Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder (10 page)

Chapter
Fourteen

Head Shot

Minneapolis,
MN

Late October

J
OHN GOODMAN UNLOADED
groceries, while Cleo wound her way in and out of his legs. Caddy
barked twice and John chuckled. “Okay, okay. I get it. You guys are hungry.
Jeez, a little patience here.”

He served their dinner, and then started on his own. After the
chicken went into the oven, he turned on the stereo and poured himself a glass
of red wine.

John decided he had enough time to begin organizing his new home
office. He uncovered his desk and pushed it into place. Once he was satisfied
with its placement, he climbed the stairs to the attic, and pulled out the
boxes stored there since his move to Minneapolis. Dust motes flew around the
unused space and John sneezed several times.

He dug through a box of medical textbooks and smiled when he found
a faded snapshot that fell from between the pages of one of them. It was of
Mark Tinsdale, his college roommate. Mark was now an FBI agent and was the
reason John occasionally helped the bureau on cases related to brain injuries.
If it for weren’t for his old buddy, John would never would have met Jo. He
made a mental note to give Mark a call tomorrow and thank him for sending him
to Minnesota in the first place.

John carried down a few of the boxes and put some of the books on
the shelves. When he realized he was missing his desk lamp, he climbed the
stairs once more, Caddy in tow. “Finished with dinner and decided to explore
with me, huh? Nice to have the company.”

He knelt down to dig through a few more boxes, but still didn’t
find the lamp. He stood up, brushing the dust off his knees and looked around
the room. In a far corner, he could see an object covered in a sheet. Curious,
he stepped over a beat-up trunk and stood in front of the object. It was flat
and rectangular in shape, about three feet tall by two feet wide. Caddy
gingerly sniffed at the sheet and looked at him as if to say, “Well, don’t you
want to know what it is?”

 
“Guess we’ll have to
investigate.” When he carefully pulled the sheet away, he saw it was a portrait
of a gray-haired man dressed in a dark suit. The man had struck a solemn pose,
but John detected a twinkle in his green eyes.

While he had never met the man, John knew immediately this was
Jo’s father. He had died years ago, when Jo was still in high school. There was
no mistaken those green eyes; they held the same hint of mischief he saw in
Jo’s face every day.

“I’ll be damned.” John knew Jo still struggled with her father’s
death, all these years later. The first time he and Jo had been intimate, Jo
told him the sad tale about her father. He had been well-loved by everyone in
the community, until he had been falsely accused of making sexual advances toward
a patient. He was eventually cleared of all charges, but his reputation had
been destroyed and he took his own life, leaving Jo an orphan.

John searched the painting for the artist’s signature, for the
image was incredibly lifelike. He was astonished to see Jo’s autograph in the
lower right corner.

“Wow. I never knew she could paint like this. She couldn’t have
been more than seventeen when she created this. I wonder why she stopped
painting.”

Caddy studied John with her soft brown eyes, but provided no
answers. John suspected losing her father in such an awful way probably had a
great deal to do with Jo giving up on her talent.

John held the painting in his hands, trying to decide what to do
with it. Jo obviously kept it in the attic for a reason, and he wanted to
respect her privacy. However, he hated to see her talent go to waste. Maybe
she’d even decide to pick up a paint brush again.

In the end, he carried it into his office and leaned it against
the wall, facing outward. He wanted to talk to her about it. Approaching the
topic wasn’t going to be easy.

***

Jo arrived home several hours later. She kicked off her shoes at
the door and sniffed appreciatively at the savory aromas lingering in the
kitchen. Caddy greeted her with a gentle nudge. Bending down to rub her golden
ears, Jo said, “Mmm, I smell John’s famous chicken. Did you guys leave any for
me?” Jo was surprised to realize she was hungry. Again.

She hung her jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and then
stepped into the darkened den, searching for John. Caddy followed closely
behind. “Hey, Sweetie, where are you?”

Jo heard his voice call out from upstairs. “Up here, in the
office.”

She stepped into the room, just as he was adjusting his medical
license on the wall. Walking into his outstretched arms, she gave him a long,
lingering kiss. Even after months of living together, her stomach still did a
little happy flip when she came home to him. “I’ve missed you.”

John smiled down at her with that sexy grin of his. “Maybe not as
much as I’ve missed you.” He set her apart from him a bit. “I’ll bet you’re
hungry and tired. Why don’t I warm up some leftovers and you can tell me about
your case.”

 
Jo took a minute to look
around the room. “Looks like you’ve been busy. The office looks great, I….” She
cut off her sentence when she spied a familiar set of eyes.

Her shock felt like a physical blow. She hadn’t seen the portrait
of her dad in quite some time and seeing it again brought back a flood of
emotions. Her father had missed out on so much, including meeting his future
son-in-law. Jo blamed him for that. If he hadn’t taken his own life….

She ruthlessly cut off the thought. Her voice sounded flat when
she said, “John, why is the painting of my dad down here?”

John stepped over to the portrait. “I found this in the attic.
It’s remarkable. I knew you could paint, but I thought that was only walls, not
works of art. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jo could hear the slight hurt in John’s voice that she had kept
that part of her hidden from him, but she didn’t care. She felt slightly dizzy
and she could feel tears creeping into her eyes.
Dammit! Why did he have to meddle, to remind her of what she had lost?

She angrily swiped away a tear that threatened to fall. She could
only stare at the painting, and waves of sadness and anger rolled over her like
a brewing storm.

 
“Jo? Talk to me. What’s
going on?”

Finally, Jo spun to face him and shouted, “What the hell, John?
What gives you the right to bring this down here? Is this what it’s going to be
like when we’re married? I have a right to my privacy.”

John’s face turned white and she could see she had wounded him
deeply with her outburst. She could feel the heat creep up her neck and was
embarrassed that tears now fell unchecked down her face.

His expression softened and he thumbed at the wetness on her face.
“Jo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere. I just…I just wanted to talk about
your incredible talent. I didn’t realize it would cause so much pain.” He
reached down for the painting and lifted it up. “I’ll take it back up to the
attic. Let’s forget about this. You’re right, it wasn’t my place.”

Jo was ashamed at her outburst. She realized she had overreacted
and knew John hadn’t meant any harm. Why was she feeling so edgy?
It didn’t seem like it had to do with
the stress of her case

After a moment, she reached out to grab his arm and pull him back.
“No, it’s me who should apologize. I know you would never do anything to
knowingly upset me. I don’t know why it bothered me so much.” She shrugged. “It
was just a shock, that’s all.”

She looked down at the painting in John’s hands and smiled. “It is
pretty good, isn’t it? My dad loved that picture. He used to say it made him
feel important that such a talented artist had bothered painting an old coot
like him.”

John studied the portrait. “You look a lot like him, you know.
Especially around the eyes.”

They both studied it for a moment, each lost in separate thoughts.
Finally, John said quietly, “Why did you stop painting, Jo? You have a real
gift.”

Jo sniffled at the remnants of her tears. “I don’t really know.
This was the last thing I painted. After my dad died, I couldn’t seem to pick
up a brush without thinking of him. I eventually sold the easel and other
supplies when I went to college.”

Jo was surprised to find her fingers itched to hold a brush again,
to create again. She looked at John. “Do you think we can find a spot in the
den to hang this?”

John’s grin was infectious when he said, “I know just the spot.”

***

John read in bed while Jo clicked away at the keyboard of her
laptop next to him. He set aside his medical journal. “Find anything that might
help you with your case?”

Jo rubbed her eyes and John thought she looked more tired than
usual when she responded, “I’ve been doing some research on Wellborne
Industries, a company that may be at the center of this case. Seems the founder
of the company, Jonathon Wellborne, was a self-made billionaire. He grew up in
the Iron Range of northern Minnesota, received a full-ride football scholarship
at Texas A & M and became a petroleum engineer. He began his career with
Halliburton and then left to start his own company, which last year had
revenues of four-and-one-half billion dollars. Here’s the kicker: he’s only
fifty-five years old.”

John whistled. “Amazing. Think he cut any corners to get to that
level?”

“Funny you should mention that. There’ve been several lawsuits
filed against his company, but they’ve all settled out of court. All had to do
with fracking and most of them to do with ground water contamination. The
federal government fined them a few years ago for failing to properly report
contaminate levels, but the penalty was minimal.”

“Think Rick Wilson stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have?”

Jo shrugged. “It’s looking more and more like that all the time.
I’m hoping Billy MacGregor has some answers for me tomorrow. You said he had a
copy, right?”

 
“He didn’t specifically say
a copy of what, but maybe it was the documentary. I didn’t want to push too
hard, for fear of spooking him. I knew you would rather talk to him yourself.”

Jo closed up her laptop. “You did great. This could be the break we’re
looking for.” She reached over and pushed aside John’s journal. “Enough work.
You know, we haven’t had a chance to properly celebrate our recent engagement.”

John’s pulse sped up when he saw her frisky grin. Gathering her to
his chest, he bent down and kissed her neck. In a low voice, he said, “Now,
just what did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I think you’re well on your way to figuring it out.”

Chapter Fifteen

Turners Bend

Late October

T
HE
LOVELY INDIAN SUMMER
had made way for a gloriously
gem-colored fall in mid-October, but by late in the month most of the leaves
were down, the result of a couple of windy days. The air had turned from crisp
to chilly. Chip sat on the back porch huddled in a wool shirt and looked at his
watch, as he had been doing every five minutes or so. Jane was due to arrive
soon, and he didn’t want to miss it…Runt’s homecoming. His feelings vacillated
between joy and heartbreak. Jane had assured him Runt could not only walk, but
he could climb stairs and run in a rocking fashion. Yet, the prospect of seeing
him for the first time since the accident caused a resurgence of Chip’s guilt
and sadness.

Jane
was also bringing home a veterinary student who would be completing a two-month
practicum with her. She had offered him Sven’s room, since Turners Bend lacked
lodging for him. Jane described him as an international student who was
brilliant and charming, but Chip knew little else.

Chip
had mixed feeling about having a stranger in the house. It would change the
fragile family dynamics they were trying to forge during their first year of
marriage. Jane, however, had a soft spot for anyone who needed a home or a job.
She argued the student would ease her workload and give her more free time to
spend with him and Ingrid. For that reason, Chip reluctantly approved of the
plan.

Chip
heard Jane’s pick-up before he saw it turn down their road. He rose and walked
quickly to meet the truck. It came to a halt a few yards from him. Jane hopped
out and ran to release the tailgate. Chip knelt as he watched Runt bound out of
the truck and fly into his arms. Chip laughed when the dog gave his face a
washing with his slobbery tongue, while wagging his tail like a metronome set
for a scherzo’s tempo.

Then
Runt ran to the house, climbed the steps up to the backdoor and barked three
times. Perched on the sill of the kitchen window was Callie, making the strange
chirping sound cats make when excited.

Chip
returned to the truck to give Jane a hug and kiss. A figure unfolded himself and
stepped out of the passenger’s side of the truck. He was about six feet ten
inches tall, very slender with long arms and legs. He wore white cotton pants,
like scrubs, and a white dashiki shirt topped with an orange nylon ski jacket.
On his feet were Nike’s that Chip guessed were at least size fourteen.

“Chip
this is Tolla Dibaba. Tolla, this is my husband Chip,” said Jane.

Tolla
shook Chip’s hand and bowed formally. “It is a pleasure to make your
acquaintance, Sir,” said the young man in very precise English. “My friends in
Ames call me Baba, and you may do so, too, Sir.”

Chip
was momentarily speechless. Surely he must be Ethiopian, he thought. Somehow
when Jane had said international student, Baba was not what he had imagined.

“Welcome,”
stammered Chip. “No need to call me Sir; Chip is just fine. Your name is
Dibaba? Are you related to the famous Olympic runner?”

“He
is one of my many cousins,” said Baba. “But I have too many cousins to name
them all for you, Sir.”

“In
many languages doesn’t baba usually mean father?” asked Chip.

“You
are correct, Sir. I think if my American friends knew that, maybe they would
call me Dude instead. I would like that.”

***

During
the course of a protracted dinner, the household peppered Baba with questions.
They learned his mother had died in childbirth when his younger brother Hakim
was born. His father was a village leader in the Afra region of Ethiopia and a
prosperous goat and cattle herder. He sent Baba and Hakim to a Christian
boarding school in Addis Ababa.

“How
did you end up in Iowa?” asked Ingrid, who Chip noticed was entranced by their
guest.

“I
won a scholarship to Stanford University to study biology, and my brother won a
scholarship to study chemical engineering at Cambridge University in England,
Miss Ingrid. Now I study veterinary medicine at Iowa State, so I can return to
my homeland and attend to the herds of my village. I desire to learn how to
breed drought-resistant animals.”

“What
about your brother, Baba? Where is Hakim now?” asked Jane, as she started to
clear the dishes from the table.

Chip
observed Baba’s disarming smile fade and his body stiffen. “Hakim has returned
to our country. My father tells me he has become what you call radicalized. I
fear he has allied himself with some very bad people, Wahhabi Muslims who want
to turn Ethiopia into an Islamic state.”

“Are
you Muslim, Baba?” asked Ingrid.

“No,
we are Christians. I do not understand my brother and what he is doing, and I
fear for his life.”

During
their meal, Runt sat next to Chip with his head on his lap. Although fascinated
by Baba’s story, Chip’s divided his attention between the young man and the
dog, stroking Runt’s head and feeding him scraps from the table when Jane
wasn’t looking.

***

Later
than evening Chip sat on their bed watching Jane change clothes. The turn in
weather had ended her season of sleeping in sheer nightgowns. She donned a pair
of light blue flannel pajamas dotted with penguins and turned around, modeling
them for him.

“Sexy,
huh?” she said laughing. “My mother gave these to me for Christmas last year.”

“Maybe
she will give me a matching pair this year,” he replied. “Are you taking Baba
to the Bun tomorrow? I’d love to see the locals’ reactions to him.”

Jane
put her hand on her hips and gave him a harsh, scowling frown. “We may live in
a small town, but we’re not hayseeds or provincial. You of all people should
know this town is open and accepting of all kinds of people. Anyway, when they
see him with animals, he will win their hearts. He’s really quite extraordinary
and knows more about goats then I ever will.”

Chip
stood and took Jane into his arms. “Hey Red, I love it when you get hot
tempered. I thoroughly like Baba, and he has certainly won Ingrid over
already.”

“Aren’t
you going to get ready for bed, Sir?” Jane asked with a little bow, Baba-style.

“I
think I’ll work in the kitchen for a while, keep Runt company on his first
night home. You won’t reconsider and let him in here, will you?”

“Absolutely
not. I know you; next he would be sleeping in bed between us with his head on a
pillow.”

***

Chip
found Runt in the dog’s bed in the kitchen. He sat on the floor and Runt edged
over and laid his head in Chip’s lap. “I’m sorry about the leg, boy. You’ve
been so brave, such a good dog. I bought you a Frisbee. Tomorrow we’ll play in
the back yard, okay?”

Runt
thumped his tail on the floor.