From Newsprint to Footprints: A River's Edge Cozy Mystery (River's Edge Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (16 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BY THE TIME I MET Sandi at seven Monday evening, I was cleaned up, excited about what I'd just learned, and tired. I also was okay to eat, but not spicy barbeque.

Juanita Sparks is the owner and chief cook. Everyone calls her Momma Sparks, and she sort of gave me the evil eye as we got seated. "You been getting in trouble. You need something to keep spirits high," she said, in her slight Hungarian accent. I have no idea where the Juanita comes from.

I acknowledged her with a nod. "I also need something not as spicy as I usually order. My stomach's doing summersaults today. Any recommendations?"

She tapped a stubby pencil on her order pad. "I take a flour tortilla, instead of bun, and put just a little my not-so-hot barbeque on it. Then I put more strips of tortilla over barbeque before I roll. Lots of bread to absorb barbeque, not so much shortening."

Sandi met my eyes and looked away, trying not to smile. She was obviously thinking of Ryan, who does a really good imitation of Momma Sparks' accent.

"Sounds good," I said.

Sandi shut her menu. "I don't know why I'm looking at this. I'll take the pork special with extra sauce and mashed potatoes."

When Momma Sparks walked away, Sandi leaned across the table. "Fred's not back from Des Moines. What's in the autopsy report? Did you bring me a copy?"

"I've got more than that, but better do the report first." I took the three-by-five card from my purse and placed it on the table. "These are highlights. I'll go to Keosauqua tomorrow to make you a copy." When Sandi frowned, I added, "You can honestly tell Fred you haven't seen it, and I avoided any questions from my lawyer about why I needed two copies."

"I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Sullenness doesn't become you. All the salient items are on the card. I'll walk through the bullet points."

When we were halfway through eating, Sandi pushed her plate to one side. "Why didn't you tell me it was so gory?"

"Would you really rather not know?"

She shook her head. "I just wouldn't have ordered barbeque."

"Get a take-out box."

Sandi slapped herself on the forehead. "How could I forget? Ryan's mother heard from her cousin that nothing in the house was disturbed. No blood anywhere."

"Huh. Unless the sheriff finds a good friend of Hal's who's been in the house, how would anyone know if a throw rug or paint tarp is missing?"

Sandi sighed. "I've been thinking along those lines."

"Here's the bigger news. Stooper's helping me with heavy…."

"Stooper!"

"He might not want you yelling his name."

"Is he sober enough?"

"Yep. He came about four today, and we worked a couple of hours. Something Gary at the tavern said made me think Stooper's most sober just before he starts drinking in the evening."

"So why….?"

"Listen!" I leaned across the table so I could almost whisper. "Stooper might have seen Hal late that night, along with someone who was following him."

"What?!?"

"Quiet! He also told me he might have been so drunk it could’ve been one car that looked like two."

Sandy squinted. "So why didn't he tell anybody? Or did he?"

"He didn't realize Hal hadn't been seen since maybe eight o'clock. He said he'd tell Gallagher."

"Stooper might not be considered…reliable."

I nodded. "Still, it could help."

Sandi shrugged. "It's all kind of far-fetched. Like TV."

"Stooper talked about Hal's car weaving. I didn't realize Hal was that big a drinker."

"Me either," Sandi said. "Maybe he just drank alone at home in the evening and didn't usually go out."

We were silent for several seconds, then I added, "I only asked Brownberg for a copy of one of the photos. For sure you don't want to see many. If Fred ever gets around to showing you the full report, make him describe the photos rather than making you look at them."

Sandi's eyes widened. "That bad?"

"It's way worse than TV. The ones of the wound itself are grisly, but they could belong to anyone. Several have Hal's face. Those are the ones you really don't want to see."

"What do I miss by not looking at them?"

"Good question. Since neither of us are forensic scientists, who can interpret from a picture, probably not much." I took a drink of my ice water. "Hear anything about the car?"

She shook her head. "I went to every gas station or garage in town. No one had it for servicing, and both the guys who tow said they never got a call about it."

"Maybe a farm pond?"

"Not too likely. Some of them would be deep enough in the middle, but you'd have to roll a car through a lot of mud to get it that far."

I thought some more. "Be awfully hard to get it in the river. You'd have to drive almost two miles from Syl's, if Hal or his killer even had the car there. Someone might’ve noticed a car on the road that late at night."

"Would your buddy Syl let you look more on his property?"

"You mean in case the sheriff or his deputies walked by a car or murder weapon and didn't notice them?"

Sandi scrunched her nose, a thinking pose for her. "I haven't heard anyone say they walked every inch of his property."

"I can ask Syl, but he wasn't there until hours after they found Hal."

"After you found Hal."

TUESDAY MORNING I STOOD on the South County Memorial Bridge and looked first south and then north scanning every inch of the Des Moines River that I could see. The segment of the river that goes through River's Edge is about thirty meters wide, free of large rocks, and about twelve feet deep. That would be deep enough to hide a car, but there would be the same issue with the farm pond – plus it's only that deep in the middle.

It was six-thirty, and although the sun had been up for almost an hour, no one had driven by in the last couple of minutes. I listened to the water lap gently against the bridge abutment and wished the rest of my day would be as peaceful as this moment.

My eyes went from the river itself to the shore line – a park not more than an acre located on the far southern end of town, where it floods too often for anyone to want to build there. At least once every year in late spring or early summer, the city public works guys move all the picnic tables and trash cans to the city garage for a couple of weeks.

The park’s boat ramp is supposed to be for kayaks, canoes, and small fishing boats – no power boats or sailboats. Not that there's much wind in this part of Iowa. Since it was before Memorial Day and it hadn't been unseasonably warm, I doubted the ramp had been used much.

I walked off the bridge, passed my truck parked outside the ice cream shop, and made my way to the park. The boat ramp was on its far side. It hadn't rained since Hal died, except for a quick shower. Still, the ground retained its spring sogginess. If someone had driven a car through the park, I'd see tire tracks.

By the time I reached the ramp, my sneakers were wet and muddy. The only tracks I saw were other people's footprints. The ramp is angled so someone can slide a boat into the river. I knelt on it, and immediately wished it were made of metal instead of wood. My knee was wet.

No matter how much I stared at the briskly running water, no car hood showed itself. "Nuts."

I had just left the park and was walking toward my truck when Sheriff Gallagher slowed his squad car and lowered the window.

"You're out early."

It would be fair to say he looked as if he was suspicious of any reason I'd have for being on the street before seven a.m. "I'm always up at six. Just antsy, since I can't do a lot of work at Syl's for a while."

He almost smiled as he pushed the window up. "We already checked the river."

I STOPPED AT FARM AND MORE to see how much a couple more hosta plants would cost. Stooper and I had uncovered seven of them, but they were unevenly spaced. Mr. Silverstone had been frail for several years before he died. The missing plants had probably died after years of neglect.

Andy was at the register near the door. "You not arrested yet?"

I came to a full stop and frowned. "And I won't be."
I wish I believed
that.

"Jeez, Mel, you gotta quit being so grouchy."

"I'm tired of hearing you say that. I'm going to the garden area."

I wish stores would put plants that do well in shade together and vice-versa for those that require a lot of sun. Syl's yard had a lot of both, so I bent over the Lilies of the Valley to see if they could tolerate full shade.

A weathered, handwritten sign reminded gardeners that certain plants don't do well if placed near walnut trees. It's been up there for years.

I stood still. Walnut trees.

My dad had traded home-churned butter for a bushel of walnuts every fall. A group of the trees sat near one of the creeks that fed into the river. A car sitting in that grove, at least a quarter-mile walk from the gravel road, would never be seen. Maybe in January, but not with leaves on the trees.

I picked out two hosta plants in six-inch containers and walked to the register. It wasn't staffed, so I called, "Hey, Andy. Can you ring me up?"

Footsteps came closer, from an area I knew was near a coffee table that provides free drinks for customers. And, apparently, Andy.

"Sure, Mel. Watcha got?"

I pointed to the two plants. "Six bucks each, I think."

"Yep." He punched buttons on the cash register. "That'll be twelve eighty-four."

"I'll sign for it, on Mr. Seaton's account."

Andy frowned. "Who says so?"

I hung my head for a second and then looked him in the eye. "Syl Seaton. I don't think you want to get him out of bed to confirm."

Andy smiled and sort of smirked "How do you know he sleeps in?"

I turned and walked out of the store.

"Mel. Mel! Just kiddin'." Andy's voice grew fainter as I got closer to my truck.

I forced myself not to speed as I headed out of town. There was a nursery on a farm two miles north of town. I'd go there later and give Syl the receipt.

The grouping of walnut trees wasn’t too far beyond Syl's place. I turned off the gravel road onto a narrow lane that didn't have a street sign. Probably wasn't considered a road, since it ended at the river and there were no houses along the quarter-mile stretch. I'd seen tractors and balers use the lane to get to the huge field of hay that abutted the small copse.

I parked at the end of the lane and trudged toward the trees and the undergrowth that surrounded them, suddenly feeling a chill. What if I did find the car? Would someone think I put it there?
You should have thought of that.
I stopped.

As I debated options with myself, the sound of a car coming down the lane reached me. I stared as the black sedan pulled up behind my truck. A late model Ford, I thought.
Why would they block me in?

Then a Sheriff Office cruiser pulled in behind the car, and I knew why. Deputy Granger and Agent Masters seemed to take more time than needed to exit their cars and walk toward me.

I held Masters' gaze. "Are you guys actually following me? I bet Masters had to get up at the crack of dawn to be here this early."

Masters' smile was thin-lipped. "Just got into town to brief the sheriff and heard you were out and about."

"I can't believe the sheriff told you to follow me."

The two men stopped a few feet from me. "What are you doing out here?" Granger asked.

I pointed toward the trees. "I want to see if Hal's car is in there."

"What makes you think it is?" Masters asked.

"It'd be almost impossible to get a car in a farm pond, and Sheriff Gallagher said you guys already looked in the river." I shrugged. "It's flat country. There aren't a lot of places to hide a car."

They looked at each other and then me, before Masters said, "Wait here."

I watched them walk the short distance to the trees, getting some satisfaction because their leather shoes squelched through the terrain.

It was less than a minute later that Granger's voice drifted to me. "I'll be damned."

That meant Hal's car was amid the trees. And I had led them right to it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE ONLY TIME I'd been in a cell was when my sixth grade class took a tour of the county jail. I certainly wasn't locked in the cell then.

The door that led to the office part of the sheriff's building opened, and Sheriff Gallagher stood still for a moment, looking at me. Then he shut the door and walked toward my cell. My cell!

"You're lucky you didn't end up in Des Moines."

"Why didn't I?"

He sighed. "Because I called IDI in on an assist, not to take over the investigation."

When he said nothing more, I began, "I just wanted to see…"

"It doesn't matter what you want!" He wasn't shouting, but his tone was fierce. "I've told you to come to me first. This looks suspicious as hell. I almost believe you killed Hal."

I whispered, "I didn't."

"Ken Brownberg is trying to convince a lot of people of that. Your bail's gonna be pretty high. You better call Ambrose." Gallagher turned and walked out.

With my phone in a bag of possessions in Sheriff Gallagher's office, I couldn't call Ambrose. It was just as well. I wasn't an errant child who needed to call her big brother. Unless I wanted bail money.

I sat on a metal bench and studied some black splotches of paint on the walls. They probably covered rude words. Someone else must not have turned out their pockets all the way.

Deputy Granger came into the cell area about half an hour later and stopped in front of me. "You want to tell us what you hit him with?"

"Give me a break. I didn't kill Hal, and you know it."

"I didn't believe it at first, but you look guilty as hell to me now." Granger pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the cell. "Gallagher said you can walk to the courthouse without cuffs. If you stray so much as two inches from my side, I'll taser you."

I could tell he meant it.

Masters was not in the office area. He and Granger had brought me to the jail more than four hours ago, so I figured he could be back in Des Moines by now.

Instead of going out the main entrance, Granger and I walked out a side door that opened to what I'd heard deputies call the 'sally port.' I'd seen them bring drunks into the jail through this entrance. It was also close to the side door of the small county courthouse.

Granger opened the courthouse door with a key, and I knew to turn left, toward the judges' chambers and court rooms. I hadn’t thought to ask what the charges were, and now didn't seem the time.

We walked into the smaller of the two courtrooms, one generally used for misdemeanor cases, usually traffic-related. It has the dark-paneled walls that have been there since the courthouse was erected in the late eighteen hundreds. There's no jury box, and the judge's bench isn't elevated much.

Ken Brownberg sat at a table near the front, talking to the county attorney, Myron Smith, who stood next to him. Brownberg looked toward me and nodded, so I did the same back.

I noticed an older man, a farmer judging from his bib overalls and sunburned face, standing next to Smith. He was in his early seventies. I didn't know his name, but had seen him at Farm Bureau meetings when I covered those for the paper.

"Ms. Perkins," Smith said, and moved to a table next to the one Brownberg occupied. I sat next to Brownberg, and Granger sat behind the county attorney.

A side door opened, and Judge Kane came in walking briskly, robes flapping, with his bailiff behind him. Kane more or less glared at Smith. "And what is this? You know court's in the morning."

The judge sat behind his bench, and Smith cleared his throat. "Your honor, Ms. Perkins was found on private property this morning, without permiss…"

"Are you telling me this is about a damned trespass charge?"

I figured the judge had to know why I was here, and his questions and irritation were mostly for show. He's very strict about court procedures. If someone is late for a court date, they're in for two minutes of chastisement.

Judge Kane looked at me. "You understand, Ms. Perkins, Mr. Brownberg, that this is not a trial of any sort. This is a hearing to determine if you can be released on bail." He glared at Smith. "Once I know details of the charge."

Brownberg and I nodded.

"As you know, your honor," Smith said, "Hal Morris's car was found in a group of trees on Mr. Nelson's property this morning."

That's the farmer's name, Jeb Nelson
.

Judge Kane rolled his fist, index finger out, clearly wanting Smith to get to the point.

"I didn't know it was there, Tom," the man interrupted, speaking to the judge.

Judge Kane gave him a sort of benevolent smile. "Not a problem, Jeb."

He must be a campaign contributor
.

Smith flushed. "Ms. Perkins drove down the private road on Mr. Nelson's property. She then got out of her truck, clearly headed for the area where the car belonging to the late Hal Morris was found."

Judge Kane looked at Jeb Nelson. "And you had a problem with this?"

He shook his head. "I didn't know about it, until the Sheriff's Office called to see if I could come down."

Judge Kane glared at Smith. "Who is the complainant?"

Smith swallowed. "An IDI agent, with the sheriff's..."

Judge Kane gestured around the room. "Since when do IDI agents bring cases to my court," he raised his voice, "for trespassing?"

"The complainants," Smith continued, "believe the car's location is an important piece of evidence in Mr. Morris's murder, and that Ms. Perkins may have placed the car there."

Judge Kane glared. "A matter for criminal court." He looked at Jeb Nelson. "Did you want to press charges against Ms. Perkins for trespass on your property?"

Nelson looked confused and shook his head. "Is that why I'm here?"

Judge Kane looked at me. "It isn’t relevant in a simple trespass case, but did you know that car was there?"

"No, sir. It's been missing, and since no one's found it in the river, those trees seemed a good place to hide it. I just wanted to look."

Judge Kane stared at me for several seconds before looking back to Attorney Smith. "So, the property owner does not seem to be the complainant in this
civil case
, and I'd bet my lunch there is as yet no basis to file any criminal charges that have arisen from Mr. Morris's murder."

Smith's face had reddened. "That's correct, your honor."

The judge picked up his gavel and banged it – hard. "Then you're wasting my time." He lowered his tone. "And you, Ms. Perkins, you get permission before you go on someone's property. You're lucky Jeb here didn't want to file a complaint." He looked back at Smith. "Not that I would have expected a simple trespass charge to even make it to me."

Brownberg stood. "Thank you, your honor."

By the time I stood, Judge Kane was almost out of the court room, his bailiff holding the door to his chambers so the judge could precede him.

No one said anything for several seconds. I looked at Smith. "May I leave?"

His reply was curt. "Yes, Ms. Perkins, you may." He gestured to an unhappy Granger. "Deputy, come with me back to my office, would you?"

They walked out, leaving a confused Jeb Nelson, Brownberg, and me.

"Mr. Nelson."

He faced me.

"I'm very sorry I went on your property without your permission."

"Not anyone asked my permission to tow that car off my land either." He studied me. "I knew your father well. You sure this is how he and your mother would want you to act?"

My eyes burned hot. "Maybe not." I drew a breath. "But they did teach me not to let anyone bully me."

Nelson put his ball cap on. "Good advice." He walked out.

I stared at Ken Brownberg and then drew the back of my hand across my eyes. "I'm sorry, Ken. I didn't think I was doing anything wrong."

"I understand. But you really, really need to stay away from all this. Call Sheriff Gallagher if you have an idea." He picked up a folder from the table. "This didn't take long, so it won't be a huge bill."

No one in the Sheriff's Office said anything to me when I went to reclaim my phone and purse.

I AVOIDED THE DINER and went home to make a second cup of coffee and a sandwich. Anger made me feel hot, but I had to admit I was as angry at myself as much as Aaron Granger or Masters. I'd given them a reason to think I was guilty.

Why in the hell were they following me?
I felt like asking Sheriff Gallagher if he knew they were, but decided not to put myself in the middle of anything else. If I had to bet, it would be that Gallagher mentioned to Granger that he saw me by the river. Granger, always anxious to get ahead, intercepted Masters as he arrived and the pair went looking for me.

It wouldn't surprise me if the formal trespass charges were brought so the Sheriff's Office didn't look like they had put me in a cell without much basis for it. Or maybe to teach me to mind my own business, but people don't usually risk Judge Kane's disapproval to send a message.

Stooper and I were meeting at four, and it was only about one o'clock. I paced the apartment, while my grilled cheese cooked, and planned how I'd spend my time until three-thirty. If I didn't have anything to do I'd just mope.

As I ate, I thought about calling Fred. He'd probably asked Doc Shelton whether I could look at Hal's folders. Plus, I told him I'd let him know what I was doing related to the murder. I hadn’t expected any aspect of a story to be about me.

Instead of going straight to the paper, I drove the fifteen miles to Keosauqua to make a copy of the autopsy report. The copier at the paper was out, obviously. The River's Edge Library is so small you have to put your folders or papers on the floor while you make a copy, so it would be hard to hide what I was doing there.

It was a beautiful day, and much of the drive I could see the river. Some days it moves quickly. Others it's as still as plate glass. Today the still river shimmered in the sun.

About a mile from Keosauqua, a large maple tree lurched into the water. More of the river bank had fallen in since I'd last driven this way. Pretty soon there wouldn't be much land between the road and the river, so there would be some fancy engineering to reinforce the bank. Still, it would be cheaper than moving the road. Stop thinking like a reporter!

On the way back to River's Edge, I took a highway that was more than a mile in from the river. There were fewer curves, so I could drive faster.

I walked into the
South County News
a little after two, as Ryan was walking out.

"Holy crap, Mel. Were you really in jail? And you're out?" Notebook in hand, Ryan had apparently been on his way to the Sheriff's Office.

"I was on Jed Nelson's property to look for Hal's car, but Mr. Nelson didn't press trespassing charges."

By this time, Sandi and Fred had walked out of his office. Betty was still at her desk in the back of the office, apparently immersed in thought and not paying attention to anything else.

When the three of them started asking questions, I held my palm toward them. "Just let me tell you what happened."

Fred's reaction surprised me. "Damn it to hell, Mel. You didn't know what was in those trees."

"That's why I was there."

"You should have called me!" Fred was red-faced.

I kept my tone even. "I said I'd share information Fred, not tell you everywhere I was going."

Before Fred could speak again, Sandi said, "You don't have to tell anyone anything, but if you're going to a dead-end dirt road, maybe text me when you get there." Her lips twitched. "We'll know where to send the dogs to start trailing your scent."

"Funny." I looked at the three of them. "So you didn't even know I was going before Judge Kane?"

Fred shook his head. "No open meeting requirement for bail hearings, which is how that was listed. Shirley called a few minutes ago."

"Shirley! How did she know?"

Sandi shrugged. "Maybe someone from the Sheriff's Office had lunch there today."

Fred looked at Ryan. "Check in with your mother's cousin. See where they've taken the car."

Ryan got up, and Fred missed seeing Sandi and me exchange a glance. It seemed that Fred was willing to let someone else ask simple questions about Hal's murder when he had to.

Fred frowned. "We're going to have to interview you. No way you can contribute to any stories about Hal's murder."

He was right, of course, but I didn't like his tone. I decided to ignore it. "You read the autopsy, Fred?"

He frowned at me. "After I drove to Des Moines to get the damn thing. You?"

"Brownberg got it for me."

Fred nodded at Sandi. "Sandi wasn't keen on seeing the photos."

"Good option." I sighed. "I didn't see anything in there that said who might have killed him."

"Not a real short person," Sandi offered, and grinned. "Unless they were on a stool."