified it beyond a mother’s belief. But I also saw her considering further implications. “Do you think Palmer Rennant saw the body?”
“I have no idea. He was certainly alive until Thursday afternoon, so it’s possible.”
“Right. Penny.” There was no sense even being surprised she knew.
“Yup. Last sighting I’ve heard about was Thursday afternoon at the supermarket. Connie, do you have any idea why he would be up there at the butte?”
“None.”
“You dated him, didn’t you.” I didn’t make that a question, so she didn’t have to say yes or no. “When was that?”
“From the end of May into June. It was … pleasant.” Her gaze came up. “And so strange. I mean, there truly wasn’t much to it. Movies, dinners, a couple events in Cody. We talked, but it was nothing like… Well, I suppose that wasn’t fair to him. I couldn’t expect it to be. One the love of your life you were married to for all those years, the other a near stranger.
“But I was grateful to him and real sad to hear about his death. He didn’t rush me. He sort of let me get my sea legs again, if you know what I mean, without any big drama.”
“That’s interesting. I heard he wasn’t real tuned in to … nuances.”
“Oh, he wasn’t. I found that rather refreshing. So many people have tiptoed around me the past year. He didn’t. It also meant I could be real blunt, too.”
I hadn’t thought of that upside.
“When you were seeing each other, did he wear one of those watches that looked like a cockpit gauge?”
She chuckled. “He did. Very proud of it, too, even though he never used it for anything — used his phone, even for checking the time.”
“Did he ever talk to you about his ancestors or family tree?”
“Not that I recall. I guess if he did, it didn’t make an impression on me.”
“What about history?”
Her brows drew down. “There were a few things about so-called historic sites and museums and such. Said one time they should all be shut down. I got a little sharp. Said they were important, including for letting the newcomers know what happened before they set foot in town.” She grinned ruefully. “He got under my skin, what with knowing all Tom does to keep the local history and such able to keep going.”
“Any more about that?”
“No. Oh, wait. I did suggest a trip over to Buffalo and he started in about not wanting to have anything to do with the place ever again and somebody had told him a pack of lies.”
Fort Phil Kearny was near Buffalo. Then, again, so were other things. Including Buffalo itself.
“Do you know who else he dated?”
She laughed. “In this county? I couldn’t help but know, especially after a couple people saw us together a time or two. Then I heard everything.”
Willa’s comment about people informing the ex repeated in my head. Did she know it wasn’t just ex-wives?
“But I’m not sure about repeating…”
“Let’s do it this way, Connie. I know he dated Clara Atwood shortly after his divorce a year ago. And there was something about a woman connected to brownies and why would Rennant get deeply involved when he already had two nice kids, which I took to be Vicky Upton, and why would Rennant take on her daughter, the inimitable Heather Upton.”
She spluttered in an effort to stifle laughter. “That is wicked. Accurate, but wicked. Not you, Elizabeth, but … Penny?”
“Absolutely. Had you heard he dated Vicky?”
“Yes. And that Heather broke them up. Then the girl goes off to college and Vicky’s left alone again.” She shook her head. “A shame. Vicky’s been lonely a long time.”
“Then there was someone Penny referred to as the Easter Parade woman.”
“Oh dear. I suppose I might as well tell you.”
“Please.”
“Rosalee Short.”
“Any relation to Ivy from the library?”
“Her half-sister. She does wear hats. A lot. And not sensible ones. Any time she’s at an outdoor event everyone spends half the time chasing down her hat. But I think you can forget her, Elizabeth. She’s been gone since mid-June, taking care of her maternal grandmother in Rhode Island. She died over the weekend — the grandmother, not Rosalee.”
“Clara, Vicky, Rosalee … these are in chronological order?”
“I believe so. Then me.”
“After you?”
Connie paused a moment then plunged ahead. “I heard talk about Jolie Graf. Oh, there was word about someone else before Jolie, but I never heard who that was — or might have been. Then the rumors about Jolie.”
“What did you think of those rumors?”
“In a way it was hard to believe and, in another way, not. If I’d been asked before then to list the ten women in the county least likely to cheat on a husband, Jolie would’ve made the list. At the same time, if I’d listed the ten men in the county least faithful to their wives, Kamden would be on that, right up toward the top.” She paused. “Or bottom, if you looked at it the right way.”
Body Brace (Caught Dead in Wyoming, Book 10) Page 21
