by Paula Munier
Now it was Elvis’s turn, and Mercy held her breath.
“Sniffer dogs are typically well trained in agility,” said Jake. “This should be easy for him.”
If he could read dogs as well as he read people, it was no wonder he was so good at his job, she thought.
“It’s been a while,” she said. “He’s retired now.”
At the command—Go!—Elvis was off. He sailed over the hurdles, streaked through the tunnels, skimmed the seesaw, and whipped through the weave poles. Mercy couldn’t take her eyes off the sleek shepherd, and she found herself tearing up.
Because it was obvious that Elvis was having fun.
Fun.
The poor dog needed fun. He’d had fun with Martinez, as had she. In her grief she’d forgotten what a good time they’d all had together just hanging out whenever they got a break from the battlefield. Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little.
Elvis finished the course with a flourish to whoops and whistles—hers loudest among them—and raced past the finish lane and right to Mercy. She petted and praised him unabashedly. Susie Bear joined them, and for once Elvis seemed as chill and cheerful as his Newfie pal. Jake and Troy added their own plaudits of “Good job!” and “Good boy!” and “Good girl!” After another round of treats, the dogs ran back to join the others at the starting line to have another go.
“He did great,” said Troy.
“He must miss agility,” said Jake.
“I don’t know. I mean, I wasn’t his handler. I sort of inherited him.”
“A Malinois is a one-woman dog.” Jake looked at her. “Your dog.”
* * *
HE EXCUSED HIMSELF to supervise the rest of the class, leaving Troy and Mercy alone.
“So why are you really here?” he asked.
Mercy smiled at Troy. “Maybe we just wanted to see you guys.”
“Maybe.” He waited.
“Okay, okay.” She laughed. “I do have an ulterior motive. But we did really want to see you guys and meet Jake.”
“Sure you did. Go on.”
“Wolfe gave Amy the pendant. When it went missing, she figured her stepfather took it. Apparently he pawned anything that wasn’t nailed down.”
“What a lowlife. It’s a wonder nobody killed him sooner.”
“Did you find anything on Patrick O’Malley?”
“You were right. Patrick O’Malley, Irish jewelry designer and former IRA member, was living here in Vermont until about three years ago.” He leaned toward her with a half smile. “Are you really going to make me ask?”
“The calla lily,” said Mercy. “It fits.” She explained how the maker’s mark helped her identify the artist.
“He definitely left the area, but we’ve yet to confirm that he’s in Ireland.”
“You’re not going to find him in Ireland.”
“Why not?”
“He’s our body in the woods.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
BY DINNERTIME, MERCY WAS IN THE KITCHEN helping Patience prepare for their guests and Elvis was on the couch ready to bolt for the door when they arrived. When the doorbell rang, he raced to greet them, barking until she shushed him. She ushered in Thrasher and Troy, Susie Bear on their heels.
“We thought we’d bring you up to speed on the investigation,” said the captain.
Behind him, Troy winked at her.
Mercy knew that their presence had as much to do with her grandmother’s cooking as it did with any desire to keep her in the loop. In addition to her spectacular desserts, Patience was serving up her famous covered dishes—Vermonter favorites like salmon and peas, franks and beans, and Yankee pot roast as well as more exotic fare, like seafood lasagna and curried lamb and apricots. Tonight it was chicken and dumplings.
“Come on in and have a seat,” said Patience. “You’re just in time.”
“Smells great.” Thrasher handed Mercy two bottles of Big Barn Red and a four-pack of Heady Topper and promptly took up his place at the head of the table.
Troy had a Crock-Pot in his arms. “I brought Elvis some stew. You can keep the Crock-Pot. I’ve emailed you the recipe.”
“I thank you,” said Mercy, “and Elvis thanks you.”
Troy grinned and joined his captain at the table.
At this rate, Mercy might have company for supper for the foreseeable future. But as long as the hungry bachelors kept her in her favorite red wine, she couldn’t complain. She might have to learn how to cook, as she couldn’t rely on her grandmother’s superior culinary skills forever.
Amy and Jade helped Mercy set the table with her turquoise stoneware while Troy uncorked the wine. Susie Bear and Elvis greeted one another happily, sniffing in all the usual places, then took up their positions at either end of the baby blanket, the better to look after the infant and the kitten.
“The Herbert brothers have confessed to stealing Feinberg’s art,” said Thrasher. “Considering they were caught red-handed, they didn’t have much choice. But they insist they had nothing to do with any murder.”
“What about Wayne Herbert?”
“Wayne lawyered up. But we contacted the Canadian authorities, who confirmed that he’s been living in Quebec under the name Pierre Darcy. He’s suspected of a string of art thefts there. Mostly sculpture, sold for scrap metal.”
“We’ve had similar thefts here in Vermont,” said Troy. “Mostly up north, close to the border. The Herberts, no doubt.”
“What about Max Skinner?”
“Skinner knew Wayne from Quebec. But he had much bigger ambitions.” The captain licked his lips as Patience placed a steaming-hot casserole dish on a trivet in the middle of the table, along with a basket of warm Red Hen ciabatta bread. “As an artist himself, he had connections—connections that allowed him to fence the art he stole rather than scrap it. When he realized his pal Adam Wolfe was working for Feinberg, he recruited Wayne and his brothers to help him pull off the heist.”
“We suspect that he was privately commissioned to steal the Winslow Homer painting by a rich Saudi prince,” said Troy. “Feinberg says it happens pretty often these days.”
“Just like Dr. Winters said.” Mercy pulled over the high chair for Helena. “You remember, Troy. She told us that she hoped all of the other bronze sculptures Adam Wolfe did of her were in a sheik’s harem somewhere.”
“Imagine that,” said Patience.
Amy fetched the baby and settled her into her seat. Thrasher pulled out chairs for Jade and Amy next to Helena. Helena banged a pink plastic spoon on her tray and both dogs, still watching the kitty explore the living room, perked their ears.
“All set,” said Patience. “Let’s eat.”
Thrasher spooned a large helping of chicken and dumplings onto his blue plate, and passed the casserole on to Troy. “He didn’t tell the Herbert brothers about the commission.”
“We don’t think he ever intended to share the lion’s share of the proceeds with the Herbert brothers,” said Troy. “That’s why he told them to rob the lower floor. He knew that the most valuable pieces were on the upper floors.”
“Wolfe must have told him,” said Mercy.
“Adam would never have robbed Mr. Feinberg,” said Amy. “He was not a thief.”
Thrasher looked at Amy. “You’re right. We don’t think he had anything to do with the actual theft. But he had a security key to Nemeton because he worked for Feinberg. He must have grown suspicious and hidden the key so Skinner wouldn’t find it.”
“We found det cord in Skinner’s pack on the ATV,” said Troy.
“Det cord?” asked Amy.
“What’s that?” asked Jade.
“Detonating cord,” said Mercy. “We found a small piece of it at the compound. That explains why Elvis kept alerting to explosives.”
“We think the det cord was Skinner’s Plan B,” said Thrasher between bites of dumpling. “We know it was used to blow open the doors to some of the storage facilities where the stol
en sculpture was stored up north.”
“But he ended up getting another security key card from the girl singer in the Green Mountain Boys band,” said Troy.
“Sarah Lavery? The sous chef?” Mercy waved her wineglass at the game warden.
“Good memory.” Troy toasted her with his Heady Topper. “Turned out she worked up at the Nemeton kitchens on a regular basis. So regular she had a key of her own.”
“So he joined the band to get to Sarah. Skinner never cared about the Vermont Firsters at all?”
“Apparently not,” said Thrasher. “Just a means to an end.”
“Adam cared,” said Amy. “But he would never hurt anybody. He really regretted blowing up those logging trucks when he was younger. He said he’d never do anything like that again. He said his art was his message.”
“But you left him,” said Mercy.
“I didn’t like living off the grid,” said Amy. “I didn’t think it was good for Helena.” She smiled at her baby, who was still clanking away at her tray with the little pink spoon. “Adam got weird. I thought it was, like, because he wanted to hide me away from the world. You know, that living in the woods was making him crazy.”
“What happened that day in the woods?” asked Patience.
“You mean, why did I leave Helena in the woods?” Her dark blue eyes filled with tears. “That’s what the lady from Child Protective Services kept asking me.” She took her baby’s little hand in her own. “I would never hurt Helena. You know that.”
“I do,” said Mercy.
“No way,” said Jade.
“Adam and Max had this big fight. They thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t. Adam was yelling at Max that he couldn’t do it. I didn’t know what he was talking about but I knew it wasn’t good. Max was really mad and when he got mad, he looked just like my stepdad. Bad news. I decided that I had to get Helena out of there right away.” Amy sighed. “I just didn’t know how. Then I remembered you and Elvis.”
Mercy smiled. “I had no idea.”
“One day we followed him back to you, just to make sure that he belonged to somebody. Otherwise we would have kept him for ourselves, huh, Helena?” She tickled the baby and Helena giggled.
“You still haven’t told us why you left her in the woods.” Patience was getting impatient.
“Tell them,” said Mercy, who’d heard part of the story but wanted to hear it all this time.
“I was going to slip away on our walk. But Max insisted on coming with us. After a while, he told me he had to talk to Adam alone, and I should just go on back to the compound with the baby. So I took Helena away like we were doing what he said. But then I circled back to hear what they were saying. Adam was very upset. Max said something about taking care of loose ends. I figured me and Helena were the loose ends.
“Adam went off toward the compound, but Max stayed behind, as if he knew I really wasn’t going back there. I could hear him following me. That scared me. So I took the baby as close to the trail as I dared and left her in the clearing.” Amy looked at Mercy. “I knew if you didn’t find her, Elvis would. Then I ran off in the other direction. If Max found someone, I wanted it to be me—not Helena.”
“You did good.” Patience smiled at her.
“Then what did you do?” asked Jade.
“I hitched a ride to East Dorset, and took the bus to Northshire. I thought you’d take Helena to the hospital, and you did.” Amy smiled. “I hung around until they got so busy I could sneak in and get my baby back. I went to your place, because you seemed nice. You had to be nice with a dog like Elvis. I thought you’d help us.”
“I was helping you. But you left.”
“I didn’t know what else to do. I thought I was safe at your house, but then he showed up.” Amy looked at Troy. “I didn’t know you were, like, a good guy.”
“How did you know where Mercy lived?” asked Patience.
“I looked her up online.”
“How?”
“Duh. On my cell.”
“You have a cell phone?”
Amy looked at her as if she were a dinosaur. “Everyone has a cell phone. Even Adam knew that.” She pulled a flip phone from her pocket. “I mean, it’s a burner, but still. It got wet when I fell in the lake, but I dried it out and it’s good as new.”
“Give me that number right now,” said Mercy, trying not to think how much grief they might have been spared if they’d known her cell number.
“You were right about Skinner being dangerous,” said Troy, getting back to the subject at hand. “He killed your stepfather.”
“I know.”
“You were there,” said Mercy.
“I found him dead in his chair. I saw Max driving away in his truck.”
“How did you know that?” Troy frowned at Mercy.
“Elvis found a baby teether at the scene.”
“You never told us that.” Thrasher did not look happy.
“I was afraid Harrington would read it the wrong way.”
“Back to your story, Amy,” Patience said, silencing both Troy and Thrasher with a dark look.
“I was afraid he’d kill Adam next. So I went back to the compound to warn him. He told me to hide in one of the tents until he could get me out of there. Dr. Winters came and I told her about my stepfather. She told me to stay there with the baby. I didn’t know she was crazy.”
“So she knew how Skinner murdered Walker,” said Troy. “That’s why she killed Wolfe the same way, to throw suspicion back on Skinner.”
“I suspect she was always good with a knife,” said Mercy.
“But why did Max kill my stepfather?”
“We believe that Don Walker was blackmailing Skinner,” said Thrasher. “He knew the Herbert brothers.”
“They were hunting buddies,” said Amy.
“And worse,” said Mercy.
“Right,” said Thrasher. “He knew them well enough to know that they’d stolen the sculpture and sold it for scrap. He may even have helped them do it.”
“He was always stealing things,” said Amy.
“Yeah,” said Troy, “when he was a young man he was arrested a couple of times for petty theft, but he pled out for fines and time served. He was more careful about not getting caught from then on.”
“When he figured out that his hunting buddies were up to something bigger, he wanted in on it,” continued Thrasher. “But the Herbert brothers weren’t in charge. Skinner was. And he wasn’t having it. He tried paying Walker off, and when that didn’t shut him up, he killed him.”
“Paul and Louis aren’t the brightest guys in the woods,” said Mercy. “Did they even suspect their brother was still alive before he showed up for the robbery?”
“Apparently not,” said Troy. “But I think Flo Herbert knew. That’s why she was so surprised when she saw the photos of the belt buckle.”
“But if it wasn’t Wayne Herbert, who was it?” Patience passed the breadbasket to Thrasher, along with the pot of Animal Farm butter.
“Thank you.” Thrasher buttered his bread as he explained. “We don’t know. The DNA results could take weeks, if not months. And even then…”
“Go ahead, Mercy,” said Troy. “Spill it.”
“Patrick O’Malley.”
“What?” Thrasher frowned. “The jewelry designer?”
Mercy explained the jeweler’s mark and the research she’d done armed with its data. “O’Malley made the buckles and the necklace.”
“And then disappeared,” continued Troy. “Flo Herbert said he went to Ireland three years ago. About the same time the victim died. But the Irish authorities confirmed today that they have no record of that.”
“Which gives my new theory some weight,” said Mercy.
“Theories don’t convict murderers,” said Thrasher.
“Hear her out, captain. She’s been right about everything else,” said Troy.
“Think about it.” Mercy took a sip of wine and went on. “Everyone who knew a
bout this particular group of Vermont Firsters is dead or going to jail for art theft. Given the belt buckles and the tampering of the logging trucks, I think we can assume that originally Wolfe formed the group as a genuine activist organization, dedicated to preserving the best of Vermont.”
“Saving trees,” said Amy.
“Right,” said Mercy. “If the jeweler was a believer—and given his past as an IRA supporter he may have been sincere about supporting their work—then he may have objected to the corruption of their mission.”
“And paid for it with his life.”
“So which one of them killed him?” asked Patience.
“Wayne Herbert,” said Mercy and Troy in unison.
Mercy laughed “You go ahead.”
“It would explain why he went to Quebec about the same time.”
“Exactly.”
“This all fits, I’ll give you that,” said Thrasher. “But even if DNA tests prove it’s O’Malley, short of a confession there’s no way to prove any of it. Harrington will laugh me right out of his office.” He turned to Troy. “If he doesn’t fire you first.”
“Can he do that?” Patience looked worried.
“I don’t think so. Mercy and Troy are golden at the moment. Which really pisses him off.” The captain smiled. “Less glory for him and his staties. More for Fish and Wildlife.”
“So you’re safe, at least for now.”
“Yes, safe and sound and free to enjoy your cooking.” Thrasher tipped his head to her, and to Mercy’s surprise, her grandmother blushed.
“Back to the case.” Troy looked at Mercy. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
She raised her wineglass to him. “If you’re thinking that we’ve got the bullet from the skull and a shell casing found at Donald Walker’s house, then yes.”
Troy raised his beer mug to her and smiled.
“Shell casing?” asked Thrasher, between bites of dumpling.
“We know Donald Walker was a blackmailer,” said Troy. “He could have been blackmailing Wayne, too. Maybe he was there when Wayne killed him, a hunting trip gone wrong. He found the shell casing and held on to it.”