"You're welcome, Kevin," I said breezily as I walked past him and out the door. I had plans for the night. And they didn't include my lawyer.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"What am I doing?" I muttered to myself for the tenth time since I'd left my house.
It was getting dark out, and I was on the road to Bladdersly to visit Pastor Malone at home. Hopefully, I'd get him to explain how he didn't recognize me on the street but his eagle-eyed vision spotted me with Tyson Pancratz the night he was murdered.
I didn't want to confront the man at work because I didn't want Mordecai to influence him. Since I'd looked him up and discovered he had a house in the country, I'd thought I'd just pop on by. What could it hurt?
Everything. It could hurt everything. The man had obviously lied about me. How many retired pastors did that? If he lied to the police once, he could do it again. My end game was to get him to tell me the truth so that I could find a way to expose him as a liar without ending up in jail for harassing the witness.
Easy, right?
I found the gravel road turnoff just before Bladdersly and eased my van onto it. It was evening but not too late. Past dinner but before bed. The house was about a mile down a road that dead-ended right in front of his home.
I pulled into the drive and turned off the engine. The porch light was on. Walking up onto the wraparound porch, I thought about what I would say.
Hello. My name is Merry Ferguson. You accused me of a murder I didn't commit. How are you?
Sure. That should go over well.
I reached up to knock on the door when I noticed it was ajar. Was he waiting for me? Of course he wasn't. He had no idea who I was! But what if he was a secret criminal mastermind and he was luring me in for the kill? That made more sense.
The lights were off inside. It sure as hell seemed like a trap. What did I do now? I should call the sheriff. Carnack would have jurisdiction here. But then again, he'd wonder why I was here to see the main witness against me. And if the man was hurt inside, wouldn't that make me look just as bad?
I could go home. But what if he was injured? I'd never forgive myself if I let a man die from falling or something. I'm pretty sure that my lifetime membership in the Girl Scouts could be revoked for that. On the other hand, what if he had been attacked? And what if the attacker was still here? What if it was the real killer? What if they'd seen Malone not recognize me on the street and decided to take him out before I blew the whistle on him?
Insidious! But that's exactly what I would do. And I wasn't the killer.
Well, I had to do something. I texted Riley with my location and situation. At least someone should know. Rex would be mad at me, and Carnack would be forced to arrest me. But at least I'd be in County instead of the Bladdersly jail.
If the killer was in there waiting for me, I needed to be ready. Being prepared wasn't just a scout motto. It worked for the CIA too. Only, I wasn't prepared. I'd left home without my gun. Looking around for a weapon, the only thing I found was a cement garden gnome reading a Bible.
I picked it up and kicked open the door, hard. If anyone was behind it, I'd find out. No one grunted, and the door slammed against the wall. Any bad guys hiding inside would know someone was here.
"Police!" I shouted in the male voice that I'd used at The Dew Drop Inn. "The place is surrounded! Come out with your hands up, and we won't shoot! Alright, men! Be on your guard!" I was ad-libbing here, and it would be kind of fun if the situation weren't so dire. "No one shoots until I say! And that goes for you, Luther!"
I was getting a little carried away, but I thought that bit about Luther made it seem more real.
There was no sound of movement. I waited a beat before moving in, gnome at the ready, my other hand fumbling along the wall for a switch. I found it and turned on the lights.
The living room had been trashed. Couch cushions and pillows were torn apart. The couch itself had been turned upside down, and the TV was smashed on the floor.
My feelings turned to concern.
"Pastor Malone?" I used my male voice again. There was no answer. "Luther! Call for an ambulance!"
Make-believe Luther made the call. Well, in theory.
Armed with the gnome, I went from room to room but found no one. Each room was just as trashed as the one before. But I didn't find anyone in a closet, under a bed, or behind curtains. I searched for a sign of a struggle…blood, hair, torn clothing, but with everything torn to pieces, it would be hard to find.
And I was careful not to touch anything. Leaving prints was out of the question. I wasn't wearing gloves because I thought Pastor Malone might have found an accused murderer, wearing gloves and standing on his front porch, a bit off-putting.
Had someone taken Pastor Malone? Why? Because maybe he'd seen the real killer that night? Because he hadn't recognized me when I approached him up close in broad daylight? Did Malone even know that he'd "made a statement"?
What if his statement had been different? Could Vanderzee have forged it or changed the identity of the killer? The thought chilled me to the bone. If that was the case, how far would Vanderzee go to make sure I was thrown in prison?
If he was coerced into naming me, maybe Malone had changed his mind and called the killer to tell him so. These were all valid ideas. And none of them ended well for the elderly, retired pastor.
I walked into the living room to see red lights flashing outside. My heart sank. The sheriff's department. It had to be. And here I was at Malone's house, armed with a Bible-reading gnome.
"This is the police!" a voice shouted. "Come out with your hands up, and we won't shoot."
It wasn't lost on me that I'd used those same words only moments ago. What now? I could flee out the back door or hide somewhere. But my van was in the driveway. One call to the DMV, and they'd know I was here. I knew I should've registered my car under a fake name. Seems like an opportunity missed.
"No one shoots until I tell you!" the voice shouted. "And that means you, Luther!"
What were the odds?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sheriff Carnack stood with me in the living room, surveying the damage. He hadn't arrested me…yet.
"You're lucky it's me, Merry." The big man took off his hat and rubbed his forehead.
I raised my hand. "I've got a question. When did you get a guy named Luther?"
He gave me a strange look. "He's a transfer from Oskaloosa who's been sent here for punishment. The guy's a bit trigger-happy. Arrived yesterday. Do you know him?"
"Nope." I had another question. "What are you doing here?"
"We had an anonymous tip that someone was breaking in." He sighed. "Well, according to your statement, you found the place like this. And I believe you. But you have to admit, it does look bad. Why did you come out here?"
I wasn't sure how much to admit. I wasn't ready to play my ace in the hole just yet.
"I just wanted to talk. I've never met the man, and yet he fingered me as a killer."
The sheriff sighed. "That can be considered witness tampering. Since this was an official call, I'm going to have to write it up. I'll try to keep Vanderzee from wanting your head. Please stop messing around with this one. It's my job, and you need to let me do it."
I looked at him hopefully. "You're not going to arrest me?"
"I should," he pointed out. "But there's no evidence that you did anything to Malone. And unlike Vanderzee, we don't like circumstantial evidence with nothing solid to back it up. But I mean it. You need to stop. I will arrest you next time. Got it?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
Luther was on our right, showing off his gun-twirling skills to another deputy.
"Thank God that's a revolver and not a pistol," I said under my breath.
The gun went off—the bullet buried itself in a cornfield.
Sheriff Carnack and I looked at each other for a split second before I headed for my car.
"Nice going, Luther," I said as I passed him.
The man had the good grace to look nervous. He had nothing to fear from me. It was better that he was the target for Carnack's rage than me. I'd caused the sheriff enough headaches for one night.
Not surprisingly, Carnack called Rex out to help him with the search for Malone. By the time my husband got back, I was asleep.
Riley listened patiently. I'd stopped by his office after having a nice sleep in, packing my bag, and eating lunch—which consisted of a box of Girl Scout cookies and lemonade. By the way, those things do not go well together.
"They probably think," Riley said after I finished explaining all that had happened, "that you kidnapped or killed the only witness."
"But it wasn't like that. He didn't know who I was!" Why didn't anyone think that was a big deal?
My former handler put his hands on his desk. "You should've let me talk to him about that. I could've shown him photos and asked him to pick you out. If you're right, he would've failed, and we would've had credible documentation."
"I am right," I insisted. What I didn't say was that Riley was right. If I'd had him ask Pastor Malone, it would be far more credible, and maybe the pastor wouldn't have been kidnapped, if that theory held any water.
I thought about this. "Why didn't whoever paid him off show him a photo of me or something? And why didn't he speak up to the police when my picture appeared in the paper?"
My face had been connected to the case thanks to that brat Medea Jones. Surely Malone had seen it. From the look on her face, Kelly was wondering about that too. Or she was mad at me for doing something stupid. Again.
"Maybe the real killer found out somehow that Malone didn't recognize you," Riley reasoned out an idea I already had. "And that's why the real killer got rid of him."
I felt a little sick. This guy had born false witness against me, but I didn't want him hurt over it. "Do you think he's dead?"
Riley was silent for a moment. "I don't know. But if Malone grew a conscience and complained, then the killer would've felt he had no choice but to silence him."
I threw my hands up. "Great. I need another dead body that points my way."
"But Tyson doesn't point your way," Kelly said. "We still have no real motive for why you would kill him."
"Not that Vanderzee needs one," Riley scoffed. "He'd do anything to lock you away."
"About that…what did I ever do to him?"
Riley shrugged, but Kelly pulled something out of her purse and slid it to me.
"You've got to be joking," I said as I read her notes. "Mary Gold is his sister?"
Mary Gold, leader of the Magnolia Girls, hated me too but for other reasons.
Riley looked at his researcher with surprise. "Why didn't you tell me about that?"
Kelly rolled her eyes. "I tried, but you had a hot date, remember?"
Riley smiled with a faraway look. "Oh yeah. The librarian. She was hot."
I slammed my hand on the table. "Focus, Riley! Do you think this is enough of a motive for him to set me up? We were found in a building recently used by the Magnolia Girls."
"And," Kelly continued, "Tyson had a juvenile record, and he had committed some petty thefts about a year ago—all linked to his Best Bye job. I guess he was one of the Nerd Herd who go out and fix computers."
"What kind of thefts?" Riley asked with interest.
"The police record shows that during some 'house calls,' he stole petty cash from one of the tattoo parlors, Ella's Diner, the Pump & Pawn, and the police station itself."
"He could've stumbled onto something he wasn't supposed to see…" I wondered if it was Neil's tattoo parlor he'd stolen from. Maybe that was the reason Neil didn't like Tyson anymore.
"Which would increase the suspect pool," I said. "Why did Best Bye keep him on?"
"According to the statement," Kelly said, "he was the only one who really knew technology. He promised not to do it again. But even more interesting is that he had a juvie record before he worked there. Nothing much. Buying alcohol underage, stealing cigarettes. That kind of thing."
"That's very strange," Riley said. "I do background checks for businesses all the time. They should've known about him."
"It's Bladdersly," I said. "They're probably grateful to get someone who isn't a twice-convicted felon and has all of his own teeth."
"Neil would know more about this," Riley mused. "You haven't asked me about my meeting with him."
Ooops. Riley didn't know I was there and had heard the whole thing. "Oh yeah! I forgot! What did he say?"
Riley filled us in on the conversation, including the part where Neil walked out on him, which I thought was endearingly humbling. There were a few times when I was tempted to correct a word or two, but if I had pulled off the disguise, it was a tool I could save for later.
"So what do we do now?" Kelly took her notes back and dropped them on her desk.
"We need to find Pastor Malone," Riley said.
I agreed. "And I need to do a little recon at Best Bye."
"No way. You've gotten into too much trouble as it is," Kelly said. "I'll do it."
"I can come up with a disguise…" I almost said that Riley didn't even see through but stopped myself in time.
Riley cut me off. "No, this is a good idea. They won't know Kelly. Your photo was in the paper."
I was not going to be left out this time. Well, that he knew of. "Can we at least wire her up so that I can listen in?"
Which is how Riley and I ended up in a van in the Best Bye parking lot a few hours later, listening to Kelly as she went into the store. We had mics so that she could hear us make suggestions through an old spy earpiece I'd "liberated" from the CIA.
"Remember," Riley said into the microphone. "You need to talk to the other employees and the manager."
"Start with the employees," I suggested. "They'll be more likely to gossip. And if they balk, ask for a manager. Act like you're buying something and then pull out the ID."
"What ID?" she hissed.
"You know, your private eye identification or business card or something."
Kelly said, "Riley's too cheap to buy business cards."
I gave him a look. "You know she needs this for investigating."
Riley dismissed me. "I'll use the money you're paying us to buy her some when we get back."
Kelly disappeared into the store, and immediately we heard some woman very unenthusiastically welcome her to Best Bye and ask if she needed help.
"I'm looking for a laptop," Kelly said clearly. "It's a business expense."
Riley frowned. "Why does she need a laptop for work?"
"Because," Kelly whispered. "You're too cheap, remember? And if I'm going to do field work, I'll need one."
"Absolutely not." Riley shook his head, even though she couldn't see him do that.
Someone else greeted her after a beat, offering to show her the computers.
"Yes, I'd like your most expensive, top-of-the-line laptop, please," Kelly said.
Riley folded his arms over his chest. "Well, I'm not reimbursing you."
"You don't have to," she whispered curtly. "I have the agency credit card."
Riley's jaw dropped open.
"And you can close your mouth," Kelly said. "You used it for that trip to Omaha last week, and I know you weren't paying for the most expensive hotel room there for a case."
"I forgot about that card." Riley looked worried. "I gave it to her yesterday to pick up my dry cleaning."
"Merry," Kelly said softly. "If he makes a move to cancel it, break his fingers."
I reached into my purse and pulled out a nutcracker I carried in case I was assaulted by walnuts. "No problem."
The salesperson introduced herself as Nyla and told Kelly about the latest, most innovative laptop they had. In fact, it sounded so good that I might go back and get one.
"Thanks," Kelly gushed. "I usually ask for Tyson, but since the murder, I…well, you know."
"She's good," I said to Riley.
"Thank you
," Kelly whispered.
"Don't feel too bad for that bastard," Nyla's voice spat. "No one here liked him."
"Oh?" Kelly sounded surprised and innocent all at once. She had been very good at that ever since our elementary school days when she convinced the principal that she hadn't punched Kevin Dooley in the face—he'd accidentally done it to himself. It wasn't surprising that the principal bought it. By the way, she totally had punched Kevin in the face. And he never bothered us again.
Nyla cracked her gum loudly. "He was always selling laptops to third parties—other dealers, like online sales and stuff. I work my butt off to sell one a week, and he'd sell ten to some slime bag who was going to resell them."
"Is that illegal?" Kelly asked.
"No, but it's against company policy. He was constantly being written up for it, but in the end, they didn't care because he was selling a bunch of laptops."
"Why would anyone buy them here and resell them?" Kelly wondered.
"You must not be from around here," the girl scoffed. "Nobody in this town is capable of using a computer. No one buys them, so they are always on sale. The sellers scoop them up at a discount and sell them for a profit in Des Moines or Davenport. And then there once was a missing shipment of laptops. No one knew anything, but I think Tyson was behind it."
"Ask if she has any proof!" I urged into the mic.
Kelly asked.
"No. I wish I did. I'm so sick of this place. The guys get promoted, but the women don't," the girl said.
"Well…" Kelly's voice took on a matronly tone. "I'm happy that you are getting a commission on this sale."
"Me too." The girl sounded a bit more relaxed. "I'm planning on leaving this town. I'm going to Drake University. I can use the money."
Kelly was quiet for a second before asking, "In that case, how many accessories can we load up on this thing?"
When she was finished, she had a leather case, extra power cords, a set of ridiculously expensive speakers, a wireless mouse, wireless earbuds, and a very expensive backup drive. I was so proud of her.
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