Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) (13 page)

The tubs sat on a wooden box about four feet by two feet, and I set them aside to examine the box. It had three latches. Two were the loop-over-a-catch kind common to briefcases. The center one required a key, but the key was taped to the end of the box. I removed the tape, unstuck the key, and used it to open the latch.

Inside was what looked like an over-sized shotgun. Near its barrel, four nasty-looking projectiles rested in packing foam cut precisely to fit their outlines.

A soft rustle behind me served as warning, and something shifted in the beam of my flashlight. I meant to turn, but before I could, a terrible blow landed just above my ear. I fell to the dirt floor, unable to move, think, or even protect my face from the impact. Pencil-thin strips of light came and went. Noises seemed to come from far away. I was pushed roughly aside, and I felt rather than heard my groan of protest. Feet stepped around me. Metal snapped against metal; wood scraped against wood. More steps, and the ladder groaned as weight shifted on and off its rungs. My brain was only beginning to recover when I heard, “If you’re a good detective, you’ll find a way out of here.”

The trapdoor slammed shut, and a metallic snap indicated the padlock had been set back in place. Steps sounded on the wooden floor above. Then there was nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Barb

Though I had anticipated seeing my friend Shirley for some time, I was distracted as I drove south. What if Rose Isley was still alive somewhere? Was I wasting time reliving the past when I should be working to find her?

At my age I miss very few rest areas, and each time I stopped, I checked for phone messages. There was nothing from Faye all morning, which meant everything was fine.

Shirley was preparing lunch when I arrived, so I sat in her kitchen as she worked. We spent a while catching up as we sipped iced tea. It was good to laugh at our young selves and the things we’d done, said, and believed.

It was just after one when my phone rang. Shirley was clearing away the dishes, and I excused myself to answer. The caller ID said it was Retta, but it was Pansy’s voice I heard when I answered. “Ms. Evans? I have something to tell you, and Mrs. Stilson is busy. She said we could use her phone if we needed to.”

“Okay.” I was pleased she’d chosen to tell me something first, before she told Retta. Iris was sweet and Daisy was cute, but Pansy was a sharp little cookie, and it appeared she trusted me.

“What is it, Pansy?”

“We’re at your house. Mrs. Stilson is inside and Mrs. Burner is gone, but I think I saw Sharky drive by.”

My first thought was
Why is Retta at the house?
Chiding myself for being overly suspicious, I focused on what Pansy had said. “Are you sure it was Sharky?”

“Well, no. Iris and Daisy didn’t see him at all, and I just got a quick glimpse. This guy drove by in an old beater, and he was stretching his neck to look like Sharky does, you know? Like a turkey buzzard pecking at road kill.”

On one hand, I trusted Pansy. On the other, I couldn’t think of a reason Sharky would drive by my house. It was possible her fears had turned an innocent passer-by into the monster she feared. With all that had happened to her lately, it was understandable.

“It might have been Sharky,” I said, “but it might not. You shouldn’t worry about it.”

“But what if he’s looking for me—for us?”

“I can handle him,” I said, “and I’ll be back home tomorrow afternoon. If you see him again, though, tell Retta to contact Chief Neuencamp. It’s very important that we locate him.”

“I will,” she vowed. “I want to be a detective, like you.”

That made me smile. “Thanks for the call, Pansy.”

Shirley drove into the city, showing me the sights. Though I enjoyed her company, I couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on at home. Had Pansy really seen Sharky? Might he have plans to kidnap her? Should I warn Retta to be extra vigilant?

I hate it when people constantly check their phones for messages. It seems to indicate they’re looking for someone or something more interesting than the person they’re with. Still, I sneaked a look at my messages several times that afternoon, once while Shirley visited the restroom and twice while she was trying on clothes. Nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Faye

“Mom?” Cramer’s voice was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard. “Mom, are you in here?”

I’d promised myself my sons would come looking for me, but when it finally happened, I sobbed aloud with relief. Rising stiffly from the corner where I’d sat for almost an hour, I used a two-liter water bottle to bang on the trapdoor. “Under the floor! Take the mattress off the bottom bunk!”

Cramer found the trapdoor easily enough, but he called out, “There’s no key.”

They’d tossed it. The hopeful feelings I’d begun to let grow were squashed back into the pit of my despair. I heard Cramer pulling at the door, grunting with the effort. “There’s no place to get a hold,” he said. “And there’s nothing to use for a lever.”

I thought about the rifles I’d seen earlier. Could I load one, shoot through the trapdoor, and destroy the padlock? I doubted my marksmanship, having last fired a gun several decades ago, and there was also the fact that I had no idea how to load a rifle.

Cramer was thinking more logically. “I saw some bolt cutters in the tool shed,” he shouted. “I’ll get them.” Pausing, he asked, “Will you be okay?”

“Yes,” I called. “But hurry.”

I’ve always had a fear of heights. I hate bridges and skyscrapers and roller coasters. This new experience was revealing another panic-inducing fear. For those first few minutes after the trapdoor slammed, I’d thought I might lose it completely. It was hard to breathe, though I could see the ventilation holes Ben had dug in the walls and feel the fresh air they provided. Knowing they were there wasn’t enough. My chest still felt like it would explode. My arms and legs twitched with repressed fear. I tried to dig my way out for a while, but with only forks and spoons for tools, I’d been unable to even make a start on the hard-packed walls.

The tiny logical part of my mind that remained whispered that Cramer or Bill would come looking when I didn’t return. I struggled to remember what I’d told them. Had I mentioned the trapdoor? Had I told them the trapdoor was hidden by the bed frame? I couldn’t recall, but they’d figure it out. At least that’s what I tried to believe.

I held onto my sanity by singing. Recalling lyrics and thinking up the next song kept my mind busy, allowing me to avoid turning into a raving lunatic. Mostly I sang hymns, but I threw in some Blondie and a little Doctor Hook for diversity. It took everything I had not to give in to panic, but belting out “The Cover of the Rolling Stone” helped a little.

The last stretch of time was easier, knowing Cramer would return. I followed him in my imagination: Out the door, through the woods, down the road that circled the barn, and into the tool shed. Once he found the bolt cutters, he’d stop and tell Bill the situation, and he and Carla would return with him. I imagined them coming up the slope, around the barn, through the woods, and back to the cabin. I tried not to hurry them, but it felt like eons before there were steps above me again.

“We’re here, Mom.” Cramer was panting from exertion. “I had trouble getting to the bolt cutters because we moved so much stuff out to the shed.” Metallic sounds accompanied his words, and I heard the snap that signaled the end of the padlock’s usefulness. With rattles and thumps, the lock disengaged from the hook, and I heard it clunk as Cramer tossed it onto the plank floor.

I rose from my corner, knowing I should stay out of the way but unable to do it. I wanted out of there more than I’d wanted anything for a long time. When the heavy door rose and light spilled down on me, I started singing Sting’s, “If You Love Somebody.” Always willing to support me in my craziness, Cramer did backup as I climbed the ladder: “Free, free, set them free.”

Our song didn’t keep me from bursting into tears as I hugged my sons and blessed the daylight.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Retta

When Cramer’s name came up on my phone, I assumed he had a question about the farm. “What’s up, dude?”

“Aunt Retta, I thought I’d tell you what happened before you hear it somewhere else.” He explained about Faye’s experience at the cabin. “I’m taking her to Sheriff Brill’s office as soon as the doctor finishes looking her over.” In that helpless tone men get when they have to deal with a crying woman he added, “Carla’s with her.”

“You’re sure she’s all right?”

“Yeah. She was plenty scared, though.”

“Who wouldn’t be? Thanks for the call, Honey.”

I pressed end, grateful there was at least one person in my family who found it important to keep me up to date on things like the attempted murder of my sister.

Iris, Pansy, and Daisy were outside, playing with a paddle-ball set I’d dug out of the garage. Iris and Daisy took turns with one paddle, since there were only two, while Pansy waited impatiently for them to find the ball and send it back her way.

“Girls, we need to go into town,” I called. “I’m pretty sure Sheriff Brill is going to need to talk with you again.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Faye

My sons insisted I go to the walk-in clinic and be checked out for possible concussion. Once I was pronounced fit, Cramer drove me to the sheriff’s office. He’d called ahead, so Sheriff Brill and Rory were both there. The four of us sat in a small conference room trying to put together bits and pieces that, so far, made little sense. They sipped coffee or soda, but for some reason I couldn’t get enough water. Cramer noticed, and as I got close to the bottom of a bottle he’d rise quietly, go down the hall to the machine, and get me another.

We went over what I knew, which wasn’t much. The attacker had been male, and he’d probably hit me from above, because I hadn’t heard him on the ladder. He’d used some sort of club, perhaps a tree branch, since I had a small cut that the doctor said wasn’t something a fist would cause. There might have been more than one guy, but only one spoke. He or they hadn’t intended to kill me but hadn’t worried about whether I died in that awful hole either. The weapon I’d been looking at was now missing.

“That’s likely the reason someone followed you out there,” Brill said, pulling at that earlobe. “McAdams built himself a secret bunker and hid it down there. Somebody wanted it bad.”

“Why?” I was confused about both Ben’s reason for having such a weapon and someone else’s willingness to kill me to get it.

“We’ve got a few of that type around here--guys prepared to survive if things fall apart.”

“When things fall apart,” Rory corrected. “Guys like McAdams are convinced they will.” He turned to me. “Describe the weapon, and be as specific as you can.”

I tried, but I lacked the proper terminology. I said things like “really big bullets” and “kind of like a shotgun.” Rory and Brill glanced at each other.

“Sounds like an M-79,” Rory said. “Legal if he’d registered it, but grenades definitely aren’t intended for the general public.”

Brill reached for the phone. “Nearest place to get one of those would be Grayling.” Into the receiver he said, “Lila, can you connect me with someone over at the National Guard base? Tell them I need to know if they’re missing any munitions.”

While Brill waited for the call to go through, Rory explained what I’d seen. “An M-79 is a grenade launcher that’s small enough to conceal. It packs a pretty good punch, a 40 millimeter shell—a grenade—that can travel up to 400 yards.” He cupped his chin in one hand. “How many shells were there?”

I scrunched my face, trying to picture the case. “Four, I think.”

Rory sighed. “Somebody could do a lot of damage with four of those things.”

“It would be helpful to know what McAdams planned to aim them at,” Brill agreed. His call went through, and he spoke into the phone. “Sheriff Brill over in Millden County. I have a citizen here that discovered an M-79 hidden in a shack on her property.” He paused to listen. “Four rounds, she thinks.”… “That’s just it, Colonel. Before she could call us someone knocked her on the head and took it.” He changed the phone to his left ear and took up a pen with his right hand. “Sounds like you’re missing one.”

When Brill hung up, his face was grim. “As a good-will gesture to our allies, we offer our facilities for training. They had some foreign troops in last month, a group from Latvia, and after they left, there was a discrepancy in the number of M-79s the colonel thought he had and the number he actually had.”

“One launcher missing,” Rory guessed.

“Right. They looked into it, but the colonel figured one of the generals helped himself to a souvenir. Nobody wanted to make a big deal out of it. You don’t accuse your allies of theft.”

Rory shifted in his chair. “You think the visiting troops provided an opportunity for someone from here to cover his theft.”

“The colonel is sending us a list of people who were on duty at Grayling during the session.”

“Sheriff?”

We turned to see Retta in the doorway. Behind her were the Isley girls, decked out in new clothing. The two older girls had shorter hair than they’d had yesterday. Iris had a blunt cut that framed her face and highlighted her eyes. Pansy had pink streaks in a short, spiky style that made me dread Barb’s reaction.

“It’s a good thing Cramer called me.” Retta’s tone hinted she was used to being left out.

“I would have,” I defended myself. “I didn’t think the girls—”

“They’re here because they’re the best source of information the sheriff’s got.” She gestured briskly. “Come in, ladies.”

Brill seemed okay being bossed if Retta was doing the bossing. He turned to Rory. “Should I see if I can get Julie down here?”

Rory gave me the briefest glance of bemusement. “Can’t hurt.”

The room was getting crowded, so I told Cramer he should go. Giving me an extended hug, he said in my ear, “That was scary. Let’s not do it again.”

“Fine with me!” It was hard to let go of him, but I told myself I’d been a big girl for too long to turn into a shrinking violet now.

As we waited for the psychologist, Rory and I took drink orders for the newcomers. By the time we’d dug up enough change for the machines and returned with sodas, Julie was on her way. At Retta’s insistence, I repeated the account of my ordeal, letting on that I hadn’t been in the bunker long before Cramer found me. I also left out the grenade launcher entirely. I’d tell her about that when the girls weren’t around. The older girls looked embarrassed at hearing about Ben’s secrets. Daisy lost interest early on and began counting the ceiling tiles softly to herself.