Russell put his gun in his holster, opened the door and greeted Stendahl, who came in as Russell was going out. "Hey, you're looking good. Come on in. I was just leaving, sir. Arvid will fill you in. If you'll give me your keys, I'll hurry and pull your jeep into the garage as soon as I back out."
Arvid introduced Samuelson, and Samuelson again took up his station near the window. The Sheriff headed for the sofa near the grand piano and sank gratefully down. Esther appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding a coffee pot and mug. She held up the pot and looked inquiringly at the Sheriff. He shook his head.
"She's not supposed to be here," Stendahl grumbled as she retreated into the kitchen.
"I know, sir. Sorry," Arvid said. "Esther's waiting for a call from her music publisher. We turned the ringer volume way down. I tried to get her to go to her sister's, but . . . ," he looked apprehensively at the kitchen door, "she's a stubborn woman. But we're about to give it up, anyway. I think our trap is a bust." He moved back to the window as the phone rang softly in the kitchen and they heard Esther pick up.
"Hello . . . . well, isn't that good news!"
Chapter 58
O'Bourne's ranch, present day
Jessie listened to Eric Clapton through her headphones as she blocked in the beginning of Red Barn - Study One. Her French easel was set up between the house and barn, and she happily slapped paint onto the canvas, periodically rocking out to Clapton's guitar. Jack was at his usual post, guarding the hollyhocks when she saw him suddenly run from the tall flowers and duck into the barn. It was only then that she registered realized a motorcycle was barreling down the driveway.
"Crap," she said aloud. "This can't be good."
Jessie looked past the large rider on the motorcycle and saw a grey compact car also turning into the lane. She ripped the headphones off, tossing them onto the small table placed beside the easel to hold her paints. She reached into her paint box, expecting to put her hand on the 9mm pistol, only to recall Grant had borrowed it.
And the motorcycle was coming in fast, giving her no time to get to the house.
Oh no, this REALLY isn't going according to plan. Wonder if I can bluff? At least give Dad some time to realize what was happening.
Then she remembered the dog. She yelled at the top of her lungs.
"Bass! Bli Klar! Get ready! Bli Klar!"
She saw a rustling in the lower branches of the lilac near the porch.
The cyclist ground the bike to a stop near Jessie and got off the bike. The big rider was dressed in leathers and was reaching to pull off a fancy helmet. When the helmet was removed, Jessie's stomach clenched at the sight of the tight curly hair.
Play it cool. Give Dad time.
"Hello, Blanche," Jessie said breezily. "What brings you out all this way? Do you have time for something to drink?"
"You know why I'm here, Jessie. You aren't stupid. I want those Morans." Blanche reached behind her back. Her arm swung around, and her hand was now holding a gun. Pointing it at Jessie, she said, "Move toward the house. Now. Unless the Morans are in that fancy motorhome of yours."
"The Morans are at Arvid's, Blanche," Jessie said firmly. "They're going to be sold to build a new wing on St. Benedict's. It's high time, don't you think?"
"Your Aunt cheated my grandma out of those paintings years ago, Jessie. And I'm in the loop. I know they aren't at Arvid's, so they must be somewhere here. But you'll tell me. You'll tell me eventually. They're part of my family's legacy."
"How do you figure that?"
The grey car had parked behind Blanche's motorcycle. A Honda Civic. Jessie saw the woman, a stranger, just sitting behind the wheel with the window halfway down. The driver didn't seem inclined to get out, and she was crying.
Blanche glanced over and rolled her eyes. She shook her head disgustedly and turned back to Jessie.
"My grandmother was at St. Benedict's when Moran came through. Just like your aunt Kate. It bothered her until the end of her days that she'd missed the opportunity to get the paintings. Your aunt Kate cheated her out of them."
"Your grandma was Virginia Grayson, right?"
Blanche's green eyes flashed, but she gave a contemptuous shrug. "It doesn't surprise me that you know that, Jessie. I've been kept well-informed of the investigation."
"I imagine Virginia killed the nun at St. Benedict's to give herself a place to hide out, then probably killed the priest because she was trying to find the paintings," Jessie said, rambling on. She slipped her hand behind to the side and gave Bass a two-fingered 'wait for it' sign. "And later, she killed my aunt Kate when the paintings resurfaced. Your grandmother was a thief. A cold hearted killer. Guess your old man was, too, if he was part of Kate's murder."
"Sticks and stones," Blanche said. "Grandma Virginia wasn't afraid to do what was necessary. She knew how to make money. She actually started with very little—the money from the bank really wasn't that huge an amount. When she got old, I took care of her. I'm pretty good at making money, myself. I started the drug route when I was just a pharmaceutical sales rep. And it's grown into the largest in this region. The sale of those paintings will let me expand my syndicate into Canada."
Jessie gave a start. "Your drug route? You were the head of Jake Ward's truck route?"
"Poor Jake. He was pretty broken up about Amber. What a coincidence that she wound up here in Sage Bluff. Amber was a clever girl. She came to the station and wanted to let the Sheriff know she'd found a photographic link between a cold case murder in Sage Bluff at St. Benedict's School and a bank robbery suspect named Virginia Grayson."
"You couldn't have her spreading that around, I suppose?" Jessie said.
"It was already around six o'clock when she stopped. I told her everyone had gone for the day and to come back early morning. When she asked for directions out to O'Bournes, I gave her a long, roundabout way to get here. It was easy to catch up with her near your dad's place and pull her over," Blanch bragged. "I had a gun along, but that fencing tool of your dad's, hanging right there near the gate, was just too handy. Saw it in the headlights as I pulled off to the side."
"Where did you get the cop's uniform? And I'm assuming you had a Bull blaster."
"Arvid's spare uniform was in the store room, while his floors were being varnished. Fit me like a glove. I grabbed the portable siren from Cassy's car on the way out of town. She needed it sometimes when she was on her EMT shift. My niece never locked her car."
"That was pretty clever, for a spur of the moment plan," Jessie said. Blanche motioned toward the house and Jessie obeyed, edging slowly to the left, keeping her eyes on the gun.
"You killed Cassy, too, didn't you?"
Blanche flinched, looking nervously back at the Honda. A plump woman in tan stretch pants and a floral shirt was getting out.
"Go home, Violet," Blanche yelled. "This doesn't concern you. Once I get the paintings, I'll disappear and run things from some other little hick town."
"Answer the question, Blanche," the little woman demanded. "I want to know if you killed my baby. I came to the station today. You and the Sheriff were in the coffee room. I was just reaching to open the door when I heard you say something about your drug shipment. Your drug route."
Jessie jolted as though Blanche had already shot her. Russell was acting Sheriff. Russell was dirty after all. And Arvid was with Russell. She heard a moan and was startled to realize it had come from her own throat. Russell.
"Go home, Violet. Eavesdropping was always one of your worst faults."
Violet shook her head emphatically. "At first, I couldn't figure out what you were talking about, but I knew it was important. I heard enough to know that whatever's going on, you're both in on it together," Violet accused, tears coursing down her face, her nose running. "I heard you say you were coming to O'Bournes'."
"Violet, you don't know what you're talking about."
"I went back down the hall as quiet as I could, and sat in the car. While I waited for you to come out, I f
igured it all out. I remember how much like Grandma you were. She was a mean, vindictive, sly woman. She disgraced the family. And I can't let you hurt anyone else, Blanche."
"Stay out of this, Violet. Go home."
Violet wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Either you or Sheriff Stendahl shot my daughter and left her at the reservoir to rot. Sweet Jesus. Her face—"
"Stendahl?" Jessie stammered. "But—" Thank god . . . . Stendahl, not Russell.
Blanch looked at her watch. "Stendahl's over at Abrahmsen's getting rid of Arvid and Russell right now." She waved the gun at Jessie, motioning her toward the house. Over her shoulder she said, "Get a grip, Violet. Do you really think I would shoot my own niece?"
"So it is your drug route—or is it Stendahl's?" Jessie asked.
"Of course it's mine. Stendahl's just a hired hand. He took a little leave of absence to go on a procurement trip for me. He's as healthy as you. Now where are they, Jessie? The Morans?"
"They're . . . they're in Dad's gun safe in the basement," Jessie tried to sound hesitant.
"It takes money, you know, to bring in good people—to buy the trucks—the prescriptions. To pay off the doctors. Doctors like Doc Turner. You know," She gave Jessie a nasty grin and added slyly, "Your mother's doctor."
"My mother's—"
"Oh, honey," Blanche's voice was saccharine. "You mean Kevin never told you that your mom was hooked on Oxycodone? When she broke her collar bone, she was in pain—a lot of pain. I had Doc Turner give her, and keep on giving her, just a bit too much pain killer. Hannah thought Trish was so helpful, driving to town, filling the prescriptions for her. But Trish didn't go to the pharmacy. We'd switch the pills for stronger ones before they ever reached the house. Just a little gift from our house to yours."
"My mother?" Jessie's mind raced. "But why? And Trish?" A memory surfaced of her Dad encouraging her to stay at school over the holidays. Kevin telling her Hannah was ill.
"Did you ever look at your mother, Jessie?" Blanche looked disgusted. "We went to school together. To put it simply, she was popular. She was beautiful. And I was not. In those days, I had a thing for Jules Nielson, but Hannah had Jules wrapped around her little finger. Even after she married Dan, he wouldn't look at me. God, how I hated that woman. And Trish . . . well, she loved your brother, but she was weak. When your brother found out Trish had been giving Hannah the Oxycodone, it fair broke his heart." Blanche snickered. "He asked too many questions. I think he was beginning to suspect I was the supplier." She gestured with the gun. "I couldn't have that."
"What do you mean?"
"She had him killed, Jessie," Violet choked out. "Or killed him herself. And Trish. And the girl from Denver." She turned and screamed at Blanche. "Did you kill my beautiful Cassy, too, Blanche? Did you?"
"Violet, that's silly talk. Get back in the car. This doesn't concern you."
Violet strode closer. Her little hands were balled into fists.
Jessie glanced toward the lilac bush. Saw a glimmer of big white dog. She gave a 'wait' hand gesture. Again . . . 'wait for the command'.
Please God, let me be getting the commands right. Please don't let me be saying 'get your toy'.
"Ironic, isn't it?" Blanche ignored Violet's distress. "Kevin asked Stendahl to come out and talk to him. He didn't want to come to the station because he wanted to make an end run around me. He asked Stendahl to investigate me. Me. So the Sheriff shot him. He arranged it to look like a suicide." She grinned malevolently at Jessie. "Suicide is so sad, isn't it? So very sad. But poor Russell found the body."
Jessie's mind went blank. "Suicide?"
"Obviously, that damn Russell wanted to save Dan and Hannah what heartbreak he could. Russell thought Kevin actually had committed suicide. He must've been the one who rearranged Kevin's body again, to look like an accident."
Jessie stopped walking. Her mouth fell open.
The guilty look on Russell's face. Yes, Blanche's words have a ring of truth. What could be more awful for a good cop than to know you've tampered with evidence?
"Move!" Blanche waved the gun again, encouraging Jessie on.
"Why kill Cassy?" Jessie asked.
"Cassy. You killed my Cassy," Violet blubbered.
"I didn't." Blanche turned halfway toward her sister and screamed, "I didn't!" Then she went on calmly, as though nothing had happened. "Cassy rode with Amber Reynolds when the girl was airlifted to Billings. Before she died, the Reynolds girl mumbled. Mostly gibberish, but she said the cop who hit her worked the desk. Cassy went to my house and snooped. She found my shoes—still with a little blood on them. She went through the whole house . . . snooping." She turned again towards Violet. "But I didn't kill her! I should have killed the little snoop, but I didn't. She even snooped through my jewelry box."
"Is that where the charm in Cassy's locker at the Fire Station came from?" Jessie asked. "It was Trish's, wasn't it?"
Keep her talking. Stall. Where's Dad? She gave Bass a 'ready' signal.
"Yes. I had gotten rid of Trish's things, so Russell would think she'd left town. But I kept the charm as a little souvenir. Cassy found it in my jewelry box. She used to have a spinning class with Trish and she remembered how Trish wore it threaded through her tennis shoe laces. I never thought to look at the Fire Station."
"What about Travis?"
"He was unimportant. But I didn't kill either of them."
"I don't believe you, Blanche," Violet was weeping uncontrollably, swaying and repeating over and over, "My baby. My baby."
Jessie turned and began trudging the last few steps toward the house, carefully giving a 'wait' hand gesture as she passed the lilac.
As she neared the porch, Jessie made a cutting motion with her hand and screamed.
"Bass! Ta ned! Take down!"
A blur of white burst from under the lilac bush like a 747 lifting its nose off the runway. Violet screamed and threw herself to the left. Blanche turned away from Jessie to face the dog.
"Whump!" Bass hit her in the center of her torso. As the gun went flying from her hand, she slammed down like a felled oak. She landed with Bass covering her from chest to knee, the breath knocked out of her.
The gun landed next to Violet.
"You're going to pay for this, Blanche," Violet shrieked. Her eyes fell on the pistol. As the squat woman bent to pick it up, Jessie dived, slid her palms across the ground, and grabbed the gun.
"Shoot her!" Violet screamed. "Shoot her or give me the gun!" When Jessie ignored her, the woman fell to her knees, rocking with her hands over her face, weeping.
As Jessie brought her hand up with the gun, she realized her Dad was already there.
He stood above Blanche's prostrate form with a shotgun pointed down at her head. The arm holding the shotgun was trembling. Bass's face was inches from Blanche's chin and he was giving her his best snarl, teeth bared, a large string of drool hanging from his mouth.
"What the hell is this thing?" Blanche screamed. "Get it off me! Get it off!"
"It's just Arvid's dog, Blanche," Jessie said quietly. "And I wouldn't move if I were you. At least not until I look up the command for 'Get Off'. It's slipped my mind."
"Snuck around the back as soon as I heard the yelling," Dan said. "I couldn't hear all she was saying, but I heard enough to wish I had the guts to simply pull the trigger. My sweet Hannah . . . my boy." His eyes were moist. "And now I almost lost you. I told you before, Jess girl," he said, shaking his head at her, his voice shaky, "Don't ever loan your gun out."
"I know. I had a close call." Tears streamed down Jessie's face. "Don't shoot her, Dad."
"I . . . I won't. Now go call Abrahmsen's. Then get that dog a big treat."
Chapter 59
Abrahmsen's home, present day
Esther answered on the first ring. "Hello? Esther Abrahmsen speaking."
"Esther, this is Jessie. Pretend it's someone else. Is Stendahl there? He's the missing link."
"Oh, yes. Well, isn't tha
t good news?"
"He's in on the drug trafficking, and he's probably the one who shot Cassy and the DEA agent. Dad is holding a shotgun on Blanche here. Bass took her down. But, Esther, Stendahl is there to kill Arvid and Russell."
Esther said smoothly, "Oh, my. You're such a sweetheart. Thanks so much for letting me know."
"I take it the men are in the other room. I'm calling Russell right now so he can send the cavalry. Is there something there in the kitchen you can use as a weapon?"
"Hmmm? Oh, sure. I'm looking at it right now," Esther said. Her eyes fell on the cast iron skillet. "See you later."
Esther looked into the living room. From her vantage point she could see that Stendahl had his hand under a throw pillow, and she suspected it held a weapon. He was biding his time, waiting to strike. She picked up the skillet and held it by her side. Then Esther walked casually into the living room and stopped by the sofa, standing near Stendahl, but with her body turned slightly away.
"Guess what, Arvid?" Esther gave him a slight grin, winked, and gave a tiny inclination of her head toward the man on the sofa. Arvid's eyes widened.
"Good news, Esther?"
"That was one of your friends, Arvid. He wanted me to tell you the Bass are biting. Oh, and . . . ," she turned and looked at the Sheriff, "you're probably not a fishing enthusiast. That actually means Blanche just tagged you."
Stendahl's hand came up from the pillow holding a gun aimed at Samuelson, but Esther was faster. She slammed the skillet down hard, connecting not only with the hand holding the pistol, but continuing on to bounce firmly off the Sheriff's kneecap. He bent over and let out a blood-curdling shriek.
In seconds, Arvid, Grant, and Samuelson all had their weapons trained on the screaming man. He held his injured hand curled into his chest and his good hand over his knee, rocking in agony.
"Good job, Esther," Arvid said, grinning from ear to ear. "That's my girl."
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