A Valley to Die For (12 page)

Still, the whole business was creepy, and Carrie was glad when she had the ladder out and had returned the key and re-locked the tool shed and the house. She would put the ladder in the back of her station wagon when she was finished and return it later.

It was very difficult to edge along the bluff front with the ladder over one arm, and the darn thing was surprisingly heavy. Her feet slipped several times and, when they did, the ladder banged against her side. Nevertheless, she was glad it was wood. It seemed sturdier for bracing against tree trunks than aluminum.

When the small ledge was above her head again, she laid the ladder against the bluff with its legs hooked on either side of the tree trunk, and used the steps to help her climb while she held on to the ledge. Just now a slip might send her bouncing down the hillside. After what seemed like an age, her head was over the top, and she could see the opening clearly. When she got to the top step, she freed her right hand by holding firmly to the ledge with her left and reached slowly toward the tiny cave, moving very carefully so she wouldn’t go off balance and send the ladder over sideways.

When her hand was inside the opening, she couldn’t feel anything but empty space. Then she saw that the cave opened wider behind the face of the bluff, and there was clear space around the edge on either side as well as straight back. Her gloved fingers groped back and forth and still felt nothing. She changed hands, holding on to the top of a fallen cedar tree on the right, and reached up and back with her left hand. A smooth object resisted, then moved, and she heard the scrape of metal against rock.

Something was there, but she had moved it farther away! Carrie wasn’t too keen on sticking her hand in the dark hole without heavy gloves on, but there was no other way. She tried not to think about what might be using the cave for shelter and took off her left glove, stuffing it in her coat pocket.

She reached again and touched a cold metal surface. It was a box, and... yes, there was a drop loop handle. How else could JoAnne have pulled the box in and out? She curled her fingers under the metal loop and pulled. The box grated on rock, moving toward her. Once it was sticking out of the hole, she saw that it was no larger than a cash box.

She tested its weight, pushing it up with her fingers.

Fairly heavy. She’d have to risk pulling it over the edge with one hand and just pray the ladder wouldn’t tilt off balance. She tugged slowly until the box teetered and, struggling to brace its weight with her stiffened arm, she pulled it free, holding tightly to the handle. It came over the edge and dropped, yanking her arm painfully as she resisted its pull so she could keep it from shifting her body or the ladder sideways.

After a breathless moment, she was able to begin backing slowly down the ladder, holding the box with an arm and hand that were almost numb.

Chapter IX

Carrie inched her way back to the slope, lifting the box and holding it against the side of the bluff ahead of her while she slid toward it. When the box was finally secure among the dry leaves and rocks on the hillside, she went back for the stepladder and had just finished moving it to the slope when she heard a car, no, two cars, pull up in front of JoAnne’s house.

Oh, no! The sheriff’s men, of course. They would come back now! She huddled against the hillside in a panic. Why hadn’t she realized that they might come back? Well, there was nothing to do but act her way out, since her car was there, plain as day. But she could not—would not—let anyone else know the box existed. She’d have to hide it again, and quickly.

She looked back at the bluff. No, she couldn’t put the box back in the little cave. There were too many fresh scrapes and scratches there. If they searched the hillside before forest creatures and weather had covered the signs of her presence, they’d surely find the box.

Well, nothing for it but get the thing as far away as she could before they came looking, and she’d have to be careful how she moved, or they’d hear her.

She felt more exhilaration than panic now. She was accomplishing something important and doing it on her own. She just wished—here, her lower lip went out—that Velda and Pat and Dusty could have seen her crawling along that bluff face. They thought she was over the hill, and instead she was practically scaling mountains.

She was Carrie McCrite, Private Detective. That certainly had a nice sound to it, though she knew her friends and family would laugh.

Well, what of it? Maybe she couldn’t match Emily Pollifax, but, of course, that woman’s feats were pure fiction. Carrie McCrite could be her own kind of detective, and there was no doubt she had an important mission.

She felt a twinge of guilt that this was all the result of JoAnne’s murder, but one did have to carry on in the face of adversity. So, carry on she would, and she’d better get with it.

Hugging the box to her chest, she began edging her way carefully down the slope. She had to make it to her own property! Thank goodness the men were talking loudly. There was no way to be completely quiet on a hillside covered with brush and dry leaves.

She continued to move downhill, half sliding, until she got to the bottom where there wasn’t so much heavy growth and she could walk more quickly. She kept to gravel bars along the edge of the creek and almost ran toward her end of the hollow. The voices stopped, and she did too, holding her breath until she heard a door slam. Probably all the men had gone inside. She fervently hoped so.

When she reached the woods below her house, she pushed the box into a hole left by a heavy tree that had toppled after several days of soaking rain last fall. She hurriedly covered the grey metal with leaves and rocks, dropped a broken branch over the place, and stood back for a quick survey. Not bad. Since squirrels, skunks, and other creatures were constantly ruffling up small places on the forest floor, it would do. She headed back downstream toward JoAnne’s and was just starting up the hill below the tool shed when she saw Detective Sergeant Taylor looking at her from the top of the hill.

“Oh, hi, there,” she called up to him. “Just came over to borrow JoAnne’s stepladder so I could get some leaves out of my guttering and heard a pileated woodpecker calling. Thought I’d see if I could find it. So you’re back to look around again?”

The man stared at her in astonishment, then, for a moment, his eyes narrowed. But after all, he was only about thirty-five. I hope his mother does
lots
of things he considers peculiar, thought Carrie.

She reached the place where she’d left the ladder and stopped to catch her breath. “I just dropped the ladder as I followed the bird and didn’t realize I’d brought it so far downhill.”

She lifted the ladder, trying to make the task of bringing it back uphill look easy, because she didn’t want him coming down to help her, at least not until she was above the area beside the bluff.

Taylor did start down toward her, so she hurried as fast as she could, not daring to look sideways to see if the rock face was safely out of sight.

She must have been past the spot by the time they met on the hillside, or he was too interested in what she was doing because, without so much as a glance to either side, he lifted the ladder with one hand, reached for her arm with the other, and turned toward the house. At least the fact that she was out of breath made it unnecessary to say more.

When the ladder was safely stowed in the back of her station wagon, Carrie went up JoAnne’s front steps and sat in the wicker rocker on the sun-warmed porch. Though she was wild with curiosity about what was in the box, she also wanted to know if the men had any new information.

“If you don’t mind, think I’ll sit and listen for the woodpecker for a few minutes,” she said.

Don Taylor actually smiled at her. “What do they sound like?” he asked, dropping onto the porch swing.

“Well, it’s sort of a kuck-kuck, kuck-kuck,” she replied, hoping she was close to right. As she remembered, that was the sound, but for the life of her, she couldn’t keep all the bird calls straightened out. She just hoped Taylor wasn’t trying to fool her and that he didn’t know the call of any woodpecker, let alone a pileated.

They sat in silence for a few moments, until, unwilling to play the game any longer, and full of curiosity about what was going on inside JoAnne’s house, Carrie spoke up.

“JoAnne’s niece and her baby are coming Wednesday. I had hoped they could stay here.”

“Yes, it’s tough that there aren’t any motels close by,” he said, “but even when we’re through with the house, there may be legal hurdles to get over before heirs can use it. Did you check with a lawyer?”

“Well, I’m executor, and I was going into town this afternoon to get the will out of my safe deposit box and see JoAnne’s lawyer.” She looked at her watch. “The bank’ll be closed before I can get there now. I guess I shouldn’t have taken time to come pick up the ladder.”

He changed the subject. “How well did Mr. King and Miss Harrington know each other?”

Startled, she replied, “Oh, not at all. They’d barely met, just saw each other on the quarry committee.”

He was looking at her intently now. “Well, then, why would his fingerprints be in her house? Did he have a reason to call on Miss Harrington?”

“Uh, well, about the quarry maybe.”

“You a special friend of Mr. King’s?”

“We, that is, he... We’re friends, that’s all.”

Taylor was still watching her closely. “It is interesting that his fingerprints are all over this house. In every single room. Yours, too, of course.”

Carrie gulped. “But—” She looked at Taylor, forced her mouth to grin, crossed her fingers inside her pocket, and went on, “Well, well, never know, do you! The sinful old fox. He and JoAnne... my, my.”

After that, Carrie couldn’t get away fast enough, in spite of the fact that odd thumps and bumps were coming from inside the house. She rose and, as if they’d been enjoying a social afternoon, said she must be going.

Taylor, acting as relaxed as if the two of them really had been having afternoon tea on the porch, promised to call by noon tomorrow to let her know if she could clean up the house for JoAnne’s family.

As she started toward her car, he said, “And Mrs. McCrite, please do not go back in the house or tool shed again until we say it’s okay.”

Without answering, Carrie got in her car and drove away. She couldn’t have said another word to Taylor if she’d wanted to.

Henry and JoAnne? No! There was no way at all to explain such a relationship. JoAnne was—had been—wary of all men and specifically avoided Henry. What on earth could have been going on? Not... not, well, they just couldn’t have! He wasn’t that kind of...

His fingerprints in every room? The picture of JoAnne with Henry was too much. Carrie would not believe it. Then another possibility rose out of her tossing thoughts. Had Henry been the one to search JoAnne’s house?

No, not possible either! He was too careful, too meticulous, to make a mess like that. And why would he want to anyway? Well, she’d just ask him!

As soon as she got home, she walked straight through her house, out the back door, and started down the hillside as fast as the rocky terrain would allow. She couldn’t wait any longer to see what was in that box.

Then she heard voices and the sound of crunching feet coming from JoAnne’s end of the hollow. She stopped, listening and thinking. They probably were searching the entire area between the house and where JoAnne was found. She tried to decide what reason she’d have for being out roaming around in the hollow if they saw her. She couldn’t risk being caught with JoAnne’s box.

If they’d seen signs of disturbance along the bluff face, they’d be wondering what made them, and Taylor knew she’d been down there. He’d probably tell them to search the area even more carefully, especially if they found the little cave in the bluff and scuff marks where she’d slid the box. He knew, of course, that she had been carrying nothing but a ladder when he first saw her. He might wonder, though, if she’d taken something away to hide.

She had to get that box safely inside as soon as possible. Her hiding place wouldn’t withstand a thorough search. They’d find the box for sure.

She hurried back to the house and located FatCat, who was napping in her basket by the window. She got JoAnne’s large pet carrier out of the garage, put the cat’s down pillow and a scrap of blanket inside, and pushed the cat in after them. As she headed out of the house, she could hear FatCat grumbling about her impromptu ride.

“We’re on a secret mission,” Carrie told the cat softly, speaking in what she hoped was a soothing manner, “and it’s going to take the two of us to manage it.”

She was still hurrying but kept as quiet as she could and looked around carefully after each step, until she reached the tipped-up tree and the hidden box.

She couldn’t see anyone, though the noises were closer. She hurriedly dug up the metal box, wrapped it in the blanket, and shoved it through the door of the carrier past the pillow and protesting cat.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but we must do this.”

She had climbed about ten yards up the slope when Leon Faraday appeared on the hillside. Thank goodness it wasn’t Taylor. She wasn’t sure she could bluff through a second hillside escapade with him.

“JoAnne’s cat,” she said, puffing, genuinely out of breath. “It got out. I finally caught it. The cat isn’t used to being outside but got past me when I came home and opened the door. Had quite a tussle catching it.” She pointed back to the disturbed area where the box had been hidden. “It was hiding there. If I’d known you were out, I’d have asked for help. Guess you’re searching for JoAnne’s hat and coat?”

“Among other things,” Faraday said. “Here, I’ll carry that up for you. You’re out of breath.”

She couldn’t think of any reason not to give him the carrier. “How nice,” she said, handing it to him carefully. “But don’t let it tilt or sway. The poor thing gets seasick.”

“Sure is a heavy cat,” Faraday replied as he started back up the hill, and FatCat began to yowl. At least there could be no question in Faraday’s mind that there was a cat inside.