Framed For Murder (An Anna Nolan Mystery) (5 page)

Okay, I was getting riled.
I’d been helpful up until then, but he was talking crazy about hit men and arresting me. I swivelled around until our knees were touching.

“Look, Steve, I already explained how I found Jack’s body,” I said.
“Yes, that creep cheated on me repeatedly during our marriage, so I divorced him. But I fell out of love with Jack years before our marriage ended, and I was glad to be free of him. I didn’t want anything more to do with him, and I never saw him again or spoke to him after the divorce. I didn’t kill him, and I certainly didn’t ask anyone to kill him for me. That’s it. That’s all I know.” I jabbed him in the chest to emphasize my point.

Steve grabbed my wrist.
“Anna,” he said in a threatening tone. That was enough for Wendy, who had climbed to her feet during my speech. She barked and grabbed Steve’s arm between her teeth. “Shit!” he yelled.

“Wendy, bad girl!
Let go!” I shouted, whacking her on the shoulder. She released Steve, ducked her head, and crawled under the bench. I’d had her since she was a puppy, and she had never attacked anyone in her life.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” I said, springing to my feet as he jumped up.
Lights snapped on next door, and I saw Betty Hiller, my neighbour, peering at me from her front door. “It’s okay, Betty,” I called, waving before turning back to Steve. He was examining his shirt sleeve, and as I looked over his shoulder, I could see a couple of small punctures in the fabric.

“It’s alright.
I don’t think she even broke the skin,” he said, sparing me a glance. Then he turned to my dog and said, “Gee, Wendy, I thought we were friends.” He squatted down beside her and held out his hand. She glanced at me with big eyes, the whites showing around the irises, before looking back at him.

“It’s okay, Wendy,” I said in a reassuring voice.
She came out from under the bench to sniff at Steve’s hand.

“Good girl,” he said, scratching behind her ear.
Her tail waved and she relaxed.

“Steve, I’m really sorry.
I’ll pay to replace your shirt,” I said.

“Never mind.
We were both getting a little excited. I’ll let it go this time, but just make sure that she never attacks anyone again. There could be some serious repercussions if she did. Unofficially, though, I’m glad that she defended you,” he said with a small smile.

“Yeah, too bad she wasn’t around when I was married to Jack.”

“He didn’t . . . .” The smile faded and he put a hand on my shoulder.

“No, he never touched me,” I hastened to assure him.
“I never had that kind of trouble with Jack.” I didn’t want to give Steve any false ideas about Jack being a wife-beater.

“Good, because I’d hate to hear of anyone mistreating you.”
He stared into my eyes for a moment, long enough to make me feel uncomfortable, before removing his hand and standing up. “I’m going to go now, Anna, while everything’s still friendly. But what I said before still stands. Stick around town so that you’re available for questioning. And if you can think of anything that might help the investigation, give me a call.”

I stood up beside him.
“Will do, and thanks, Steve. I’m glad that you’re not upset about Wendy.”

He paused to look down at her.
“Nah, I love dogs, and she’s a peach. Bye girl. Bye Anna.” He nodded and left the porch while I took Wendy inside the house. She had a big, long drink, and then I gave her a jerky treat. Talk about mixed messages, but she had just defended me.

“I think you’ve got the right idea, girl,” I said, headed for bed with her following me down the hallway.
“Men are just trouble, and I’m through with them.”

Chapter Six

The following morning was Sunday. Sunday mornings I attended church at St. Bernadette’s, and today was no exception. I waited to hear the church bells ring before I dashed out my door, not wanting arrive at church early enough to have time to chat with my fellow parishioners. When I got there, Father Winfield was waiting at the back of the church with his three altar servers. I nodded to him and slipped into the first available empty pew just as the hymn began and the procession started up the aisle. My neighbour, Betty Hiller, hurried in behind them and sat down at the end of my pew. During the offertory collection, Betty slid across the pew to sit beside me.

“Hi Anna, how’re you doing?
Jeff and I were so upset to hear about your husband’s death,” she whispered. “You have our sympathies.” Jeff, Betty’s husband, was a volunteer firefighter who could be called out on an emergency at any time, so he slept late on Sunday mornings as often as Betty let him. She volunteered with the church babysitting service, and had probably waited in the nursery until just after the hymn began to see if anyone required her help. “Thank you, Betty. I’m okay, thanks for asking. How are you and Jeff?” I whispered, trying to keep the conversation short. Betty could talk your ear off, and I had had to dissuade her from visiting too often when we first became neighbours.

“We’re both fine. So – did you hear what happened to Henry Fellows’ restaurant this morning?”

That wasn’t the question I had expected.
“No, did something happen?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.

“I’ll say,” she said, her short blond curls trembling with excitement.
“Somebody plowed his car right into Henry’s restaurant first thing this morning. Henry was inside getting breakfast ready when it happened. He wasn’t hurt very badly, but he could have been. The car drove right through the wall and demolished half his kitchen before taking off again. Henry went into shock, and the EMS took him to the hospital. But the really disturbing news was what he told one of the ambulance attendants after it happened. He said that Frank was driving the car that did it – that Frank had tried to kill him!”

I stared at her for a moment before remembering to close my mouth.
“You have got to be kidding. That is the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would Frank want to kill Henry Fellows?” I asked.

“Henry claimed that Frank is afraid of the competition from his new restaurant, so he drove into Henry’s kitchen to destroy it, trying to make it look like a hit-and-run accident.
You ought to see it. There’s an enormous hole in the wall facing the side street and part of the roof collapsed. I saw it on the way to church this morning.”

“What about Frank?
Has anybody seen him?” I asked.

“No, he and Judy supposedly left for Lethbridge last night to visit Judy’s mother.”

The congregation stood up as Father Winfield began the communion prayers, and Betty and I had to cut short our conversation. The remainder of the service was a blur, I’m ashamed to say, because I couldn’t stop thinking about the bizarre news. I very much wanted to see the damage for myself, so as the last notes of the recessional hymn died away, I nodded to Betty, bid Father a brief good morning at the church door, and rushed out into the street. St. Bernadette’s Church was three blocks behind Main Street, so it took all of three minutes for me to trot over there.

As I hurried down Main Street toward Hank’s Hearty Home-Cooking, I could see a police cruiser and a fire truck parked out front.
An officer was sitting in the car writing. Orange plastic cones blocked off traffic to the side street where the kitchen was located. I hurried around the corner, noting the yellow tape around the building intended to keep folks out of harm’s way. My eyes were riveted to the damage. Betty was right; there was a big hole in the side of the restaurant, and the roof over the damaged section had collapsed. Shingles, insulation, broken bits of siding, and plastic were scattered across the sidewalk and along the boulevard where the grass was all torn up. A couple of guys from the fire department were starting to nail heavy green plastic over the hole. I walked right up to the yellow tape to have a look inside the kitchen while it was still visible. The place was a disaster. There were broken cupboards, boxes and cans, flour, pots, pans, and utensils strewn all across the floor. The fridge was tipped over, and dishes of food and cartons of eggs and milk had spilled out, adding to the mess. The only good thing was that the deep fat fryer and the stove were on the other side of the room, or else the kitchen might have gone up in flames. I shook my head, wondering who could have done such a crazy thing. While I was looking, Steve Walker and a local insurance agent, Harold Gibbs, emerged from the alley behind the restaurant. Steve was gesturing towards the fat black tire tracks cut into the boulevard’s soft earth while Gibbs nodded and made notes on a clip board.

I followed them and overheard Steve saying, “Judging by the tire tracks, it looks like a full-sized truck went through the wall.
It had to be heavy enough to break through the siding and the wall studs clear on through into the kitchen. There weren’t any skid marks on the street to indicate that the driver applied his brakes prior to hitting the building, so the damage was intentional.”

“Right,” said Gibbs.

“He – or she – came down the side street and made a right-hand turn into the building. Had the perpetrator wanted to do some real damage, he could have hit the front of the building from Main Street and gone through the plate glass window, the seating area, and into the kitchen. Good thing he didn’t – the damage would have been much worse if he had hit the gas line.”

“Yup,” said Gibbs.

Steve looked up and saw me standing behind the insurance agent. He nodded. “Hi Anna,” he said.

“Hi Steve.
Are you the only RCMP officer in Crane?”

He smiled.
“Sometimes it feels that way.”

“Pretty bizarre, eh?” I said, gesturing at the building.

“Yeah, haven’t seen anything like it before.
Who’d drive into a building on purpose?”

“So, you don’t think that it could have been accidental, or that maybe a drunk driver did it?” I asked.

Steve pointed at the tire tracks on the boulevard. “Nah – even a drunk would have tried to brake when the truck came up over the curb. There’s no sign of it. The driver drove off the road and into the building without decreasing speed. This was definitely done on purpose. Whoever it was, it’s going to be impossible to hide the damage to his vehicle. We’ll catch him for sure.”

I took a step closer to the two men and lowered my voice.
“Steve, I heard some nutty talk about Henry blaming Frank for the accident.”

Steve looked down at his boot and knocked some mud off the heel.
“Between you, me, and Mr. Gibbs here, yeah, Mr. Fellows was saying something about that to the EMS guys, but he was pretty upset and going into shock when he said it. I don’t know if he actually saw anything – Mr. Fellows was knocked down from behind.”

“Are you trying to track Frank down?”

“Yeah, they called him this morning at Judy’s mother’s house in Lethbridge and suggested that he and Judy return sooner rather than later. They’re on their way.”

Mr. Gibbs, a stocky, middle-aged man with a fringe of rust-coloured hair around a pink dome, spoke up.
“Hey, Anna, I’ve been hearing some pretty interesting talk about you this week, too. Two crimes in Crane in one week – it’s practically a crime wave.” He gave me a big wink. “Steve, I hope you can protect the rest of us from these dangerous criminal types.”

I blushed, and Steve took Gibbs by the arm.
“See you around, Anna,” he said, leading Gibbs away. I decided to avoid conversation with the knot of gawkers chatting on the sidewalk and went home. When I got there, the forensics squad was waiting for me. It felt as if the whole world had gone crazy.

Chapter Seven

It felt weird going back to work on Monday morning as if everything were fine and my whole life hadn’t been turned upside down by Jack’s murder, but I had a living to earn, so I went. To make matters worse, it was raining and misty and visibility was poor, so I drove into Calgary with extra caution. There were herds of deer that wintered in the fields alongside the roads, attracted by the hay the ranchers left out for their horses and cattle, and they could jump in front of your car in a matter of seconds. Still, I managed to make it safely into the city and parked in the university lot. Hurrying through the rain into the main building and down the hallway, I passed a couple of early bird students waiting for their instructors. I arrived at the Kinesiology Department office, unlocked the door, flicked on the lights, and hung my coat on the back of the door. Re-opening it, I looked across the hall and saw that my boss hadn’t arrived yet. Grateful for some early morning peace, I sank into my chair and turned on the computer. Seconds later, Dr. Bryan Carmichael materialized on my door step. Bryan, a muscular young man with a shaved head and a silver ear stud, was dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweat pants. The dress code was pretty relaxed for Kinesiology instructors because their teaching involved physical demonstrations and lab work.

“Hi Anna, how’s it going?
Did you have a good weekend?” he asked. Obviously, he hadn’t read the Record’s report of Jack’s death.

“Not bad,” I said.
“You?”

“Pretty good.
I’ve got my spring course outline ready for printing. Do you have any Printing Services forms?”