18 Deader Homes and Gardens

by Joan Hess

  “I fear that I have other things to do as well.” He looked at Caron and Inez, who had backed into a corner. “For the moment, you two may go home and stay there. I will do what I can with the city prosecutor, but the decision is his.”

  “I can’t stay home,” Caron protested. “I’m going to the lake with Joel. He borrowed a kayak from his uncle.”

  Jorgeson shrugged. “Then I apologize for the inconvenience. You are free to choose whether you prefer to remain at home or accompany us to the police department. I must warn you that the soda machine is broken and the reading material is limited to hunting and car magazines.”

  Caron rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Inez. Let’s go to my house and do some online research about the legality of detaining juveniles.” She stomped out of the room, with Inez following obediently.

  “As for you, Ms. Malloy,” he said with a long-suffering sigh, “you and I need to resume our interview in my office. Please give your car key to this nice young officer. I am reluctant to let you out of my sight until Deputy Chief Rosen is back.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Why, I’d be delighted to ride with you, Lieutenant Jorgeson. Is there a chance we might swing by a coffee bar on the way for lattes and biscotti? My treat, of course.”

  * * *

  I did not get my latte and biscotto. Once I was seated in Jorgeson’s office, I forgave him for his petulance and said, “What did the medical examiner determine about Angela’s time of death?”

  Jorgeson took his sweet time before responding. “She’s unable to do more than offer an approximation. The body was kept in cold storage for some period of time, so the standard measures are unreliable. She was killed elsewhere more than five days ago, and put in the ground within six hours of discovery.” He put up his hand to stop me before I could blurt out the obvious question. “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Something heavy with a flat surface. Bits of dirt and debris in the wound. No indications that she fought back.”

  I was amazed at his willingness to share the medical examiner’s findings. Peter would not have offered an observation on the weather. “Does Danny have an alibi for Tuesday afternoon and evening?” I asked.

  “Yes, and it’s been verified. He was at his office until five and then had drinks and dinner at the country with a group of friends. His, uh, friend says the two of them spent the night at his condo.”

  “Then his accomplice did it,” I said. “A couple of days later, Danny and the accomplice drove Angela’s car to Maxwell County to muddle things.”

  “Well done, Ms. Malloy. If you’ll give us the name of the accomplice, we’ll have this wrapped up before the evening news.”

  I was not amused by his flippancy. “The Farberville Police Department has adequate resources to identify the accomplice, while I, a civilian of no great consequence, am powerless and can only watch with awe and respect. Is that all, Lieutenant Jorgeson?”

  It was not. I offered Jorgeson a multitude of means, motives, and opportunities that could be applied to every last person I’d met since the day Angela showed me the perfect house. Some plots required convoluted conspiracies, bribery, blackmail, psychotic breaks, and/or sexual misconduct. I gave him grudges galore. After I finished a theory in which Nattie was Bartleby’s ex-wife and Jordan was their love child, Jorgeson suggested that we take a very long break.

  “What about Caron and Inez?” I asked him. “I am more than willing to sit here the rest of the day and explain why it was necessary for them to gain ingress, however the means, so that—”

  Jorgeson’s gaze was a wee bit unfriendly. “I will make a note that they went inside to rescue the dog. The computer hacking need not be mentioned as long as I don’t come across their names in any future reports. Is there any hope that you and I can settle for the same arrangement?”

  “Of course,” I said merrily. “There is one thing, though. I promised Jordan that she could come spend the night with Caron and Inez, so I’ll need a letter of passage to pick her up.”

  He scribbled out a note that ensured my safety behind enemy lines. His parting words were desultory, leading me to wonder if he was unwell. The previous day had been exhausting for both of us, I thought as I drove home and parked next to Caron’s car. She and Inez were cross-legged on her bed, texting silently like Zen adherents. There seemed to be so many texts zipping through the atmosphere that it was a miracle there was adequate oxygen for respiration. If everyone was sending them, who had time to read them?

  I called Peter and was composing a message when he said, “Claire, is something wrong?”

  It was a poser. I opted for innocence. “Everything’s fine. I told Jorgeson what I know, and now it’s his headache. We’re not going to get the house, so I’ve decided to move on. Later, I’ll go get some magazines with house plans. But how are you? Do you know how long you’ll be stuck up there?”

  “No idea. Most of the agents are out in the field. I’ll meet with the brass from the trucking company and their insurance people and then participate in a conference call with the feds. The truck driver’s not talking. I could be here for at least a couple of days.” He stopped for a moment. “I’ve got to go. Can I trust you to stay out of the investigation just this once?”

  “You can always trust me, darling.”

  I made a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of iced tea. I was brooding on the balcony when Caron came out.

  “If I’m going to prison, I’m not going to bother with the summer reading list,” she said. “It’s not like we’ll sit around in a cell and discuss No Exit. Do I need to start packing anytime soon?”

  “Jorgeson said that he’d overlook our minor escapade if we keep a low profile.”

  “Can I go to the lake with Joel? Inez wants to come, too.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but you have to be home at four, and not one minute later. I promised Jordan that she could come spend the night. You can take her to the mall, and I’ll give you money for pizza. After everything that’s happened out there lately, she deserves a respite. She was with me when we uncovered the body.”

  “Cool,” Caron said. “Yeah, we’ll be here at four. Inez says that Jordan has body piercings and a tattoo. I’ve never met anyone like that. She probably has some really neat stories.”

  The peanut butter solidified in my stomach. “Don’t even think about it. If you so much as draw on your skin with an indelible marker, you’re grounded for the rest of the summer. I mean it, Caron. You are not going to make the same mistakes she made.”

  Caron grinned, then went to her bedroom to confer with Inez. I drowned my worries in iced tea, calling good-bye to the girls as they went downstairs. In a year, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time, Caron would make her own decisions. If she made the wrong ones, Peter and I would not leave a forwarding address.

  Rather than descend into depression, I turned my thoughts back to the matter at hand. Danny Delmond claimed to have alibis for the day when Angela disappeared and for the six-hour period when her body had been transported and buried. Angela’s low opinion of the young woman was less than impartial. She might be a respectable sort, who had a good job, called her parents every week, and sang in a church choir. Or she might be a slut. Jorgeson had not mentioned her name, and he most likely would not do so if I called him.

  I’d agreed to keep a low profile, but I hadn’t promised to spend the next few days polishing silver. Angela had told me that she’d amended the divorce petition from the standard “irreconcilable differences” to the ever popular “adultery,” and named Danny’s girlfriend as a corespondent. I found Angela’s briefcase under a chair and took out the documents from the lawyer. All things Delmond v. Delmond were covered, including property division proposals, vitriolic notes from Angela that contained references to Danny’s manhood, conciliatory letters from her lawyer, D. W. Hendrix, and preliminary rulings. Not one listed the name of the corespondent.

  I found D. W. Hendrix’s office number in the directory and dialed it. W
hen a receptionist answered, I launched into an impromptu speech. “I’m with KLMNOP, your local all-news station. As you surely have been informed, Angela Delmond’s body was found yesterday, and the police are investigating it as a murder. To give depth to our report, we’re running background stories about Mr. and Ms. Delmond. I’ve located the divorce petition filed by your office, along with the amendments. If you could just give me the contact information for the corespondent, you’d save me a trip to the courthouse.” I paused and then lowered my voice. “You know how bosses can be. Mine thinks I can drop everything to fetch him coffee or run errands. Last week I had to take off a day because my child was ill, and I nearly got fired.”

  The receptionist was immune to my offer of feminist camaraderie. “In that the information is a matter of public record, her name is Nanette Campbell. I have no further information concerning her. What station are you with?”

  “Thank you so very much,” I said and hung up. I held my breath while I looked up the name in the directory, then exhaled when I spotted it. Nanette lived in what I suspected was an apartment in the historic district. It was unlikely that she was home in the afternoon, but I had nothing better to do. A few minutes later I parked in front of a house with four mailboxes next to the front door. Nanette resided in 1-A. I knocked a couple of times, then gave up and paused on the porch to decide whether I should leave a note in her mailbox. The odds that she would call me were close to nil.

  A portly man with a furled umbrella came up the steps. “May I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Nanette Campbell.”

  He gave me a disappointed look. “Oh, yes. She works at the local library. Would you like to come in and wait for her? We could have a glass of sherry.”

  “No, thank you.” I surprised both of us when I gave him a kiss on the check, then went back to my car. She might work in the children’s area, I told myself without optimism. There was no reason to assume that she’d peeked over my shoulder while I read about the Terry Kennedys on the computer. Even if she had, she wouldn’t recognize the significance of the name. I could have asked about deeds for a genealogy project. Furthermore, not everyone lunged to conclusions with the agility of a gazelle.

  I went inside the library and stopped at the main desk. “Nanette Campbell?” I asked quietly.

  I was directed to the reference desk, where the same young woman who’d helped me almost a week ago was seated. She recognized me. “Good afternoon. Do you need to use a computer again?”

  “No,” I said, “but I’d like to speak to you about another matter.”

  “If you need assistance in the genealogy department, Caroline will be happy to get you started. She has a great deal more experience than the rest of us. Let me go find her for you.”

  I sat down next to her. “Have you heard about Angela Delmond?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I heard she was murdered. One of the patrons saw it on the news and passed it on. Ginger, who’s a volunteer, burst into tears in the break room. Why are you asking me about it?”

  “Because of your relationship with Angela’s husband. You’re named as a corespondent in the divorce.” I smiled brightly. “You were, anyway. Now the divorce is no longer an issue.”

  “Is that so?” She didn’t seem surprised.

  Considering my reputation as an amateur sleuth, I was getting tired of the question. “You’ve already spoken to the police about Danny’s alibi last Tuesday night. Are you certain about the date and time? I’d hate to see you cited for interfering with a police investigation or committing perjury on the stand.”

  “Are you helping the police?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” I said firmly. “Danny told the police that the two of you met for drinks and dinner, and then you spent the night at his condo. Will that be your testimony at the trial?”

  “What trial?” She was beginning to squirm, and she glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot before she said, “Danny isn’t going to be charged with anything. He said that the police don’t have any evidence that he did anything wrong.”

  “That depends on your testimony, doesn’t it? Subverting justice is a serious crime, and perjury can result in up to five years in prison.”

  If her office chair had had wheels, Nanette would have been pedaling backward as fast as she could. “I didn’t lie about anything! Danny and I were together from six o’clock in the evening until we left for work the next morning. There’s no way he could have left the condo without waking me up. I’m a very light sleeper.”

  “Okay, then what about the weekend? You were supposed to go to the lake house with him, but you didn’t.” I felt as if I were a shark circling in on her, one ripple at a time. I would have bared my teeth had it not been unsightly.

  Perspiration glinted on her forehead. “That was the plan, yeah. I’d bought sunscreen and a new bikini, packed a suitcase, and was waiting for him when he called to say he couldn’t make it. I was royally pissed. A friend had an extra ticket to a rock concert in Tulsa, but I’d turned it down. I was stuck home all weekend.”

  I patted her knee. “What a crappy thing to do to you at the last minute. Where does he get the nerve to ask you to lie for him? Men!”

  “He didn’t ask me to lie,” she muttered. “If he had, I would have told him what he could do with it.”

  “Did he bother to send you flowers after you told him about my computer search last Wednesday?”

  Nanette swept back her hair with a dramatic gesture. “Our library has a strict rule concerning confidentiality. We never discuss our patrons.”

  I nodded. “Of course not. The Patriot Act should not override our right to privacy. Still, surely you pass along amusing little anecdotes about techno-idiots like me. It must drive you crazy to put up with us. We can barely turn on the computers.”

  “I did think it was kind of funny that you spent so long reading about yourself,” she admitted with a giggle. “You looked like you were posing for paparazzi. You practically patted yourself on the back a couple of times. I looked you up after you left. You’ve got a reputation for meddling, Ms. Malloy.”

  “Is that what you told Danny?”

  “He didn’t know who you were, either. He was more interested when I said that you were a middle-aged skateboard groupie. The idea of someone like you in a helmet, balancing on a skateboard, your arms flapping—I laughed so hard that I fell off the couch. Then Danny got this idea about putting a walker on two skateboards, and—”

  “It must have been a delightful conversation,” I interrupted before I said something uncouth. “What did Danny say when you told him about my struggles with the county clerk’s site?”

  “I, uh, don’t remember exactly. It’s really easy for him because he does it all the time.” Nanette glanced over my shoulder. “Mrs. Mendlehoff is waiting for me to help her find a law book. She was arrested for picketing at the federal courthouse, and she wants to sue the government for violating some constitutional amendment.”

  I sat on a bench beside the library’s small flower bed, once again mired in guilt. Danny might have believed that disposing of Angela on Tuesday would sour any chance of a deal involving Winston’s house, but Wednesday I’d gone to the library and, under Nanette’s tutelage, searched for Terry Kennedy. Unless Danny sorely underestimated me, he could have guessed that I’d head for the courthouse for more information. I might as well have called him after I spoke to Terry.

  Now all I had to do was prove that he’d spiked the vodka.

  13

  I looked at my watch. Proving that Danny had murdered Winston, Angela, and Terry (in that order) would have to wait until I picked up Jordan. Peter may have believed that I wouldn’t dream of setting foot anywhere in Hollow Valley, but I had a hall pass from Jorgeson. The turnoff to HVN was lined with TV vans and vehicles. Reporters shouted questions at me, but I merely waved as I drove past them. I handed the note to a uniformed officer, who read it with a skeptical expression. He conferred with h
is partner, who made a call from inside the police car. The random roar of the crowd increased to the point that I felt sorry for the wildlife. Those with camera crews primped in preparation for “live breaking news.” It was nice to be recognized.

  I continued up the road to the Old Tavern. The Mustang and the Mercedes were parked in the shade. I wanted to talk to Nattie but decided to hold off until I fetched Jordan, who might gnaw off her leg at any moment. No one answered the door at the mill. I retraced my route and knocked on the door of the Old Tavern. I waited for several minutes, knocked again, and finally went to look in the backyard. It was unoccupied. It was challenging to come up with a reason why Nattie, Margaret Louise, and Jordan would be at the nursery, and impossible to come up with one that included Charles Finnelly’s house.

  As I came back around the corner, Nattie opened the door. “Claire,” she said in a chilly voice. “I thought I heard a knock, but we were in the kitchen. Can I help you?”

  I had no idea why she was regarding me as if I were an aphid out to ravage her vegetable garden. “I came to pick up Jordan. Margaret Louise isn’t home. Are she and Jordan here?”

  Nattie came out to the stoop and closed the door behind her. “Yes, but there’s a problem. Because of everything that’s happened, Margaret Louise prefers that Jordan remain under her supervision for the time being. Why don’t you come back next week? I’m sure Margaret Louise will relent once the police have concluded their investigation.”

  “You’re okay with that?” I asked incredulously.

  “Margaret Louise is taking her responsibility seriously. What if Jordan were to shoplift or attempt to run away? You must admit that she’s not trustworthy, no matter what she says.”

  I couldn’t deny that Jordan was capable of most anything, but it didn’t seem fair that she had been judged and found guilty at the tender age of fourteen. “My daughter and her friend will keep an eye on her. They’ll make sure that she doesn’t do anything to disgrace the family name.” At least I hoped they would, as long as I persuaded them that it was in their best interest. Bribery and threats, in a proper ratio, can accomplish miracles.