I could've told her about finding Friedrich's body and about Hans getting hurt and Greta being missing and finding Jack and riding around in my van with Matt in only my underwear and a couple hand towels, but I didn't. Let her have her moment. She'd hear about all of it soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I'd forgotten what life in a small town is like. Within half an hour the lookie loos and gossips started trailing into the barkery to ask about what I'd found at Greta's and about Jack and all the rest of it.
Fortunately for me, the prospect of a fancy schmancy wedding was even more interesting to most of them than what I'd seen at Greta's the day before. So before anyone could really dig in and start asking questions, I just said, "Hey, did you hear? Jamie and Mason Maxwell are engaged. Jamie, show them your ring."
That led to a good five minutes of oohs and aahs and where are you going to have it and where will you go for the honeymoon and do you think you'll have kids? Oh, of course you'll have kids. But better get started right away since you waited so long. How many do you think you'll have?
And then the looks turned to me. But before anyone could start with, "Well, I guess you're the only over the hill old maid left, Maggie, we should really do something about that," I fled. I spent the rest of the morning in the back making more barkery bites than I could probably use in the next six weeks.
None of their business if I was going to be some washed up, dried out old prune with a lonely little Christmas tree that was only two feet high and no presents under it and nowhere to go each holiday because I'd neglected to pop out a family of my own.
(And, trust me, that was not what I had planned if that's how things turned out. They could have their white Christmas with their multiple generations of family gathered around the tree. I'd be on a beach in Barbados somewhere sipping tropical booze and having some young cabana boy give me a foot massage while another fed me grapes. Trust me, if it came to that, I'd be far less stressed on my holiday than they'd be on theirs. But I digress.)
Suffice it to say. I kept to myself for most of the morning.
The vet called around noon and said Hans was ready to pick up, but that he'd need to be kept in his crate as much as possible and only leash walked for the next six weeks or so. The bullet had done some damage near his spine, but they'd managed to remove it without losing either leg, so it was as good an outcome as they could expect.
Since Wilhelm was a murderer and Greta's husband was dead and she was still missing and she didn't really have anyone else to step in, I knew I'd have to take him on until something more permanent could be arranged. (And, honestly, if I could learn a little German and the worst happened and Greta was never found or found dead, I'd probably keep him, because at least he knew me. I hadn't planned on taking on another dog anytime soon, but that's life.)
First, though, I called Matt to see what he knew about Greta.
"Hey Maggie. How are you?" There was a casual tenderness to his voice that hadn't been there before.
I liked it, but at the same time…I did not need that. Only thing keeping me from making a horrible mistake was his unwillingness to push the issue.
I shook it off. "I'm good. You guys break Wilhelm yet? Did he confess to the murders? How's Jack? Have you found Greta?"
"I don’t know about Wilhelm or Greta. Sorry."
"You don't? Why not? Are you still with Jack?"
"Uh, no. Jack's just sleeping so no point in my hanging around. They're planning on keeping him under for a few days given all the trauma and blood loss."
"So why aren't you busy interrogating Wilhelm? Or looking for Greta? Or…What are you doing?"
I could hear him grimace through the phone. "I'm on traffic duty."
"What? Why?"
"The Chief wasn't too pleased with how I handled things yesterday. Said it wasn't proper behavior for an officer."
"But Jack's your brother. What else did he expect you to do?" I had half a mind to drive to the police station and give that man a lecture on how to treat his officers.
"Oh, yeah. Well, that was a problem, too. But no. It was…He, um, he didn't think I kept the proper distance with you."
"The proper distance? What does that mean?"
"I drove away from the scene in your van, Maggie."
"Because I wasn't in any shape to drive. And Hans needed to get to the vet."
"There was a dead man whose murder needed to be investigated. That was my job."
"Oh that's…" (I said a few words I won't repeat here.)
"Still. Plus, after all of that, I didn't even manage to get a witness statement from you. And don't forget that Officer Clark saw you standing there in my t-shirt and nothing else. I had a lot of explaining to do about that."
"Figures he'd rat you out."
"Maggie…Be nice. He didn't. He just teased me about it this morning and the Chief happened to overhear."
I grabbed another Coke from the fridge and took a long sip. "So, what now? You're off the case? You can't even ask what's going on? Who's handling it?"
"Yes. I'm off the case. I'm on traffic duty for the rest of the week. Ben's handling the interview of Wilhelm, but because Wilhelm is who he is they're having to approach it with a certain amount of delicacy."
I snorted. "Delicacy. Please. Someone needs to take that man out to the woodshed. Greta's still missing, Matt. What if she's alive and he decides to kill her?"
Matt didn't answer.
"Matt?"
"You have to know she probably isn't, Maggie. Or if she is, she was in on it."
"Don't say that."
"It's the truth. You and I both know it."
I glared at the wall as I took another sip of my Coke. "You didn't have to say it, though. Look, I'm going to pick up Hans and take him to my grandpa's. You, um, you want to come over for dinner tonight?"
"I'd love to. But I better go visit Jack. Even if he won't be awake."
"Okay. Don't give out to many speeding tickets. Be nice."
He chuckled. "Only to you, Maggie, if you push your luck. So keep it down when you drive by. Not even one over."
"Yes, sir, officer, sir."
I hung up.
I figured I could probably call the police station to see if they'd found Greta, but no one there was going to talk to me. Plus, even if they had found her, she wasn't likely to be in a position to take care of Hans right now.
Might as well just pick him up and take him home and worry about the rest of it later.
Problem was, I didn't have a crate for him. I'd tried to crate-train Fancy when she was a puppy, but that had not worked out well.
She was fine sitting in the crate when the door was open, but close that door and she immediately started crying and begging to be let out. As someone who also isn't exactly fond of being caged in, I hadn't fought too hard to make her adjust. Eventually I'd just donated the thing to a local shelter rather than continue to let it take up a third of my living room.
(Dog crates for large dogs are big. That thing was supposed to be portable but pbbt. It weighed about thirty pounds and was a good four foot by five foot even when it was collapsed.)
So no crate to use for Hans. And there aren't exactly pet stores in the valley where you can just swing by and buy something like that either. Which left me with a bit of a dilemma.
Because I did know where to find one. I'd seen it at Greta's. That would also give me a chance to pick up whatever food Hans liked as well.
Problem was, no one was there and it was probably still a crime scene. So only way to get the crate was likely going to be breaking in somehow.
I debated calling Matt back and asking if he could meet me there and escort me inside, but decided that was just silly and would also get him in even more trouble than he already was.
I figured I could just swing by and check things out. Hopefully there'd be an unlocked door or window or a hidden key and I could just sneak in, grab the crate and food, and be out of there in five minutes or less.
At least there weren't any nosy neighbors to call the cops on me this time…
Chapter Thirty
My stomach clenched as I pulled up outside the house. It was still as beautiful as it had been the day before, but now that I knew what had happened inside those doors, there was a sinister edge to all of it. Every little shadow, every bird call, made my skin shiver.
I parked in back, hoping that the kitchen door was still unlocked. I figured that also gave me a little bit of protection should someone drive up while I was there. Maybe they'd come and go and never even see me. I wasn't doing anything wrong per se, but it was best to not have to explain myself at all.
The kitchen door was locked. So was the sliding door on the back porch. And all of the windows. I lifted some rocks and ran my fingers along the top of the doorframe of the back door, but no hide-a-key. (I wasn't terribly surprised, I don't use one either. Talk about an easy way to give a complete stranger access to your house.)
I debated breaking one of the windows in the back, but that seemed a little extreme. Finally, I mustered the courage to try the front door. I really, really hadn't wanted to go inside that way. I was sure that it was still a bloody mess inside and I didn't need to see that again. But if it came down to vandalizing my friend's house or just walking in the front door, walking in the front door seemed the better option.
So I did it. I walked around the house, tried the front door, and it opened right on up. I closed my eyes as I stepped inside, but I realized that wasn't going to do me much good. I needed to be able to see the mess to avoid it. I closed the door and leaned against it, forcing myself to open my eyes and look.
It wasn't as bad as before. No injured dog. No dead man. You could still see the signs that violence had occurred there, but it was muted somehow by all the little bits and pieces the police and medics had left behind.
I was still leaning against the door when I heard a car pull up in front of the house and a door slam.
I froze, not sure what to do. If it was a cop, I was in trouble, because no matter how altruistic my motives might be I was trespassing. But maybe it was Greta. Maybe they'd found her and brought her home.
I stepped into the formal dining room and peeked out the curtain just in time to see Friedrich's mistress, Lucia, walk up the steps. Her long black hair was pulled back into a loose bun and she was wearing some hideously tacky Gucci sweatshirt with a leopard on it. I swear, the things people pay money for.
She barged through the door before I could think what to do. I might've been able to just stand there and be really quiet and have her walk right by, but my phone dinged with a text message.
(I hate text messages. They're always arriving at the most inconvenient times.)
And, of course, because I'm programmed to do so, I immediately looked at my phone to see who had texted me. It was just a stupid notice from my cellphone carrier that they'd processed my payment. Waste of time.
When I looked back up, Lucia was facing me. And she had a gun pointed right at my chest.
"Ah, Lucia, isn't it? You're, um, Friedrich's friend, right? We met at the ball. Remember?"
I kept looking back and forth between her face and the gun, not sure which one was more important to pay attention to. Finally, I settled for her face, figuring if she fired the gun it was too late for me to do anything about it, but if her face twisted up in some weird way that meant she was about to fire it, that I could maybe react to in time.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I came to get Hans's crate. You know, Greta's dog? He's, um, done at the vet, but they want him to stay in a crate most of the time for the next few weeks. And I don't have one at home, even though I do have a big dog. I have a Newfie. Um. So I figured I'd come here and I'd pick up the crate I saw off the kitchen last time I was here."
I glanced at the gun again. She hadn't lowered it an inch. "And you?" I asked.
I mean, technically, she was trespassing too, wasn't she? She might have walked in the door like she owned the place, but it was Greta's house, not hers. She probably had some fancy apartment somewhere nearby thanks to Friedrich. But she certainly didn't have a right to barge into my friend's home the way she had.
"I needed to get something."
"You seemed awfully sure no one would be here."
She pointed the gun at my face. "What do you mean by that?"
"I just…I mean, no one knows what happened to Greta. But here you are, just walking into her house like you own it. Why is that?"
(I know. I don't know when to keep my mouth shut. It's a curse.)
"What business is it of yours, you…" (She used some Spanish words there that I'm pretty sure aren't suitable for mixed company. It's been a few years since I was fluent in Spanish, but the cuss words are the last to go. Don't ask me for directions, but if you want to know how to insult someone, I've got you covered. And what she called me was not very nice.)
I narrowed my eyes, really studying her this time. At the party I'd just glossed over her as some cheap bimbo with all her assets on display. But now I really took a moment to assess who I was dealing with.
I didn't like what I saw. She was no soft little thing who depended on men to support her; someone who'd cry if she broke a nail. No. This woman was…gritty. She stood like she almost wanted to put the gun aside and just scratch my eyes out. And she held that gun with far too much comfort. Not to mention how her lip curled towards a sneer, something a well-bred woman would never do.
I glanced again at the foyer. That had been one violent attack. Wilhelm, the smarmy little worm that he was, didn't have it in him to bludgeon a man to death.
But Lucia…
She definitely did.
"Why'd you kill him?" I asked. "And where's Greta?"
I could see her consider shooting me and then deciding against it. She might be violent, but she was also cunning. She knew as well as I did that to shoot me there in that house would raise too many suspicions.
She lowered her arm, but kept the gun in her hand. "He lied to me. He told me he would leave her and marry me."
"That's what she thought, too."
"Well, he changed his mind, the…" (She used another colorful Spanish term to describe him and followed that with an improbable suggestion for what he could do with himself.)
"So you killed him? Why not just find another mark?"
"He didn't even have the guts to end things with me. He sent his man to tell me I had a week to get out or they'd throw me out."
"So you came here to confront him?"
"Yes."
I glanced around the foyer. "He met you at the door?"
"Yes."
"And you started shouting at him. He shouted back?"
"No. He was cold. Like I was nothing. He told me I was just gutter trash. He laughed at the idea that he would ever marry a cheap whore like me."
"So you grabbed the statue and hit him."
"Yes."
"How did Hans get hurt?"
"Hans?"
"The dog. That was shot?" I glared at her and she raised the gun slightly until I toned it down a bit.
"Ah, yes. The dog." She flicked her hand, dismissing him, and for one split second I felt the same kind of blinding range I'm sure Lucia had felt when Friedrich dismissed her. "Friedrich had a gun. He tried to shoot me. But I hit him again before he could hurt me. The noise brought Greta and her mutt. She ordered it to attack me. I grabbed the gun and shot it."
I swallowed hard, not wanting to ask my next question but knowing I had to. "And Greta? What did you do with her?"
"I took her with me."
"Is she alive? Why did you take her?"
"So they'd have a suspect, of course. If I'd killed them both here, they'd be looking for someone else. But by making her leave with me, they see that her husband was killed in the middle of the night and that her dog was shot and they see that she was the killer."
"Where did you take her?"
"The same place I'm going to take you. Somewhere they'll never find your body." She raised the gun again. "Now. We don't have much time. Over here. Down this hall."
She directed me through the house to Friedrich's private office and then made me open a safe hidden behind a painting. There were stacks of hundred-dollar bills inside, each one banded with a mustard-colored strip that said it was worth ten-thousand dollars. She had me throw the money into a bag. All told it had to be about half a million dollars.
She laughed as she had me close the safe once more. "He thought I didn't know the code. That fool. Only reason I hadn't taken the money before was because of how much more I would've had if he'd married me."
"Well, you're going to be a very wealthy woman. Congratulations."
I thought about throwing the bag in her face and running for it, but I didn't have much faith I was going to get far. Then again, if my other option was letting her drive me to a remote location and kill me…The least I could do is try to escape.
I was just about to do it, when she said, "Where are you parked? You will drive," and a new plan occurred to me. It was a slim hope. But a better one than throwing a bag of money in the face of someone with a gun and hoping I could get away in time.
Chapter Thirty-One
Now, I've watched enough true crime shows to know it never goes well if you get in a car with a person with a gun and drive to a remote location. Chances are, you're not making it home from that. At least, not without some added lead in your brain.
But…
I had a plan to get out of this. A really bad one, but a plan nonetheless. And that really bad plan required actually letting this crazy woman force me to drive my van out of town.
So I didn't fight her when she had me get into the driver's seat of my van and crawled into the back. (She had a few more choice Spanish cusswords for the fact that there are no seats back there, which kind of made me smile despite the circumstances.)
The next five minutes were some of the scariest of my life as I slowly wound my way down the mountainside towards Bakerstown. My plan depended on my making it to the highway, but if wherever she'd stashed Greta was somewhere off that winding mountain road I was never going to have a chance to implement it.
A Buried Body and Barkery Bites Page 12