“Mom, you’re confusing me. Why did you go looking into Ginny Norton’s apparently strange life?”
“Because she pointed out to me on Monday—before I mentioned it—that Joan Fowler hadn’t shown up at the craft fair on Sunday.”
“And?”
Lia looked at Hayley steadily. “Ginny wasn’t there on Sunday either. For the first time in as long as I’ve been a vendor, Ginny Norton did not come to the craft fair. How did she know that Joan was a no-show?”
“Hmm.”
“Right. It got me thinking, Hayley. Ginny once told me a sad story about having spent years caring for her ailing mother and of inheriting the home after the mother died. I remembered a comment of hers, that the less-than-lovely view from her house was that of an auto repair shop, and decided to do a little online digging. I found that the only repair shop in Crandalsburg with residential houses across from it is on Glenwood Street. When I visited the block, I managed to pinpoint which address was hers—the only house across from the repair shop and with no evidence of small children—toys and such. Once I had the address, I was able to discover through public records that Ginny didn’t own but was actually renting the place, and not from anyone with the last name of Norton. The Internet,” she commented, “is a vast source of information.”
“Sometimes,” Hayley said with a rueful look, most likely thinking of her recent fruitless searches. “So Ginny lied about a dying mother? Is that mother actually living in Boggs Creek?”
“Alive and well,” Lia said. “Other than some kind of health problems, that is. But the astonishing thing is that the mother—and father, also alive—have been storing piles of Ginny’s attempts at artwork. Years’ worth. She’s convinced them that she’s a self-taught genius artist who’s been preparing for the right moment to present her work to the world.”
“Wow. And I’m guessing she’s not, huh? But can’t they tell from her stuff?”
“Apparently not. They don’t seem, uh, particularly knowledgeable about the subject. And it’s possible that over the years Ginny fed them plenty of supposed praises from others that convinced them. The sister sees through it, but she grudgingly plays along for her parents’ sake.”
“Okay, so Ginny’s been putting something over on her folks and maybe on herself. But where does that put us? I mean, does this have anything to do with the murders?”
Lia sighed. “I’m afraid it might. After I left the Nortons’ house, I spoke with Belinda. I described what I saw of Ginny’s paintings, and that jogged her memory. She had to check her records—she keeps track of all vendor applications—but she found it. Ginny had applied more than once for a booth at the craft fair to sell her paintings.”
“Uh-oh. And if they’re as bad as you say, that couldn’t have gone well.”
“Belinda turned her down each time, and, yes, knowing her lack of patience and tact, I doubt it was handled gently.”
“And . . .” From the look on her face, Hayley was putting it all together as Lia had done, remembering previously overlooked things. “Ginny was the one who told you there was bad blood between Belinda and Joan!”
“Exactly. She pushed that idea at me more than once, and I’d guess I wasn’t the only one.”
“To make Belinda a prime suspect in Darren’s and Joan’s murders! The Facebook and Twitter posts! Mom, she could have done those, too! Anyone can set up fake accounts under any name. They all disappeared after you found Joan’s body.”
“She could also have sent the text to Belinda that drew her out Saturday night, thinking she was meeting Joan,” Lia said.
“While Ginny was murdering Joan herself!” Hayley jumped up from her seat. “Mom, we have to report her. She’s the murderer!”
“Hayley, we can’t do that. Not yet. We have no proof.”
“But, but, the lies! The text!”
“Conjecture. We don’t know that she texted Belinda or that she pretended to be Joan posting on Facebook and Twitter. Or that she murdered Darren as well.”
“But if she thinks she’s this great artist, she has to hate Belinda for probably belittling her art. She must have been working ever since to destroy her by setting her up as a murderer! Wait—” Hayley sat back down, seemingly struck by something. “Why wouldn’t she just kill Belinda? Why kill the others?” After some moments she cried, “Oh! Killing Belinda must not have been enough for her. She needed to see her suffer. It had to be a huge power trip—don’t you think?—to set Belinda up to be falsely convicted and spend the rest of her life in prison. Ginny could gloat over it forever. That must be it. Mom, we have to go and tell the police right now.”
Lia shook her head. “Not yet, Hayley. It’s still conjecture. What if we’re wrong? What would we be doing to Ginny if she’s innocent? Yes, I know the police won’t immediately drag her off to jail on circumstantial evidence, but word would get around. If she’s simply a mixed-up woman trying to believe she’s less pitiful than she really is, how can we destroy that?”
Hayley chewed at her lip for several moments. “What if we come up with something concrete?”
“That would make the difference, of course. But I haven’t figured out how or where to get that yet.”
“Okay, then let’s think on it.”
After a few moments of sitting silently, Hayley stood. “I’m going out for a run. I do my best thinking that way.” Lia nodded.
“You have your cell phone?” Lia asked as Hayley returned from her room, where she’d changed into running clothes and jogging shoes.
Hayley patted a back pocket of her shorts. “Back soon,” she said and took off.
Chapter 38
Fatigue washed over Lia after Hayley left. She hadn’t slept well for several nights as thoughts of all the recent happenings ran continuously through her head. She also felt weighed down by the worrying of what needed to be done concerning Ginny. She considered fixing another cup of tea or maybe coffee to perk herself up but decided to give in and take a rest. A short nap was all she needed and would probably clear her head better than more caffeine.
Daphne, in her feline way, read Lia’s mind and followed her up the stairs to snuggle cozily, and within moments Lia fell into an exhausted sleep. When she awoke, she was astonished to find she’d slept for more than two hours. She shook her head groggily as she sat on the side of her bed and had just slipped her feet back into her shoes when her phone rang. It was Jen Beasley.
“Lia, do you have a minute?”
“Sure, Jen. What’s up?” Lia caught sight of her matted hair in the mirror and ran her fingers through it. Her eyes, she noted, looked half-asleep.
“I was talking to my neighbor Maddie. Remember her? Her sister-in-law works the late shift at the 7-Eleven?”
Lia snapped alert. This was the woman who had passed on the information about Annie’s late-night shopping excursions. “Yes?”
“Maddie’s sister-in-law—her name is Sara, by the way—told her that Annie had been in the store on Monday night.”
“The day that news of Joan’s murder came out.”
“Right. She said Annie looked more disheveled than usual. She usually stopped in, you know, when she’d been working on her pottery, so she tended to be a bit of a mess anyway. But according to Sara this was much worse, and Annie seemed to have been drinking. Actually, Sara said she could smell alcohol on her.”
Lia winced.
“Sara tried to be pleasant and make light conversation as Annie wandered dismally around the small store, but Sara’s only other customer brought up the murder, saying what a shame that someone so talented had been lost. Annie reacted with, ‘Are you kidding me?’ and went on sort of a rant, using pretty colorful language to describe Joan. Sara and the other customer were shocked, especially when Annie claimed Joan deserved exactly what she got and more.”
Lia groaned.
“I thought you sh
ould know that,” Jen said. “And I’m sorry. I know you’re sympathetic to Annie’s struggles. I am, too, but, well, I don’t know what this means. I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Yes, thank you, Jen. It’s painful to hear. I’m not sure what to do with it, either.”
“Maybe speak to Annie?”
“Maybe.” Lia looked at the clock. It was closing in on dinnertime. Not the best time to try to do that.
They ended their call, and Lia went downstairs, expecting to find Hayley back from her run. But the living room and kitchen were empty. Had she returned and gone out again? Lia thought Hayley might have left a note, as she’d done before, after the hospital incident, but a quick look around found none. Lia decided to text her.
Still running? she asked.
She sent it off and went into the kitchen to see about their dinner, expecting to hear the ding of an answering text. After she’d pulled out a few leftovers and stood thinking about what to do with them, she realized she hadn’t heard back from Hayley. She waited a bit longer, then placed a call. It went to voice mail.
“Hayley, please let me know where you are.” Lia heard the growing worry in her voice and didn’t apologize. Perhaps it would bring a quick response.
A knock at her door startled her. Not Hayley, of course, who would simply walk in. Lia hurried to answer it.
“Mrs. Geiger! So glad to find you at home.” A thin woman with a big smile stood on the doorstep, holding a clipboard. “I didn’t catch you in the middle of dinner, I hope?”
“No, I—”
“I’m so glad.” The woman held out her hand. “Tamara Harper. We met at one of the neighborhood get-togethers?”
Lia vaguely remembered, thinking it must have been weeks ago. She nodded.
“I won’t take up your time,” Tamara promised. “I know you’re probably busy, as we all are, right? But this is so important.”
Lia looked over Tamara’s shoulder to see Hayley’s car parked where it had been earlier that afternoon. Wherever she’d gone, it had been on foot.
Tamara, she learned, was taking up a petition. Lia had trouble concentrating on exactly what it was for. Something about new street signs? Or was it fixing potholes? Tamara’s explanation rambled—so much for not taking up time—and Lia’s thoughts kept returning to Hayley. Finally she reached for the clipboard, startling Tamara.
“Where do I sign?”
“Right there underneath Mr. Whittle’s signature. Unusual man,” Tamara said as Lia scribbled her name. “Have you met him? He—”
Lia thrust the clipboard back, saying, “I think my phone is ringing. I’d better go.”
“Oh! Of course. Thank you so much, Mrs. Geiger. It was so nice to—”
Lia didn’t hear the rest as she closed the door. Her phone hadn’t been ringing, but she might have missed a text. She checked and found nothing. No text. No missed call. This wasn’t good. Lia couldn’t simply wait and hope to hear from her daughter. She grabbed her keys and purse and headed out to her car. She was going to find her.
As Lia pulled up to the Crandalsburg Café, she still had some hope that she was overreacting. She wanted to find Hayley sitting at one of the café tables across from Brady, that they’d run into each other and she’d totally lost track of time. But a quick look inside erased that. No sign of Hayley. Lia checked with the hostess in case Hayley had been in earlier, describing her carefully.
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
Lia thanked the woman and hurried out. Other restaurants were nearby, and Lia went in and out of them, along with the few shops that were still open that might attract Hayley, growing more worried with each unsuccessful stop.
She returned to her car. Perhaps Hayley had taken a break earlier, then headed to the park to continue her run. Lia had checked her phone often, but she did it again. Finding nothing from Hayley, she shot off another text before starting her car. There were jogging trails in the park, separate from vehicle lanes but often paralleling them. She would scour the winding road slowly.
It was starting to get dark. As she entered the park, Lia wondered if she was wasting her time. Would Hayley be there on her own? She had scoffed once at Brady’s concerns about her being out alone after dark, since she felt so much safer in small-town Crandalsburg than in the city. The odds might be better, but that didn’t mean crime was nonexistent, something she should have realized by now. But Hayley was young, and she was impulsive.
Lia hit her brake, luckily being the only moving vehicle on that particular stretch of road. Yes, she told herself, Hayley was impulsive. Their last conversation had been about Ginny and how they needed concrete evidence about the woman before going to the police. Could that be what Hayley had gone to find?
Lia turned her car around and drove as fast as she dared on the narrow road. When she reached the park exit, she paused, visualizing the way to Glenwood Street. Then she took off.
Chapter 39
Lia pulled up to the house she’d driven to the day before, the one across from the auto repair shop that she’d described to Hayley. No car stood in front at the curb, and no light came from within. But Lia went up to the front door and knocked hard. Then knocked again, and again.
“I don’t think she’s home.” Lia spun around to see a woman in gray sweats holding a frisky, midsized dog on a long leash. “I saw her go out a while ago.”
“Was she alone?”
“No, there was a girl with her. I don’t think she was well. Ginny had to help her into the car.”
Lia froze. “A girl. You mean a young woman?”
“I guess. Coulda been.”
The woman’s dog ran toward Lia, its tail wagging. “Jasper!” his owner called, but he kept going. As Lia looked down at him, she caught sight of something.
“Jasper, come here!” The woman tugged at his leash, and as he returned Lia bent down to pick up what she’d seen in the grass. It was a woven bracelet. Hayley’s bracelet. The one she’d bought at the alpaca farm along with a matching one for Lia.
The woman started to walk on with her dog, but Lia called out, “Wait! What kind of car does Ginny drive?”
The woman stared blankly. “Gray, some kind of sedan, I think. I don’t really know cars.” She looked like she wanted to ask why, but Lia had already punched 911 on her phone. Ginny had kidnapped Hayley and had taken her somewhere!
She reported what she knew to the 911 operator, which was frustratingly little. At the end, after answering several questions, she sobbed, “Please! This woman, Ginny Norton, kidnapped my daughter! You have to find her!”
But would they? Her heart pumping hard, Lia ran back to her car. She couldn’t just stand and wait. She had to keep looking herself. Where would Ginny have taken Hayley? As she climbed into the driver’s seat, a thought rushed at her. If there was one requirement for Ginny’s crimes, it was that they needed to point to Belinda in some way. Lia could think of one strong possibility that fit that requirement. She started her car and squealed through a U-turn. She had to get there!
Lia raced through Crandalsburg. But after pulling onto the road leading out of the town, she slowed. She’d spotted a familiar figure: Brady, jogging, and obviously off duty. She screeched to a stop and waved him over.
“Brady!” she cried as he ran up and peered through her lowered window. “Come with me! Hayley’s in trouble.” Words that brought an instant response. He yanked open the door.
“What’s happened?” he demanded as he jumped in.
Lia told him about finding Hayley’s bracelet outside Ginny’s house and what the neighbor had seen. “Ginny might have drugged Hayley in order to move her to another location. I think it’s the craft fair barn.”
“The Schumacher barn! Why there?”
“Because that’s how her thinking works.” Lia had her car back in gear and pressed on the gas as Brady quickly buckle
d up. “Ginny will want to pin it on Belinda.” Lia’s voice quavered at the thought of what “it” could be, and she gulped to clear it.
“She won’t get to do anything, Mrs. Geiger,” Brady said firmly. “We’ll see to that. You called 911?”
“Yes, but not about the barn. That came to me afterward.”
Brady reached for his phone and reported where they were heading and why. “They’ll respond,” he said, “but keep going. We can get there before they will.”
Lia drove as fast as she dared on the two-lane country road, whipping around the few cars that appeared ahead of her and grateful for the minimal traffic. Would they get there in time? What would Ginny do? What had she already done?
The craft fair barn loomed ahead with the metal rooster atop lit this time by a full moon. Lia slowed and turned cautiously onto the long driveway. As they approached, she saw a single car parked at the side, an older model and possibly gray, though the deep shadows made it difficult to be sure.
“Stop here,” Brady said when they were still several yards away. She did, and they eased out of the car to steal silently to the building. The side door was ajar, but as they peered in Lia saw no sign of movement in the main interior, which was dimly lit by the moonlight. Lia took a step forward, but Brady held her back, pointing to the faint light coming from a window at the rear of the barn.
Putting his fingers to his lips, he left her to slip noiselessly around the back corner, Lia barely breathing until he made his way back. “They’re in there,” he whispered.
“Is Hayley okay?”
“She’s wrapped in some kind of quilt and tied into a chair. She looks drugged. The other woman is talking to her—or to herself—as she’s pacing. We have to wait. She might come out.”
What if she doesn’t? Lia thought, but she nodded. At least Hayley was alive!
They didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes they heard the office door open and footsteps head down the short walkway toward the central area lined with booths. Vendors with bulkier wares chose to leave them at the barn from week to week. Ginny headed toward those.
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