Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) (14 page)

“You poor thing,” Retta clucked over and over, stroking my arm. It’s embarrassing to be treated like a child at fifty, but she’s like that. When I finished she patted at my hair, which was no doubt a mess. Retta would have come out of a similar ordeal looking like Angelina Jolie in Lara Croft, Tomb Raider.

Julie arrived, looking younger than before in jeans and a tank top, and settled into the chair Cramer had vacated. Sheriff Brill questioned Iris and Pansy about the renovations Ben had made on the cabin. They reported they hadn’t been allowed near the place from early spring until a week or so before Ben disappeared.

“He acted like it was more his place than ours,” Pansy told us. “He said we should keep it nice and not go moving stuff around.”

“Did any of Ben’s friends help with the cabin?” Brill asked.

They looked at each other. “I don’t think so,” Pansy answered.

“That’s why they’ve been searching the property,” I said. “They knew he had—” With the girls in mind I changed my wording. “—things hidden, but they didn’t know where.”

“What’s the big secret?” Pansy demanded. “Is Ben a bank robber or something?”

A brief silence followed her question, but Rory stepped in. “We think he was planning a crime, Pansy, and there might have been others in on it. Can you tell us who Ben hung around with?”

“Well, Sharky’s the one—the one we don’t like much. Mr. Farrell came over a lot, but he pretty much ignored us unless it was to say, ‘Girl, bring me another beer.’” A natural mimic, she captured Farrell’s arrogance and misogyny in those few words.

“Who else?”

Pansy frowned. “Floyd. I don’t know his last name. Do you, Iris?”

“No. He’s big, though.”

“Real big,” Pansy affirmed. “Ben wasn’t small, but he looked it next to Floyd.”

Iris seemed unhappy with their inability to give us specifics. “You could ask Pastor. He might know.”

It was a good idea—as long as Pastor Cronk wasn’t in on whatever they planned to do with the grenade launcher. Glancing at me, Retta said, “We’ll see if he can help us.”

“Was Ben a good shot?” Brill asked.

“Really good,” Pansy said. “When he was in the army he got all kinds of medals for shooting.”

“Did he belong to the National Guard?”

She shook her head. “He said the military is bad because now they let women in. He had to spend all his time protecting girls who couldn’t pull their own weight.”

“But they taught him to shoot,” Iris added. “He liked that.”

If there was mischief afoot, Ben was the likely marksman. That’s why he had the grenade launcher, though he probably wasn’t the one who’d stolen it.

Brill was checking his computer. “Here’s the list the Guard sent over. No one named Colt Farrell on it.” He squinted at the list again. “And no one named Floyd. The other one is Sharky?”

Iris said, “I think it’s a nickname. He kinda looks like a shark.”

Brill leaned toward the screen. “So we don’t know Sharky’s real name and we don’t know Floyd’s last name.”

Daisy paused her counting. “His name is Floyd Stone, but Mr. Farrell calls him Grave Stone. I asked Ben why, and he said because Mr. Stone is as quiet as the grave.”

We fell silent at the thought that Ben was headed for his own grave. It lasted only until Daisy hit the bottom of her drink and made a loud slurping noise. The group laugh she got was more tension relief than anything else.

Brill finished his perusal. “No Stone on the list, either.”

“Sharky has to be the thief.” Rory turned to the girls. “What can you tell us about him?”

“He’s creepy,” Pansy said. “You have to walk way around him, because he’ll grab you and tickle you, even if you ask him not to.”

“Did Ben like Sharky?” Rory’s voice was deceptively casual.

After some thought Pansy said, “I don’t think so. Sometimes it seemed like he wanted to tell Sharky to leave us alone, but he’d put his lips together and keep quiet.”

“And your mother?”

“When they came over she’d send us upstairs as soon as we got our chores done. Lots of times Mom slept with Daisy, because they’d get real drunk.”

Another silence followed as the adults in the room struggled to accept the things some children learn to live with. Finally, Brill set rather delicate hands on the desk before him. “Mrs. Stilson, I think we’re finished with these young ladies for now. Thank you for bringing them down. Girls, you’ve been a lot of help.”

Retta wasn’t about to be dismissed just when things were getting interesting. She cast about the room, clearly looking for a way to stay. “Ms. Walters, I’d like a few minutes with the sheriff before I take the girls back home.”

Julie smiled graciously. “Let’s go outside, girls.”

Once they left she asked, “What’s next, Sheriff?”

“We try to find out what those guys were up to.”

“No reason to believe their plans are in the past,” Rory said. “McAdams’ death threw them, but they came after the weapon. I’d say someone else will use it, though maybe not as efficiently as Ben would have. They haven’t given up on making trouble.”

“So I repeat, what are we going to do about it?”

Rory’s brows rose at Retta’s inclusion of herself in the investigation. Brill said, “Mrs. Stilson--”

“Retta, please.” She gave him that smile again.

“Retta.” Slightly flushed, he went on. “We have no evidence anyone’s plotting treason or mayhem.”

“They stole that grenade thrower thing from the National Guard.”

“That’s a guess.”

“They attacked Faye and left her in the bunker to die!”

“She didn’t see who hit her. My people are processing the scene, but unless we find something to connect the attack to one of the men the girls named—” He left the statement hanging.

Retta didn’t give up. “We caught Farrell trespassing. Twice.”

“And he claims he was looking for property Ben borrowed. Poor grounds for arresting a law-abiding local businessman.”

Retta made a disgusted noise. I was frustrated too, but he was right. I rose from my chair. “I should get home. Dale will worry.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, Faye?” Retta hovered at my elbow as if I might collapse at any second.

“I’m fine. Rory’s going to give me a ride home. I’ll call you later.”

It was no surprise when she said, “We’ll follow you over there. Daisy can visit your dog, and we can figure out what to do next.” I couldn’t help picturing Retta tucking me into bed with a water bottle at my feet.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Barb

Shirley and I arrived at Whiting Auditorium to find the place filling with theater lovers. The show was good, as Whiting’s productions always are. I’d have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t kept wondering what was going on at home.

After the show we went her back to Shirley’s house, where we chatted for an hour before heading to bed. The guest room was comfortable, the house was quiet, but my sleep wasn’t restful. In the first place, I’m not at ease in someone else’s home, no matter how much I like them. In the second place, my mind kept returning to Allport, to the case that wasn’t really a case.

Neither of my sisters had texted or called all day. While I told myself they were simply giving me free time, it felt odd to be out of touch with them. If Faye found any trace of Rose Isley, she’d let me know. If Retta got a bit of information from the girls we could use to find their mother, she’d text. Rose’s disappearance had become a personal crusade for all of us. Slapping one of Shirley’s pillows into a different shape, I asked myself yet again,
What happened to the mother of those three lovely little girls?

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Faye

As Rory drove me home from the sheriff’s office, he made a recommendation. “You and Dale should get away from Allport for a while. I find a change of scenery helps me clear away bad images, so they don’t replay like film on a loop.”

I thought about the bad things he must have seen in his years as a Chicago cop, which helped me put my experience into perspective. I’d survived. I wasn’t hurt. With time, I’d be okay.

Rory was skeptical when I suggested Barb didn’t need to know about my adventure while she was miles away. “I’ll tell her the whole story when she can see for herself that I’m okay.”

“I’ve never lied to her.” He frowned at the car ahead of him. “It’s probably not an easy thing to do.”

“It isn’t,” I agreed. “If she calls and asks what’s going on, make like Eliza Doolittle and stick to your health and the weather.”

Retta’s car was parked outside my house, and I groaned. No doubt Dale had already heard the story from her, which made things ten times worse. With a grimace of understanding, Rory escorted me inside. Retta met us at the door, fussing about what a terrible time I’d had, patting my arm, and making me nervous despite her attempts to be caring.

One look at Dale told me he was a basket case, and Rory and I both set about trying to calm him. Despite our best efforts Dale blamed himself, saying he should have gone to the farm with me. I couldn’t see how he’d have prevented what happened, but logic doesn’t apply when someone we love is threatened.

As I searched for a way to reassure him other than repeating I was fine and it was over, I decided Rory was right: leaving town might be good for both of us. If new vistas could dull the terror I experienced each time I thought about how I might have ended up in that bunker, I was all for it.

When Rory, Retta, and the girls finally left, Dale was still upset. After he repeated for the fifth time that I might have died in that place, I asked, “Do you want me to quit the agency, Hon?”

Dale doesn’t move his head much since it disorients him, but he made a negative motion with his hand. “Barb would go on alone, which would drive you crazy.” He managed a weak grin. “Besides, I think you like sticking your nose in other people’s business.”

“Only when they ask us to!” I was relieved that he saw how important the agency was to me, but I knew he’d also counted the times my life had been in danger because of it.

“How about if you and I take a mini-vacation?”

Dale frowned. “You’d leave town in the middle of all this?”

“In the middle of what? There’s no case for the agency, and the police are investigating the little we know. What can we do?” I ran a hand through my hair, wincing when I inadvertently touched the lump behind my ear. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Barb won’t get home till late, and Retta mentioned she’s taking the girls to church. You and I could take a drive and get a little R&R.”

He liked the idea. “Maybe we could go up the lakeshore and stay somewhere overnight.”

“We could,” I said. “After we visit Harriet, of course.”

Dale grinned again. “Of course.”

Though I don’t like to text, I sent Barb a message rather than calling or leaving voicemail. Despite my flippant advice to Rory, I don’t lie well to anyone, and I cannot lie to Barb. Even on the phone, I’d feel like her direct gaze was seeking out my fibs and omissions, and the whole story would spill out. My text was simple: DALE & I ARE TAKING A LITTLE VACATION. WILL SEE YOU MON PM.

I spelled all the words correctly. Barb has no tolerance for texting shortcuts, though she admits a revamping of English spelling is long overdue. She has a little story she tells about Sir Walter Raleigh’s plan to oversee such an undertaking. Sadly, he offended the king and got beheaded before he could follow through.

Retta says if Walter was as persnickety about English as Barb is, it’s no wonder they chopped his head off. In my opinion, Raleigh could have revamped all he wanted. It wouldn’t have made a bit of difference once texting came along.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Retta

It was late when Faye called, but she’s a bit of a night owl, especially when she’s got things on her mind.

“Dale and I are going away for an overnight trip.”

That never happens, but I got it. “That’s probably a really good idea. Any idea where you’re going?”

“North, I guess. Dale likes the area around Mackinac.”

“Do you want me to call Barbara and--”

“No!” Faye cut me off. “Barb is not to know any of what happened until she’s back home.”

“She’ll be mad,” I warned.

“She can be mad. Do not tell her. In fact, don’t even call her.”

“Well, one of us has to. She’ll suspect something if she doesn’t hear from us all weekend.” I paused to think. “I’ll tell her you lost your phone and--”

“Retta,” Faye interrupted. “I texted her already, so do not call her and do not text. If you do, I’ll tell her that when Rory first came you told him she liked him, just like it was junior high.”

“I was very discreet about it,” I said, stung. “Barbara Ann would have done her Ice Lady act until Rory wandered off after some other woman.”

“That might be, but she wouldn’t like knowing you interfered.”

“Encouraged,” I amended.

“Okay, encouraged. Just don’t talk to her again until after I do.”

Who knew Faye could be so bossy? I knew she meant every word, though. “Okay, but I’m going to pretend I lost my phone, because she’s sure to call and ask me where you are.”

Faye chuckled. “She’ll never believe you went five minutes without a phone, but go ahead. Give it a shot.”

Stung by her attitude I said, “You know, Faye, you could just ask. You don’t have to threaten to tell on me.”

“I know. It’s so junior high, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Barb

Shirley had arranged a surprise that made me cringe on the inside, though I pretended to be delighted. She’d invited two women we’d gone to college with for Sunday brunch. That meant I wouldn’t be able to get away until noon at the earliest.

Not only was I anxious to get home, I wasn’t that thrilled with the mini-reunion. We hadn’t been that close back then, and I guessed after thirty years we wouldn’t have much in common.

Despite my reluctance, I found the morning very enjoyable. Shirley prepared mini-omelets, crepes with fresh strawberries, and an assortment of breakfast rolls to tempt us off our diets. I especially enjoyed becoming re-acquainted with Anne Welklin, whom I remembered only vaguely. Like me, she’d spent her career in law, and we had a lot to talk about. While Shirley and the other woman spoke of golf and quilting, Anne and I discussed the highs and lows of our years in the profession.