In Plain Sight (34 page)

“Sgt. Yates, you are being sarcastic. Or facetious,” I chided. “Just because I read a few mystery books—”

“Okay, I suppose I am,” he muttered.

“I think the synthetic fibers you found under Leslie’s fingernails will match the carpet here at the Ridenour house,” I added. “Your lab reports have probably already noted the presence of sleeping-pill chemicals in her system. And the dog hairs found in her lungs during the autopsy will match Baby’s.”

“I’ll be right over.” He sounded resigned.

“I hope your tooth extraction isn’t bothering you.”

Grunt.

After Sgt. Yates hung up, I located the gun, which was lying on the floor near the TV. I left it there. I rubbed my throat where Tammi had tried to choke me and stayed well away from her. I doubted, when she came to, that with the way I had her trussed up she could do more than wiggle her fingers and toes, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I felt a twinge of guilt as Baby nosed her unconscious body and then snuggled up beside her, nose resting on her shoulder, expressive eyes faintly reproachful. Then a certain fact bombed me. I’d clobbered Tammi while she was hugging her dog. Which did seem a bit unsportsmanlike.

It was a small and fleeting twinge of guilt, however. Mostly, while I waited for Sgt. Yates, I contemplated the strange fact that Baby had unknowingly helped cause Leslie’s death and then, just as unknowingly, helped save my life.

I was still somewhat dazed, partly from the struggle with Tammi, partly from the shock of knowing the truth. Brad hadn’t murdered his girlfriend. Shane Wagner hadn’t murdered his ex-wife. None of the others of whom I’d been so suspicious had played any part in Leslie’s death. Tammi, Tammi the adorable butterball, Tammi the Dumpling, Tammi the chooser of gifts with charming care, had done it. And was efficiently planning to kill me to hide that fact.

Tammi was just beginning to regain consciousness when cars pulled up in front of the Ridenour house. They had arrived without benefit of sirens, but I could hear one in the distance. Her fingers twitched and her eyelids fluttered.

I went to the door. Sgt. Yates, accompanied by another officer, came in and looked down at Tammi’s rope-bound figure.

“Your handiwork, I take it?” Sgt. Yates inquired.

I had to agree that it was. He did not compliment my technique. “It’s her rope,” I said. “And that’s her gun over there.”

Sgt. Yates knelt, looked at my tangle of loops and knots, and said to his partner, “We’ll need a knife.”

“How about an ambulance?” the second officer asked. He was already bagging the gun as evidence.

“Better call for one. That looks like a rather nasty lump forming on her temple.” He leaned closer to inspect the darkening bump. “You pack a mean wallop, Mrs. Malone.”

I couldn’t tell if that was compliment or criticism, and I prudently didn’t ask. With the ropes cut free and replaced by handcuffs, they moved Tammi to the sofa. She was still a little groggy but conscious enough to turn on the charm.

“Sgt. Yates, thank goodness you’re here! This woman is demented. She came in here and attacked me!”

“I did not,” I said indignantly. “She called me up and asked me to come over here so she could kill me!” I had some exclamation points of my own, and I was willing to use them. “See what she did to me?” I lifted my chin to show the line the rope had left on my neck and my developing bruise.

“She’s crazy! You can’t believe anything she says. Leslie Marcone fired her! Maybe she didn’t just find Leslie’s body, maybe she killed Leslie!”

Sgt. Yates’s scarred eyebrow lifted meaningfully. “Were we discussing Leslie Marcone?” he asked mildly.

Tammi scowled at him, apparently realizing she may have made a blunder here. But she wasn’t about to back down.

“Do you know who my husband is?”

“Yes, Mrs. Ridenour, I do,” Sgt. Yates said.

“You can be certain he’ll let everyone know about this atrocious action toward an innocent citizen,” she stormed. Her charm was fizzling rapidly. She struggled with the handcuffs. “This is outrageous! A travesty of justice! And you can expect a lawsuit too!”

Sgt. Yates didn’t argue with her. “Tammi Ridenour,” he said as Baby pressed close to her, “you are under arrest for the murder of Leslie Marcone. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Do you understand?”

Tammi glared at him through smeared eyeliner. “I’m warning you!”

Sgt. Yates extracted a plastic card from his wallet and started reading aloud the required statement of Miranda rights, although I suspected he’d repeated them often enough to know them by heart.

The second officer glanced at me doubtfully as Sgt. Yates read, although whether the doubt was about my sanity, my possible guilt in Leslie’s murder, or my knot-tying ability, I couldn’t tell. I gave him my most innocent LOL smile. He did a little double take, apparently just now recognizing me. “Hey, you’re the woman with the dynamite under her Thunderbird. I was over there this morning—”

Sgt. Yates stopped in the midst of reading Tammi her Miranda rights. He gave me a sharp lift of scarred eyebrow. “I heard about that … That was you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I suppose I should have guessed,” he said in a resigned tone that said
Who else in Woodston would have a bomb planted in
her car?
He went back to Tammi’s Miranda rights. “Anything you do or say may be used against you—”

“Oh, shut up,” Tammi snapped. “I want a lawyer. And my husband.”

And by then I suspected Tammi didn’t think Sgt. Yates was such a sweetie after all.

The ambulance arrived, and after a brief conference between Sgt. Yates and the medics, they brought in a stretcher. Tammi was still demanding a lawyer and her husband, but then another thought struck her. Her expression changed from anger to dismay. She struggled to a sitting position.

“What about Baby? Baby can’t be left here all alone! He’s already confused—”

“I’ll take care of Baby,” I said.

Although she’d intended to kill me, I was apparently not unacceptable as a Baby-sitter. “He hasn’t had his supper yet.”

“I’ll see that he gets it.”

They loaded Tammi into the ambulance, which I suspected was a safety move to protect the sheriff’s department legally rather than the result of an urgent need for medical attention for Tammi. The second officer left to accompany the ambulance to the hospital. Sgt. Yates said he’d be along a little later.

I watched the ambulance drive away. I wondered if the Big Brad would be reporting his wife’s arrest on tomorrow’s news. Sgt. Yates was conscientiously making notes in his little book. Finally he flipped it shut and looked up at me.

“You seem to have had a busy day, Mrs. Malone. Car bomb this morning. Capture of a possible murderer this evening. Anything on tomorrow’s schedule that I should know about?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I said, ignoring the facetiousness of the question. “But I did talk to DeeAnn today. She and Mike will be moving back from Hawaii in a few days.”

“That’s good to hear. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better notify Brad Ridenour of the situation.”

“Would it be okay if I wait here with Baby for a while? Skye should be getting home soon.”

“Since from what you’ve said, Leslie Marcone was killed here, I’m afraid the house is now considered a crime scene. So you’ll have to wait outside—”

“Baby and I can sit in the car.”

“I’ll also need you to come into the office tomorrow and make a full statement.”

I nodded. “Did you already know about Brad Ridenour’s relationship with Leslie Marcone?”

He hesitated, then, sounding a bit grudging, said, “No, I hadn’t yet come across that information.” Even more grudgingly he added, “I suppose I should commend you for your excellent detective work.”

I decided to ignore the unspoken
But after this, Mrs. Malone,
stay out of police business!
and simply said, “Thank you.”

Sgt. Yates reached for the cell phone on his belt, then turned back for a moment, eyebrows scrunched into a frown. “Oh, Mrs. Malone, there is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“My father definitely wants to meet you.”

34

As it turned out, however, I never did meet Pa Yates. He came down with the shingles, and in the meantime I made new plans. And Brad Ridenour didn’t report his wife’s arrest on TV. Brad’s perfectly tousled hair and cleft chin were never seen on the local TV news show again.

The initial announcement by his properly somber-looking coanchor was that he was on an “indefinite leave of absence,” no reason given, although listeners undoubtedly connected the “leave” with the news of Tammi Ridenour’s arrest for murder and the revelation of Brad’s relationship with the dead woman.

I expected the Thunderbird might be held by the sheriff’s department for weeks, but in less than a week, while Sandy and I were still staying at the Shady Lane Motel, Sgt. Yates returned it to me. There were still some residues of fingerprint powder on the dashboard, but other than that it was in fine shape.

But a week later, when Mike and DeeAnn were home, the Thunderbird was no longer mine. A different vehicle stood in front of the house now. A vehicle crammed with everything I’d brought to Woodston, plus a big supply of groceries and mystery books from Mike and DeeAnn, a carton of homemade pecan-mint brownies from Sandy and Skye, and a paw print on paper from Baby.

We’d all just finished breakfast at the big dining room table. I crumpled my napkin and stood up.

“That was a wonderful breakfast, DeeAnn. Thank you.”

“I wish you’d reconsider,” DeeAnn said. Under her Hawaiian tan, she looked close to tears. I patted her hand.

School was out now. Mike and DeeAnn were fully moved back from Hawaii. Skye and Baby were living here with them. Tammi was in custody in Fayetteville awaiting trial or, if her lawyer could manage it, a plea bargain. The fibers under Leslie’s fingernails had matched the carpet in the Ridenour house, and the animal hairs in her lungs had matched Baby’s.

Skye’s mother had balked at Skye coming to New York to live, especially with Baby in tow. Brad Ridenour had slunk off to California, with assurances he’d send for Skye and Baby later. I had my doubts. I’m sure Skye did too. But she was seeing a counselor at church, and, with Mike and DeeAnn and Sandy’s help, seemed to be coping with the situation. Baby occasionally wandered around as if searching for Tammi, but mostly he seemed content.

Now, we all went outside. A gorgeous June morning. Sunshine sparkling on the lake. Birds twittering in the trees. I have to admit I felt some apprehension about what I was doing. It was indeed a leap into the unknown. But exhilaration overrode the apprehension.

I opened the door of the motor home. Hanson Watkins and I had traded vehicles a few days ago. I’d had to blink back sentimental tears when I relinquished the old ’bird, but I think we both figured we got the best of the deal. Hanson had ridden with me several times, showing me how everything worked and helping me get the feel of driving the bulky vehicle. As size goes, twenty-one feet is fairly small for a motor home, but it still felt like a lot of vehicle going down the road.

“You don’t have to do this,” DeeAnn said. She clutched my hand as if she might physically try to hold me back. “We have no qualms about your staying here with us.”

“I know. I appreciate that. But—”

I hesitated, a little embarrassed about the “but.” It seemed ungrateful to say, “But I’m looking forward to this. I’m going to go places I’ve never been, see sights I’ve never seen, meet people I’ve never met!” Although, I have to admit, somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that I might run in to someone I did know out there somewhere. Mac MacPherson would surely be back on the road again before long. So what I said was, “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll keep in touch?” Mike asked.

“As much as I can.”

I had no doubts about who had planted the dynamite under my car, but so far the authorities had not found anything to back up my belief. According to Sgt. Yates, they were investigating the Braxtons, but no arrests had been made. I doubted any arrests would be made. The Braxtons were too adept at covering their tracks. Dix, my police friend back in Missouri, had come up with the possibility that a Braxton niece who worked for the post office may have provided information about my whereabouts, which was an unpleasant reminder of what a wide net the Braxton clan could cast.

I doubted the Braxtons would give up on their plans to make roadkill out of me just because their car bomb plot had failed. If I stayed here, the people I loved might be caught in the cross fire of the Braxtons’ vengeance over my sending one of their own to prison.

I figure if I keep on the move, they can’t find me.

“You’re just going to head off cross country?” Sandy asked. She sounded troubled. “No idea where you’re going?”

“Not a clue,” I replied. I tried not to sound too cheerful about it.

“But so many things could go wrong,” Skye said. “Flat tires and engine problems … all kinds of breakdowns! You could get really sick. Or lost on a strange, dark road in the middle of nowhere. Or—”

She broke off when we all looked at her. “Okay, sometimes I’m a pessimist,” she muttered. “But to just take off by yourself, all alone …”

“I’m never alone. The Lord has been with me all my life. He’ll be with me out there on the road too.”

Skye smiled. “Yeah, I guess he will.” In the midst of all the upheaval in her life, Skye had been walking closer to the Lord these past days. She was learning about not being alone too. She gave me a hug and stepped back.

There were more hugs all around, including a dignified paw and less dignified slurp from Baby. Then I climbed in the motor home. There was a new bicycle strapped on back, a going-away gift from all the family. I pulled the door shut and started the engine. I gave them all a big wave as I headed down the driveway.

Out on the highway, I gave another good-bye.

So long, Braxtons. Open road, here I come.

Contact the author:

Lorena McCourtney

P.O. Box 773

Merlin, OR 97532