Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (20 page)

D. B.’s big truck had been parked behind the makeshift stage that night, and it had been close to the trees. She wandered further up the edge of the meadow, trying to remember the exact spot the truck had been in. Examining the ground in the high, uncut grass, she finally made out some faint tire tracks. She swung her foot from side to side to brush the grass out of the way to see if anything of interest appeared.

Haley, who’d been exploring nearby, suddenly raised her head and growled. Gracie saw a fat, brown mass ripple across the mown field in front of them. The dog made a beeline for the scurrying woodchuck, which undoubtedly was hoping to find the safety of its burrow. It disappeared into a large patch of burdock that looked to be flourishing from the benefits of fertilizer. Before she could call the dog, which was pretty pointless, Haley disappeared into the broad, dark green leaves. A yelp and a series of sharp barks brought Gracie running to see what sort of tangle the Lab had gotten into this time. Dirt flew up from the largest burdock plant.

“Haley, just leave it alone and get over here!” she yelled.

The dog yelped again, and Gracie plunged into the mass of new burs and ones from the year before, which were brown and ready to stick to anything that passed by. Grabbing Haley’s wide collar, she hauled the dog from the large burrow. As she stepped back, pulling the over-excited dog with her, she felt something hard slide from under her foot.

The barrel was dirty, as was the stock, but there was no mistaking that a shotgun lay half-hidden in the weeds. Gracie stood, heart pounding, a sour taste in her mouth as she stared at the gun. She clutched Haley’s collar, her arm aching from dragging the dog away from the unusually feisty woodchuck. Bending down for a closer look, she pulled back the large burdock leaves. She sucked in a breath. Releasing Haley with a sharp sit-and-stay command, Gracie managed to get her cell phone from the narrow pocket of her Bermuda shorts. She hit “3” on her speed dial.

“What’s up, Chief,” Jim asked breezily.

She could hear music in the background. Either he had a date or was enjoying a couple with the guys.

“Well, I’m up in the Meadow, and Haley took off after a woodchuck, and …”

“You’re calling me about a woodchuck?”

“No. I’m not. I’m calling you about the shotgun I just found by the woodchuck’s hole.”

“What are you doing up there? You found a shotgun? Did you call the police? Did you touch it?”

She wasn’t sure which question to answer first.

“I stepped on it, and I called you first.”

“Gracie, call the sheriff’s department. Now!” His take-charge tone broke through her daze.

“All right. I will. I … I …” she stammered.

“I’m on my way. Don’t touch anything, and for heaven’s sake, stay where you are.”

She heard the call end. She stood looking at her phone as if willing it to dial itself. Grimacing, she punched in 9-1-1.

Jim’s pickup bounced and jerked up Jemison Road. He parked behind the small red SUV on the shoulder and looked up the rolling green hill toward the pond. She waved to catch his attention. The faint sounds of sirens set Haley to howling mournfully. Jim lengthened his stride, hurrying to join Gracie, whose face was pale under her freckles.

“Where is it?” he demanded.

She pointed to the ground ahead of her. Haley licked Jim’s hand and then began howling again. The sirens were closer.

“Dang! You’d have thought they’d have checked this area out. How could they have missed it?” Jim demanded.

“I don’t know, but it’s here,” Gracie said glumly.

She shaded her eyes and looked down toward the road where three sheriff’s department vehicles pulled up. They’d thankfully cut the sirens.

Gracie grabbed Haley’s collar. The dog was anxious to inspect the group headed their way. Investigator Hotchkiss tromped ahead, looking exceptionally aggravated, dressed in a cap, jeans, and a black T-shirt.

The crime scene team went to work securing the area, while the investigator tossed out questions. Gracie answered each quickly, the old feeling of being a suspect returning. This was not earning any points with the policewoman. Why couldn’t some passerby have found the gun? A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. The policewoman was not happy that a dog and human had contaminated the area. But who could have anticipated walking over a gun and possibly the murder weapon to boot? The low conversation of the deputies and guys in black T-shirts indicated they thought they had the real deal. The shotgun hadn’t been there long either, according to the technicians. Gracie watched as they combed the area for any other evidence. Cameras clicked, but nothing else seemed to interest them. The investigator surveyed the newly mown field.

“Do you know who was here cutting the hay?” she asked, looking toward Gracie and including Jim in her gaze.

“Haven’t any idea,” Jim replied. “Jackson Farms was supposed to get the hay off the field, but you’d have to ask Tobias.”

“Any idea where he might be?”

“Not really, but he’s probably at home,” Jim answered, scanning the edge of the woods where the trail led into the Meadow. “I think I hear a chainsaw. He could be down in the woods a ways. I’ll go up and see.”

“I’ll tag along, Mr. Taylor,” Investigator Hotchkiss affirmed, her eyebrows knit in concentration. “I hear that chainsaw too.”

The gravelly buzz seemed louder. Now that it was beginning to get dark, Gracie wondered why Tobias would still be cutting wood.

The investigator closed a small black leather covered notebook and stuck it in her back pocket. She motioned for a deputy to join them. Gracie stepped back and watched them take off smartly toward the woods. She wasn’t sure if she was off the hook with the investigator, so in the spirit of cooperation, she trailed behind the trio, with Haley heeling rather well for once. The trees draped a dark canopy against the setting sun, and it took a second for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Jim led the way toward the sound of the chainsaw. He waved his arms to get Tobias’ attention, who was just finishing cutting up a small branch. The woodpile had grown since the last time she was up here. It was stacked at least four feet high now and maybe ten feet in length. Tobias had made good progress on cutting up the large elm. The saw rumbled to a stop.

Tobias was dressed in a dirty white T-shirt that stuck to his skin, soaked with sweat. He pulled a red bandanna from his back pocket and wiped his face. Jim called his name, and the wiry man looked up in surprise. His face registered shock and fear when he saw the deputy and investigator. Dropping the chainsaw, he turned and ran.

Gracie put on a pot of coffee, while Jim washed his dirt-caked arms and face. Haley lapped half a bowl of water and then flopped into her bed by the fireplace with a groan.

“I’m telling you, none of this makes sense,” Jim grumbled, drying off with a towel that was really meant for dishes only.

“Not much,” she agreed. “I thought Toby’s alibi was airtight with Roscoe. Do you really believe he found the shotgun in the woodpile?”

“Maybe.” He threw the towel on the counter. “Judas Priest! I wish he’d quit climbing trees to get away,” he griped, examining his scratched-up arms and rubbing his left elbow. He eased onto a stool and gratefully took the mug of steaming coffee from Gracie.

“At least he didn’t slug any police officers tonight or threaten them with anything.”

“A small favor. However, he’s locked up again. I’m hoping Roscoe wasn’t mistaken about the timeframe he was with Toby.” Jim sighed heavily and took a quick sip of coffee. “His lawyer sure has his hands full.”

“So, do you think,” she began tentatively.

“No, I still don’t think he killed D. B. He’s stupid for tossing the gun in the field to get it out of his woodpile. If he’d only called the sheriff’s department when he found it. What an idiot! Sorry, Chief, but I’ve gotta go home. See you in the morning.” He took another gulp and slammed the mug on the counter.

Gracie had never seen Jim quite that angry, so silence and a weak smile were her response.

*****

The green Geo trembled and lurched into the kennel’s parking lot, bright and early on Friday. It was a little too early for Gracie, who’d just left the house to walk down the long driveway to open up. It had been a very short night, and a migraine loomed as a distinct possibility.

Roscoe, who looked a little more disheveled than usual, called out a half-hearted, “Good morning.”

She mutely nodded and snapped her fingers to keep Haley’s attention on heeling, rather than sniffing Roscoe. He trotted to catch up with her, while Haley managed to lag behind to check out his shoes. He sleepily related his late-night interview with the sheriff’s department. Tobias still sat in the county jail, his bail revoked. His fingerprints had been found on the shotgun, much to the District Attorney’s delight. Roscoe rubbed a hand through his hair, his dark eyes worried.

“I know my notes are correct. I am always exact on details. Without fail,” he confirmed.

“I’m sure the police will realize it and release Tobias. Jim would bet the farm that he didn’t kill anybody.”

She unlocked the reception area door and punched in the code to disarm the alarm. A chorus of barking greeted them as they walked through to the office.

“Jim is accurate in his assessment of Mr. McQuinn. He was not fond of Mr. Jackson. However, there are others who rather loathed him.”

Gracie looked at him, a bit shocked that the mild-mannered, would-be reporter spoke so strongly.

“Anyone in particular?” she asked.

“After I complete my investigation today, all of the facts will be presented to Investigator Hotchkiss.”

“Are you talking about Ben Richter? He’s kind of an unknown quantity, you know.” Gracie was getting irritated with his vagueness.

“I am quite aware of who Mr. Richter is. Once the information I’ve requested is received, he will be more than a suspect.”

His voice was strangely confident. She looked at him in surprise. This must be the new-and-improved Roscoe.

She arched an eyebrow, trying to come up with the right thing to say. “Be careful,” was all she could manage.

*****

Jim finished feeding the last of the canine guests, while Gracie put the day’s receipts in the small safe under her desk. They’d sent everyone home a bit early, since all the pick-ups and drop-offs were completed way before closing. Haley came trotting through the door with Jim close behind.

“I guess I’m headed to Warsaw to talk with Toby’s attorney,” he said wearily, thumbs resting on his belt. “He won’t talk to my parents, just lucky me,” he sighed.

“Nice. Maybe Roscoe has come up with something this afternoon.”

“Maybe, but I’m not holding my breath. I tried calling him a few minutes ago, but he didn’t answer. Have fun at Isabelle’s party. Must be quite the bash tonight.”

“You’ve lucked out, my friend. I was going to ask you to accompany me. I’m actually hoping to scope out some information on Cynthia Harkness. She hasn’t explained exactly what she was doing the night of the murder, from what Isabelle told me.”

“Why would she talk to you about that?”

“No reason. But maybe the conversation will work its way around to it somehow.”

“Then good luck to you. Watch your step though. She
is
a sniper.”

Gracie shrugged with feigned unconcern. “I can take her.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Chief! Don’t do anything stupid, please. Let the police handle this.”

“But, of course.”

Her phone buzzed loudly on a stack of papers piled on the desk. “My reminder alarm. Time to dress for cocktails at 6:30, Mr. Taylor.” She raised a drooping hand as if waiting for a prince to kiss it. “Cinderella is off to the ball.”

“All right. I’ll lock up. Go get beautiful.” He grinned.

“Thank you, kind sir. Come on, Haley. We’re outta here.”

In the excitement of the last couple of days, Gracie hadn’t given much thought to what she was actually wearing to Isabelle’s party. It meant something elegant and sophisticated, which wasn’t her wardrobe’s forte. She went through her closet twice without success. Sitting on the bed wrapped in a bath towel, she racked her brain in desperation. Her mother’s voice chiding her about poor planning echoed in her head. Of course. She had a dress from two years ago that was as close to a cocktail dress as she had. It was hanging with the winter coats in the guest bedroom. Haley followed her down the hallway and into an untidy bedroom, where boxes of memorabilia sat in limbo. She slid the coats back until the navy blue chiffon dress was revealed, still in a drycleaner’s bag. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hurried back to her room to finish getting ready.

The finished product wasn’t bad, she decided, looking at herself from every angle in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. The sleeveless dress fitted her well with its sweetheart neckline and empire waist. A navy beaded diamond shape in the middle of the bodice gave it some pizzazz. She found the matching low-heeled sandals stuffed in the back of her closet. A quick wipe-down made them presentable. She’d swept her hair into a casual up-do with ready-made curls trailing gracefully down the back. The phone, which was on the bathroom counter, buzzed again, warning her that it was time to leave.