Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones (28 page)

“As far as information goes, everything is locked up tight. If the nurses know that Mildred Billings is really Oma, they should be nominated for Oscars.”

“What about the decoy? Anyone tried anything?”

“Not that I’ve heard. It’s hard to ask questions, or get answers, when you’re trying to keep things secret. I plan to ask the hospital doctor when he makes rounds tonight. I know you’re doing the right thing by staying at Angie’s, but—” His voice had gone deep and husky.

“Yeah, it would have been a nice last night. And if they lift the evacuation soon enough—”

“I’m in room twenty.”

Megan hung up before she changed her mind. She was staying in Mapleton, and as long as she was, she could get some work done. Thinking about Justin would be counterproductive.

She tried to recreate some of the elation she’d felt when she’d opened the bank’s email, but it still eluded her. That was a job. Right now was her life.

Angie burst through the door, a bottle of champagne in hand. “I know you don’t want this yet so I’ll put it in the fridge for later. Might not be how I’d planned to spend the night, but getting wasted on champagne is a decent substitute. You have some time?”

“I guess. What do you need?”

“Help me with a care package run to the fire and police stations.”

* * * * *

It was almost four by the time Megan and Angie were finished bringing cases of Gatorade, water, Power Bars and assorted snacks to the fire station. Trays of pulled pork sandwiches, coleslaw, urns of coffee, and pastries went to the police station, to everyone’s delight. Gordon hadn’t even come out of his office to acknowledge either the food or Angie, and Megan knew her friend had been irked, but Angie had waved it off. “He’s Chief of Police, and there’s a crisis. He’s got more important stuff to do.”

Angie buckled herself into the Daily Bread van’s seat. “That should keep them functioning for a while.”

“You really are a caterer,” Megan said when they were back at Angie’s apartment. “If you can handle these kinds of things last-minute, I know you’ll be able to manage a few special events on the side.”

Angie flopped onto the couch. “Maybe. Please, don’t think I’m not thrilled you want me to work with you.”

Megan’s heart sank. Was Angie going to say no?

“It’s—” Angie continued. “It’s that I can’t rush into things. It’s only been a few hours since you asked me.” Her blue eyes were moist when she raised them to Megan’s. “I need time. How soon do you need an answer?”

Megan tried to hide her disappointment, although she could certainly understand Angie’s hesitation. She shrugged. “I don’t have a deadline.”

“Does a week sound reasonable?” Angie asked.

“I think that’s plenty of time.” Not that she wanted to wait that long, but she couldn’t bring herself to pressure Angie.

Angie hesitated. “Do you have a backup if I say no?”

Another wave of apprehension surged over Megan. “Angie, what’s important now is that you do what you need to do for
you.
If my business doesn’t have your food, I’ll find someone else to help with the catering end. Of course you’re my first choice, and the door will always be open for you, if you change your mind.”

“Hey, I haven’t said no yet. I’m collecting facts, as Gordon would say, not deciding anything.”

“If you have any other questions, ask away.”

“About the partnership? Not yet. But I have another one. It’s a three-parter, but I think if we answer one, we’ll answer them all. Who do you think tried to kill Rose, Dr. Evans, and set the fire?”

Chapter 33

Gordon cleared a spot on his desk and motioned Laurie inside. “Show us what you’ve got.”

Laurie arranged six envelopes on the desk. “Two per month. These cover September through November. I hope you find what you’re looking for in one of them.” She turned to leave.

“You mean you didn’t look at the pictures?” Colfax said. “A stroll down memory lane?”

Over her shoulder, Laurie shot him a look of exasperation. “The chief asked me to sort by date. He didn’t tell me what he was looking for. Since the dates were on the back, it wouldn’t have been an effective use of my time to dwell over the pictures.”

“Let’s look now.” Gordon intervened before Colfax’s offbeat sense of humor pushed Laurie too far. He moved five of the envelopes to his credenza, opened the first September envelope and dumped the contents on his desk. He shoved them in Colfax’s direction and pointed to the white board. “Start with finding the original of that hunting picture.” As the thought occurred to him, he added, “Or anything else with Fred Easterbrook or Doc Evans.”

“What’s the good doctor’s first name?” Colfax asked.

Gordon had to think for a moment. The man had always been Doc Evans in his mind. He visualized the lettering on Doc’s office door. “Otis.”

Colfax grunted. Gordon noticed that Colfax was scanning the backs of the photos, not looking at the front, despite having teased Laurie about doing the same thing. But Gordon wanted to find the hunting picture, and since he knew what it looked like, he tackled the images, not the descriptions. The faster he found the one Megan had sent him, the sooner they could move to step two.

Gordon took the second September envelope and removed them in a neat stack. Moving quickly through them, he found nothing related to hunting, much less the picture he was looking for. He shoved the pictures back in the envelope and set it aside for Colfax to hit next.

“Lots of damn society crap,” Colfax said.

“Wouldn’t surprise me. Our paper’s small now, and it was probably even smaller then.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. In 1975, there was no Internet, and no CNN. People actually got their news from newspapers. The printed kind, delivered to the door, or sold at newsstands. Of course, a town like this, society crap is all that passes as news.”

Gordon refused to take the bait.

Colfax thumbed through more pictures. “Looks to me like the photographer made everyone happy by snapping pictures, but most of them never made it to the paper, if the codes on these pictures are right.”

Gordon left Colfax to his work, opened the next envelope and leafed through another stack of photos. About a third of the way through, he stopped. “Got it.” He flipped it over. Fred’s name was there, along with that of Doc Evans, as expected. What he hadn’t expected was to see Roger Ignatius in the picture as well. Was there some sort of connection? And could it have anything to do with the bones? The other names were unfamiliar. He passed the picture to Colfax and searched for the
Weekly
issue referenced in the photograph.

Sneezing, blinking, and wiping his eyes as the dust from the stack of newspapers dispersed into the air, Gordon found the stack encompassing the date the photo had denoted. Suppressing a momentary curiosity to sit down and read up on Mapleton history, he leafed through the yellowed pages—suffering yet another attack of dust—and found the right edition. He took it to the multi-purpose room where he’d be able to spread things out. Carefully, he set the brittle
Weekly
onto the table and lifted the pages, seeking the one with the photograph.

His pulse quickened as he spotted it, although if it was quality he wanted, he’d go back to the original. Irritation washed over him as he realized the article wasn’t an article at all, but simply a caption. He stared at it for several minutes, hoping more would appear.

Winner of the Tri-County Hunt Club team competition, with a six-by-five buck, was Fred Easterbrook along with his teammates, Otis Evans, Roger Ignatius, Bob “Mad Dog” Browning, and Harold “Hal” Osterback.

Another Osterback? Clark’s brother was Gordon’s guess. Seemed logical from the age, but who knew? Gordon made a note to check. Judging from the way the other hunters were in the background, Fred had been the man to bag the prize. Had the teams been randomly assigned, or did they come in as already formed partnerships?

Again, he asked himself how—or if—this really had anything to do with the bones. The picture was taken in 1975, and Sam bought the land in 1980. Gordon made a mental note to confirm the date with Sam.

Too many possibilities. Clark could have suggested his brother—if Hal
was
his brother—take part in the hunt. Or, perhaps Clark had suggested to Roger that Hal join the firm, and the hunt served a dual purpose—competition plus closed-door business meeting. But what about the other man? He seemed much older, judging from the full, gray beard.

He took the paper and headed back to his office. “What year was Roger and company founded?”

“Huh?” Colfax was clicking away at the computer. Had he found something in one of the pictures?

“Never mind.” Gordon skirted the desk and found the folder Laurie had given him. He plucked the Articles of Incorporation page from the stack. Laurie hadn’t been kidding when she’d said there were legibility issues. He squinted, blinked, and willed the tiny numbers to come into focus. The one and the nine were clear enough, but he couldn’t tell whether the next was a five, six, or eight. Couldn’t be an eight, he decided, since the company was already established in the seventies. The last digit might be a three or an eight. He nudged Colfax out of the way of his desk drawer and found his magnifying glass. The blurred numbers were larger, and he went with 1963. Even 1968 meant an existing connection between Ignatius and Osterback. But where did the others fit? Especially Doc Evans.

And did it matter?

“Who’s your guy at the hospital?” Gordon asked Colfax. “I need to ask him to ask Doc Evans some questions.”

“Huh?” Colfax said, still engrossed in whatever he was doing on the computer.

“Never mind. I’ll go after work.” He’d be able to check on Doc, and get answers first-hand. Angie wasn’t available tonight anyway, so why not?

Colfax grunted, clicked some more, and shoved back from the desk. “Sorry. You got something?”

“The names from the picture.” Gordon strode to the white board and added the new ones. “Sadly, the
Mapleton Weekly
didn’t deem the hunting competition worthy of an article. But with Roger Ignatius and another Osterback on the team, there might be a link to the real estate corporation. Can you plug Hal—Harold—Osterback into the system and see if he’s related to Clark?”

“DOB?” Colfax asked. “Age range?”

Gordon studied the picture and did some mental calculations. “The picture was taken in seventy-five. He looks mid-twenties, early thirties, maybe. I’d start with fifty to seventy.”

Colfax reached for the mouse and called up a database. “You said you found the others. Names?”

“The three I gave you plus a Bob Browning. Try Robert. Older, probably in his fifties then. Full beard, gray, in the photo. Nickname Mad Dog.”

Colfax clicked more keys and rolled his chair away from the desk. “While we’re waiting for the magic, you’re going to tell me you want to see if there are any more pictures of these guys, aren’t you? And wade through newspapers, since not every article has a picture associated with it.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Yep. Only I’d shove it on someone else’s desk. You have any other flunkies beside your admin?”

Gordon considered calling in some of the civilian corps. Come to think of it, a lot of them were retired and might even know the people they were looking for. “I’ll dig a couple up for you.” He reached across the desk and called Laurie. As always, she understood what he needed with little explanation.

“I’ll make a couple of calls. I know there are old-timers in the corps. I can probably get you some tomorrow.”

Which reminded Gordon he still had his own old-timer interviews to conduct. Dismissing them as something to deal with later, he hung up and paced the room, trying to collect his thoughts. That niggling at the back of his brain returned. He stopped, stared at the white board. Flipped it around. Stared some more. “You think this whole hunting competition thing is a waste of time?” he said, more to himself than to Colfax.

“Nothing’s a waste of time at the beginning,” Colfax said. “But I’m here to solve the case of the buried bones. If they all connect, we’re working together.”

“And the fire? You think it’s connected, too?” That niggle turned into a swarm of bees, finally converging into a thought. “Motive. The attempted break-ins and the fire. If I hadn’t called in the civilian corps, the break-ins would have pulled my force from the bone site. But they didn’t. You think the fire might have been set to serve the same purpose?”

Ignoring Colfax’s lack of response, Gordon did two more circuits of the room, trying to gather his thoughts. He needed the reports from the night of the break-ins. He stepped behind Colfax and jerked on the chair. “Out.”

“One second.” Colfax clicked something else, then exited the program he was using. “You have something?”

“I don’t know yet. I need my files.”

“I need coffee. And some of that food your lady brought. The brain can’t work without fuel.” Colfax fingered his temple, patted his belly, and clomped out of the room.

Gordon found the reports and headed for Dispatch, where he could see the addresses on the huge Mapleton wall map. He opened the door and was immediately hit with the background hum of radio traffic and undertones of people coordinating efforts to fight the fire. At the second desk, the Incident Commander hung up his phone and strode to the fire map. Gordon was heartened to see no more colored blobs, and the commander connecting some of the dotted black lines. “How’s it going?” Gordon asked.

The commander clicked the cap onto his marker. “If the wind doesn’t pick up, or do some funky direction change, we might get a handle on it. We’re at about fifteen percent containment now.”

“Any chance you’ll be lifting the evacuation?”

The man shook his head. “Not before tomorrow morning. We’re going to have boots on the ground all night, checking for hot spots, and they need to have room to work.”

“Thanks. I’ll make sure to keep officers on perimeter duty.” Gordon stepped toward the other desk, where Irv was on the phone. Gordon held back, listening. It clearly wasn’t a dispatch call. And where was Tessa?