Thirty-Six and a Half Motives: Rose Gardner Mystery #9 (Rose Gardner Mystery Series)

by Denise Grover Swank

  Skeeter had just ordered her a congratulatory beer when my cell phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize.

  “Rose,” the woman said in a cheery voice after I answered. “This is Mellie. We’ve got your paper translated already.”

  “Really?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement. I wasn’t sure how a twenty-five-year-old clue could help us now, but at least it was more than what we had at the moment. “Anything interesting?”

  “Oh, sugar, I didn’t look at it,” she said. “I know better than that. How do you think I manage to keep my job with Mr. Malcolm?”

  “I’m not sure when I can get out there, Miss Mellie.”

  Skeeter’s face perked up. “Is she done?”

  I nodded.

  “Tell her we’ll be out there in less than half an hour.”

  I gave him a surprised look, then did as he’d said.

  “I’ll be here waitin’ for ya,” Mellie said before she hung up.

  I looked Skeeter square in the face. “And how are we gettin’ out there?”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “You? Shouldn’t you and I stay out of the public eye together?”

  “You’re hangin’ out in my pool hall. That’s pretty public.”

  “True . . .”

  “Trust me,” he said. “If it’s Simmons you’re worried about, he isn’t going to snatch you right now. He’s excited about seeing you slink into that barn tonight. He loves the smell of fear and anxiety. He gets off on it. We’re safe for now, but tomorrow will be another story, so we might as well take advantage of it.”

  He had a point.

  We were at the bookkeeper’s office within twenty minutes. Skeeter parked in the lot, and he and Neely Kate waited in the car while I ran inside. When Mellie handed me a sealed envelope, I opened my purse and grabbed my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

  She waved her hand and laughed. “Put your money away. It’s been taken care of. Mr. Malcolm told me to put it on his bill.”

  That didn’t surprise me, but I hated relying on Skeeter’s money. “How much will you charge Mr. Malcolm?”

  A teasing grin lit up her eyes. “He warned me you might ask, and I’m supposed to say not to worry. It’s taken care of.”

  Of course he had.

  “Thank you, Mellie,” I said as I walked out the front door.

  Playing pool with Skeeter had seemed to pull Neely Kate out of her doldrums, and now she was practically bouncing in the backseat of his sedan. “What’s it say?”

  “I don’t know. It’s still sealed.”

  “Well, open it!”

  I got the envelope open and pulled out three papers. One was the original copy Mellie had made. The second was a copy that had words filled in around the shorthand. The third was the translated version. I started with that one and read out loud: He is not to be taken lightly. He has killed for lesser things. He will kill again.

  “Sounds like J.R.,” Neely Kate murmured.

  I nodded and then continued.

  I have been gathering information. I have two copies. One is under the baby bed. The other is in my barn. Use this key in the trap door. If anything happens to me, give it to the police chief.

  I looked up. “Maeve thought it said shed. She must have misread barn.”

  “Rose,” Neely Kate said. “You keep finding people in your barn. Mason searched out there forever—”

  “He said he didn’t find anything.”

  “Then Joe.”

  “He said he was checking on us to make sure we were safe.”

  “You’ve heard noises out there before.”

  “True . . .”

  Skeeter spoke up. “We need to head out there. We need to search your barn.”

  “I agree.”

  Skeeter pulled out of the lot and turned in the direction of my farm. “Keep reading. What else does it say?”

  I continued.

  The journal lists important meetings, including who attended and what was discussed. It goes into detail I don’t dare mention here. I trust you to do the right thing. In the name of your son, the father of your grandchild. And if anything should happen to me, I ask that you make sure she is loved and cared for.

  I stumbled over that last sentence, and Neely Kate put her hand on my shoulder.

  “She could have wanted him to believe that, Rose. Her options were the rich factory owner or the barely-getting-by factory worker with a shrew for a wife.”

  “He wasn’t rich,” I said quietly. “And his wife was just as shrewish. She had no reason to lie. I can’t help Violet. I won’t be a bone marrow match.”

  Skeeter glanced over his shoulder at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yesterday, my sister, Violet, told me she has cancer. She’s going to Texas for treatment, but she needs a bone marrow transplant.”

  “And you were tested?”

  I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It would be a long shot for half-siblings to be a match, but if Paul Buchanan is my father . . .” I gave him a weak smile. “Violet didn’t take it well.”

  “Because you can’t save her?” he asked.

  “Mostly because she thinks it changes things between us, no matter how much I tell her our DNA means nothing.”

  “You are both gettin’ all upset over nothing,” Neely Kate said, shaking her head. “I don’t believe it. Your visions have to be from your grandmother. Your father’s mother.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We can’t forget that Violet and I look nothing alike. I only slightly resemble my father.”

  “Have you seen photos of Paul Buchanan?” she asked. “I don’t think we can trust her word, Rose. She wanted the best for you, even if she had to lie to get it.”

  “That makes her sound like a horrible person.” I knew she’d done illegal things, but from all appearances, she’d been trying to make things right.

  “Not at all,” Neely Kate said, her hand gently squeezing my shoulder. “She sounds like a mother who was doing everything she could to make sure her baby had the best life possible.”

  “It didn’t matter in the end,” I said. “Henry Buchanan must not have told the police chief. He was killed, and then Henry killed himself. He left me as a Gardner.”

  “You said your mother’s best friend and your father thought it was safer for the world to think you were a Gardner. To protect you from the Buchanans.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what to believe. And honestly, none of it matters. It doesn’t change a blessed thing. Other than it might affect my ability to help save Violet’s life.”

  “Rose is right,” Skeeter said. “The only real consequence of which man’s DNA she carries is her sister’s life.” He paused. “We can’t choose our blood, but we can choose the people we trust. That’s always meant a whole lot more than blood to me.”

  “Like Jed?” Neely Kate asked.

  He hesitated for so long, I didn’t think he’d answer. “I’ve known Jed since we were kids. We both came from shit families, and we agreed to stick together. And we did, except for those years I worked for J.R. When I came back, it was a little rough. I couldn’t tell him where I’d been. He resented me for keeping it secret, but we stuck together anyway. And now he knows everything. I trust him with my life . . . and with everything that means something to me. That means more than the blood flowing through my brother Scooter’s veins.” He slid his hand over the top of the steering wheel. “What else does the paper say?”

  “There are a couple of bank account numbers and balances, but the translator made a note on the side that she has no idea what banks they’re with or who they belong to.”

  “If they have a routing number, wouldn’t she have been able to figure it out?” Neely Kate asked.

  “My people know I value my privacy,” Skeeter said. “Unless I specifically asked her to look for the banks, she would never have thought to do it.”

  I gave the paper a tiny shake. “There are two sets of numbers
for each of them. Some of which are the same. I’m guessing those are routing numbers, so we can ask, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The real trick is finding out who owns the accounts,” Neely Kate said. “If they’re even still open.”

  “That will have to wait.” Skeeter caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “First we need to search a barn.”

  Chapter 23

  Since we would drive past our current safe house, I convinced Skeeter to stop and pick up Muffy so she wouldn’t be all alone.

  “It’s a damn dog, Rose,” he grumbled. “They’re used to being alone.”

  “Not Muffy. She’s all by herself in a house she doesn’t know. She’s bound to be scared.”

  “We’re wasting time.”

  “As far as I can tell, there’s no timetable here,” I said in a snit. “We’re on a wild goose chase. If I’m dying tonight, at least let me spend a few hours with my dog.”

  “Nobody’s dyin’ tonight!” he boomed loud enough to make Neely Kate jump.

  He stopped at the safe house, of course, but that didn’t stop him from grumbling about me and my damned priorities all the way to my farm.

  When he pulled down the drive, I told him to park in front of the house. “If something’s hidden in the barn, I bet we’ll need the key we found in the warehouse to open it.”

  I dug out my house key and opened the front door while Muffy ran around like a crazy dog in the front yard.

  Skeeter watched in horror as she started rolling around on her back in the grass. “Does she always do that?”

  “She’s happy to be home,” I said, stepping inside. An immediate feeling of relief and belonging washed over me, as welcoming as the smell of fresh-baked cookies.

  Neely Kate brushed past him and laughed. “You don’t have any pets, do you?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer before heading upstairs to use the bathroom.

  Muffy ran in through the open door, but Skeeter lingered on the porch with a wary look on his face.

  “You can come in, James,” I said, holding the side of the open door. “All this domestication isn’t catching.”

  His eyes found mine. “I don’t think I belong in there.”

  “That’s bull crap if I ever heard it. Get your butt inside. You’re letting the cold in.”

  Something about his demeanor changed as he crossed over the threshold. It was like some of the wildness bled out of him.

  I shut the door behind him, then led the way to the office’s French doors. “The key is in Mason’s desk drawer.” I pushed one of the doors open and hesitated. “He still has paperwork here. Maybe you should stay out of this room.”

  He gave a sharp nod as he came to a stop outside the office. “You inherited this house,” he said, surveying the living room décor.

  “That’s right. But I only found out about it last June. I moved in after the whole Crocker mess.”

  He smirked. “Which Crocker mess?”

  I grinned as I opened the drawer and pulled out the key. “Good point. The one in November.”

  His smile fell, but his eyes were sharp. “You and Deveraux escaped and eluded Crocker and his men in the woods. In a snowstorm.”

  “Until we were caught,” I murmured, clutching the key in my hand as I closed the drawer.

  “But you held your own. You killed the bastard.”

  I walked to the door and stopped next to him. “I didn’t hold my own at first. He almost . . .” I shook my head. “I only killed him to save Mason.”

  “And yourself.”

  I didn’t like thinking about the day I killed Daniel Crocker. A shiver ran through my body.

  “What happened in that house, Rose?” he asked quietly.

  My breathing sped up. “Why are you asking me this?”

  He ignored my question. “You said you didn’t hold your own at first. What happened?”

  “He dragged me out of the closet, and he . . .” I closed my eyes. “And then Joe showed up.”

  “And Deveraux was locked in the closet.”

  I wasn’t surprised he knew the details. The real question was why he was asking me to retell them. I opened my eyes, glaring at him. “What’s your point, James?”

  “How did you feel when Crocker dragged you out of the closet? Before Joe showed up?”

  Fear made me lightheaded. “Do you really need to ask me this?”

  “Yes. How did you feel?”

  A list of emotions rushed through my head. “Scared. Helpless.”

  He nodded his acknowledgment. “And how did you feel last week at Gentry’s house? When you were facing down Simmons. Did you feel helpless then?”

  “No.”

  He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “J.R. Simmons is a hell of a lot scarier than Daniel Crocker and ten times as deadly. Simmons doesn’t just want to kill us. He wants to make us suffer on a scale that not even a sadistic son of a bitch like Crocker could have envisioned. There’s only a fifty-fifty chance of us coming out ahead. And that’s generous.” His eyes turned serious. “If we find ourselves in a defensive position, you need to remember that you aren’t the scared woman who walked into my pool hall last summer. You’re a fighter. You’re a survivor. You are not helpless. The best way to get J.R. Simmons’s goat is to not only survive, but to show bravery and courage. Show him no fear. Just like you did last week.”

  My stomach churned with nausea. “This won’t end well, will it?”

  His face hardened. “Someone’s goin’ down before this is all said and done. We need to make sure it’s not us.”

  I nodded, swallowing bile.

  “You two ready to search the barn?” Neely Kate asked from the bottom of the stairs, her hands on her hips.

  Taking a step back, I spun to face her. After Skeeter’s little pep talk, looking through a barn that had been searched many times over suddenly seemed like a waste of time. The fact that Skeeter was on board with the scavenger hunt was the only thing that convinced me to go through with it.

  “Mason and I have looked through that barn multiple times, and neither of us found a blessed thing. I’m worried whatever used to be there is gone.”

  “The only way to find out is to start searchin’,” Skeeter said. “Let’s get to it.”

  I headed into the kitchen and grabbed two flashlights out of junk drawer. Although it was mid-afternoon, the sparse lighting in the barn made it difficult to see into the nooks and crannies. We needed all the assistance we could get.

  I told a disappointed Muffy that she had to stay in the house, but I was worried she’d get in the way, especially since she was being more attention-seeking than usual. I led the way to the barn, trying to ignore her forlorn barks. At least I couldn’t see her face pressed up against the glass. Instead, I cast a glance at the fence posts Neely Kate and I had used for target practice the week before. The gun Mason had given me was in my pocket, and I suspected I was going to need it sometime soon. Too bad I wasn’t very good at shooting.

  When we reached the barn, I started to open the heavy door, but Skeeter swung it open instead, then motioned for Neely Kate and me to enter.

  He started to close it behind him, so I said, “We’ll be able to see better if we open both doors.”

  He shook his head. “We don’t want to clue anyone that we’re back here.”

  “But your car’s out front,” Neely Kate said.

  “The chances of anyone finding us are slim,” Skeeter said. “They would have already looked for you at the farm. If someone drives up, we’ll hear the car. Keepin’ the doors closed will buy us more time because they’re sure to start at the house.”

  “Like when Crocker came,” I said. “Mason and I hid in the barn, then went out the back door and escaped into the woods. But we didn’t go straight into the woods. We skirted the back property line before going in further south. To throw them off our trail.”

  It was surreal that I was back in a similar situation. Just a different megalomaniac.
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  Neely Kate studied me with curiosity. I hadn’t shared much about our escape, and uncharacteristically, she hadn’t pried.

  Skeeter flipped on his flashlight. “Smart move.”

  As I turned on my own flashlight and moved toward the beat-up pickup I’d inherited with the barn, I considered confessing that it had been Mason’s idea, but Skeeter had already moved on.

  “Tell me what you know about this barn. How old is it? What was it used for?”

  I rubbed my temple. “I think it was built in the early 1900s. I know my grandparents kept horses. There are a few beat-up stalls over there.” I pointed to the left. “I think they sold the last of the horses about thirty years ago. I’m not sure what else they’ve used it for. I know this truck has been here for decades.” I patted the rusty side.

  “And where have you searched?” he asked as he swung the flashlight into a corner by the front doors.

  “I’ve only snooped around trying to find out more about my birthmother and my grandparents. Mason was the one who did a thorough search.”

  Skeeter walked the length of the wall, shining his flashlight on the crack where it met the dirt floor. “And what did he find?”

  “Absolutely nothing. He was out here for hours last week. The night I was released from jail. He’d hit another dead end and was frustrated. I think he was doin’ what we’re doing—searching to keep us busy because there’s nothing else we can do.”

  “I can’t speak for the counselor’s intentions,” Skeeter said derisively. “But that’s not why I’m here.” He stopped and turned to look at me, his back stiffening. “If you thought the shorthand on the page said the information was in a shed, why would Deveraux spend so much time looking in the barn?” His voice was steady, but I heard an undercurrent of accusation.

  “He was desperate. We had three weeks until the trial. I’d just told him about finding the journal under the baby bed. Maybe he thought he’d find something out here.”