Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) (4 page)

“Good morning, Mom. Are you busy?”

“Hi, Bill. I’m on my way to the Meadows, either to rescue your grandmother from something or to rescue the staff from your grandmother. There’s no hurry, though. How are you, Sweetie?”

“We’re good—actually, really good after Cramer’s call last night.”

My heart gave a little skip. “You like my idea?”

“It couldn’t have come at a better time for us.”

That meant things were getting down to the wire. “So tell me what you think should happen, and I’ll try to help.”

“Well, Carla and I thought we’d drive up this weekend and see the place. I mean, I remember it from when I was a kid, but it’s been a while. Once we know what’s there, we’ll rent a truck and make the move.” He cleared his throat before adding, “We’d like to be out of here by June first.”

Ten days. Rent was no doubt due at the first of the new month.

“I think we can do that. I talked to Retta, and she’s happy to get someone to take on the animals. She’s looking for the previous renters so we can make them take their stuff, but if she can’t locate them, we’ll dispose of it later.”

“We don’t have that much to bring.”

I heard tension in Bill’s voice and felt a pang of sadness. He was so smart, so good! He’d just never found the right way to use his talents. I said a little prayer this would be his answer.

That made me think of my daughter-in-law. “Is Carla okay with this?”

He chuckled. “I think she’s more excited than I am. She’s filled sheets of paper with diagrams of garden plots.” He lowered his voice. “I’m hoping this will take her mind off the other thing, you know?”

“I know.” Carla had recently had her third miscarriage in four years. Their childless marriage had begun worrying her, and her worry made Bill sad.

“Okay,” I said, turning to a happier subject. “I’m going to call Retta right now, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Right. And Mom,” Bill’s voice turned soft. “Thanks so much for this. We’re going to make it work. I promise.”

“Good.” No one knew if my sons could pull off my crazy scheme, but the fact they were willing to try meant a lot to me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Barb

A few minutes after Faye left for the nursing home, I heard the front door open. We operate our agency out of my home, so far with no complaints from the neighbors. The rambling old Victorian had two parlors at the front when I moved in, one formal and the other less so. After we re-varnished the wide, dark woodwork and applied cream-colored paint to the walls, the parlors became our business space.

I stepped out of my office, the former second parlor, to see who was there. Standing in the reception area was a thirtyish man with dark, curly hair and the kind of face that will never look old. “Good day, ma’am.”

I stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Barb Evans, half of the agency.”

His handshake was brief. “Colt Farrell. I think you ladies might be able to help me find some people.” Something in his tone hinted he was favoring our business with his presence, but I smiled, withholding judgment.

“Come in, Mr. Farrell.” I led him into my office, glancing around to reassure myself it was as I like it. If I’m not vigilant, Retta adds touches to my space that she thinks add style and color. She favors Southwest decor, and early on it was cactus plants and desert paintings. I’d explained to her that while I have nothing against the Southwest, I don’t want it in my stately Victorian home.

I invited my guest to be seated then asked, “Whom do you want to locate, Mr. Farrell?”

“Some friends who left the area. I’m hoping you can give me their forwarding address.”

I folded my hands on the desktop. “Why do you want to locate them?” While clients don’t always tell the truth about their motives, it’s best to ask straight out. We try to avoid cases where the client has spiteful intentions.

Farrell made a vague gesture. “I thought we were friends. I mean, Ben and me were friends. I knew Rose and the girls, of course, but—”

The name caught my attention. “You’re speaking of Ben McAdams?”

“Yes. I understand you own the farm him and his family were renting.” He repeated the gesture, and I thought it signaled frustration. “I didn’t think Ben would move away without letting me know where he was going.”

“Was there any indication of trouble between the two of them?”

He shrugged. “Ben thought everything was fine.”

“What about finances? Did they have money problems?”

“I think they were doing pretty good, better together than either one ever done by themselves.”

Trying to ignore the man’s grammatical messes, I focused on his purpose. “We don’t share information, but I can say we don’t know where they are.”

Farrell rubbed one side of his face. “I just don’t understand it.” He glared at the items on my desk as if Ben might be hiding behind one of them. “I just hope none of them got sick or something. Not a week ago I was out to the house, and he never said a thing about moving away.”

There was something false in Farrell’s voice. It occurred to me that McAdams probably owed Farrell money. He didn’t seem angry about it, however, just disbelieving.

I opened my mouth to say that if we located the family, we'd ask McAdams to contact him. Farrell picked up a cup of pencils sitting on my desk and read aloud Clare Boothe Luce’s words: If I fail, no one will say, “She doesn’t have what it takes.” They will say, “Women don't have what it takes.”

He frowned. “Did this Clare have what it takes?”

“She was a writer, an ambassador, successful at a lot of things.”

“And what did her husband do for a living?”

His tone was like a poke in my side with a stick. “Why do you ask?”

Farrell shrugged lightly. “I notice that a lot of successful women have wealthy husbands that support them so they can write books and go to ambassador balls and like that.”

My lips were stiff as I replied, “I don’t.”

He seemed confused. “You mean you don’t have a successful husband?”

“I don’t have any husband, Mr. Farrell. Never have.”

His jaw jutted. “Now, that’s sad.”

“I don’t find it so.”

He looked as if he pitied me. “Then you don’t understand God’s plan. For a woman, the purpose of life is marriage and children.”

I leaned back in my chair, possibly so my fist couldn’t reach his chin. “And what’s the purpose of life for a man?”

He sighed at the weight of the question. “A man has lots of things he’s meant to do, but an important one is taking care of his woman.” He set the cup back on my desk. “I’m sorry you missed that in your life.”

I stood abruptly. “I’m afraid we can’t help you, Mr. Farrell.”

He rose, brushing his black polyester trouser legs lightly. “Ben will probably contact me once they get settled. Thanks for your time, Miss Evans.”

As he left, I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw something at the back of his head. His parting shot, the use of
Miss
, was a pointed reminder that I exist in a state he believed to be unnatural for women. I guess I should have been grateful he didn’t address me as “Spinster Evans.”

CHAPTER NINE

Faye

I spent an hour with Dale’s mom, listening and sympathizing until she talked herself into admitting she needed help to get out of bed. Though she’d failed in the last few months, Harriet’s sense of independence and modesty remained strong. There were days when she got feisty and tried to do for herself, as she had for many years. This time she’d fallen trying to get to the bathroom. She wasn’t hurt, but she insisted, “If they’ll just give me a cane, “I can pee without some nurse watching!”

The staff at the Meadows had called me to see if I could make Harriet see reason. Though she never liked me much, my mother-in-law had come to see me as an ally in her battle for independence. Everyone in the nursing home wanted her to do things they hoped would keep her alive. While I’m not a big cheerleader for death, I agree with Harriet that dying isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person after ninety.

When I returned to the office, Barb was slumped toward the computer in a very un-ergonomic position. After she caught me up on Farrell’s visit she asked, “Was this Ben McAdams as pompous as his buddy Farrell?”

“I never met him, but Retta can tell us.” I called her, putting the phone on speaker.

“I really don’t know,” Retta said. “Ben didn’t talk much, and he never offered an opinion on anything. I don’t know if I intimidated him or it was just his natural way. Rose was much easier to deal with.”

“The pastor didn’t know McAdams was moving and neither did his buddy,” Barb said. “Retta, do you think they were running away from something, a debt or a legal problem?”

Retta chuckled. “I don’t suppose they’d tell their landlord if they had trouble like that.”

“Barb’s going to see what she can find out from Rory,” I told Retta. Barb was already calling the city police department. Listening in on their conversation, I gathered the chief wasn’t overly busy and would check their databases for warrants and watches. After a few minutes of silence I heard Barb say, “No legal issues. Thanks, Rory. I owe you one.”

He said something that made her blush, but she simply thanked him again and hung up. “No record of law-breaking for either Ben McAdams or Rose Isley. Ben had some trouble as a kid, went through the foster care system and the juvenile courts, but he joined the military and apparently straightened himself out. No recent events that would explain them moving away abruptly.”

I turned the phone toward me. “I’ll try the school. The elementary secretary knows me pretty well, and she’ll know if there was something going on, even if she can’t tell us exactly what it was.”

It took a few minutes to connect, and I pictured the busy office with teachers, parents, kids, and staff all making demands on the secretary’s time. Even after twenty years on the job, Madge never failed to be patient with everything and kind to everyone.

When Madge finally answered I got right to the point, knowing she didn’t have time for idle chatter. “I’m calling about the Isley children. I think two of them are in elementary. Did they tell you they were moving away?”

“No, but we wondered. They withdrew from school about a month ago.”

“Why?”

“Ben said they’d decided to homeschool, but April is a funny time to start that. They’d be smarter to start in the fall.”

“Did anyone talk to the girls’ mother to see if she agreed with Ben?”

Madge chuckled. “Mrs. White tried, but you don’t just call out there. Ben is kind of a Luddite, so Rose and the girls don’t have phones or computers. He has a cell phone, but he turns it off most of the time. You have to leave a voicemail, and he answers if and when he feels like it.”

“Hard to believe in this day and age.”

“Inconvenient, if you ask me.” She sniffed. “You say they’re moving?”

“Retta got a letter saying they were, so she went out there. They’re already gone.” Not wanting to start rumors I added, “We were surprised, but we have no reason to believe there’s anything wrong.”

“Hmmm,” Madge seemed skeptical. “I’ll ask the kids who are friends with Pansy and Daisy.” After a beat she added, “And I’ll check with the middle school secretary. Iris might have said something to one of her friends.”

“Thanks, Madge.”

Barb had been checking computer records as I talked, an ever-present tissue crumpled in one hand. People with sinus problems probably shouldn’t live in century-old houses. “I can’t find credit card accounts under either Rose’s name or Ben’s,” she said when I ended my call.

“I think we’re dealing with a guy who won’t have credit cards,” I told her, “maybe not even a bank account. Retta says the rent came by money order, sometimes in cash.”

“Is he a survivalist or something?”

“I guess he’d call himself an individualist.”

“What about the woman? Did she go along with it?”

“She must have.” A hot flash hit and I stripped off my sweater. Barb gripes about her drippy sinuses, but she’s never had a single hot flash, so I contend she’s the lucky one. “Ben isn’t Rose’s husband. He has no say over her or the girls.”

“True.” Barb tossed her tissue and picked up another. “But with three daughters and no money, she might not have had anywhere else to go.”

CHAPTER TEN

Retta

On Wednesday afternoon I went back out to the farm. Faye had talked her boys into moving out there, and I wanted to make sure the bunkhouse was suitable for habitation. Faye’s proposal was that Cramer, Bill, and Carla would take a year’s lease on the place. The deal was that Bill would take over the farmhouse with his wife Carla, and Cramer would move into the bunkhouse. They’d take care of the animals until we decided what to do with them. In addition they agreed to move the previous tenants’ stuff upstairs until we located them or disposed of it some other way. For me, Faye’s idea meant a lot less headaches.

On the other hand, I don’t have much faith in Faye’s two younger sons. They’re nice boys, but neither Cramer nor Bill seems able to get control of his life. Bill is always hatching some half-baked scheme, and Cramer has let that wife of his—ex-wife now—lead him around by the nose for almost a decade. I wanted to believe they’d be good tenants and good animal tenders as well, but I try to practice logic like a good detective should. With that in mind, I was withholding judgment.

Aside from being dusty, crowded, and full of cobwebs, the bunkhouse looked okay. It was no palace, but honestly, all Cramer wants is lots of electrical plugs for the computer equipment he collects. Looking at the rather stark interior, I decided to buy some colorful curtains and throw rugs. He probably wouldn’t notice, but it would make me feel better.

The thought of decorating Cramer’s space reminded me of Barbara Ann’s need for an artist’s touch. Faye was preoccupied with her sons, and Barbara planned to go out of town for the weekend. It was the perfect time for me to spruce up her office.

Everyone says I’m the artistic one in the family, but my sisters didn’t consult me when they started their business. Faye’s office, which is also the entry area, isn’t too bad. She’s created ambiance with a half-dozen plants and scattered displays of glass figurines she collected over the years. Some of them were our grandmother’s, and they’re really quite beautiful.