Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp (14 page)

She let us in through the
side door, and we stepped up to her cheerful kitchen which had
deep, solid cupboards, painted white. The trim was a soft green. I
noticed there were new drawings from the grandchildren
magnet-pasted to the refrigerator. All the appliances and
decorations were slightly out of date, but neat.

She opened a tall closet
door, extracted a bibbed apron and covered her dress. “I’ll put on
some water for tea right away. You can set the table.”

An hour later we were full,
the dishes were done, and we had placed fresh cups of tea on the
low table in front of us as we settled into the plush cushions of
her old-fashioned living room couch.

“I’ve been very patient,”
Adele began, as she spooned some sugar into her tea, “but now you
have to tell me what you and Jerry are up to.”

“Up to?”

“Yes, as in what’s going on
behind this idea for the Harvest Ball.”

I could feel my palms begin
to sweat and my neck redden. What had I been thinking to come to
Adele’s house today? Jerry and I had never decided what to tell
her, and the truth certainly wasn’t going to do.

“Jerry wants to create a
community center where events can be held, closer than the
consolidated school building. He thinks this Ball will be a great
kick-off for the project. You know, revive the basketball courts
for kids, rent the auditorium and kitchen for dinners, maybe even
conferences. Fix up some of the classrooms as suites for business
conventions.” I paused for air. “There’s a lot of potential for
that sort of thing, don’t you think?”

Adele squinted at me and
pursed her lips. “I certainly do not. And neither do
you.”

I stared back at her with
as open an expression as I could muster.

She continued, “Ana, you’ve
come to be one of my best friends since you moved here. Your
contributions to the Family Friends Committee have been fresh and
welcome, and you are financially generous. You usually have
positive things to say about people. You are willing to sit and
drink tea with an old busybody like me and laugh at our small town
ways without making me feel like an idiot for liking it here. But
you’re a terrible liar.”

“But it’s true,” I
protested. “Jerry bought the building for a community purpose. I
don’t understand his reasoning either. But he’s determined to fix
it up. Some parts have to be done in a hurry so we can stage the
Harvest Ball.” At least this was all true.

“You’re still fibbing, but
I don’t understand why. I’ll figure it out before long.”

“He thinks you’ll be the
best organizer for the food table.”

“Didn’t I tell you that?”
Adele said, leaning forward and lifting her teacup to her mouth.
She took a long sip, and licked sugar from her lips.

I took advantage of the
pause to drink some tea, too. My mouth was dry. “Little finger
desserts that people can sample will be perfect.”

She glanced sideways at me,
and set the cup down on the table. Her blunt, work-worn fingers
tapped impatiently on the edge of the saucer. “I know that Jerry
was not the only potential buyer for the old school. This sudden
interest in that dump, and then learning it was the location of the
Jared Canfield murder is quite peculiar, don’t you
think?”

I jumped on the opportunity
to change the subject. “Do you know who else wanted to buy it? I do
think that’s strange.”

“Oh, that part’s easy.
Mavis Fanning. It’s why that has me stumped.”

I shook my head, agreeing
to our mutual confusion. We ignored Mavis’ motives and stuck to
discussing food for the Ball the rest of the afternoon. Adele
called Janice Preston, and even suggested we recruit young Jimmy
Mosher, since he was still talking enthusiastically about a career
in the restaurant business. She said we’d have to think about who
could run the cash bar. I recalled my experiences in the Dead Dog
bar and fervently hoped that wasn’t the best of the choices, but I
planned to leave those arrangements to Jerry, anyway.

As I left, I mentioned the
possible music styles to Adele and asked her opinion.

“Swing, of course. It will
make people want to get out on the floor and dance.”

Chapter 20

Monday morning, first
thing, I drove in to Cherry Hill. I wanted to talk with Tracy. If
Harold Fanning’s wife was interested in the school building, maybe
she was the one who was trying to threaten me away from it. I
wasn’t sure what she thought she could accomplish, since Jerry
officially owned the building now, and I couldn’t imagine him being
swayed by anonymous notes.

After I told Tracy that
Adele claimed Mavis Fanning was the other person who had been
trying to buy the old school building, she promised she’d get
someone right on it. She also had some news of her own to
share.

“Ana, I haven’t been told
to keep this information to myself, so I think you should know
something.”

“I don’t want you to get in
trouble with your colleagues,” I countered.

“There’s a lot of confusion
surrounding that old school building. Too many people are
interested in it.”

“I agree with you on
that.”

“You’ve got every right to
be there, now that Jerry owns it, and you’re working with him, but
please be extra careful.” I could see the concern in Tracy’s
eyes.

“Why? Is there something
more? Of course there is, you just said you had news for
me.”

“We don’t know for sure why
Jared Canfield was in the school, but we think he wanted to buy it
too.”

“Whatever for?”

Tracy shuffled her feet and
glanced over at Bob, who was studiously looking at papers on his
desk. “We have no idea, but he had something in his wallet. The
crime lab managed to salvage quite a bit—even the paper
things.”

“Had he made an offer? Did
he have a receipt for a down payment or something?” Tracy looked
even more nervous. It was very uncharacteristic. “Look, don’t tell
me anything you aren’t comfortable with,” I said.

She tossed her head and the
single braid that trailed down her back landed askew on her
shoulder. “It’s not that. I don’t want to cast suspicion on someone
we know nothing about.”

“Canfield? What does the
community care about a stranger from the city? Well, that sounds
callous, but, really, he’s dead, you know.”

“Not him.” She sighed. “I’m
making it worse by not telling you. There were business cards in
his wallet. All of them from Royal Oak, except one. That one was
from the new real estate agent here, Virginia Holiday.”

“That string bean? She’s
new in town, and so everyone is being wary, like they were of me at
first, but she’s not much of a mover and shaker. I haven’t even
heard of any properties she’s actually sold.”

“Give her a chance. It
takes a while to get established and win trust. Anyway, on the back
of the card he had written the address of the school building, and
the number 1-8-4-5.”

“1845. Is that the year it
was built?” I couldn’t see how this meant very much.

“The brick school was built
in 1896. We checked,” Tracy said.

Bob’s deeper voice intruded
on our conversation. He’d been talking quietly on the telephone,
but it had only provided background noise until now. “Chief, I just
got word on the sale of that disposable cell phone. We got lucky.
It was paid for with a credit card.”

“Whose?” Tracy
barked.

“Charged to Mavis Fanning.
Two years ago.”

I sucked in my breath. Why
on earth would the wife of the city manager be endangering her
position in the community by making stupid phone calls from a
number that could be traced?

Tracy immediately stepped
to her desk, lifted her hat from the neat surface and placed it on
her head, tucking the shiny blond braid out of sight. “Let’s go,
Ana. I want you with me when we talk to her to get her reaction.”
Turning to Bob, she said, “Good work.”

She accepted a printed
sheet he handed her and we went outside together. In the parking
lot, I assumed I’d follow her and headed for my Jeep, but she
pointed at the police cruiser. “It will have more clout if you
arrive in an official car,” she said.

I didn’t even know where
the Fannings lived, but soon learned that it wasn’t far. Theirs was
another large Victorian mansion, not on Cherry, but one block west
on Peach. It filled an impressive corner lot at the intersection
with Taylor, just two blocks from the much-desired school building.
And, I realized, just three or four blocks from Jerry’s. She could
have easily driven or walked by and slipped the note into my car
without seeming out of place on that street.

We climbed five steps to
the large porch that wrapped around the corner of the house. The
Fannings’ front door was solid oak with an oval of beveled and
frosted glass decorated in geometric etchings. It looked original
to the house, but professionally refinished. The varnish wasn’t
cracked or dirty. Tracy rang the doorbell. Three times.

After we had waited several
minutes, Mavis Fanning herself opened the door. I wondered if she
always did so, or if there was a servant somewhere who was supposed
to attend to such trivial matters. A small dog was yapping from a
far room. Mavis didn’t look happy. I wasn’t sure if it was because
she had to answer the bell herself, or if we personally were the
cause of her obvious displeasure.

“Miss Jarvi. Ms. Raven. How
can I help you?” From her tone we could tell she wasn’t going to
offer us tea and cookies.

Tracy cleared her throat.
“That’s Chief Jarvi, ma’am. May we come in?”

“Certainly.” But she still
didn’t sound pleased. Mavis was dressed as if she were planning to
go out. She wore a knit suit in a deep blue-green. The slim skirt
hugged her boyish hips suggestively. A long silk scarf with a
multi-color abstract design was wrapped elegantly around her neck
and one end was pinned to her right shoulder with a large gold
broach. The rich colors enhanced her dark auburn hair and flashing
green eyes. I detected a subtle scent of White Diamonds perfume. In
heels, Mavis Fanning was nearly six feet tall. And in one word, she
was stunning.

She led us to the formal
sitting room, and motioned for us to sit down. The antique
furniture was beautiful, but it was obvious this was the room where
she entertained unwelcome guests. The horsehair upholstery was
prickly and uninviting. Mavis glowed in the dark setting like a
jewel. Tracy’s navy uniform and my blue jeans and sweatshirt seemed
to make us disappear like specks of dust in a velvet jewelry
box.

Tracy, however, was up to
the challenge. She declined the offer to sit, although I perched on
the edge of a delicate-looking carved chair.

“Well, Chief,” Mavis began,
emphasizing the word “chief” with a slight grimace, apparently not
wanting Tracy to have the verbal advantage, “what have I done to
prompt what appears to be an official visit? And why is Ms. Raven
here?”

Tracy didn’t blink or
hesitate a moment. “Ms. Raven has received a threatening phone call
from your phone, Mrs. Fanning.”

Mavis came right back at
her. “What? Impossible. I’ll show you.” She reached around the
corner to a table in the entry hall and grabbed her purse. She
pulled out an expensive smart phone, pushed some buttons and thrust
it at Tracy. “Here are all my recent calls. Check them
yourself.”

Tracy took the phone and
swiped at the screen for a few seconds. “Thank you,” she said. “The
call wasn’t made from this phone. Is this the only one you
own?”

“Yes it is. Harold and I
exclusively use smart phones now. Land lines are so limiting. We
even bought a cell for the cook to place orders with.”

“Is that a disposable phone
by any chance?” Tracy asked.

“No, of course not. It’s
just like this one. It was a package deal, under one bill.” Mavis’
lip was practically curling now.

Tracy continued, unruffled.
“Have you ever purchased a disposable phone?”

“Ever? Probably. What
difference does it make?”

“Ana received a threatening
phone call from a woman on Friday. It came from a disposable cell
phone that was charged two years ago to your personal credit
card.”

Mavis looked as if she was
thinking hard. Was she honestly trying to remember, or was she busy
thinking up a good lie?

Tracy kept looking directly
at Mavis. “I have a copy of the receipt right here, if it would
help to refresh your memory.”

Mavis blinked slowly. “Yes,
it might. Two years is an eternity ago.” She took the paper from
Tracy and appeared to study it carefully. Maybe she was just using
the time to polish a plausible story.

Mavis looked up. She smiled
at me. It was a cold smile, as if I were some sort of small
unpleasant reptile she was about to crush. “I do remember this
phone. It was one of those random purchases one makes in a hurry.
Our younger daughter, Claire, was just starting college. She had
lost her cell, and we bought this in Madison—University of
Wisconsin, you know—as you can clearly see, so she’d have something
to use until we could find her regular phone.”