Reed Ferguson Mystery Box Set 5

by Renee Pawlish

  Chapter Nine

  I walked partway down Main Street and then called Willie.

  “Where are you?”

  “I just got my nails done,” she said.

  “Some detective you are,” I joked.

  “Hey, I’ve found out a few things.”

  “Really? Me, too. Why don’t you meet me at the 4-Runner and we can compare notes?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I walked down the next block and as I neared my car, I saw Willie come out of a salon across the street, carrying a bag. She waited for a car to pass, then trotted over to me.

  “I bought a dress.”

  “I can see that,” I said as I unlocked the car. We got in, and I cranked the air conditioner, then turned to her.

  “Okay, Nancy Drew, spill it.” I grinned.

  “You may think I’m Miss Marple by the time I finish,” she said, referring to one of Agatha Christie’s famous amateur sleuths.

  I gestured impatiently with my hand, for her to move it along.

  She adjusted the vents so the cool air was blowing directly on her, and then began. “So I went into the clothing store first and started browsing. You know, for a small little shop, they had some really nice things. New and used. There was the cutest dress that –”

  “Willie,” I chided her.

  “I’m getting there. As I was looking around, I struck up a conversation with the owner of the store. Her name is Sally and she’s lived here since 1960. She told me all about the history of the town, how it wasn’t such a great place to live until Alvin Holder moved in a few years after her. He was just a young spitfire, as she said, and he started the dairy plant, which brought in jobs and helped the area flourish.” She glanced out the window. “At least as much as a small town can flourish. Anyway, Holder became mayor, and he’s really helped make this a great place to live. But it was interesting because I didn’t get the sense that she really likes the mayor, but she respects what he’s done around here. And she talked about how he married a sweet woman named Rita, and they have three kids.”

  “Jennifer, Toby, and Marcia.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I found out a few things, too,” I said.

  She reached across and patted my leg. “It’s not a contest, hon.”

  “Ha ha.” I told her what I’d gleaned from the men at the bar, ending with Marcia’s baby being kidnapped.

  “I heard that, too!” she said. “But did they talk about the trust?”

  “Just that there was one.”

  “Apparently Mayor Holder has some kind of trust set up for the kids. They get money from it on a yearly basis – that’s the rumor. Sally didn’t know how much money, but I got the impression it was a lot, since both Jennifer and Toby live pretty high on the hog. Her words, not mine.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Babe, I told you, shopping and talking go hand in hand for most women. And when there’s a bit of jealousy about money – which I sensed there was from Sally – then that’s even more reason to gossip.”

  “Yeah, but bringing up a trust?”

  Willie twisted her hair absentmindedly with a finger as she talked. “I was noticing that some of the used clothes were pretty expensive, and Sally said a lot of it came from Jennifer Madisen. You would have been proud of me, hon. I finessed the conversation around to clothes, then to Jennifer being a Holder, and that led into a discussion of the Holder family, then money, and then the trust.”

  “Did Sally say anything about Marcia Holder?”

  “Like you said, she brought up the baby and the kidnapping, but she doesn’t know where Marcia moved to. And she was a little hesitant to discuss anything about Marcia. I even pressed, in a cautious way.”

  “I ran into the same thing with the clerk at the hotel.”

  Willie nodded. “It was like she had some strong feelings about the Holders, but also like she was scared to say anything too negative about them, other than the money.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “And yet Stan and Boozer ripped on Mayor Holder.”

  “They sound bitter.”

  “Uh-huh.” I thought for a second. “Toby Holder owns a farm equipment company here in town. I could pop in there and see if I can get him talking about Marcia. It’s interesting, the desk clerk at the hotel didn’t mention the brother Toby. But I didn’t ask, either.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know about Toby.”

  “Could be.” I drummed my fingers on the dashboard, thinking. “I’ve got to find someone who knows where Marcia went.”

  “I may be able to help.”

  I stared at her.

  “There’s more,” she said.

  “What?”

  “After I left the store, I went into the salon to get my nails done.” She held out her fingers. “Nice, huh? It’s a new shade of pink, called ‘Blissful.’”

  “You’re toying with me, aren’t you?”

  It was her turn to grin. “I can’t help myself. While Kelly – she’s the young woman that works at the salon – did my nails, we talked. I got some of the same stuff about the town, how nice it is here. She didn’t say anything about the Holders and Marcia, so I brought it up, saying I’d heard about the kidnapping at another store, and how sad that was. Kelly said she’d heard all about it from her parents. Kelly has a baby, a little boy, and she said she couldn’t imagine losing your child like that, and how it must hurt the Holders to not know what happened.”

  “Stan at the bar thinks Mayor Holder might’ve been involved in the kidnapping.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “He didn’t say, and the bartender snapped at him, so he shut up. I don’t know if it was just a bitter old man talking, or if there’s something more.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t get a sense from the ladies that Holder was involved. But Kelly did say that her mother always said the whole thing was strange, that the Holders wouldn’t discuss the baby, the kidnapping, or Marcia leaving town with anyone. Then she added that if anyone knew about Marcia’s whereabouts, it would be Annette Gessler.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “She was a good friend of Marcia’s. Kelly said her mom used to say that if anyone had any information about where Marcia went to, it would be Annette. And yet, Kelly didn’t seem to think Annette really did know anything, that it was just part of what people said when they discussed the kidnapping.”

  “So no one in this town has any idea what happened to Marcia?” I said.

  “They seem to be in each other’s business, except about that.”

  “Hard to believe.”

  “Or they don’t want to say.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged.

  “What if Marcia is Gina’s mother, and John Smith kidnapped her to keep her from her family and this crazy town? And Marcia couldn’t handle it and left.”

  “If that’s true, what’s Gina going to think about that?”

  “I don’t know. I should talk to Annette, to see if she knows anything,” I said. “Did you find out where she lives?”

  “I didn’t want to ask and look suspicious.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” I mulled over everything we’d learned. “Did anyone bring up a Pastor Sheehan?”

  “Just that he runs a really nice church, and if I’m here over the weekend, I should stay for the service.” Her brow furrowed.

  “And?”

  “There’s something that I can’t quite put my finger on, but this town gives me the creeps.” She shivered.

  I agreed. “Remember Footloose, with Kevin Bacon? The preacher had so much control over the town that dancing was illegal? It feels a little like that.”

  She laughed. “Have we entered the Twilight Zone?” She started humming the theme song from the show.

  “Could be.”

  “Shouldn’t it remind you of a film noir movie instead of Footloose?”

  “What about City That Never Sleeps? Although, that’s more about a bunc
h of people during one night in Chicago who all want to escape their fate for something better. Not so much about the entire city being weird. But it’s a good movie, with some great cinematography –”

  “Focus, Babe.”

  “Right,” I said. “You want to go back to the hotel? They might have a phone book, and I’ll see if I can find Annette Gessler’s address.”

  She nodded. “I’ll hang out by the pool again while you talk to her. I’m reading a good book.”

  “What book?”

  “Web of Deceit, by Renée Pawlish.”

  “Never heard of her,” I said as I pulled the car onto Main Street. Then I noticed a sheriff’s cruiser zoom up behind me. I stared in the rearview mirror for a moment.

  Willie noticed. “What?”

  “Just wondering if the sheriff is keeping tabs on us.”

  Willie peered in her side mirror. “Is the sheriff driving?”

  I stared for a moment longer. “No, it must be a deputy. But the sheriff could’ve called someone to look out for the 4-Runner.”

  “You aroused suspicion when Jennifer told her husband you were Philip Marlowe, and he knows you’re not.”

  “How was I supposed to know things would turn out like this?” I said.

  The cruiser stayed with us. I drove the speed limit back to the hotel, and when I turned into the parking lot, the cruiser kept going.

  “That was odd,” Willie said as we got out of the car.

  I gazed after the cruiser until it disappeared in the distance.

  Willie was watching me. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  I nodded, then followed her inside the hotel.

  Chapter Ten

  Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought the clerk eyed us warily as we walked through the lobby.

  “You’re making me paranoid,” I said to Willie, thinking the same thing she’d said in the 4-Runner: this town was giving me the creeps.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  We went to our room, and while she changed back into her swimsuit and prepared to go out to the pool, I searched for a phone book.

  “Just like Bogie would’ve done,” I muttered.

  I found an old, thin country phone book in the nightstand drawer, thumbed through it, and found Annette Gessler’s number right away. That was much easier than trying to find the information online, where more and more sites charged for something as simple as a phone number or address. What was a private eye to do?

  “Did you find her?” Willie asked as she rubbed sunscreen on her legs.

  I held up the phone book. “I did. She lives on Elm Street. But I don’t know where that is, so I’ll have to get online anyway.”

  She stared at me. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.” I tossed the phone book on the bed and pulled out my phone. “Thank goodness for Google Maps.” I logged onto the internet. “Elm is on the other end of town.”

  Willie checked the time. “It’s almost four o’clock. You better get going so you miss rush hour.”

  I laughed. “Funny.” I thought for a second. “I’m going to drop by unannounced. If Annette’s not there, I may stop by Toby Holder’s farm equipment shop.”

  “So you don’t know how long you’ll be.” She came over and kissed me. “I knew this was a work trip. Do what you need to do and we can get dinner when you’re finished.”

  “I’ll see you in a while.”

  We walked out together, and she headed for the pool while I passed back through the lobby. Sure enough, the clerk was playing his video game – I could hear it – but I still felt as if his eyes were on me when I left.

  It took less than ten minutes to get across town, and I was soon driving in an older neighborhood with a variety of house styles. Annette Gessler lived in a white, two-story Victorian home that badly needed a coat of paint. I parked in front of the house and walked up a narrow sidewalk to the front door. I knocked and waited. A moment later a short, plump woman in white shorts and a sleeveless yellow blouse opened the door.

  “Yes?” She peered at me curiously through wireframe glasses.

  “Are you Annette Gessler?”

  “Yes.”

  I figured I should just use my real name since the sheriff already knew who I was, and if he found out I was still going around town lying to people … well, it wouldn’t go well for me. I decided to be blunt and see what happened. “My name is Reed Ferguson. I’d like to talk to you about Marcia Holder.”

  She was momentarily taken aback. She sucked in a breath, and a hand fluttered to her chest, but she recovered quickly. “Who are you?”

  “Reed Ferguson,” I repeated. “I’m trying to track down Marcia Holder.”

  “I haven’t seen her in decades.” She smoothed a hand over her blond hair streaked with gray.

  There was something in the way she said it that made me wonder if she was lying.

  “Have you spoken to her?” I asked.

  “Of course not.” She eyed me with a hard look. “I don’t know why you’re bothering me, but I need to go.”

  She started to shut the door.

  “People around town said you might know where she is.”

  The door stopped halfway shut. “That’s not true,” she said. “I don’t know anything, and you shouldn’t be going around talking about me.”

  “I’m not trying to,” I rushed on, before my opportunity was lost. “I’m a private investigator from Denver. My client is looking for her birth mother, and I’m wondering if it might be Marcia. But I can’t find her, and no one will talk to me.” I was saying too much, but I didn’t want to leave empty-handed.

  The door swung back open. Annette looked at me uneasily.

  “Please,” I said.

  She glanced past me at the empty street, alarm on her face. “You’d better come inside.” She gestured at me to follow her.

  I stepped into an entryway with hardwood floors, an ornate oak staircase, and a fancy chandelier. Down the hall, I could see into a kitchen that obviously had been recently remodeled. A definite difference from the rundown exterior of the house.

  “Let’s sit in here.” Annette went through an archway to the right.

  She led me into a living room that was decorated with cream colored furniture, with antique coffee and end tables, and built-in bookshelves along one wall that were filled with knick-knacks and family pictures. She perched on a wingback chair and I sat on the couch.

  “Who knows you’re visiting me?” she asked anxiously.

  “No one.” Technically not true. Willie did, but I wasn’t going to reveal that to Annette.

  She peered out a window behind me, then shook her head. “And who knows about your client?”

  “No one,” I repeated. I held up a hand. “I mentioned my client – not by name – to Jennifer Madisen, but she wouldn’t talk to me after that.”

  “She wouldn’t. The Holders don’t talk about what happened.”

  “What did happen?”

  Her gaze fell back on me. “You don’t know?”

  “I know Marcia had a baby in 1985. I heard the baby was kidnapped, and later Marcia left town.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And I’m getting this weird feeling from everyone I’ve talked to, that there’s something more to the story.” I stared at her. “My client wants to find her mother, that’s all.”

  “What if her mother doesn’t want to be found?”

  “I can respect that, and I can let my client know.” I leaned forward. “If the mother is Marcia, I’d at least like to verify that. And she can tell me herself if she wants to reconnect with her daughter.”

  She pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything.

  “You were friends with Marcia,” I said gently.

  She finally nodded. “We both grew up around here. I guess you could say we were best friends, all the way through high school.” She gave a little laugh. “I guess that’s why everyone in town keeps saying I must know w
here Marcia is.”

  “Do you?”

  “I don’t know as much about things as people think.”

  “When did she get pregnant?”

  “We were seniors.”

  I thought about what others had said about Mayor Holder. “That didn’t go over well with her father.”

  “No. He could be a bit,” she searched for the word, “controlling.”

  “Who was the father?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Come on. You were best friends.”

  “I’m telling you the truth, she wouldn’t tell me. She said she really loved the guy, but he was an older man and she was scared that her father wouldn’t like him. She never told anyone in her family that she was seeing someone. And she didn’t tell me who he was because she worried that if her father ever found out she was dating someone, and she wouldn’t tell him who her boyfriend was, her father would somehow get me to tell him. She didn’t even tell me she was pregnant until she was starting to show.” She frowned. “She was so scared about what her father was going to say, but she didn’t want to have an abortion. And then, once the family found out, they wouldn’t let her not have the baby. Could you imagine what Pastor Sheehan would say if he found out they were considering an abortion? You’ve heard of him, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The only other person in this town you don’t cross, besides Mayor Holder, is Pastor Sheehan.”

  “What is Sheehan’s first name?”

  “Franklin.”

  “How do you spell his last name?”

  She told me, then asked, “Why?”

  I shrugged. “I might need to ask him a few questions.”

  “Be careful.”

  I nodded. “Was Marcia’s pregnancy shocking?”

  She snorted. “In a small town like this, of course it was. It was 1985, but around here, that kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen. Not on Pastor Sheehan’s watch.”

  “What happened after she had the baby?”

  She sighed. “I don’t even know what all happened in the month before she had the baby, let alone after.”