by Ellen Parker
“Yesterday morning. I removed a tarp for use in my store downtown.” This was the second time for these questions. How many times had she listened to Detective Wilson and his team go through their list? Eight? Ten? She’d lost count after a while. The entire first week or two mushed together in her memory. “I fastened the latch.”
“Did you do anything at the workbench? Remove a tool? Plug into any of the electrical outlets?”
“No. I found the tarp I wanted in the small utility wagon and left.”
“When did you return to the farm?”
Laura recited the time from the top of the hour news report concluding as she turned into the drive. She paused before she could spill more details. Experience told her the interview would be smoother if she stayed with the actual questions.
Fifteen minutes and dozens of questions later, the sheriff snapped the lid back down on her clipboard. “Officially this case is ‘suspicious.’ When should I expect the owner and his insurance company to be in touch?”
“My aunt and uncle are packing to leave Arizona as we speak.” Laura kept the smile at the memory of Roger’s sleepy voice small. She’d ignored the time difference and telephoned in the mere minutes Daryl left her alone, taking Brad home.
Laura leaned against the counter and sighed. “You’ve been kind, Sheriff. This conversation went easier than last year.”
The sheriff halted and turned back two steps away from the door. “Do you have another case of arson in your life?”
“No. Not a fire.” She shook her head and tried to banish the image of Scott’s slumped body before it crystallized. “My husband was murdered. A year ago. The killer staged it to appear as suicide at first glance.”
“Where?”
“St. Louis.”
“Arrest?”
Laura’s hand reached up to cover the rings. Sheriff Bergstrom looked at her so intently, it felt like an X-ray. “No. They claim that it’s open but nothing’s happened in months.”
The cuckoo bird in the next room announced the hour before Laura found her voice. The expression on the sheriff’s face asked questions without answers. Daryl’s words from several hours ago — as he’d reviewed the threats against her own business opening — echoed in the silence. No, the idea was impossible. St. Louis and Crystal Springs shared the Mississippi River watershed and little else.
“Would you like the name of the detective to contact?”
• • •
Brad arrived in Wagoner’s main business district half an hour after a clear dawn. Sunlight sparkled off clean white snow in the fields and dictated every driver wear sunglasses. He spotted snowplows working on the streets feeding into the already cleared Old Federal highway that doubled as the town’s main street. He passed the realty office and noticed none of the businesses in the block had opened or begun to clear sidewalks.
He pulled into the convenience store in the next block, parked, and delayed a minute to watch a pickup with a small front mounted plow work in the adjoining parking lot. He walked across the lot and waved the driver down.
“What’cha need?” The snowplow operator lowered his window.
“Safe place to park for the day,” Brad replied. “Where will I be out of your way?”
“Take one of them places on the east side, near the entrance.”
“Thanks.” With a wave, he returned to the store and purchased a pair of granola bars for breakfast before moving his truck into the indicated space.
After coffee and his light breakfast, Brad draped his computer case strap across his chest and stepped away from his truck. He paused at the entrance to the alley and pulled out his camera. Only one set of tracks marred the snow in the alley. He snapped a few photos of the quiet scene before he made a complete circuit of the block. The sign at S&T Travel stated they opened at ten. Lots of time. If they open at all today.
“Morning,” he said as he stepped into the law office neighboring Rolling Hills.
The secretary looked up from exchanging boots for shoes. “May I help you?”
“We’re not open next door yet. If I can park my bag here and borrow your shovel, I’ll do your sidewalk.”
“Deal.” She pointed to an aluminum scraper and bag of chemicals below a coat rack. “Are you one of their part-timers?”
“Affirmative. Work out of Crystal Springs.” He glanced in her direction in time to see her blink and quickly look away as he drew his hook out of his pocket.
“I’ll remember that. Coffee will be done before you are.” She picked up a carafe.
“Twice in one week,” the realty office receptionist greeted him an hour later. “Should I feel honored or nervous?”
“That’s entirely up to you. I’d like to set up in the back room today.” Brad patted his computer case. “I want to check photos from the old files.”
“Be my guest,” the woman of all work replied.
Brad settled in at a small desk, pulled out three files of Crystal Springs’ addresses that the agency handled years ago, and booted up his laptop. A little re-arranging of the desktop and he’d appear to be working instead of watching the rear of the travel agency out the window. His camera parked within easy reach might be the only oddity.
The alley remained quiet while he reviewed Kim’s unexpected visit. He rubbed his cheek at the memory of yesterday’s kiss. Once upon a time he’d imagined her as more than a friend. A trial balloon she’d burst for him without malice. Now, when he was already confused by Goldilocks, Kim popped back into the picture speaking glowing words about her fiancé but kissing him. What was God thinking when he created females?
No lights or vehicles at the travel agency. Maybe they would close due to weather today. Any male not a customer. Daryl could be specific and general at the same time.
Brad checked his watch, oh-nine-fifty, at the first growl of an engine in the alley. A gray Ford SUV eased to a stop behind the travel agency. He aimed the camera, shot one photo, and zoomed in for the next.
A woman in a bright red hat exited from the driver’s seat.
Mrs. Stennis. He clicked a photo of the travel agent on the rear steps. At that instant the passenger door opened and a tall, lean man emerged. Any male not a customer. He clicked pictures at slow heartbeat intervals until the stranger vanished behind the solid door.
It took a few minutes to gather enough trash in the office to be convincing. Cold air burned at his first deep breath in the alley. He worked off a garbage can lid, dropped the bag, and got a good shot of the vehicle plate. Stomping fresh snow off his boots he glanced at the travel agency again but couldn’t decide if that was a light on the second floor or morning sunlight reflecting back.
“Got pics. Ready?” he texted Daryl then stared at the smartphone screen as if his thoughts would conjure a response.
Chapter Seventeen
Warm air and a burst of laughter greeted Laura. She blinked at the change of light and stepped further into Jack’s. “Busy.”
“Friday night fish fry,” Kathy replied. “Table by the window? I see a couple leaving.”
“Good with me.” She threaded her way through tables, pushing away her hood and opening her parka. She touched a chair back before she realized Daryl wasn’t following them. Now what’s he up to?
Laura tipped her head toward the bar. Daryl stood near the center of the high counter and raised an index finger to the barkeeper, a stout man in a plaid flannel shirt and generous apron.
“That’s Jack,” Kathy opened her coat and hung her purse on a chair.
Laura kept her attention on Jack’s face as he talked with her uncle. “If I’m not mistaken, he’s placed our order for three root beers and fish dinners.”
Kathy lifted the salt and pepper shakers in turn. “That’s good. I’m hungry.”
They’re talking about
the pool players. One glance off to the single pool table spurred Laura to maintain a neutral face. Best not to stare at Myles. She concentrated on reading the barkeeper’s lips.
“Half an hour at the most.”
“He’s off his game tonight. Sank the eight ball third shot in.”
“Two more on the list. Want to make it three?” Jack made it easy for her as he pulled drinks and kept an eye on his patrons. Her imagination didn’t work hard to supply Daryl’s prompts to the bar owner.
“What’s so interesting?” Kathy twisted around toward the bar.
“Long distance eavesdropping.” Heat bathed Laura’s neck at her admission. “I … I read lips to some extent. Taught myself the year I suffered a series of ear infections. It comes in handy.”
“I imagine it would. I planned to give you Jack’s biography but maybe you’d prefer another topic.”
“No, go ahead. I’ll listen.” She glanced away from Kathy at the memory of Brad listening in dim light and near silence early this morning.
Three sentences later, she managed to pull her mind back to the mayor an instant before a groan went up from the pool game audience. “I thought basketball was the game of choice.”
“High school is playing away tonight. Plus Fridays inside Jack’s are special.” Kathy made a quick look in that direction and shook her head. “Those two should be evenly matched. Do you know Cal?”
“The second player?”
Kathy nodded. “Cal Hammerschmitt, local barber, unofficial census keeper. If you ever need directions to a farm or want to know which children and parents pair up, he’s your resource. He also served two terms as mayor and remains on the board as member-at-large.”
“Very local politics,” Laura completed.
“And there’s the ladies with perfect timing.” Kathy sent a small wave to a pair of new arrivals. “Cal’s wife and her sister. Nice women. Founding members of the garden club.”
“I noticed planters next to the fire station. Do they maintain them?” Laura held her gaze to the pool table area as the taller of the women collected a hug and whisper from Cal. As Cal and the women exchanged easy smiles Myles settled his lips in a frown and took a position at the end of the pool table. He handles the cue similar to a weapon during a fancy rifle drill.
“Drinks will be right up.” Daryl claimed a seat next to Kathy and winked at Laura.
“Did you start on your puzzle yet?” Kathy distributed napkins and straws from the supply in the middle of the table.
Laura took an instant to unravel the question. “If you mean the shelving, no. I really didn’t do much in the shop today.”
“Phone’s working. That’s an accomplishment.” Daryl offered.
“Land line, fax, and computer lines all set,” Laura nodded. “Now I can finalize the business cards and get initial advertising ready. Do you think a Valentine’s Day, buy your sweetheart a book, opening is feasible?”
“Depends how much stock you’ve got lined up. I’m trying to remember how long it took the bakery to open.”
“Don’t look at me for an answer,” Daryl said. “Only thing I do at the bakery is buy things.”
“A likely story.” Kathy leaned across the table. “He stakes a place at the coffee table at least once a week and recruits choir members and community talent show musicians.”
“One,” he raised an index finger. “I’ve snared exactly one choir member in the bakery.”
“Bah. The real question is when do we get to hear Laura’s musical ability.”
“Not for a long time. I’m very out of practice.” Laura nodded thanks as the server set tall glasses of root beer around.
“Laura’s the best alto in the family.” Daryl centered his glass on the cardboard coaster.
She tried not to squirm. “You flatter me. The way I remember it, I’m the only alto.”
“And you stopped singing because … ” Kathy leaned forward to the boundary of Laura’s personal space.
“Life. Work.” She raised her glass then lowered it. “The Tanner family didn’t have much of a music tradition.”
Daryl fingered a silent, left-handed melody against the edge of the table. “Present tense, please. Last check the Tanner family thrives in San Diego.”
Her hand reached up and brushed against her hidden rings. The past tense was necessary for Scott, the member of the Tanner family holding her heart.
“What plans do you have for tomorrow?” Daryl leaned back as their waitress set three baskets of fish fillets and slender French fries on the table.
Laura reached for the pepper shaker. “Nothing exotic. I might try for another walk in the balsams. The snowshoes deserve another chance.”
“You be careful.”
“I’ll stay where cell phone reception is good.” Exercise in cold, clear air had performed wonders for her attitude today. Lingering cobwebs from the nightmare and the list of questions from the sheriff faded in the sunshine. Now if she could get the effect to last until sunrise she’d be getting the upper hand for once.
“Round for the house, Jack.”
Laura fastened her gaze on the pool area and held her breath as Myles tossed the cue ball from hand to hand. Images of bar fights in movies swirled and she estimated how much protection their table might give her.
“No reason to be sore about it. Your game was off tonight.” Cal began to rack the balls for the next players.
Then without a word Myles dropped the ball in the nearest pocket, pulled his wallet out, and set several bills on the edge of the bar. He snatched his leather coat from a hook without releasing his glare from Cal. His short, quick steps stuttered when he passed Daryl, and his gaze stalled on Laura.
She dropped a French fry and cleared her throat. Please. Go home. It felt like someone was pouring ice water over her shoulders, but she couldn’t pull her gaze off Scott’s physical double.
Myles tipped his head to acknowledge Daryl and Kathy. Then, with his fraction of a bow that brought his mouth near, he whispered to Laura, “I owe you coffee, Mrs. Tanner. And more.”
Laura shivered from toes to fingertips.
Chapter Eighteen
Laura closed the notebook and rested her face in her hands. The grid of numbers didn’t make any more sense today than the first time she’d seen them. They remained one step clearer than gibberish, but still in the realm of nonsense. Maybe if I’d transferred more.
The cuckoo bird announced ten o’clock.
I should go for a walk. She moved over to the window and let the late morning sunshine and clear sky make the final decision. She could practice on the snowshoes. The largest balsams grew in the first field past the pumpkin patch, not far at all and in the cell phone reception area.
A few minutes later, she frowned at the number displayed with the incoming call on her phone. She didn’t have anything to say to Brad. Her finger tapped it “off” before the next ring. With the orange sweatshirt layered over her own white parka she glanced around the back porch one more time. She slid an apple, a sandwich bag of dog treats, and her phone into the kangaroo pocket. Then she pulled on mittens and went out the door.
True to form, Taffy and Cocoa supervised while she strapped on the snowshoes. She grabbed the poles and stepped forward on the service road.
“Lift. Swing. Forward.” Her chant sent tiny puffs of vapor into a trace of a breeze. Today her feet cooperated, or remembered from the previous walk, and she only stumbled to her knees once before she turned into the field. On the farm map they were labeled “eight-year balsam.” This coming November many of these would be harvested. She gave a silent wish that they each find a home and have their scent and shape admired while trimmed with holiday lights. An unwelcome shiver skimmed her body at an image of the wood chipper or mulcher that would be their ultimate end.
She pushed away that morbid thought. Today was for soaking in their beauty. White decorated green on every branch, from the first tier above the grass to the very tip of the leader. Every tree sat within a shallow bowl formed when the thick lower branches diverted the snow away from the trunk. She nudged her snowshoes close, reached out and started a small avalanche by touching a tip.
Cocoa backed away as snow tumbled from tree to a mound where her nose had been.
“It’s okay, girl. Only a harmless people experiment.” Laura straightened and sighted Taffy loitering two rows behind. “Come, Taffy. We’re not going to the footbridge.”
The trio hiked parallel to the gully and kept between two rows of trees. The numbers from the flash drive file jostled for order in Laura’s mind. Were the abbreviations suppliers? No decimal points in the cells or indications the numbers stood for hundreds or thousands. She sighed and reminded herself that a forensic accountant — with a lot more number juggling history than she possessed — received them months ago. After all, she’d turned the material over to Detective Wilson in the spring, the end of April.
Daryl had the financial files also. Almost a week ago, she’d showed him a couple of pages and then transferred them to his own flash drive. Certainly that was long enough to give her an answer, a real one. She made a mental note to approach the topic in their next conversation.
Taffy lagged behind, taking a stance and gazing across the uneven ditch.
Laura detoured over for her own inspection. Bare oak, maple, and birch plus patches of blackberry and other undergrowth comprised the woodlot. Down further, before the gully widened, Roger had built a narrow wooden bridge. She didn’t see any wildlife that would have captured the dog’s attention, and phone reception in the woods ranged from weak to none. “Come, girl. We’re staying on this side today.”
“Snack time,” Laura announced after she’d looped around to another row and started her return to the service road. It may have been the words, but more likely the dog biscuit she waved that brought the collies back from their explorations. One, two, she flipped treats and released an easy laugh when the dogs followed their treats into the snow.
