In Plain Sight (27 page)

I struggled with the question all the next day. Should I go to Sgt. Yates with this? I took that question to the Lord, of course, both at church and on a long walk on the lake trail that afternoon.

Sandy had gone skateboarding with some friends from church, and I strolled alone, though I exchanged pleasantries with a young couple holding hands and Hanson Watkins taking a fishing break from remodeling work on his mother’s house.

“Sure you don’t want to trade me that old T-bird for the motor home?” he called from his stance on an old log sticking out in the water. “Think how handy it’d be. You get tired while you’re out shopping, so you just climb in back and settle down for a nap.”

“Think how handy it could be for you and your wife. You’re off seeing the wonders of the world, and when you get tired you just climb in back for a nap,” I called back.

“If we travel, we like big hot tubs and room service, not searching for dump stations, showering in a space the size of a shoe box, and repairing frozen water lines.” The fishing line sang as Hanson whipped a lure far out in the water. The sound momentarily brought back nostalgic memories of Harley and his love of fishing. Hanson looked at me and grinned. “I guess if I want to sell the thing I need a better sales pitch than that, don’t I?”

I waved at him and strolled on. A light spring rain had fallen earlier, leaving jeweled droplets shimmering on the green leaves. The sky was still overcast where I walked, but breaks in the clouds cast golden islands of sunshine on the gray waters of the lake. The damp ground squished under my purple tennies, and a doe peeked out of the bushes.

A lovely day for walking. A day for thinking about spring flowers and spring rainbows and maybe even spring love. But my thoughts were trapped in the dark corridors of murder.

One side of me shouted a vehement “yes!” to the question of going to Sgt. Yates immediately. Brad and Leslie were having an affair. He’d killed her to keep it quiet. Nail ’im!

The other side repeated in more explicit terms what I’d said to Sandy. The fact that Brad was a sleazy adulterer, a liar, and a cheat still didn’t make him a killer. Maybe the affair was long over, or maybe Leslie’s death at unknown hands had shocked him into a complete turnaround, and he really was a changed man, eager to help kids, save the environment, and grow the economy. The affair, sleazy as it was, was obviously over now, and unwarranted accusations of murder could do Brad, Tammi, and Skye all irreparable harm.

A third side (never let it be said that Ivy Malone is not many-sided) reasoned that Sgt. Yates was neither dumb nor incompetent. His investigation would surely uncover the affair between Brad and Leslie. Brad Ridenour might already be riding high on the suspect list, with evidence of his guilt piling up daily. Or he may have already been investigated and exonerated.

Sgt. Yates surely did not need or want any further busybody interference from me.

There. That took care of that. Sandy had it off her back. I had it off mine.

Almost.

Because I would feel a whole lot better if I knew the affair was over long before Leslie’s death. Or if I knew there was some proof that said Brad couldn’t have done it. Or if I was certain Sgt. Yates wouldn’t somehow miss the affair and thus miss Brad’s possible involvement in the murder.

I didn’t get any emails from the Lord on the subject, but I did get a phone call that suggested the Lord might not be averse to my delving deeper into this.

The phone call came as I was eating a French dip sandwich of leftover roast beef for supper and watching the local news on TV. Brad was in top form, exchanging breezy comments with the woman coanchor but going properly serious with a story about a family losing their home in a fire. I snidely wondered if he’d be so breezy and confident with a big “CL” for “Cheating Liar” tattooed on his forehead. Sandy had already called to say she was going for pizza with her friends then to a movie at another church. If it was okay with me, of course. I was relieved that she sounded more like her old bouncy self. Now I flicked the remote to mute the sound on the TV and said hello into the phone.

27

“Aunt Ivy, is that you? It’s me, Tammi Ridenour!”

“Hi, Tammi. How are you?” I glanced at the TV again.
And
isn’t that cheating husband of yours looking great?

“Wasn’t yesterday at the gymnastics meet fun?” she bubbled. Then, apparently realizing that might not be the proper attitude, considering everything, she added, “Except that it’s too bad Sandy had such an off day. I hope she isn’t ill or anything?”

“No, she’s fine.”

“Oh, good! I called because I’m wondering if she could come sit with Baby for a couple of hours?”

My first thought was that this was too much. Sure, Baby was an adorable sweetheart, and sitting with him was no chore. But maybe it was time they invested in some behavior modification training from an expert. A grown dog, especially a 260-pound one, shouldn’t be allowed to demand constant company to keep him from destroying
his
environment. My second thought was that Tammi had obviously missed what was going on yesterday, that Sandy had deliberately avoided her and Brad. My third thought eclipsed both of the first two.
Hey, this is opportunity calling!

“Skye is going to a movie with a date,” Tammi bubbled on. “We’re so pleased that her social life is expanding, and I don’t want to interfere by asking her to stay with Baby.”

Well, well. Skye on a date. Did that mean she was finally accepting Woodston guys as something other than hayseed hillbillies?

“But Brad doesn’t have to do the late news tonight, so he wants me to meet him for dinner at a place called the Inn at Lost Lake! He says it’s so rustic and romantic. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Please do.”

“I doubt most people realize it, and Brad would surely be embarrassed if anyone knew, but he’s such a sentimental man. And this is the anniversary of our first date! Isn’t that romantic?”

I might argue with Brad’s judgment of Dead Critters Inn as romantic, but I had to agree that remembering this little anniversary was impressive. Maybe Brad really was trying to make up for past bad behavior.

Which didn’t mean, however, that he hadn’t killed Leslie before this change of heart, real or pretended.

“Sandy isn’t home,” I said quickly, “but I’d be happy to sit with Baby. Would that be okay?”

“That would be wonderful! Baby will be delighted! Baby, Aunt Ivy is coming! Oh, he’s smiling already.” Small pause as Tammi apparently bared her teeth in a return smile. “Can you come over in, oh, say an hour and a half?”

“I’ll be there.”

Actually, I was there in just over an hour. I wanted to be early so I’d have time to make conversation with Tammi. On the drive over I’d experimented with various conversational forays, but in the end, as I rang the doorbell, I just asked the Lord to open the way. I needed to find out how much Tammi knew. And if Brad had an alibi.

“You’re early! Oh, good!” Tammi said when she opened the door. “The most awful thing has just happened!”

My ready imagination tossed up disastrous possibilities ranging from Baby’s demise under the wheels of a truck, to Skye calling to say she was eloping with her date, to Tammi’s sudden discovery of her husband’s infidelity and subsequent murder of his paramour.

Baby pushed around her, eliminating the first possibility. He sat down and offered me a paw. We shook. Tammi craned her head around to peer over her ample rear and lifted a high-heeled clad foot behind her. “Look!” she wailed.

What I saw was a drooping hem on her skirt, at which point I realized her classification of “awful” came at a lower level on the disaster scale than mine. She pulled me inside. “What should I do? I don’t want to change dresses, because I’ve already done my hair and it’ll get mussed. But I’m just all thumbs at fixing anything, and I can’t be late! If there’s anything Brad can’t stand, it’s late.”

In the living room I saw that huge diet and exercise book sitting open on the coffee table. Tammi had apparently been studying it. I could see sentences she’d underlined. “What happened?” I asked.

“I was putting on my sandals, and I don’t know how it happened, but a heel caught in the hem, and it just ripped!”

The seller of this black dress with a swishy skirt and long sleeves deserved a big bonus, I decided. It did everything a dress was supposed to do. Tammi, except for the scowl on her face, looked terrific. Sophisticated, sexy in an understated way, even a bit trimmer than usual, especially with those arm-slimming sleeves.

I leaned over and inspected the hem. “If you have a needle and black thread, it won’t take but a minute to fix it.”

“Really? Oh, Aunt Ivy, you’re a miracle worker!”

Again, a different rating scale than mine. One of these days I intended to sit her down with a Bible and point out some real miracles.

Tammi bustled off. Baby, unasked, scrunched down on his stomach and did his caterpillar crawl. He also gave me one of his toothy grins. Tammi, obviously not a sewing person, returned with an undersized needle and oversized thread, but I thought I could make them work. Though I intended to take my time and use this opportunity to best advantage.

“It’s so nice that you and your husband can go out to dinner on this first-date anniversary,” I said in my best chatty manner as I poked the thread at the eye of the needle. “Not many men remember things like that.”

“Oh, I know! I feel so fortunate.”

I squinted as I tried again with the thread. Maybe I wouldn’t need to use delaying tactics. They’re making these holes smaller and harder to hit all the time. “He usually stays in Fayetteville between the early and late news shows, doesn’t he?”

With the thread finally caught in the needle, I knelt behind her where I could access the ripped hem. Baby snuggled up beside me. He smelled fresh and clean, as if he’d just had a shampoo.

“Yes, he’s such a busy man. So dedicated to his work and his service to the community! But sometimes he also likes to just relax at the library for some quiet reading between shows.”

And sometimes he liked a little hanky-panky with Leslie Marcone. Which I didn’t say, of course. Though it was the big question in my mind. Had Tammi known about the relationship when Leslie was alive? Did she know about it now? Did she have any fears her husband might be a killer as well as a cheater?

“That’s a long drive coming home from Fayetteville after the late news every night. If the weather were especially bad, I think I’d be inclined to spend the night there.”

I turned up the hem and started making tiny loops in that invisible stitch my mother had taught me long ago, congratulating myself on my cleverness in fishing for information without actually asking a question. Baby draped a big paw over my foot as he watched me work, as if he might be considering taking up sewing in his spare time.

“Yes, Brad does stay in town occasionally. But, as you said, only if the weather is really bad, or sometimes when he’s exceptionally tired. He says he never really sleeps well unless he’s right here at home in his own bed.”

I didn’t let myself even think a snide comment on that remark. Instead I asked, “He has to go out of town occasionally too, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, now and then. He’ll probably have to do more of that as his political campaign progresses. But I’ve always believed it’s the quality of time a husband and wife spend together, not the quantity!”

Inspiration for a smooth segue here. “Are you a little uneasy, you and Skye here alone so much, since that woman out by the lake was murdered?”

“Oh, I was terrified when that happened! Brad had been out of town overnight. He’d flown to Memphis for a meeting with the station owners and got back to Fayetteville just that afternoon. I didn’t know anything about the body being found in the lake until he told about it on the news, and then I couldn’t help thinking, with him gone it might easily have been me or Skye who was murdered!”

“They didn’t think it was murder at first. They thought she’d accidentally drowned.”

“I know. But I had a bad feeling right from the start that it was more than that. Didn’t you?”

Well, yes, I did. But maybe Tammi had more reason to be suspicious about the circumstances of Leslie’s death than I did.

Okay, Brad was out of town, and he’d gone by plane. It was stretching even my fertile imagination to think he could have stuffed Leslie’s dead body into his luggage and brought her home on the plane for disposal in the lake. It was also doubtful he could have pretended a trip to Memphis and stayed here in Woodston to murder Leslie instead; the flight and meeting could be verified. So here was what I was looking for. The alibi. Brad Ridenour was still a sleazy, cheating husband, but he was off the hook for murder.

The flaw in that conclusion shot up instantly, like a rotten egg in a pot of simmering water.

Yes, Brad was in Memphis when I found the body. But that was no alibi, because Leslie had been killed several days earlier. Where was he then?

“I was the one who found her body, I suppose you know. I’d worked for Leslie for a short time,” I tossed out casually.

“Oh yes, I know! I’ve wanted to ask you about that, but then I thought, oh, it was probably such a traumatic experience that you wouldn’t want to talk about it. I know finding a dead person would give me nightmares for days!” She patted my shoulder.

“Yes, it was quite a shock. They thought she’d been dead several days when I found her.”

“Oh, how
ghastly
! I suppose you had to talk to Sgt. Yates about it?”

“He questioned me a couple of times, first when it looked like a drowning accident, and then again when they decided it was murder. I don’t know if anything I told him was helpful. The police have talked to a lot of people, of course.”

I left that hanging, wondering if she’d fill in that Brad had been questioned, but no comment was forthcoming. Which left me with the uneasy feeling that it was possible the affair was still unknown to Sgt. Yates.

“But you were closer to her than anyone else,” Tammi said. “Surely you must have seen or heard something to suggest who killed her.”