“Murderous?”
“I was going to say beyond the pale. Especially now that I know about his feelings for Lynn.”
“Well, Dan and Joe brought Lynn a lot of pain over the years.”
“There is that.”
I carried our plates to the kitchen, and Dorie resumed basting together the layers of Hank’s quilt.
On the way out, I bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Good night.”
“The world sure has a way of spinning out of control sometimes. Even our little bit of it.”
Her little pseudo metaphysical pronouncements always amused me. “Isn’t it all simply God’s grand plan?”
“You’re a cynic, Maggie. But I love you.”
At the base of Aldrich Mountain, the river cuts a slow, indelible arc, winds along the silver plain of alfalfa toward a copse of blue sage and the Widow’s Creek Bridge. To kill herself, Zoey rammed our jeep though the railing and plunged thirty feet into a surge of black water. Tate found her pinned against the pilings. Ruined and lost as it left him, he’d have been better off to lie down beside her and float among the crawdads, avoid the years wasted pickling his liver.
I woke in the grim murk of death rituals, grief’s general mindfuck. Brought on by yesterday’s funeral for those wild boys from my childhood and by today’s anniversary: twenty-five years ago, three days before my fifteenth birthday, my mother committed suicide.
I clicked on the antique lamp, drew back the coverlet, and stepped into the chilly room, turned up the heat, and started my day. After a shower, I scrambled a couple of eggs and made toast. Surprised at how tasty breakfast turned out, I decided that when things calmed down, I’d check out some recipes and start eating healthier meals. Give up frozen entrées altogether. That trifling bit of resolve improved my disposition some, so much so I tossed an aging apple and an energy bar into my pack for lunch.
The trill of my phone startled me out of my little self-help session. A text from Duncan: “Morning! Got time to drop by the F&T for a visit?”
“I’ll do my damnedest. Yesterday was crazy”
“So I heard. Be careful out there okay”
Before I could thumb a flirty response, Lynn Nodine rang through.
“Margaret, I found something, and I think you need to see it.”
“I’m on my way.”
Lynn opened her door before I reached the front steps. Even though her voice over the phone had lacked urgency, seeing her standing there, anxious, waiting for me to arrive, I knew she’d found something important. I followed her inside, through the living room, to the glassed-in porch at the back of her house.
“I like to sew or knit in this room. Sometimes I come out here and read.”
“Nice space.”
“I kept the copy of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, with the two-thousand dollars tucked inside, over there in the credenza.”
Another one of Lynn’s lovely antiques.
“Last night I opened it to put something away and noticed a large manila envelope lodged between my mother’s family Bible and a book of Shakespeare sonnets I bought recently.”
“What was inside the envelope?”
She retrieved it from the credenza’s middle drawer and placed it on the marble countertop. “Five hundred in cash and a note from my sons.”
I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and removed a folded sheet of lined paper from the envelope. “I may have to claim the letter and money as evidence.”
“I know that, Margaret. That’s why I waited until this morning to call you.”
“But at the very least, I’ll make sure the note is returned to you.”
“I knew I could count on that too.”
We both sat as I read it:
Dear Mom, Sorry we’ve been such shits, and even more sorry we took your money. Hope this makes up for some of it. We have to leave the state. Don’t know for how long, but we’ll get in touch down the road. Not that he’ll care, but let the old man know we left. Also Joe wants you to pass along word to Ariel Pritchett. We decided it would make things worse if he went to see her before we left. Take care of yourself.
Each man had signed his name and left a personal endearment.
I took off the latex gloves and stroked Lynn’s hands folded in her lap. “And just to make certain, you recognize the handwriting as theirs?”
“Yes. And I have other samples if you need them.”
I shook my head. “I’m glad you found the letter.”
“It doesn’t help much right now, but it might later,” Lynn said.
“I’ve had a couple of discussions with Ariel. I’ll pass along the message from Joseph.”
“Ariel’s a nice girl. I saw how upset she was at the funeral.”
“She told me that she and Joseph were about to get married.”
Lynn considered that news.
I cleared my throat. “I have a few questions, if you don’t mind. Do you remember when you bought the Shakespeare book?”
“At the LDS Temple’s annual book sale, Saturday before last. Five days before Dan and Joe were killed.”
“So sometime between that Saturday and the following Thursday, they left the money and the note.”
“And their wallets, with a long-expired driver’s license inside each one. I found them tucked behind the Bible.” She stood and collected the worn leather billfolds from the credenza shelf. “I assume you knew these were missing.”
“Yes.” But I couldn’t make meaning of why they had stashed them here. Or, for that matter, how they might have come up with the five hundred dollars. Or how they were planning to survive on the run with only seventy-eight dollars between them.
I put the latex gloves back on and lifted the wallets from her outstretched hands. I placed the note back in the envelope stuffed with bills and slid everything into an evidence bag.
“I have another question.”
“What’s that, Margaret?”
I knew her well enough to discern she’d nearly reached the limit of her patience, if not her stamina.
“Cecil Burney says he sat next to you at an AA meeting last Thursday evening. At the exact time the twins were killed. Can you vouch for that?”
“That old man doesn’t understand the meaning of anonymous, does he?”
“Apparently not.”
“Well, he was there, but he didn’t exactly sit next to me. And he came in late.”
“How late?”
“The meeting usually runs from six to seven thirty. He probably arrived fifteen or twenty minutes into the opening testimonials. And I remember we chatted a bit during the coffee social afterwards.”
I decided to forgo asking about her past relationship with Cecil, but I did want her insight into his dislike of her sons. “Why did he have so much animosity toward Dan and Joseph?”
“I’m sure you heard your mother talking about it at some point, but years ago, Cecil and I had an affair.”
My blank stare was legitimate. Zoey was many things, but a gossip? No.
“Anyway, the boys could’ve had some kind of an altercation with Cecil over that. But if it ever happened, it was a long time back. Maybe when they were in high school?” she said.
I considered our time in high school together. The Nodine brothers fought with dozens of boys and even some men, but I couldn’t remember any tales about them duking it out with Cecil or anyone else tough enough to stand their ground against both twins at once, not to mention pack heat and be willing to use it. Twenty plus years ago, Cecil Burney had been such a man.
“Thank you for calling me this morning, Lynn.”
I stood and put on my police Stetson. She stood as well. I reached to hug her, but she stepped back.
“I’m going to lie down now, Margaret.”
She moved from the sun porch, turned down the hallway, and walked toward her bedroom. I let myself out and made sure the door latched behind me.
13
Morning, February 26
Low on
fuel, I parked the Tahoe alongside a pump at Gas-n-Snacks, asked Shorty Denton to fill it with regular, and handed him my State credit card. While the tank was filling, I spied Bach’s Ford Interceptor parked across the street next to the Best Western where Doc Gattis had spent the night. Without thinking it through, I pulled out my phone and punched in her number.
On the fourth ring, she picked up. “Maggie?”
“Good morning. I’m on my way to the animal clinic to pick up my cat. Would you like to join me, get out of your motel room for a while?”
“Sure, I’m just waiting around for a call from my office. Can you give me ten minutes, though?”
“I’ll be parked outside. Join me whenever you’re ready.” I signed the credit card slip, moved onto the street, and drove around the block. By the time I pulled into the motel parking lot, Al’s big SUV was gone.
I clicked on the radio. KJDY’s usual playlist was the same honkytonk Bach preferred. Instead a nineties favorite from R.E.M., “Losing My Religion,” hailed from the speakers. I turned it up and sang along. Nearly drowned out the sound of my phone buzzing.
“Is that R.E.M in the background?” Duncan’s voice sent a charge through me.
“On KJDY even. Can you believe it?” I lowered the volume.
“Let’s meet for an early lunch. How does that sound?”
“I would like that, but I need to fetch my cat from the vet.”
“Supper, then?”
“That would be nice. Unless Louie needs some extra attention this evening.”
“Louie’s your cat, I hope.”
I laughed. “Yes, Louie’s my cat.”
“See you about seven, my place? Or would you like to go out somewhere, go on a proper date?”
“I don’t think I’ve been on a proper date in my entire life.”
“Me neither.”
“Why start now, right? I’ll see you at seven at your place.” I clicked off the phone and the radio and absentmindedly rested a finger on my bottom lip. I needed to contain that little thrill if I wanted to make it to seven o’clock.
Ray opened the passenger-side door and stepped into my rig. “What are you smiling about?”
She sounded considerably less despondent this morning.
I shook my head. “Nothing, really.”
“Maybe it’s the weather. It’s a beautiful day.”
She was right. Forsythia, Lenten rose, and viburnum bloomed under a cloudless cyan sky. We pulled out of the lot and drove east.
“You seem more like yourself this morning,” I said.
“Yes, I was just this side of bitchy last night.”
“So I noticed.”
“I’ll ignore that crack,” she said as we turned into the drive at Wilson’s Animal Clinic.
I introduced Jen and Ray, and we all took a seat in Jen’s office.
“Before we get to Louie, I wanted to ask you about the prescription you wrote on Monday of last week to treat Guy Trudeau’s livestock.”
“Gosh. Was that only last week? Let’s see. Oh, right, Moraxella bovis.
“What the hell is that?”
“A bacteria. Causes bovine keratoconjunctivitis.”
“Pinkeye?” Ray guessed.
“Yep. And it’s nasty stuff, and it had spread through his herd.”
“How is it different than conjunctivitis in humans?” Ray asked.
“It involves flies and extreme pain. Untreated, it can lead to blindness and weight loss.”
Doc Gattis grimaced. “Lovely.”
“And for ranchers, all that equates to less value at market.”
“About Louie?” I interjected.
“He’s a prize. Very healthy for a feline of his age, particularly now that he’s bouncing back from his bout with early-stage pneumonia.” With one hand, Jen rolled a thick strand of her platinum hair. In the other hand, she held the tortoise-shell spectacles she’d removed and toggled the frame back and forth as she spoke.
Doc Gattis’s phone rang, and she stepped outside to take the call. In the meantime, Jen and I made our way to the kennel at the back of the clinic where I retrieved Louie.
He purred calmly as I cradled him and even when I placed him in his carrier. “Together again, old boy.”
“I’ll miss you, Louie,” Jen whispered into the carrier opening.
I gathered up his medication and placed it in my coat pocket. “Say hi to Vicky.”
“Will do.”
After dropping Ray off at the Best Western, I backtracked to my apartment, got Louie settled in, and made my way to the office.
Bach sat at his temporary desk. He had shut down and packed up his laptop. “Good. You arrived before I had to take off.”
I pointed toward his laptop case. “You’re leaving for the day?”
“I’m headed back to Bend and then to Paisley. A terrible domestic violence case. Multiple homicides. I’m in charge of the preliminary investigation.”
I’d seen the bulletin last night. An unemployed trucker shot his ex-wife and two daughters to death. He didn’t have the courage to turn the gun on himself, though.
“Mrs. Nodine called me to her house this morning. Sometime between Saturday the sixteenth and Thursday the twenty-first when her sons were murdered, they stopped by her house while she was out. Left a note, their wallets, and expired ODLs, and five hundred dollars.”
“Nothing of substance in the note?”
“Just that they had to leave the state for a while.”
“And the mother found these items when?”
“Last night. After the funeral.”
Al slipped on his coat. “Might she know more?”
“I’m certain she doesn’t. She and her sons had been estranged for some time. But I’m less certain about Ariel Pritchett.”
“The fiancée?”
“I’d hoped you might come with me to talk to her. Hollis is convinced she has to know more than she’s let on. I’m afraid I’ve been reluctant to press her more. She’s already quite emotional.”
“Take Hollis along.”
“He’s taking some time with his family today.”
He checked his watch. “You’re better at this than you think. If she knows more than she’s told you, you’ll be able to push as hard as you need to.”
Hopefully, he was right about that. “So you’re off to Paisley. Home of the annual mosquito festival?”
“That’s right.”
“About the same number of working poor citizens as Seneca, right?”
“And also a former timber town.”
“Rural poverty stinks.”
He nodded. “I was on the phone with Dr. Gattis right before you got here. Ray’s accompanying me back to Bend, and possibly Paisley. She asked me to tell you that she’d talk to you soon. She also said you need to find some way to stop the bloodshed in your county.”
“A good start might be to end rural poverty.”
“Good luck with that,” he said, pulling on his jacket. “I’m leaving the Nodine and Trudeau investigations in good hands, Sergeant.”
Before Al reached the door, Jess Flynn opened it and stepped into the muggy room carrying a toddler on one hip. A guy I presumed to be Seth Flynn, her new hubby and manager of Frank Sylvester Trucking, accompanied her.
“You wanted to talk to me again?” she asked.
“Yesterday,” I said.
“Today will have to do.”
And here I’d thought we ended our last discussion on such good terms.
“Sir, this is Jess Flynn. And this is Detective Bach, State Police homicide unit.”
Jess shifted the child to her other hip.
“Have a seat, Ms. Flynn,” Bach directed. “We have a few follow-up questions.”
She handed the baby to the man who had arrived with her and sat where Al indicated.
I stood over her. “In our discussion yesterday, you claimed you delivered Mr. Trudeau’s steers back to his place after the prospective buyer refused them.”
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“Yes, and that’s what I did.”
“You returned the steers to Big T, Trudeau’s dilapidated ranch?”
“Well, near there. I hauled them back to the BLM grasslands acreage where he had a grazing permit. Same place I picked them up, out along Izee Road.”
“I’ll need directions to the drop site.”
“I met Trudeau at the Bear Valley guard station. Then he led me to the loading chute.”
“I can get you the exact location,” the guy holding the toddler offered. He handed the baby to Jess. “I’ll get my laptop.”
“And you are?” I asked.
“Seth Flynn. I run Frank Sylvester Trucking,” he said.
He extended a hand, and I shook it.
“I track all of our trips on a spreadsheet, pick-up to delivery.”
Flynn went out to the parking lot to retrieve his laptop, and Bach asked me to step into the alcove.
“I need to head out now, but let’s plan on having a discussion early tomorrow morning. Before that if we need to. Also, take one of your troopers with you if you go check on Trudeau’s steers.”
“Good luck in Paisley. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Jess was gently rocking her toddler when I returned to my desk. “What’s your baby’s name?”
“Sophia.”
Like Hank, Sophia was a reminder of time rolling forward and my aging gametes in diminishing supply. And the child Morgan and I might have loved fiercely and raised together now lost in the mist of past history.
Seth Flynn returned with his laptop and began clicking through the layers of his trip spreadsheet. “Okay, let’s take a look. Last Thursday, February twenty-first. The loading chute at milepost thirty, Izee Road west, near the junction with South Fork Road.” He directed the screen toward me.
I pointed to the column labeled Destination. “Says they were to be delivered to Caldwell, Idaho. Not Boise.”
“Caldwell’s a suburb of sorts. It’s where the stockyard’s located,” Seth clarified.
“I don’t know why the old man ordered up a trip to the Boise area when he didn’t plan to go that far,” Jess said, “but I was following behind him, remember? And he led me to that weird-ass cattle company place.”
Dead Point (Maggie Blackthorne Book 1) Page 17