Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 04 - With This Ring (29 page)

“Should we stop and pick up the coffee first, since it’s on our way to the Webster’s house?” I asked.

“Good idea,” Sheila said. “Why don’t you let me go in and get the coffee? I don’t think the manager wants to start his day off by seeing you walk into his store. Besides, like I said earlier, I’m your slave for the day, and you don’t want to waste an opportunity like this. It may never happen again.”

“Okay. I’ll wait here for you.”

It was only about five minutes later when Sheila walked out of Pete’s Pantry with a bag in her hand. The plastic bag was bulging.

“Folgers was on sale today,” she said, as she opened the passenger side door. “So I bought three big containers of their Gourmet Supreme Dark Roast. I know you like your coffee strong and thick as motor oil.”

“Thanks, pal!”

I pulled the car out of the parking lot and turned left toward Mulberry Street, which was about five or six blocks east of the store. It wasn’t long before we located the Webster house, a tan, very nondescript house with absolutely no landscaping, about halfway down the block. I didn’t think it was a good idea to pull right into their driveway, or even right in front of the house. “Let’s park a couple houses up and walk down there so as not to be too obvious.”

“Before we get out, I want to call Wendy,” I said. “I forgot to tell her that Andy called right before we left and said he’d be over around eleven to help out in any way he could. I know my daughter, and she’ll want to freshen up her makeup and comb her hair before he gets there.”

I spoke briefly with Wendy, and told her we’d be gone a little longer than expected because I was going to show Sheila a few things around town, which was technically the truth. I then stowed the cell phone in the pocket of my jacket and got out of the car.

It was still fairly early in the morning and, despite the beautiful weather, there was no activity on the street. It was quiet and serene with a soft breeze blowing. I was pleased that no one was outside their homes to observe us walking up to the Webster house.

The garage door was closed, but the door leading into the garage from the side yard was standing wide open. I doubt this would be considered an open invitation to enter the garage, but I hoped walking through that open door would not be construed as breaking and entering. It was not my goal to get arrested on my wedding day.

“What do you think?” I asked, pointing toward the side door.

“Well, I would take that as an indication they’re home. I’m not sure it would be wise to go into the garage though. It’s a good way to get shot as intruders. What if Buck is actually messing around in there? Then what would we say?” Sheila asked.

“We could say we were going to knock on the door until we heard a racket inside the garage, and figured he wouldn’t be able to hear the doorbell ring, so we decided to join him.”

“Join him in the garage for what reason?”

“I don’t know. We’ll just have to play it by ear.”

“Oh, boy—”

“Come on, it will be okay. Follow me,” I said. I really wasn’t convinced it would be okay, but we’d come this far and I hated to give up now.

Approaching the house from the next-door neighbor’s property line, we could hear Sandy’s voice coming from the back deck. I peeked around the corner of the house and saw her resting comfortably in a chaise lounge, holding a glass of tea and talking to someone on the phone. She appeared to be quite involved in the conversation and I didn’t think she’d be standing up and going into the garage any time soon.

Buck was even farther away, digging a hole on the opposite property line. A balled up Blue Spruce was lying on its side near him. I was happy to see him showing a little interest in the landscaping of the yard, which was bare and unattractive. The back of his t-shirt as he leaned into the shovel was soaked in sweat. He was deeply engrossed in his work.

“They are both in the back yard, and involved enough in what they’re doing to give us a few minutes in the garage. Let’s hurry in there and get out quickly,” I whispered to Sheila.

She nodded her head and followed me to the side door. She stepped back and let me enter first, perhaps afraid there was a dog resting in there. That thought had crossed my mind too, but I was relieved when we were met by silence as we stepped over the threshold.

Sure enough, the black Mustang was parked inside. I motioned for Sheila to follow me around to the front of the car, and when we got there I pointed at the red and yellow bumper sticker on the front of the car.

“Is prayer your steering wheel, or just your spare tire?” The sticker read.

“If I remember right, that’s a quote by Corrie Ten Boom,” Sheila said quietly.

“Who?” I was always amazed by the treasure-trove of fascinating, and sometimes useless, information Sheila carried around in her brain. I’d often encouraged her to try out for Jeopardy, hoping some day her knowledge of little-known trivia would pay off.

“Corrie Ten Boom was a Dutch holocaust survivor who spent time in a couple different concentration camps. She helped a lot of Jews escape the Nazis during World War Two. I remember she wrote an autobiography which was later turned into a movie,” Sheila explained.

“You really do need to get out more,” I told Sheila. I liked to read too, but memorizing the Encyclopedia Britannica was not my cup of tea.

“Hey, it’s interesting stuff.”

“It is interesting, I’ll admit. I’m just blown away by how much you’re able to remember. I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth this morning.”

“You did. Now let’s get out of here. We’ve accomplished what we came to do.”

“Okay. I’ll call Wyatt and let him know what we’ve discovered after we get back in the car. We should probably just tell him we saw Buck’s car on the road, not in his garage, because that would involve a lot more explaining than I’m prepared to do.”

Walking back around the side of the car, I happened to glance inside the cab of the Mustang. My eye caught a reflection of light glinting off an object in the little cubbyhole located in the center console of the car. Out of curiosity, I leaned over to take a closer look. Among other small items in the compartment, including a paper clip, a lighter, and about a dollar’s worth of change, was a Black Hills Gold ring, very similar to my engagement ring, except for the absence of a diamond with flanking rubies.

“Sheila! I can’t prove it, but I’m almost positive that ring belonged to Pastor Steiner. He had it on his right ring finger as he lay in the casket at his funeral. I assumed it was his wedding band because it was such a close match to the ones Stone and I bought. We wanted something different, and I was surprised at how much Thurman’s ring looked like ours.”

“But if he had it on at his funeral, how can Buck be in possession of it now?” Sheila asked. “Could he have removed it from Steiner’s hand before they closed the lid on the casket?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I remember seeing Buck and his wife at the funeral. I guess it’s possible he slipped it off the pastor’s finger when he walked up to view the body, and nobody noticed it was missing when they closed the lid to lower the box into the ground.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s possible. Ballsy, but possible.”

“Do you think there’s any significance of this discovery? Or could Buck just have coveted the ring, and wanted to steal it to make it his own? I’ll have to run the matter by Wyatt when I call him about the bumper sticker. I think it’s an odd coincidence, don’t you?”

“Well, you know how I feel about coincidences.”

Just as we stepped around the car toward the side door, six fluorescent lights on the ceiling of the garage flicked on. Sheila gasped behind me. I froze in my tracks.

“What are you two doing snooping around my wife’s car?” Buck asked, clearly angry. “I heard voices in here as I was coming to get a spade. What are you even doing in our garage?”

“Uh, well, we’re just, uh—”

“Yes?”

“We knocked on the front door and no one answered, but we could hear voices so we thought you might be in the garage when we saw the door was open.” It wasn’t much, as excuses go, but it was the best I could come up with. I could hear Sheila breathing heavily behind me.

“What did you want to see me about?” Buck asked.

“Actually, I just wanted to ask Sandy if she remembered me depositing a check from my former bank last week. I can’t find it and thought maybe I’d already deposited it, and then forgotten I’d done so in my haste to get everything ready in time for my wedding this afternoon,” I explained feebly. “Oh, my, look at the time! The ceremony is at three, so we’d better get going. I’ll speak with her next time I’m at the bank. Sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Webster.”

“No, just stay right here,” Buck demanded. I wasn’t sure if he believed my flimsy story, but the stern expression on his face had softened some. “Sandy is right out back on the patio. I’ll get her. It will only take a few seconds. Since you’re already here, you might as well speak to her.”

When Buck walked out the door, Sheila exhaled noisily. “Oh, my God! I knew this was a bad idea. I don’t suppose we could make a run for it now without looking suspicious. Did you really deposit a check at the bank?”

“Yes, fortunately I did. I recently closed my account at my bank in Shawnee and the check was for the balance of that account. I was transferring it to my new account at the bank where Sandy works. She was the teller at the drive-through window that day.”

“Oh, good, then maybe your story will ring true.”

Within seconds Buck re-entered the garage, followed by his wife. I greeted her warmly, and introduced her to Sheila. I then explained to Sandy my plight about having misplaced my check, and she replied, “Yes, you brought the check to my window to deposit. I remember you telling me you were somehow involved with investigating the death of Thurman Steiner.”

The tone of Sandy’s voice alerted me. Just then a light bulb went on in my brain. “Buck, did you say this Mustang was Sandy’s car?”

“Yeah, I hardly ever drive it. Only on days like today, when my pickup’s in the shop. My truck’s at Boney’s Garage getting a new fuel pump put in it.”

“Why did you want to know whose car it is?” Sandy asked. She sounded suspicious of me, and my interest in her car, and now I was suspicious of her, as well. If this was her car and not her husband’s, was it Sandy who had sped off down Cedar Street shortly after the estimated time of Steiner’s murder? Did she have a connection to the pastor, and if so, what was it? I didn’t recall ever seeing her at the church, or any of the church-related events.

“Oh, no reason, really. I just think it’s an awesome-looking ride, and I was wondering what kind of fuel mileage you got in it. I drive a sports car myself, but I get amazingly good mileage with it.”

“That’s nice,” Sandy said. I could tell she really didn’t give a damn if I got two miles to the gallon, or ninety, but I pretended I really believed she was being sincere.

“I also noticed you have a ring very similar to mine lying in the storage compartment in your console. See?” I held my left arm out for her to admire my ring, which I’d picked up at the jewelers on Thursday after it had been sized. Even though my wrist was in a cast, my fingers were exposed. “I just love Black Hills Gold, don’t you?”

Buck glanced at my ring, and then peered into the cab of the car to look at Sandy’s. “They are a lot alike, aren’t they?”

“I suppose,” Sandy said. She glared at me, and then turned to glare at Buck, as if suddenly convinced we were involved in a conspiracy against her. She never blinked once as her husband spoke again.

“Isn’t that the ring you used to always wear around your neck all the time? Why’d you stop wearing it all of a sudden?”

“Don’t know. Just did.”

“That’s funny,” Buck continued. “I never saw you take it off even once for four or five months, and now you’re not wearing it at all. Where did it even come from?”

“I got it from a friend,” was all Sandy said in response to his question.

“Want to know what’s even funnier?” I asked. “Pastor Steiner had a ring just like it too. Same two-toned gold colors, and same floral pattern. Isn’t that odd? He was actually wearing it in his casket at the funeral. I assumed it was his wedding ring and his children wanted him buried with it out of respect for him and their mother.”

“That really is funny,” Sandy said. She was not laughing, or even smiling. She appeared to catch on to the fact I was putting two and two together. “Hang on a second, Lexie. I have something in the house I want to give you.”

I watched her turn and walk through the doorway that led from the garage into the house. That bad feeling I’d had when we’d entered the vacant warehouse the day before had come back. I didn’t much like the look in Sandy’s eyes when she’d said she had something she wanted to give me. But there was little I could do but stand there and wait.

I glanced from Sheila to Buck. Sheila looked alarmed, and Buck looked perplexed. I would have loved to know what was going through his mind. Before I could dwell on it, however, Sandy rushed back out the door brandishing a very large handgun. I didn’t know if it was a forty-five, a nine-millimeter, or what, only that it reminded me of the pistol Clint Eastwood had carried in the Dirty Harry movie Stone and I had watched recently on HBO.