Let Loose (21 page)

I pushed the remnants of my coffee away.
“What about Red? Are we saying we think Peter is right? Did Ethel
kill him?”

Rhonda shook her head. “I can’t believe
that.”

“Even if he caught her in the act?” I asked.
But that brought us back to where we started. Neither of us could
see Ethel actually stealing a snowmobile herself.

“I don’t think she did it,” I declared.

“Killed him?”

“Any of it.” Ethel took care of other people.
It’s what she did.

“So?”

“Someone is setting her up.”

“You said yourself there’s a connection
between the thefts and her friends.”

“So one of them is a thief. Or someone close
to one of them is a thief. Or it’s just a giant coincidence.” I
didn’t know, but there was no way Red caught Ethel hot-wiring a
snowmobile, then let her go and waited to call the police until the
next day. The entire idea held about as much water as a rusty
colander.

“There’s another thing,” I added. “Whoever
killed Red let his team loose. Ethel is a dog lover and so are the
rest of her group. Plus, Ethel knows huskies. There’s no way she
would have let them go or let someone else let them go. She’d have
known they would run off, and she would never endanger a dog.”

Pristine, iron-clad logic that even Peter
Blake wouldn’t be able to argue with.

“So, someone is setting her up.”

“Yep.” I just had to figure out who.

o0o

Before pursuing my theory more, I decided I’d
take my new realization to Peter so he could be the hero and do the
right thing. Namely, let Ethel go.

My detective boyfriend, however, was not as
impressed with my logic as I’d been. In fact, based on the strained
look on his face, he wasn’t impressed at all.

“Would I let a team of huskies go in below
zero weather?” I asked.

“Would you kill someone?” he replied.

“No, but neither would Ethel.”

He raised a brow. “Speaking of Ethel, I was
planning on talking to you about your visit this morning.”

“Really?” I glanced at my wrist, pretending
there was a watch strapped to it. “Maybe later. I promised Betty
I’d pick up more copies of her poster. There’s been a real run on
them.”

Without waiting for the second brow to arch,
I scurried from his office.

I had not promised Betty I would pick up more
posters, and there had not been a run on them. In fact, last I
checked they were stacked up behind the counter in my shop,
threatening to crush some unsuspecting customer who mistakenly
lingered too long at the register. But Peter and I were still fresh
off our semi-break-up, and I wasn’t willing to delve into what
would surely be dangerous territory.

Besides, if he wasn’t willing to listen to
reason, I’d have to find someone who would.

George was no more receptive.

“But George, you know what an animal lover
Ethel is. Or if you don’t, call the Humane Society. I’m sure they
will vouch for her.”

He picked a fast food cup off of a stack of
papers and set it next to his computer. After a second, he picked
it up again and took a large slurp through the straw.

“And huskies... she knows huskies... she’d
know they would run.”

He set the cup down and flipped on his
monitor.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared
him down.

He didn’t seem to notice.

The police, obviously, were content arresting
the first person who tripped into their path.

I put on my best scowl.

It took five minutes, but finally he bowed to
the pressure of my displeasure and looked up.

“Did you need something?”

I started to growl, but then I realized I did
have other business with the police.

“Yes,” I declared, showing my
self-righteousness by rising to my full five foot three inches of
height. “I found something missing from my house.”

“Oh.” Interest shot through his eyes. He
opened his desk drawer and took out a form. “What was it?”

“Uh...” I screwed one eye shut and tried not
to stutter. “I don’t know exactly.”

Being a friend, George kept his face
blank.

“You see I found this box...” I went on,
explaining how I’d found the box and where I’d left it and how the
next morning it was both open and empty.

Watching George, I didn’t notice that another
member of the force had joined us. My dear friend Detective Stone
leaned against the reception desk.

“So you stole a box from your neighbor and
now want to report that it was stolen from you?”

I shoved down a growl. “Not the whole box.
Just what was inside it.”

“Which was?”

I ground out a reply. “I don’t know.”

“Interesting. Do you have the box?”

“Not with me.”

Stone sighed the sigh of the superior. “Well,
then, there’s not much I can do with that, is there?”

I knew plenty he could do with that, but
politeness and a desire to not sleep in a cell that night kept me
from sharing.

“I can bring it by tomorrow,” I offered.

“Do that,” he said. He leaned down and
whispered something in George’s ear. George, his gaze still on his
form, nodded.

After Stone had walked away, he looked up.
“Okay, thanks, Lucy. Bring us the box when you get a chance. Or if
I have someone coming that direction, I’ll have them stop by.”

I grunted again. My house wasn’t exactly on a
high traffic route. I knew when I was being given the brush
off.

Disgruntled and totally disillusioned, I
left.

o0o

On the way home to let the dogs out for a
while, I realized that if something had been taken from the box
that I’d gotten from Craig’s, Craig might need to know... Or Craig
might be involved.

I pulled over near the campground to consider
the two possibilities.

Craig had had the box in the trash for pick
up. Why would he break into my house to get whatever was in it
back? And why break into my house at all? If he found out that I’d
taken the box and wanted it, why not just knock on my door and ask?
Surely I wasn’t that scary.

But then... how would Craig have known that I
had the box? He didn’t see me take it. Had the men in the garbage
truck told him? Or had they broken into my house?

But if they had... how had they known there
was something in the box worth taking? It was left for trash pickup
after all.

As usual, I had information but it all added
up to nothing.

My only option seemed to be to either ask the
garbage men, ask Craig, or both. But considering I suspected one of
them had trashed my house just last night, neither option seemed
like the smartest plan, at least on my own.

After my conversation with Rhonda, I also
realized I needed to know more information about when the
snowmobiles were stolen from Craig’s. Ethel had said the night of
the fund-raiser, but was it after the fund-raiser? Had Craig gone
somewhere after the event, explaining how Red might have seen
something and Craig hadn’t?

Or was our theory that Red’s death was
related to the robbery at Craig’s completely off track?

I needed a buddy and a cover story. Or a
buddy who could get to Craig and do the questioning for me.

o0o

I approached Betty the next morning at the
shop.

“You want me to do what?” She spun on her
stool and flipped her boa over her shoulder.

“Call Craig and ask him if he has any Model T
parts, and while you’re at it, pump him for details on what he did
after the fund-raiser.”

“Why?”

“Because...” I filled her in on the box,
where I’d gotten it and the theories Rhonda and I had about it,
Craig’s missing snowmobiles, and Red’s murder.

“So, you think he broke into your house, and
you want me to call him?”

“I don’t know that he knows I took the box. I
want you to feel him out, see if you think he does.”

“Sounds dicey to me.” She shrugged. “But what
the boogie, you only go around the dance floor once.”

She dialed his number while I stood next to
her holding my breath.

“Craig? This is Betty Broward. You know
Everett’s been working on restoring a Model T for longer than bees
have had knees, and I heard from...” She creatively inserted the
name of the owner of local junk yard. “...that you might have some
old automobile parts. Everett’s birthday is coming up and I’m
wondering if you might have something you’d be willing to get rid
of.”

I couldn’t hear Craig’s response, but it must
not have been too startling. Betty didn’t throw down the phone and
scream or anything.

“Really? That would be great. Tomorrow? Fine.
I’ll stop by.”

She hung up the phone and glared at me. “I
hope you know you’re paying for whatever piece of junk I have to
buy.”

I nodded.

“Plus gas.”

Another nod.

“And lunch.”

I nodded again and then backed away. I could
only afford so much.

o0o

Friday, while Betty and Rhonda, who’d agreed
to go along, met with Craig, Kiska and I set off to learn more
about the trash company.

I’d seen their truck at least once before
traveling down my road, but now that I thought about it, none of my
immediate neighbors used them, or at least I’d never seen the truck
stop for a pick up, except at Craig’s.

However, if they were making the drive out
there at all, I figured they had to be in the market for more
business.

So with that as my cover and with Kiska as
back-up, we pulled into a gravel-covered lot next to a Quonset
hut.

There was no sign, but this was the address
listed in the online phone directory.

I got out, Kiska in tow, and wandered
around.

The front door to the hut was locked, so I
walked around to the back. At the rear was a garage door, but it
was shut and also locked.

I moved back to the front. As I did, the
truck that I’d seen when I left Craig’s pulled into the lot.

I couldn’t tell if the two men in front were
the same ones that I’d seen at Craig’s, but by the looks of things,
this operation wasn’t that big. Chances were good that they
were.

Kiska and I waited by the front door as the
driver climbed out of the truck. I noticed the back of the truck
was not overly full.

Light day, I guessed, or they were even more
in need of clientele than I’d figured.

Either way it appeared they would have plenty
of time to talk to little ol’ me.

The driver walked toward the building with
his head down, checking his phone. He was so engrossed in whatever
he was doing, he almost bumped into Kiska.

“Whoa. What are you doing here?” he
asked.

Since we hadn’t exactly sneaked up on him,
and my bright red rig wasn’t exactly invisible parked where it was,
I had to wonder if he’d inhaled something a little more mood
altering than truck exhaust on his latest run.

It seemed rude, however, to ask. Instead, I
pretended to pull Kiska closer. In actuality, I just pulled a
little slack out of the leash. Kiska wasn’t getting up for anything
so trivial as my demands or this guy’s attempt to run into him.

“I wanted pricing on trash pickup,” I
responded.

He lowered his phone. “You do?”

“Yes.” I gave him my address.

He shoved his phone into his front pocket.
“Not in our area.”

“But I’ve seen your truck there.”

He peered at me. “Where’d you say it
was?”

I gave him the address again and added, “Past
Moose Creek campground.”

“Oh, yeah. We do drive out there some, or
did. They’re reworking things.”

“Reworking? So you aren’t picking up there
anymore?”

“Not sure. You’d have to talk to the office
and they’re not in today.”

Not being “in” at 10 a.m. on a Friday seemed
like a poor business choice, but this was Montana. I’d seen
worse.

“Is there a number I could call?”

“Yeah...” He slid his jaw to the side as if
struggling to come up with it.

There had been a number listed online, but
the way this was going, I had to wonder if it would work. I waited
for whatever power source he used to operate his brain to kick
in.

It took long enough that Kiska got bored and
went to sniff the concrete pad that served as a front porch to the
hut.

Finally, the gerbil wheel got rolling.

The garbage man pulled his phone from his
pocket and thumbed his way to a number. I dutifully took my own
from my pocket and entered the digits as he read them off.

“I’m Lucy Mathews,” I said, holding out my
hand.

He stared at my extended arm until I felt
awkward enough that I pretended I had an itch and a need to rub my
palm on my hip, but I kept my gaze bright and expectant.

Finally, he uttered, “Larry.”

No last name, but then I wasn’t getting the
feeling I was going to be looking Larry up for a lunch date any
time soon.

He shook his head, returned his phone to his
pants and pulled a set of keys out instead. Stepping past Kiska, he
unlocked the door.

He obviously thought our business was done.
Unfortunately, I had yet to learn anything of use to me. I decided
to be a bit more direct.

“You pick up for Craig Ryan though, don’t
you? I thought I saw this truck there the other day. It’s what gave
me the idea to call.”

His eyes moved side to side. “Could be. I
just go where they tell me.”

I described the placement of Ryan’s house and
the little description I could give of where his drive met the
road. There wasn’t a lot to describe besides the trash cans and his
mail box, which aside from being battered wasn’t all that different
from any other mail box.

“Big green box. Looks like someone backed
into it,” I said.

He paused and looked at me. Then he moved his
gaze to my rig. “I do remember you.”

His tone said what he remembered wasn’t
complimentary, but that didn’t mean he’d seen me take the box or
broken into my house to retrieve whatever was tucked inside it.