Murder Under the Covered Bridge (20 page)

“I'm here for the duration of the Covered Bridge Festival. At this point, I'm afraid to leave. I don't know what trouble you'll get yourselves into.”

“No offense to Toby,” Charlotte said, “but I'm glad to have another man here. Jonathan's been around the block a few more times. Plus, he has a permit to carry.”

“Speaking of which,” Jonathan said, “where is Toby?”

Charlotte snapped her fingers. “I forgot. He's down in the basement examining William's tablet. It was password protected. He couldn't crack the code earlier so he sent a message to one of his hacker friends looking for help. Maybe they've figured it out by now.”

She started to head for the back staircase, the one that led downstairs. “Francine, please come help me with the stairs.”

“Maybe Alice can help you. There are a couple of things Jonathan and I need to discuss.”

Alice took the hint. “I'll be happy to help.”

Charlotte was clearly highly suspicious, but she had no alternative with Alice firmly moving her toward the stairs. Francine was thankful that as friends, their group knew exactly what kind of help to provide each other, at the exact times they needed it.

Because she had an idea she wanted to check out with Jonathan. It was kind of leap of faith, but there was something she wanted him to check out the next day. She'd go with him, too, if she could get away, but it might involve a search that would take time.

twenty-three

When Francine joined Charlotte
in the basement, Toby had both his laptop and William's tablet open. He was wearing a headset, the microphone in front of his lips. Francine could hear what he was saying, but it made no sense to her. They might as well have been speaking a foreign language.

“He's communicating with his friend,” Charlotte whispered. “The one who's the expert hacker.”

Toby looked from one screen to the other. “I'll try it one more time with the Frankenstein variation on the sequence,” he said. He typed something into William's tablet. The screen lit up. Francine could see icons on it. “Got it!” Toby announced. “Thanks for your help, Ace.”

Toby signed off and spun around in the chair so that he faced the two women. He had a wide smile on his face. “What do you want the new password to be?”

“I don't want there to be a new password,” Francine said. “I want it to be the old password. This needs to get back into William's car. At least, eventually. If it has a different password, she won't be able to get in.”

“Francine, think,” Charlotte said. “If Dolly has already noticed that it's gone, then she'll know something's up when she finds it again. If she hasn't, then it likely means she didn't know it was in there, and she won't ever notice that it's gone. It doesn't make any difference. It's our tablet now.”

Francine couldn't help but feel how similar this was to the way Charlotte had obtained Friederich Guttmann's iPod, and how it held the smoking gun that eventually flushed out his killer. She hoped this didn't turn out like that. The tablet was here, and they should probably read the book William was writing, if they could find it. But she didn't have to make the decision Charlotte wanted her to make about not returning it, not if the password didn't change. “It stays the same, at least for now.”

“I'll write it down for you,” Toby said. “It's kind of interesting.” He picked up a pen and scrap piece of paper and jotted down
itstheWATER
. He handed it to Francine. “The password is case sensitive.”

Francine stared at it. “Curious password.”

“Given that the symbol for water was carved in the message under the bridge, yes,” Charlotte said.

“But we don't know what the significance is, do we?”

Charlotte shrugged.

“Can you find out if William was writing a book on the history of Parke County?” Francine asked Toby. “We were told he spent hours and hours at the library researching it.”

“I'll need some kind of keyword to search the database.”

“Try
water
and see what comes up.”

Toby found the manuscript pretty easily.
Water
was a common word in it. He also found several emails. Unfortunately, William used a different password for his email program so they couldn't get into it.

“I could try to break that code, too, but I'd need the tablet for a while,” Toby said.

Before Charlotte could say anything, Francine said, “No. Bad enough we're reading his book. We're not going to do the email thing.”

Toby showed them how to get into the manuscript. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Actually, yes,” Charlotte said. “There's something that's been bothering me, and I think you might be able to help.”

“What now?” Francine asked.

“I thought about this when Joy pulled out those photos earlier today of you and Jonathan. Zed
had
to know it was the start date of the Covered Bridge Festival. With all the problems with the law he's had when he's tried to run people off his property, would he have fired on us when we were on public property? He couldn't be sure we were a part of whatever William was doing there.”

“But I thought that you thought he had something to protect.”

“I did,” said Charlotte. “That's where we were wrong. I don't think Zed would fire on us unless he was certain we were a danger to him. And anyone who was with him would do the same. Therefore, the second person, the one who fired on us, was not with Zed.”

“You say that as though you have a suspect in mind.”

“I don't, but I have a motive in mind. The person who fired on us was there to rendezvous with William. William and whoever his friend was had expected that if Zed had found him on the property, there would be consequences. So the friend was there to provide cover fire, if necessary, so William could escape.”

“And why did the friend fire on us?”

“Also cover. What if William was
supposed
to descend into the creek? Only he'd gotten injured, but the friend didn't know that because he couldn't see it. All he could see was that someone else was there, someone possibly with Zed, and William needed additional cover to get back to the rendezvous spot.”

“I think you're overthinking this, but even if you aren't, what's the point?” Francine asked.

“What's bothering me is why we never had someone blow up the photos to see if we could see the shooter. Those photos were taken with a camera with a lot of pixels. Toby here could probably blow those up and find out who the shooter is. Where are the photos Joy took of you and Jonathan? They faced the direction the shots were coming in from.”

“That would have been at quite a distance, Charlotte. I don't know if it could be magnified enough and still have the definition to see who it is.”

Toby's head stopped bobbing between the two women. “There's only one way to find out. Get me the photos and let's scan them in.”

Francine clenched and unclenched her fists as she watched Toby methodically search the background of the photograph of her and Jonathan in a compromising position. Part of her hoped he wouldn't find anything. She couldn't imagine how bad it would be if these photos got out into the public realm, which she knew would happen if he spotted anything unusual and they had to turn them over to the police. On the other hand, she could use a break in trying to solve the mystery of who shot at William.

Toby went to the limit of the photograph's resolution. It allowed them to clearly view much of the brush along the creek, but not to the point of distortion. He used his finger on the touchscreen to drag different segments of the photograph into view. Every time a new segment showed up, they all studied it.

Toby abruptly stopped. “There. Right there. Someone's in the brush.” He pointed to the spot.

“How in the world did you spot that?” Charlotte asked.

“He has young eyes.” Francine brought her face close to the computer screen, tilting her head up trying to put the face in the sweet spot of her glasses. Once she did, she was fairly certain who it was. The thought made her straighten up. “Can you blow this up any more?”

“If I do, it will only distort the image. You won't see it any more clearly.”

Francine felt Charlotte poking her. “Out with it. I can tell by your reaction you know who that is.”

“It's Dolly. William's wife.”

“Yes!” Charlotte crowed. “My hypothesis fits. She was there to cover him, and we were the wild card. They were going to meet at the Roseville Bridge, but we showed up. She couldn't explain what she was doing there, so she hid. And then William is discovered and is chased out of the cornfield. She's horrified, but she can't do anything about it without giving away the fact that she's there.”

“Because if she does,” Francine continued, “that raises the issue of what they were trying to do.”

Charlotte, whose voice had gotten loud with excitement, now dropped a notch. “Which is what? Retrieve a diary? Steal a vial full of water? It sounds weak.”

Francine scratched her head. “It does. Zed so much as told me the diary belonged to William. And it's difficult to believe they would put so much into water samples.”

For a moment, both of them were silent. Then Charlotte pointed back at the screen. “We don't know that it was, in fact, the water. What we do know is that William was there, and now we know Dolly was there.”

Toby played with the keyboard. “I've cropped that part of the photograph and saved it as a separate file. I want to go back and look at the video Joy took after the shooting began. I want to see if she has anything else pointing in that direction.”

“To see if Dolly is still there?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes,” Toby said. “And to see if she's carrying a rifle.”

A half hour later, after
fast-forwarding
through the video and a cursory examination of the photographs, Toby came to a disappointing conclusion. “The part of the creek Dolly was in was too far out. It never came into Joy's video. She focused on William's fall and Jonathan's rescue, and that was all down by the creek.”

“I'm not giving up on this line,” Charlotte said. “We could still establish something from the ballistics. Francine, what do you know about Dolly? Does she have a rifle? Could she tag a squirrel from a hundred yards or is she lucky to hit the side of a barn from fifty feet?”

Considering that Charlotte had a rifle and was a scarily bad shot, Francine thought it wasn't right for her to demean someone else. “I don't know if Dolly has a rifle or whether she's a good shot. But while I hate to stereotype anyone, Dolly is from Kentucky and the Appalachian area. If I had to guess, I'd guess that she grew up shooting.”

Charlotte put a finger in the air. “I knew it! Now we just have to get Roy motivated to investigate her. The police have the bullets that were used to shoot up the bridge. Proving they came from Dolly's rifle—”

“If she even has a rifle,” Francine cautioned.

“—will be a snap. They do it all the time on
CSI
.”

“There's such a thing as
self-incrimination
, Charlotte. Dolly will be wary, and the crime here is William's death. If, as you hypothesize, Dolly was protecting him, that doesn't make her guilty of the crime.”

Charlotte checked her watch. “I wonder if Joy could get Roy back here so we could show him what Toby uncovered. Once he sees that Dolly was there, I bet he'll want to question her as much as he wants to question Zed.”

Francine thought about that. Just how important was this anyway? William running out of the cornfield with a vial of clear liquid and her grandmother's diary still only boiled down to trespassing. The clear liquid was a more vexing problem, but not necessarily indicative of a crime. Or was Zed hiding something? Was he the source of some kind of terrible pollution that William and Dolly were collecting proof of ? Unfortunately the vial was now in the hands of the police. There had been a mason jar of something they'd pulled out of William's car, possibly the same thing, but they couldn't be sure since she'd insisted on putting it back. The
itstheWATER
password
made her think twice, but in the end, the only thing she could rationalize was trying to get the water analyzed.

“I don't think we have enough to call Detective Stockton tonight. Let's try him in the morning when he's on duty.”

Charlotte was clearly disappointed, but then she brightened. “You're right. We
should
wait until morning. In fact, we should wait until after your appointment with the lawyer. We might have more information then, and more information is always good.”

Toby held out William's tablet. “What do you want to do with this?”

Charlotte made a grab for it. “I'll take it,” she said.

Francine was one step ahead and snatched it away just before Charlotte's hand got there. “I know it was through your efforts we've obtained this, but as William's cousin I claim dibs on it.” Charlotte started to turn red, so Francine said, “Why don't you read over my grandmother's diary? I read it last night, but I was very tired. Maybe I missed something in it.”

That seemed to pacify her. “Is it hot?”

“Lurid,” Francine answered, “at least for that time period.”

“All right,” Charlotte said, and she grabbed the photos of Francine and Jonathan off Toby's Apple computer. “But I get to keep the photos too. Consider it blackmail material.”

twenty-four

Francine had anticipated going
straight from the law firm to the food booth, so she felt a little underdressed in a pink Mary Ruth's Catering t-shirt and jeans when she arrived at the address on the notice. Frost & Associates sounded like a long-established law firm, and it looked like it from the outside. The office was part of group of suites that had been carved out of an old bank building located across the street from the courthouse. Francine opened the glass-paneled door—frosted, she noted wryly—and found herself in a wood-paneled office that radiated decorum and old money. But the smell was of Febreze. With no one in the office at that moment, she peered around the receptionist's desk and saw an electric scent outlet plugged in behind the desk.

The desk sat between two office doors. Both of them had shiny nameplates on them. One of them said
Denise Frost.
The other one was a man's name. She thought he must be the associate who brought her the summons last night.

The door to the one labeled
Denise Frost
opened, and Merlina walked out. She was not wearing an old Hungarian dress but a black skirt and white blouse. She wore a tailored turquoise blazer over it, and her hair was pulled back behind her head.

“Hello, Francine.”

“You're Denise Frost?”

“No, my real name is Marla Frost, and I'm Denise's paralegal. Also her daughter. Mother felt that I should have a day job. Aunt Marcy is a bit more accepting.”

“You're a paranormal paralegal?”

“If you only knew how many times I've heard that joke.”

“Sorry.”

“But as a paralegal, I've been working with Mr. Matthew on this. Since I've been doing all the work, Mother thought it best that I be the one to meet with you. Besides, she had to be in court today.”

“So that's how you knew Zed.”

“It is. But I couldn't say. Client confidentiality and all that.”

Francine felt her mouth opening and closing like a rusty gate as she tried to process all this.

“You must have a million questions,” Merlina told her. “Please have a seat. Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea would be nice.”

“I'll get it. It's part of my job, anyway.”

Just a few minutes later they were seated on opposite sides of a round hickory table in a corner of Denise's office.

“I don't understand why Zedediah Matthew would leave me anything,” Francine began. “And I'm not sure that he's dead. I could have sworn I spotted him yesterday at a funeral home. Do you have any insight on that?”

“Sorry, I don't.”

Francine wondered if Merlina had insight on anything, which made her think of a question she'd been wanting to ask. She almost felt awkward asking it because she wasn't sure she would believe an answer even if it were a logical one. “Who did you channel at the séance?”

Merlina thought for a moment. “It was a woman. I think. I'm not always sure. Unless the spirits reveal things to me, all I know is what they say.”

“Doesn't Zed have other heirs? Where are they?” Francine gestured toward two empty chairs at the table as if they should be occupied.

“There are no other heirs. Mr. Matthew was married once, but they had no children. He was very sad about that.”

“Where is his wife?”

Merlina paused as if she were trying to figure out how to word her answer. “Something terrible happened to his wife, and he never remarried.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that. What happened to her? And in what way am I related to him?”

“I was under the impression that he had given you some documents that explained that.”

Francine was even more confused. “All he gave me was a diary my grandmother had written about her mother marrying the man who became Doc Wheat.”

“I see.” Merlina smiled at her. It made Francine think that despite protestations to the contrary, Merlina knew more about her past than she did. Merlina steepled her fingers. “From what I know of Mr. Matthew, I'm sure you have to read between the lines to figure out what that means. Aren't you curious about what he left you in the will?”

“Of course I am.”

Merlina went to a locked cabinet in the opposite corner of the room, unlocked it, and removed an old wooden box. She returned with it, opened it, and presented Francine with two documents. One of them was a detailed will. The second was an irrevocable living trust. The will looked to be older, so Francine considered the trust first. She flipped to the last page. It had been signed two days before. “Perhaps …”

“Basically, he has left you everything that is not money. Mainly that's his property, which is fairly substantial. He owned three hundred acres of land in Parke County, including some forty acres that he maintained as pristine as it was when he purchased it. That's according to him.”

“Who did he purchase it from? And what did he do with the money? Did that go to another heir?”

Merlina shook her head. “I told you, there are no other heirs. He donated it to charity. A hospice care organization, if you must know.”

That would have been Francine's next question, if Merlina hadn't answered it. “Let me back up a step. How do we know that Zedediah Matthew is dead?”

“We don't. But it's not a problem for you legally. May I?” She indicated the papers Francine was holding. Francine dutifully passed them back to her.

Merlina flipped to the next to last page. “This is an irrevocable living trust. He transferred all the property into it. As of yesterday, that trust became yours. Even if you or anyone else cannot prove that he is dead, you own that property.”

“But what if he wants it back?”

She shrugged. “It's yours. He can't get it back. You'll find the will has the same goals in mind. You are heir to the ranch. Have you had a chance to look at the property?”

Francine was overwhelmed by the sheer number of questions in her head. Why hadn't she asked Jonathan to come here, instead of sending him on a mission? A mission that now she'd have to attend to anyway, as soon as she got out of the office. “No. The only time I was there you were with us. We saw the house and the greenhouse. I know the house burned down. I trust the greenhouse is still standing.”

“I'm pretty confident it still is.”

Merlina said it in the stage voice she'd used at the séance. Francine wondered how much of that was playing a part and how much of it was some kind of supernatural knowledge she didn't understand. Then she remembered the will had been signed the same day the arsonist struck. “Who was the beneficiary before me?”

“A woman named Belinda Miles Flowers.”

Francine would have to process that. Had Belinda died before the irrevocable trust become effective, or after?

“I was told to tell you to make sure you see the lovely rolling hills in the preserved section. It's beautiful there.” Merlina handed over the box that had contained the will and the trust.

Francine took it from her. The box was about the size of two shoeboxes set side by side. When she opened it, it smelled of cedar and reminded her of her grandmother's hope chest. It looked old enough to have been constructed at the same time.

But what got her attention was that there was another box inside it. She lifted it out and set it on the table. Carved into it was the heart icon she'd seen on the beam of the Roseville Bridge and on the cover of the two diaries. It had a tiny lock on it. The lock was strikingly similar to the unlatched lock that was on the two diaries, neither of which had required a key. But when she tried to open the lock on this box, it wouldn't budge. “What's this?” she asked.

“I don't know what's in it. It's been in my possession now since I first met Mr. Matthew. He referred to it as the key to his ranch. He said that what was inside would make sense only to the person who could open it. That's all I know about that, really. I assume that you have the key?”

Francine tilted the box right and left, examined the bottom, and then ran her hand over the lock. She remembered the phrase carved into the bridge under the heart:
You are to mine.
It made no more sense now than it did then. But she believed if she could figure out one, she would be able to solve the other. “I don't have the key, and I don't know where to find it.”

“Pity.” Merlina stood up. “I'm afraid that's all I know. I need to leave for another appointment. I'm trying to get them all out of the way this morning because Aunt Marcy has me booked for another gig this afternoon, much to Mother's chagrin.” She smiled, and for a moment she looked more like the Merlina Francine knew, despite the professional dress. “It looks to me like you could break the box open, but if I understand correctly, until you find the key, it may not be worth it. Both boxes and everything in them are yours to take. If you have more questions for me after you've had a chance to think this all through, please let me know. I don't know that I'll have answers, but you may find some help in just asking them.”

Francine found it an odd phrase—
you may find some help in just asking them
—but she understood what Merlina meant by it. That was her experience often with Charlotte. Just putting voice to a question often helped shed light on the answer.

She put the second box and the documents back in the first box and carried it out.