Throw in the Trowel (23 page)

Fearing he would have a heart attack, I picked up my purse and started toward the door. “Marco, let's go,” I said quietly.

“You know how to reach me,” Marco said, and walked out behind me.

“That was rough,” I said as we got into the car. “I was afraid he was going to keel over.”

“I didn't want that to happen, but I did want to scare him.” Marco started the car and pulled out of the lot. “If I'm right, in a few minutes he's going to head over to Cannon Construction to warn Doug about the key.”

Marco parked on the side street, where we sat and waited. Within ten minutes, Rusty drove past in his pickup truck. Marco followed some distance behind until he saw Rusty turn into the construction company's parking lot.

“Bingo,” Marco said, and took a photo with his cellphone of Rusty walking into the building. “I wouldn't be surprised if Doug showed up at the bar this evening to convince me I'm wrong about his involvement. Or maybe he'll be frightened enough to pull a disappearing act. But please make sure you talk to Tara after school and emphasize the importance of staying away from the Cannon residence. If Doug is the killer, he'll be running scared. We don't want Tara anywhere near him.”

“What are you going to do about Rusty?”

“I'm not sure yet. It was obvious that our bicycle information took him by surprise. But why? Because he didn't want to believe that Doug could have killed Kermit or because he didn't think there'd be any proof?

“So here are our possibilities. I think we can safely rule out the Duchess. She might have had a strong motive, but it's not likely that she would have met Kermit at the bar no matter what time of day it was, or snuck into the bar to steal the bones, or have hired college students to create a diversion while she sifted dirt. I'm also moving Henry to third on the list. He might have had the means and opportunity, but his motive was the weakest of the three men.

“So the first and most likely possibility is that Doug killed his dad, and Rusty found out about it when Doug came to him for help. The second is that Rusty didn't know until just now, when he figured it out after he saw the key and the photo. The third is that Rusty and Doug worked together to kill Kermit.”

Marco stopped and pointed straight ahead. “That was a quick visit.”

I glanced up and saw Rusty pulling out of the Cannon lot. But instead of turning left to head back to the saddle shop, he turned right toward town.

“Let's see where he's going,” Marco said, and started the engine.

As he eased into traffic, I checked the time. “I need to be back at Bloomers soon. Not that I'm complaining, but we've been inundated with orders.”

“I'd hate to lose track of him now, Abby, but if you need to get back—”

“Forget I said that. I'm sure everything is fine. I haven't had any emergency phone calls, so that's good news.”

I didn't want to tell Marco that I'd been hoping for a phone call telling me that Francesca's experiment with Princess had gone badly. That hadn't happened, which meant that she'd want to work with Seedy next, and I really didn't want to turn my little rescue dog over to her. But if I said no, I'd offend Francesca.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Marco said.

“Just thinking about Seedy.”

Marco glanced over at me. “By the worry line between your eyebrows, I'd say it was Seedy and my mom.”

How well he knew me.

“Do you want my opinion?” he asked. “Seedy's not ready for my mom
.
It's too soon.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “But how do we tell your mom that?”

Marco gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Why don't you let me handle that, babe?”

“I would love that, Marco. Thanks.” I sat back with a pleased smile. Sometimes there was an
I
in team.

We followed Rusty around the town square, where he turned south and headed across the railroad tracks. Both of us were surprised when he pulled into Greer Plumbing's lot.

“From Doug's office to Henry's?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

Marco took a photo of Rusty entering the building. “I'm not sure what it means, but it certainly puts a twist in my theories.”

C
HAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T
en minutes went by without a sign of Rusty. Because we were so close to the square, I left Marco doing surveillance and walked back to Bloomers. Seedy was in the window again, and scratched at the glass when she saw me coming. As soon as I stepped inside, she was in front of me, her hind end wiggling so hard I thought she would fall over.

I scooped her up and held her. “Hello, little girl. Did you miss me?”

She gave a yip then licked my cheek until I put her down.

Two women were just leaving, and both stopped to tell me how much they admired me for taking Seedy in. “Grace told us all about her,” one of the women said. “You did a wonderful thing. I've had my rescue dog for five years, and he's the best dog I've ever owned.” She smiled at her friend. “Now I'm trying to talk Kim into adopting one.”

I chatted with them for a few minutes, then, with Seedy following right behind, headed into the back where Lottie was hard at work. Seedy went to her pile of toys beneath the table, chose one, and took it to her doggy bed.

“Any calls from Jillian?” I asked.

“None,” Lottie said. “It's been blessedly quiet.”

Just what I'd feared.

Grace came through the curtain carrying a tea tray loaded with cups, saucers, a teapot, and scones. “I thought you might need refreshment,” she said, setting the tray on the worktable.

“Thanks,” I said. “Marco didn't bring any food, and I'm starving.”

“Did you make any progress on the case?” Grace asked.

I put a dollop of clotted cream on the blueberry scone and took a bite. “Oh, this is so delicious, Grace. Yes, we did make progress.”

I filled them in as I ate, answered their questions, then rolled up my sleeves and got back to business. I read over a new order, then looked at Lottie in surprise. “The customer wants a wedding bouquet and boutonniere, and that's all? No floral arrangements, no bridesmaids' bouquets, nothing?”

“Apparently they're going to be married in front of a judge,” Lottie said. “They're a nice older couple who want to keep their wedding simple. You can see on the slip that she wants a bouquet of purple-and-green flowers with something a little surprising in it.”

How fun! I went to one of our walk-in coolers and studied my stock. I pulled green hydrangea and green tea orchids, then purple dendrobium orchids and purple statice. I looked around for something a little exotic and spotted peacock-toned
Craspedia
, and that gave me an idea for the surprise. Peacock feathers.

“That's a knockout,” Lottie said when I was done. “Maybe you can use a peacock feather with a green tea orchid for the boutonniere. That'd be a surprise, too.”

I finished the order and started on the next, and by four fifty-five that afternoon, Lottie and I had cleared the spindle. I'd never worked harder or felt more content. I had a new husband, a new mattress, two fantastic assistants, a sweet new dog, and a thriving business. It didn't get any better than that.

And then my cell phone rang. I saw my sister-in-law's name on the screen and got an instant knot in my stomach that I couldn't explain.

“Abby, is Tara with you?” Kathy asked, the worry evident in her voice.

Now I knew the reason for the knot. “No, I haven't seen her today. What's up?”

“She was supposed to go home with a friend to do their math assignment and then be home by four thirty. I called and texted her twice, but she didn't answer, so I called her friend's house, and she said Tara was never there. I don't know what's going on, Abby. She's been really secretive lately, and that makes me worry even more.”

I had a strong hunch about what was going on, but I sure didn't want to tell Kathy that her daughter was playing detective in a murder investigation. “I'll be leaving Bloomers in about ten minutes, so I'll check around. I know some of the places she likes to hang out. In the meantime, if she shows up, let me know.”

“Trouble?” Lottie asked, sweeping the floor.

“Tara isn't home, and Kathy is starting to worry.”

“And you're worrying, too. That little crease between your eyebrows is back. You better go look for her. Gracie and I will close up shop.”

“Thank you,” I said, giving her a hug. I grabbed my jacket and purse and headed for the curtain, then came to a stop. “Oh, wait. I forgot about Seedy.”

“I'll take her down to the bar,” Lottie said. “You're going to call Marco anyway and let him know about Tara, so just tell him that I'll bring Seedy down.”

“Perfect.” I made sure I had my cell phone with me. Then I took off.

Once in my car, I phoned Marco, but it went to voice mail, so I called the bar directly and Rafe answered. “Hey, hot stuff, if you're looking for Marco, you'll have to wait. He's on a phone conference.”

“Okay, when he's done, have him call me. I'll be driving around looking for my niece. You haven't seen Tara, have you?”

“Not recently.”

“What do you mean
not recently
? Was she down there today?”

“Yeah, after school. She said she wanted an update on the investigation, but Marco was busy, so I filled her in.”

That little redheaded sneak. “What did you tell her?”

Rafe suddenly sounded nervous. “Just what, you know, Gert pointed out to Marco in that photo on the wall.”

“How do you know what Gert told Marco?”

“I was standing right here.”

My stomach knot grew bigger. “Tell me exactly what you said to Tara.”

“I showed her the photo, and then she wanted to know who the people were in it, so I pointed out the guys that Gert had pointed out to Marco.”

Then Tara knew that Doug Cannon was in the picture. “Did you show her the bicycle tire?”
Please say no please say no please say no.

He paused. “Um, yeah, I think I did.”

Crap! Unless I was way off base, I had a pretty good hunch where Tara was—at the Cannon's on a hunt for Doug's bike. Because her dad still had his old bike, to her it would be perfectly logical for Doug to still have his. I wished I'd never shown her the photo of that key.

I did a fast Internet search, and found an address for the Cannon residence. It was in a township outside of New Chapel's borders, in a wooded area where the homes were scattered. Guided by my GPS, I followed a country road east for six miles before turning north onto a road that led to a smaller road that circled a retention pond. I finally found the house on the backside of the pond, a two-story gray Colonial with white trim, and a long asphalt driveway that led to a big four-bay garage at the rear of the property. No cars were parked in front of the house or in the driveway and all garage bays were closed. I didn't see Tara's bicycle.

There was no place to park near the house where a vintage banana yellow Corvette wouldn't be seen, so I had to leave it on the other side of the pond and hike, staying in the shelter of the trees. I hadn't planned on having to sneak around someone's house, and I feared my orange checked shirt hadn't been the smartest thing to wear. Luckily, it was an hour before sunset and the cloud cover was thick with impending rain. I hadn't brought an umbrella, so I crossed my fingers and hoped the rain held off.

I came out of the trees as close to the garage as possible and saw Tara's bike in the grass behind it. It made sense that she'd start there since that was where her dad kept his bike. I tried to look through a side window to see what was going on, but the glass was so grimy, I couldn't make out the shapes I was seeing.

I dug a tissue out of my purse to clear off a small circle in the dirt. I felt something on my hand and glanced down to see a tiny spider crawling along my thumb. With a shriek, I brushed it off with the tissue, dropped both on the ground, and stamped on them, then checked my hand carefully to make sure there were no more.

With a shudder, I examined the pane carefully before cupping my hands and gazing through the glass. Now I could make out two shiny modern bikes, one silver, one blue, and Haydn's red Mustang on the far side. The other bays were empty.

I was about to turn away when I saw a small form with a familiar red bob coming down a set of pull-down stairs. I waited a moment to make sure no one followed her, then rapped on the glass. At once, she dropped out of sight behind the car only to reappear toward the front, peeking over the hood. She saw me and her eyes widened in surprise.

I motioned for her to come out but she shook her head and reversed the motion. I shook my head, but she kept waving me in, bouncing with excitement. She pointed toward the side of the garage by her, where I saw a service door, then again waved for me to come in.

I hurried around the back of the garage, and when I entered the door I was immediately hugged. “Wait till I show you what I found, Aunt Abby. Come with me.”

“Tara, forget it. I've got to get you out of here before Haydn's parents come home.”

“They won't be home until after six o'clock,” she said, tugging me toward the steps.

“That's only half an hour from now. It's too risky.”

“I'm about to solve the murder case for you, and you're saying to forget it? Wow. I never thought I'd hear you say that, Aunt Abby.”

“Tara, if anything were to happen to you—”

“All we need is five minutes,” she whined. “What could happen?”

Why did that remind me of myself? “What if Mr. Cannon comes home early?”

With a huff of exasperation, Tara dropped my arm and hurried to the stairs. “Fine. You stay there, and I'll bring it down.”

Before I could stop her, she had scuttled up the steps and disappeared through an opening overhead.

“Don't tell me you found Mr. Cannon's bike.”

“No,” she called back. “This is even better.”

Now she had me excited. But then Marco's warning sounded in my head. “You shouldn't tamper with evidence, Tara. We need to bag it.”

“Who has a bag? Just come up and see it.”

I gazed up apprehensively.
Crap.
An attic. What did attics have? Spiders.

My heart was thumping as I climbed after her. I stepped onto a wooden plank floor and glanced around. Spiderwebs hung all around me—from the attic vents, under the eaves, along the support beams . . . My skin was crawling already.

“Over here,” Tara called. She was at the front of the garage under the slant of the roof in what appeared to be a cozy hideaway. I could see an old patio lounge chair, a chrome floor lamp, a small black trunk, a dormitory-sized refrigerator, a blue throw rug, and stacks of magazines. It was probably the only space in the entire attic that was clean.

“You need to phone your parents,” I said, making my way across the plywood floor, one eye on the webs overhead. “Your mom is worried.”

“I phoned about ten minutes ago and said I was here with Hannah but hadn't been able to get a signal, which is almost true. It happened last time I was here.”

I'd had no idea how much my niece and I thought alike until this very moment.

“Oh, and by the way, no bids on Grandma's art yet.”

Hard to care about Mom's art when the spider alert was at the orange level. I circumvented half a dozen large storage boxes. One of them was open, and I could see sports equipment inside. “Where's Hannah?”

“In the house with Haydn doing homework. I saw them through a window. Hurry up. Don't think about spiders.”

“Easy for you to say.” I rubbed the goose bumps covering my arms. “How did you get Hannah to let you come up here alone?”

“Simple. I didn't ask. I knew the side door was open during the day because Hannah showed me.”

“Dear God, Tara. That means we broke in. Do you know the risk we're taking?”

“You do it all the time. It's fun!” She thrust an open book at me. “Read this. It's Haydn's journal.”

“
This
is your evidence? A teenage boy's private journal?”

“Would you just read this page?”

I began to read silently:

Holy shit. It's my dad. He was in the garage right below me talking to Mr. Greer and Rusty and I think they did something really bad. Really, really bad, like killed Grandpa Kermit. Thank God they didn't hear me. I couldn't even move, I was so scared. They were saying shit like, We've got the bones. They can't prove anyone was even buried there. If you'd put in new plumbing when you had the chance—

I can't remember everything but it was something about Grandpa's bones.

They're saying my dad was the guy who did it. I remember Dad telling me what a mean bastard Grandpa was, and Dad never liked talking about him. I mean, we had no pics of the guy in the house or anything. I know why now.

My dad is a murderer but he's my dad. I can't tell Hannah, I can't tell Mom. No one can ever know. So I guess it's a secret that me and my dad will always share, even though he'll never know.