“And now Furman York is dead.” Did someone view that as a punctuation mark on the misjustice of the Leah Pedroke murder verdict?
Someone who’d cared about that young woman and who abhorred misjustice?
Involuntarily, my head jerked up.
But Gee had said she couldn’t…
The thought floated through my mind that if Furman York had been killed by anyone trying to figuratively muck out a particular corner of the Augean Stables, Norman Clay Lukasik’s life might not be worth much, either.
That thought struck a nerve, like banging your elbow. It zinged around as if hugely serious, yet I couldn’t see how.
“About time he left this earth. Sure wasn’t doing any good on it. Not that a murder can be ignored, but if one could be, this would be it. Should have been in prison these past decades, instead of slithering around here like he’s been, doing heaven knows what.”
“Like allegedly rustling?”
She expelled a “Huh” that put allegedly in its place. Of course he was. Sounds just like him. “No good that one. Every way, shape, and form.”
“Had you met him before … before the trial?”
“No. Haven’t met him since, either. Made sure of that. Our paths didn’t come close to crossing often. When they did… Well, I saw him entering the supermarket when I had a cart half-full. I left that cart and prepared to walk out the door. Penny stopped me with one hand and pointed him out the door with the other. He laughed. Nasty, nasty, nasty. But he went.
“I can’t suppose he was barred from there every time, but at least that once, he knew he was not fit to be around decent people.”
“Did you know about his connections to the grazing association?”
“I knew the ranch for which he worked belonged to that grazing association, despite efforts to change that. I did not, after the passing of Leah’s parents, keep an awareness of his activities, with the grazing association or anything else. Wayne Shelton knew my sentiments about having the man in our county. I left it to him to ensure no other young woman became York’s victim. To Wayne’s credit, none has. And now none will.”
She poured the results of her celery chopping into the large bowl and deftly set up four more ribs in a row on the board.
“You said after Leah’s parents passed. When was that, Gee?” I asked.
“Ten years after Leah’s murder. Their two other children had left home by then. Leah’s siblings had moved on. Young people are resilient that way. Her parents did not move on. After Leah’s father died — the second to die — I received only a clipping of a newspaper notice. I wrote back, but never received a response.”
“Did that surprise you?”
“It did, a little. When Leah’s parents stayed with me during the trial, I saw them as a strong, connected family. But—” She briskly whacked through the celery. “—people react differently, move on differently, heal differently.”
I wondered about Gee. The death of her husband left her with questions, followed by a young woman she’d cared for whose murder left the taste of bitter injustice. Gisella Decker certainly moved on. But had she truly healed?
“Leah’s parents stayed with you? During the trial, you mean?” Mike asked.
“Yes.” Whack. Another precise cut across the ribs of celery. Whatever she was making would have plenty of crunch.
“Tell us about the trial.”
“It was like the officer I mentioned as first on the scene and Sheriff Careb. The old, stolid way of doing things unable to stand up to the flashy and underhanded.”
“The county attorney of that time and Norman Clay Lukasik?”
“Precisely. The county attorney set forth a solid case. But he did not know how to contend with Lukasik’s theatrics and misdirection.
“That Lukasik kept harping on Mr. Erwin, who was Leah’s boss. Didn’t matter that the county attorney had brought in those girls who’d seen Mr. Erwin leave and dropped him at the bar. And then the men from the bar who were with him every minute until they all went to where they were living. And Roland Fuller out looking for his dog saw them arrive. Mr. Erwin had an alibi practically minute by minute. But those were mere facts.”
She looked even grimmer. “Which Lukasik tried to make sound mysterious and suspicious, succeeding all too often with the weak-minded. While his client sat there smirking — despite all the evidence of his being out of the bar during the time Leah must have been attacked and killed, and looking like he’d been in a fight when he came back, and that button tying his shirt to the crime scene for heaven’s sakes.”
She sucked in a deep breath, clearly having lost the thread of that sentence. However her grammar had tangled, her point remained straight.
“Did he persuade anyone?” I asked.
“Nobody with half a brain,” Gee said emphatically, picking up the knife again, but not returning to her chopping. “All razzle dazzle and repeating perfectly ordinary words as if they were significant and suspicious. Clear as anything what he was doing. Though the judge didn’t help any, not letting evidence come in about other girls York had tried to mess with here. Probably the reason he kept moving.”
From the corner of my eye, I was aware of Jennifer giving a slight nod.
“Aunt Gee,” Mike asked, “after he was acquitted, did York go back to Texas?”
“He was not acquitted. He received a not-guilty verdict. As for where he went, I don’t know. Didn’t care, either. Wish to high heavens he’d stayed there. Why he ever came back here… Had to know he was hated.”
“Some people crave that,” I murmured.
She belied the negative shake of her head by saying, “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. He was bad. Plain bad. If it weren’t for all the trouble to the good people of Cottonwood County and our law enforcement, I’d be just as glad he finally was killed and not worry overmuch about who did it.”
Odd to hear that sentiment from the Grande Dame of Cottonwood County law and order.
Though that attitude would not do for Tamantha. Her goal tolerated no potential lingering doubts.
“What about the rumors that bribery was involved in the verdict?” Mike asked. “Do you believe them?”
Gee sent him a repressive look, but at least she didn’t point the knife.
“Rumors are not what modern, professional, and ethical law enforcement are about.”
“Rumors can be pointers,” he said doggedly.
“If there had been sufficient proof to lay charges against any individuals for circumventing justice in that case, I, personally, would have seen to it. However, even without the legal system, a kind of justice can come about, whether by exile, by not being able to live with the guilt, by finding the hallow of hatred beneath the trappings of worldly success.”
“Who are the first two?” Jennifer asked. “Guessing the last one is Norman Clay Lukasik? I’ve heard his son doesn’t like him—” Not naming her source showed growing tact, since she’d heard it from me. “—and his wife couldn’t stand him.”
Gee’s lips pressed tight. “I have said as much as I intend to until I speak with Wayne Shelton. Some might hold I’ve already said too much. However, you are welcomed to stay for lunch.”
“What are you making?”
I quelled Mike with a look, but Gee didn’t see it and wouldn’t have been quelled regardless. “Chicken salad with spicy-hot almonds.”
“Maybe we can stick around…”
My mouth watered despite my stomach loudly declaring itself full. “No. We have a lot to follow up on.”
Gee gave me a severe look. “Law enforcement is obligated to look into the death of Furman York, which can only be regarded as an improvement in our county. You are not.”
I shook my head. “I am — we are, Aunt Gee. Tamantha’s worried about Tom. Who can blame her after last time?”
“My dad was telling my mom he told off somebody at work who was saying they’d always wondered if Tom got away with it last time and if this was another instance�
�” Jennifer let it fade away as we all turned to her.
Under his breath, Mike uttered a curse. I mentally seconded it. His aunt didn’t scold him.
Belatedly trying to stem the reaction, Jennifer said, “And Tom’s real worried the sheriff’s department has landed on Hiram Poppinger and won’t let go.”
Gee turned back to her workspace. She covered the bowl, put everything into the refrigerator, except the cutting board and knife, and untied her apron.
“You’ll all need to go now. It’s clearly high time I report to work.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“What was that about people talking about Tom?” Mike demanded of Jennifer as soon as we were outside.
“Just what I said. They didn’t say any more. Don’t worry. Dad told off that guy.”
Mike and I exchanged a look that carried agreement. Neither of us considered it likely that Jennifer’s dad encountered the only person in Cottonwood County thinking that way.
He and Jennifer started toward his SUV. I made a detour.
“What are you doing?” Jennifer asked.
“Knocking. I have a question for Mrs. P.”
“Aunt Gee’s going to be out any second.” Mike looked from one front door to the other.
“They’re not going to— Hi, Mrs. Parens. I don’t want to keep you, but wanted to ask what your school connections think of the new elementary school teacher, Asheleigh Vincennes.”
One eyebrow twitched — practically an expression of shock from her. “She is adjusting satisfactorily for a newly minted teacher beginning in the middle of the academic year.”
“Anything about her background or her mother?”
“No.” And there wouldn’t be from that response.
“If you hear of anything…” I started off her front step, then turned back. “Did you know Gee’s back? She’s going into work now.”
Mrs. P looked toward the neighboring house, then to me. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”
Back in the SUV and a block away, Jennifer asked cheerfully, “What next?”
“Gable Lukasik, if we can talk to him away from his father.”
“Kind of tough, isn’t it, since he works at the family ranch and his father’s there. You know, that’s interesting, isn’t it? Lukasik senior sticking around. Doesn’t usually stay here long, does he?”
“That is interesting. Something else to talk to Gable about,” I said. “Any ideas how to find him away from the ranch?”
“No,” Mike said.
A lot of help they were.
Returning to Sherman, I considered that the hunt for Gable Lukasik exposed a gap in my sources.
He had not gone to school in Cottonwood County, didn’t participate in civic events or society dos, only marginally participated in the ranching community. He was too old for Jennifer’s social connections.
A definite gap.
It left one possibility I could think of.
Gable Lukasik might not cook much, but the guy bought beer and tortilla chips, didn’t he?
* * * *
Mike and Jennifer had to go into the station for work.
First, he was swinging by my house to drop me off.
“What are you going to do?” Jennifer asked. “You have a lot of time before the Pickled Cow opens.”
“I want to check some things, before I go out to the Lukasik Ranch again to see if I can catch Gable alone or— Stop. Pull over. Pull over, Mike.”
“Why? What—”
“Now. Right here. Pull over.”
On second thought, did I need more sources in a town this size? Standing on a street corner might work.
I’d just recognized Gable Lukasik and Asheleigh Vincennes turning off Yellowstone Street into a side street.
“I can’t wait long—”
“Don’t wait. I don’t want them to see you.”
“Who?”
I had the SUV door open. Gable and Asheleigh wouldn’t hear me if I explained now, but someone on the sidewalk might. “Tell you later.”
“But how will—”
“I’ll walk home. It’s not far.”
“—we find out what you’re doing?”
Ah. That’s what he was worried about. I held up my hand in a phone-you gesture, then waved them on.
As soon as he pulled away, I jogged down the block and turned the corner as the young couple had. A few yards behind my quarry, I eased up, so when I reached them I was at close to natural walking speed.
“Hi, Gable. Nice to see you again. Oh, hello, and you’re Asheleigh, right? Asheleigh Vincennes.” I had started talking when I was even with them. Turning to see who spoke slowed them, and that let me get ahead and stop. To walk past me now would require circling me in a blatant move. I extended my hand to the young woman. She met it automatically. “I’m Elizabeth Margaret Danniher. We didn’t have a chance to get introduced when I ran into your mother yesterday.”
“You’re a friend of Odessa’s?” Gable asked.
“Yes,” I said too fast for Asheleigh to disagree, then, holding his gaze, I moved slightly to the side, drawing him around enough that he didn’t have a direct line of sight to Asheleigh’s face. “I’m interviewing her for the ‘Helping Out!’ segment. Do you know about the great program her group is doing?”
“I’ve heard about it.”
Not a topic to stick with. I wanted to know about Norman Clay Lukasik, though I’d take some on his son or even Odessa. But what I wanted wouldn’t get them talking.
For that, the topic needed to be what interested them. At least to start.
“But what I want to know is about you two. I know Gable volunteered to help coach summer baseball, including my friend’s son — Gary Stendahl?”
“Oh, sure. Gary’s a good kid. He—”
No. We weren’t going down the path of Gary’s baseball ability. If it had been Gable alone, maybe, but not with Asheleigh here and suspicious of little ol’ me because of her mother’s reaction outside the dentist’s office. A topic that would disarm both of them was what I needed.
“And the kids were talking about you two and what a great couple you are. Now, how long is it you’ve been dating?”
“Since April,” Asheleigh said.
“Could have started two whole months earlier if we’d been smart, because she moved here to teach at the first of February,” Gable said.
“You came in the winter, Asheleigh? You’re a brave soul,” I said.
“Oh, it’s lovely here in winter.”
She was delusional. But at least she could enjoy her delusion for a big chunk of each year. Though not, thank heavens, today.
She continued, “I was incredibly lucky that a teaching position came open after I’d graduated from Penn State mid-year.”
“Are you from Pennsylvania?”
“I’ve always wanted to be a teacher.”
Yes, I noticed she didn’t answer my question.
“And she’s a terrific one,” Gable said, clearly untroubled by her failure to answer questions. Youth so seldom saw the warning signs. Next thing they knew, they were tied up to someone who made a lousy source. Tragic.
Asheleigh slipped her hand under his arm and leaned against him, leaving me to carry the conversational ball.
“Penn State’s a great school.”
She nodded and smiled. “Yes, it is. I learned so much.”
“Long way from Wyoming.”
“I’ve always wanted to come to Wyoming.”
“What about it drew you?”
“And I’m so glad you did.” Gable’s words and goofy grin ignored another of my questions completely.
So did she. “Me, too.” She looked up at him. “The best thing that ever happened to me.”
I interrupted love’s young idyll. “How did you meet?”
She giggled. “Believe it or not, my mother set us up. She met Gable first.”
Finally, an answer to a question.
“How’d you meet her mother?” I asked G
able.
But Asheleigh answered. “Before she took the job she has now, the one you’re doing the piece on, Mom went to all sorts of meetings for charities, volunteer openings, and interest groups.”
“She was looking for something to do after moving here with you?”
Again, she zoomed past my question. Eager to get back to Gable as a topic? Or away from her mother?
“She came back from volunteering one day and said she’d met someone I had to meet. I did not want to meet him. I wasn’t even settled into my job and— My mother, setting me up. It was weird.” She laughed. A real laugh. Not a giggle. “I resisted and delayed and avoided.”
“Hey, I wasn’t clamoring to go out with you, either.”
She swiped at Gable’s arm with her free hand. He caught that hand and they smiled into each other’s eyes.
Fearing that could go on a long time if I didn’t break it up, I asked, “With neither one of you wanting to meet the other, how did it ever happen?”
“Odessa is one persistent woman,” Gable said. “We were teamed up together for Shred Day at the library — you know, they do it every year right after tax season. The entrepreneur meet-up group I’m in volunteers to bring machines each year, then we’re teamed up with helpers. Odessa was my helper. And she worked like crazy, because I’d volunteered to bring two shredders — we have spares at the ranch. My father’s nuts about records for the ranch. He shreds then burns.”
I was liking Gable better all the time. He’d not only answered the how did it happen question, he’d tossed in bringing multiple shredders and explained his father’s shredding and burning practices when all I’d done was arch a brow. He could give his girlfriend pointers.
“So Odessa and I were working away together all day and, after, she insisted I come to dinner at their apartment that night, said I deserved a good, home-cooked dinner for all that work. Sounded real good. I was hungry and I was beat. Heck, she’d worked all day, too, but she was all revved up to cook dinner for me. How could I refuse? And then we get to the apartment and the door opens … and there’s Asheleigh.”
Reaction Shot (Caught Dead in Wyoming, Book 9) Page 22