Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) (11 page)

“I’ll help.” She took a second leaf rake from its place on the garage wall, and we headed to the back of the house. As we worked I asked, “What was Ben like?”

She shrugged. “He was okay, I guess. Not like a dad, though.”

“You remember your own dad?”

She bit her lip. “Pretty well. Pansy kind of does, but she says it’s just little bits. Daisy was a baby when he died, so she doesn’t remember him at all.”

“He was killed in a car accident?”

“Yeah. We were on our own for a while, and money was really tight. Mom met Ben at church, and he seemed real nice. He’d buy us dinner after service—just McDonalds, but still. After a couple of months, he took us all out to the farm.” Her gaze drifted as she remembered. “It was June, and it was so pretty out there, you know? The trees and all the flowers.”

Our mother prided herself on her flowerbeds, and I recalled the profusion of blooms she left behind: peonies and daffodils, tulips and hyacinth, snowballs and lilacs. I could almost smell them myself, and I had a moment of nostalgia for the place. Maybe I wasn’t the same girl who’d hated living on the farm. Maybe my own flower beds were proof it had influenced me.

“Pansy went crazy for the animals,” Iris was saying. “Back then Ben just had chickens and cows, but she was out there getting to know them ten seconds after we arrived.”

“Ben asked you all to move out there with him.”

“He said what a great family we made, and how we could live the way the Lord intended, growing food and taking care of the land.”

“She agreed to live with him but refused to marry him?”

Iris sighed. “She said if we ever had to leave, she didn’t want him to have any hold on us.”

“How did he take that?”

“He was really grumpy. Pastor Cronk kept taking Mom into his office for private talks. Afterwards she’d tell me what he said.”

“And what was that?”

She frowned a little as she tried to get it right. “Pastor said God wants the church to bless the relationship between a man and a woman, but Mom said God is patient, so He wouldn’t mind if she thought about it for a while.”

“It sounds like your mom didn’t quite trust Ben.” Iris didn’t answer, and I asked, “Was she right about that?”

“Like I said, he was never mean, but he was kind of weird.”

I spoke casually. “Weird how?”

“A lot of the time he didn’t talk. Sometimes we’d go all day without Ben saying anything except yes and no. Other times he’d talk for hours—at least that’s what it seemed like. It was almost like a sermon, but sometimes it didn’t even make sense.”

“What kind of things did he say?”

Iris stooped and picked up a stone that had found its way into the flower bed. “He talked about being a good Christian a lot, but Ben drank beer—a lot of it. Sometimes he got into fights at the bar, and once he came home with a big old black eye. He didn’t talk to any of us for about two days.” She pulled tangled vines from the rake’s teeth. “He lied sometimes, too.”

“Lied?”

“Yes. Like at first, we thought he owned the farm.”

“He told you that?”

“Nobody remembers him saying it, but—”

“He let you believe it.”

“Right.” She attacked a corner, angling the rake to remove a clump of wet, rotten leaves. “He talked like the farm equipment belonged to him, but later we found out it didn’t.”

“No. It belongs to Mr. Masters.”

Iris smiled. “He’s nice. In the winter he makes sure we have enough feed for the animals.”

“Did Ben ever hurt your mom?”

“No. He always said women are weak and need a man to protect them.” Iris paused, leaning on the rake handle. “All the men at church say stuff like that.”

“About women being weak?”

“They say how precious we are and how God wants them to cherish us.” Her brow puckered. “But my teacher says men who only let women do what they say are bullies.”

“You girls were only supposed to do what Ben wanted.”

“Mom, too.” Her eyes narrowed as she sought an example. “We had a car at first, but Ben said Mom had to sell it. He took the money and bought this old truck. Said it was more practical.”

“For the farm.”

“Yes. He had Mom put the truck in her name, but she wasn’t supposed to drive it because women aren’t very good drivers.” She paused, remembering. “Ben drove, Daisy sat on Mom’s lap, and Pansy and I had to sit on the little sideways seats in the back.”

“Not very comfortable for five people.”

“It was just a pain doing everything his way, you know? Lately we did most of the work on the farm, but Ben still gave the orders.”

“Was he busy with something else?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“I know your mom paid the rent. Did she handle the money?”

“Yes, but she had to show Ben what she spent at the end of the month.” Bitterly she added, “And it was mostly our money!”

While Iris went to get the wheelbarrow we’d left at the front of the house, I thought about how a man like Ben McAdams keeps a woman under his thumb: fear of being alone, fear of financial insecurity, fear of making him angry. Often those fears make a woman afraid to leave, afraid even to speak up.

When she returned Iris said something that revealed she hadn’t been as willing as her mother to trade freedom for a place to live. “I wrote about the things Ben said once for English class, and the teacher kept me after. She said if he ever got mean I should let her know, but he didn’t. He told us what we had to do, and we had to listen to a bunch of stuff about the wrong kind of women.”

“What did he mean by that?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s really weird.”

I smiled at her. “I can deal with weird.”

Her answering smile was brief. “Well, women are ruining the government, Ben said. Ever since they got the vote, things have gone bad. Men can’t find jobs because women take them. Women vote for stupid programs like Social Security and welfare and laws about global warming, which Ben doesn’t—didn’t believe is real.”

“But didn’t Social Security support you after your father died?”

“Yes.”

“And Ben thought it was okay to accept that money?”

“He said if the government’s dumb enough to give money away, we should take it. But he says—I mean, he said—him taking us in was proof that if the government didn’t stick its nose in, people like my mom would figure out how to survive.”

“Living with a man she didn’t love and being his slave?”

Iris gave me a funny look, and I realized I’d said too much. While I’m nowhere near Barb’s level of feminism, I was still irritated by Ben McAdams’ view of women.

“I guess we all see things differently,” I said in a lame attempt to be fair. Taking a new grip on my rake I said, “We’ll finish this bed then go inside for a cold drink.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Faye

I was alone in the office Saturday morning. For weeks Barb had planned to drive to Flint to visit an old friend. She’d considered cancelling, but I insisted nothing would happen over the weekend that required her presence. It’s sad when you have to encourage another person to relax and have fun once in a while.

The phone rang around nine, and I answered with my usual, “Smart Detective Agency, Faye speaking.”

There was a pause then a voice said, “Mrs. Burner? It’s Gabe.” Gabe has to get up his courage just to speak to me, since he’s convinced I dislike him. While he’s half right, he’s also half wrong. Gabe is growing on me—slowly, I admit. At first I thought he was evil. Then I decided he was merely annoying. Now that he’s our part-time employee, I’m working my way to Gabe being only mildly irritating. However, once a guy kidnaps a person, she’s likely to have trouble warming up to him.

“Hello, Gabe,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I went out to the farm, like Mrs. Stilson asked me to, but there’s people out there. I thought you should know.”

“I’m so sorry, Gabe. I guess nobody remembered to let you know my son has moved in out there. He’ll take care of the animals.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll pay you for going out today, since it’s our mistake.”

“Thanks. It was just kinda funny, you know? Mindy and me went out there, and we saw those three men coming out of the barnyard. I didn’t know whether to shoo ’em off your property or not, but they jumped in a green truck and left before we even got out of her car. I didn’t know it was your son.”

I glanced at the clock. Cramer is a night owl, a late riser on weekends, and a very sound sleeper. “That wasn’t my son, Gabe. You say there were three men?”

“Yeah. One was pretty big, one was skinny like me, and the driver was kind of medium-size with dark, curly hair.”

Colt Farrell.

“Thanks for the call, Gabe. I’ll get a check out to you.”

“Um, could I come and pick it up this afternoon? I got a truck payment due.”

“Sure. I’ll have it ready, but come to the back door. We close the office at noon on Saturdays.”

My first instinct was to call Barb, but I stopped myself, knowing she’d turn around and come back. Instead I called Rory at home. By rights I should have contacted the sheriff, but when you know a police officer personally, and he knows you don’t create drama just to stir up excitement in your life, you gravitate toward him, even if the case isn’t in his jurisdiction.

“Good morning, Faye,” Rory said. “Did Barb get away all right?”

“She did.” I told him about Farrell’s second visit to the farm.

“Well,” he said, “technically it’s trespassing, but I doubt you called me to propose a slap on the wrist for Mr. Farrell.”

“I just wonder what kind of person he is.” Cops usually know who should be arrested as well as who has been. I wouldn’t strain our friendship by asking outright if Farrell was a criminal type who had yet to be caught, but I hoped Rory got the hint.

He chuckled. “I bought some speakers from his store once. It’s called Mr. A.I., like artificial intelligence, but most of his stuff is pretty run-of-the-mill. All I can tell you about Farrell is the speakers he sold me worked.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Barb

As I drove southward, in and out of spits of rain, my thoughts remained in Allport. I was worried about what would happen to the Isley girls, I was curious about where Rose was, and I was irritated with my sister Retta.

My plan had been to have a pleasant weekend. I’d meet an old friend, attend a show at Whiting Auditorium with her, and recall old times.

Then Retta had called, and what should have been a carefree trip became care-laden. Baby Sister’s view of my weekend was quite different from mine.

“I understand you’re off to Flint tomorrow,” she’d begun. When I affirmed that, she said, “Don’s mother has a birthday on Wednesday, and I thought you could drop off my gift to her. It will be a lot more personal than the mail or UPS.”

“Retta, your mother-in-law doesn’t know me from Mary Poppins.”

“Sure she would, once you tell her who you are. You two have met at least three times.”

“Over twenty-eight years. That doesn’t make us friends.”

“No, but she’d love to see you. She’s really lonely, and it would be so nice for her to have someone stop by. You could stay and visit for a while. You’ll just love her.”

“Isn’t she active in her church?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And didn’t you say she plays dominoes with a bunch of women?”

“Twice a week.”

“She doesn’t sound lonely to me.”

“Well, no, but she doesn’t get to see family very often.”

“I’m not family.”

“You’re almost. She told me once how much she admires you.”

“When was that—in 1998, at your Christmas dinner?”

“Maybe.” She sounded pouty. “It’s only twenty miles out of your way, Barbara. You could make an old lady happy with just a few hours of your time.”

“No.”

“Barbara—”

“Retta, I’m not visiting your mother-in-law. If you want her birthday present personally delivered, get in your car and drive down there yourself.”

“I’ve got the girls now,” she said stiffly. “I just thought since you were passing so close, you wouldn’t mind helping me out.”

“Well, I do mind.”

That was the end of the conversation, but it had pretty much wrecked my mood. It was clear Retta considered me a selfish brat willing to ignore a nonagenarian’s birthday. How anti-social is that?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Faye

As I was locking the front door at noon, I heard Gabe’s voice at the back. When I entered the kitchen, Gabe was standing just inside the door, his shirt damp from rain. Dale had just invited him to stay for lunch. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I wondered again what my husband saw in the Smart Detective Agency’s slightly goofy go-fer.

Dale dished up a third bowl of the chili I’d made the day before and set it before Gabe. Handing him the envelope containing the money, I took my own place at the table. Dale set eight crackers next to my bowl before passing the rest of the packet to Gabe.

“Chili smells great, Mrs. Burner.”

Gabe and Dale began discussing the problem he’d been having with his truck. I put the crackers to one side; I don’t care for them with chili, but Dale does.

“I put a new carburetor on,” Gabe said, “but it don’t sound right.”

“How’s the mix?” Dale asked.

I stopped listening then, so uninterested in Gabe’s gas mix I could hardly stand it. I’d finished lunch by the time my companions remembered I was there. While Dale got him a second bowl of chili, Gabe asked, “Miz Evans out on a date with the chief?”

Imagining Barb’s dismay at Gabe’s casual mention of her social life I replied. “No. She’s visiting a friend.”

“Oh.” In typical Gabe fashion, his mind went off on its own track. He shoveled chili in for a few seconds then asked, “Did you ever think about the chief being a chief?”

“What?”

He spoke slowly, as if I had a comprehension defect. “He’s the chief of police, and he’s an Indian too, so he might be—” He waved a hand, palm up, “—another kind of chief.”

Dale apparently thought that was the funniest thing he’d heard all week, and they snorted like teenagers. I just looked at them.

Gabe finished his bowlful and stood. “I’d better go. Mindy has to shop for a new outfit for some conference she’s going to, and I’m supposed to give advice.”