Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) (22 page)

Retta finagled an introduction for the six of us. We got no more than a gracious nod and a murmur of acknowledgement from the president, but the girls were awed by the experience, stiff with tension at the moment they faced the lady, and overcome with giggles once we were away.

Faye took the girls to our house, Retta stayed to help with the clean-up, and Rory and I unwound a little by taking a drive along the shore of Lake Huron. Being near the water is a calming influence for me. In Tacoma, when things at the D.A.’s office got really difficult, I’d often gone somewhere to watch marine animals play or listen to the water slap against the shoreline. When life gets tough, it helps to remind yourself of the enormity of the world and the transitory nature of one person’s problems.

As we drove southward, racing an ore-boat headed the same direction, we spoke of the danger that hadn’t come to pass. Rory told me what those up the chain of authority had shared with him. “There’s no evidence linking Farrell or Stone to the stolen weapon. They admit to meeting Sharky twice at Ben’s, but as far as they knew, he was there only to play cards.”

“Do you think the plan was all Ben and Sharky’s doing?”

Rory scratched absently at a mosquito bite on his arm. “Honestly? No. The bug in your office has to be Farrell’s work. He was caught on your farm twice, clearly looking for the weapon.”

“And Stone?”

“From what Faye said, he seems to be the type to be part of it.”

“So there were four of them. When Ben died in the fall, it was a problem to continue but not an impossibility.”

“But now Sharky’s taken off, and their secret is out,” Rory said. “They still have the weapon, but without their sharpshooter and the element of surprise, they knew they were likely to fail.”

“Sharky missing, Ben dead,” I said thoughtfully. “Easy for the other two to walk away and let the blame fall on them.”

“Farrell admitted to the feds that Sharky was kind of creepy.”

“If full-grown adults get that feeling from him, it’s easy to see why the girls did. “There’s no word about where he might have gone?”

“It appears Ben taught Sharky some of his tricks for going off the grid. Sharky hasn’t had a job since the nursing home fired him. He rented his house, and we found his car sitting behind it. He might be on a train bound for California, or he might be living in somebody’s garage in the middle of Allport. We just don’t know.”

As Rory spoke, the cabin came to mind. Sharky knew it was there, knew it was stocked with supplies. “Are you working tomorrow?”

He grinned. “Is this your way of asking me for a date?”

“Not exactly. We’re going to the farm to see if Sharky’s hiding out in the cabin down by the pond.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

Faye

I almost let the phone go to voicemail, since the readout showed a number unknown to me. I try not to answer when I don’t recognize the source, but there’s always a nagging fear I’ll miss something important. On the chance it wasn’t a robot trolling for responses, I answered.

“Is this Faye Burner?” The man’s voice sounded strained, like someone who didn’t enjoy talking on the phone.

“Yes.”

“Walt Dunham here. I live in the U.P. near Hessel, on Second Home Farm.”

“Oh! Yes, Mr. Dunham. I wrote to you.”

“That’s why I’m calling. You said you’d like an old horse.”

“Well, not me. My sons have taken over the family farm, and we’re exploring the idea of retiring draft horses there.”

“Well, I have a situation up here. A guy up on Mackinac Island called, and he has a horse that needs a place right away. He thought he’d get one more summer out of her, but it don’t look like that’s going to happen. She can’t pull, and he says her breathing ain’t right.”

“Oh, the poor thing!”

Dunham didn’t waste time echoing my dismay. “He wants me to take her, but my wife and I are trying to work our way out of the business. We’re getting old, and she wants to go to Florida in the winters. I’m not taking any more horses, and we’re trying to relocate the ones we’ve got now.”

As the purpose of Dunham’s call hit, I felt alternating waves of joy and anxiety. “You want us to take this horse for you?”

“Well, you’d be dealing with the owner. I just told him I’d contact you and see if you’re still interested.”

Clearing my throat, I said it. “Yes, we are. We have the space, and I spoke with a local veterinarian about care. She’ll donate her time if we pay for medicines and supplies.”

“Sounds like you’re going at it the right way,” Dunham said. “There’s another problem, though. The owner’s gearing up for the tourist season, and he’s crazy busy. He says he’ll split the expense if you can go there and take the horse off his hands.”

Though I hadn’t thought about going to Mackinac Island myself to get a horse, I had considered transport for them. The farmer who leases our fields, Chet Masters, owns a horse trailer, and he offered me the use of it a few days earlier in exchange for letting his daughter’s Arabian stay with my two on the farm.

“She had to have a horse,” Chet told me. “Then two years later she discovered boys. She doesn’t want her pet sold, but she doesn’t spend near the time riding she used to. The poor old thing is all alone over here. If you’ll keep her with yours, you can use my trailer as you need to. I’ll help out with feed too.”

“I think I can arrange to pick up the horse.” I told Mr. Dunham.

Walt gave me a phone number, and after two attempts, I reached a harassed-sounding man who admitted to being the owner of a twelve-year-old horse named Dolly. “She’s not deathly sick or anything,” he said, “but there’s something wrong with her lungs. Honestly, ma’am, I don’t have time to nurse her, and the tourists don’t like seeing sick animals. I don’t want the ASPCA or whoever up here hassling me, so the sooner she’s gone, the better.”

“I’m willing,” I said, “but how do I get her across the straits?”

“There’s a retired vet in Cheboygan who’ll bring her across and help load her into your trailer. I can call him and set it up.”

He made it sound as if he was doing me a favor rather than vice versa, but I didn’t care. There was a horse who needed me. My heart felt full. We had our first retired horse, and I intended to make her last days on earth peaceful and filled with love.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Barb

Bill and Carla were coming out the drive when Rory and I turned in and met them halfway. They stopped and got out to greet us, and I told them Rory and I planned to walk to the cabin.

“Why would he be out there?” Bill asked.

“He knows it’s out there and stocked with food,” I replied. “He knows the police want to talk to him, and he might think they won’t find him out there.”

“We’re supposed to meet our lawyer early tomorrow morning,” Bill said. “We planned to spend the night with friends in Traverse City, but we can change it around if you need us.”

“We’re just going to check to see if anyone’s back there. It’s unlikely he’s there, so you two go ahead and do as you planned.”

Carla got into the car, but Bill hesitated. “Have you heard from Mom? She’s apparently lined up our first retired draft horse.”

“She found a horse?”

“I think it found her,” Bill said with a chuckle. “She said she might go today when Cramer gets off work, but it’ll be tomorrow at the latest. Apparently the animal’s pretty sick, and the owner doesn’t want the tourists to see it and assume it isn’t being tended.”

I wondered briefly how Faye and her sons would deal with the probability the horses they took in didn’t have long to live.

With one foot inside the car, Bill repeated his offer. “Maybe we should call and reschedule things.”

“No, really,” I told him. “If by some chance Sharky’s out there, we’ll call the sheriff in.”

Bill seemed torn until Rory repeated what I’d said, almost word for word. Nodding as if he finally understood, Bill got into the car and put it into gear. I glanced at Rory, who gave me a sheepish grin. Men hearing things from other men makes all the difference.

We watched Bill and Carla until they turned onto the road, their vehicle ticking like Captain Hook’s crocodile, then proceeded to the barnyard gate.

Rory and I walked up the hill together, entered the woods, and followed the path. As we approached the cabin, we stopped talking and watched where our feet fell. If by some chance Sharky was hiding out there, we didn’t want to broadcast our coming.

The cabin was quiet but not peaceful. We’d padlocked the door, but someone had torn it from its hinges. It hung crookedly to one side, pocked with sharp indentations, and I pictured Sharky beating it in with something, a tire iron, maybe. I felt a hitch of dread between my shoulders.

Rory stopped me with an outstretched hand. “Go back to the house,” he said softly. “As soon as you’re out of hearing, call Sheriff Brill and tell him to send at least four men. Wait for them and guide them out here. I’ll make sure he stays put.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Rory turned slightly to show me the gun holstered at the back of his jeans. Trust a cop to be prepared. Squeezing his arm, I turned and hurried off.

When I was far enough away, I took my phone from my pocket and made the call. By the time I cleared the woods, I had Brill’s assurance he’d be there as soon as possible.

For half an hour I stood at the barnyard gate with nothing to do but listen to the silence. Pacing back and forth along the fence, I awaited the cavalry, disturbing the reindeer who followed my course, sniffing to see if I had anything to eat in my pockets.

The sheriff’s arrival took longer than I thought I could stand. At one end of my path I peered down the driveway to see if they were coming. At the other end, I craned my neck to see if there was anyone up by the barn. I listened for gunshots. I plotted what I would do if Sharky came running down the hill. By the time I finally heard a car turn in from the road and saw the sheriff’s brown cruiser coming toward me, I was nearly a wreck.

“Where is he?” Brill asked as he got out. A second cruiser pulled up behind him, lights flashing, and two young men in uniform got out. A few seconds later, a third car joined the others.

“It’s about a half mile back.” I pointed toward the woods.

Unsnapping his holster, Brill gestured in the direction I’d indicated. “Lead the way.”

With the sheriff and his deputies close behind, I retraced my path. We said little and spoke only in low tones, tensed and ready.

Our stealthy approach was unnecessary. We arrived at the cabin to find Rory standing in the doorway, his face grim. “He’s in there,” he told us, “but it’s too late. He’s dead.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Faye

When another call came from an unknown number, I again debated letting it ring. I had a lot to get done, but Retta had begun taking over the planning. Barb gets irritated when she does that, but I don’t mind. Retta’s very organized, and if a person’s willing to give up a little autonomy, she gets things done.

It was the office phone, though, so I felt compelled to answer. “Smart Detective Agency.”

“It’s Pastor Cronk at River Church.”

“Hello, Pastor. Faye Burner here. What can we do for you?”

“I’m hoping it’s the other way around. Ms. Evans asked who Ben McAdams counted as friends, and I should have been more forthcoming.” He chuckled. “Your sister’s a formidable woman.”

I had to smile in response. “I think you’ve found the perfect word.”

“She ruffled my feathers a little, I’ll admit. I’m afraid she colors all of our congregation with the same brush.”

“Barb doesn’t tolerate inequality very well.” Remembering my loyalties I added, “I don’t much appreciate it either.”

“I won’t lecture you on Scripture,” Cronk said, “but after you left I prayed about my response. I answered your sister’s animosity with my own, which was a prideful mistake. I know things I should have told you.”

“What things?”

He sighed. “After Ben and Rose moved in together, I went out there quite often, feeling it was my duty to see them married. The world no longer requires it, but in our congregation, folks are encouraged to get their lives right with God.”

“Rose refused to marry Ben.”

“She did. In time I understood why. Ben was a good man in many ways, but he had blind spots. One of them was a friend of his, Richard Stark.”

“You met Sharky?”

“Only once, but I saw immediately that Rose didn’t like him. She tensed up whenever he came near her or one of her daughters.”

“And what was your impression?”

Cronk’s hesitation told me more than an answer would have. Finally he said, “I think he has a disturbed soul. I invited him to come to services at the church, but he seemed to think that was a joke.”

“Did Stark know any other men in your congregation?”

“Again, my conscience troubles me, but I feel I must be completely honest. I once heard Ben mention Floyd Stone to Mr. Stark. It was obvious they both knew him, because they joked about his size.”

“How well do you know Stone?”

He cleared his throat before answering. “He’s pretty quiet. Mostly he throws in an ‘Amen!’ when Colt speaks about women in the church.”

“Ten steps behind the menfolk, I guess.”

“Mrs. Burner, ours is a Bible-teaching church. We read and study the Scriptures and try to do as they instruct. I don’t want to imply that I disagree with Mr. Farrell completely, it’s just that—Well, to be honest, I’d find it hard to do what I do without the women of the church. If they can’t lead, we’ll have no choir, no Sunday school, and no one to do mission work. All of those groups are run by dedicated women.”

“So women can lead as long as it’s in service to the church.”

“Exactly. I’m very grateful for their help, so you can see it’s difficult for me to walk the line between the two sides. I know what the Bible says, but I suppose there were women in the background during our Lord’s ministry, seeing that things got done.”

Women in the background. I sighed. I wasn’t likely to convince Cronk that a woman’s brain was of as much value as his own or Colt Farrell’s. “Is there anything else you recall that might help us?”

“Nothing more. I’d help if I could.”