Marilyn shook her head. "No sir, I can't think of anything at all. Everyone liked Denise."
Her expression was sad and bewildered at the same time. "I don't know of anyone who would want to—to—hurt her."
She was uncomfortable trying to express her feelings. She sat gazing at the desk. Wariness at bay for the moment, sorrow was the only emotion showing on her young face.
"Are you a member of the club?" Cas asked without warning.
He followed up quickly with, "What do you know about the meeting up on Peaceful Ridge?"
Marilyn paled. Her nervousness returned, worse than before. She shook her head without speaking. There was something different in her eyes now. She squirmed a little in her chair, glancing at the door as if she wanted to escape.
Cas wondered if it was fear about this secret club he saw and pressed on. "Where does this club meet, or does it meet different places? Who else do you know who are members of it?" He asked the questions in rapid succession, watching her closely. Marilyn clasped her hands and squirmed in her chair, nervously shifting her feet, seemingly unable to tear her eyes from his.
"I, ah, I don't know anything about it," she stammered.
Cas glanced away then turned a skeptical look on her. "Don't tell me you've never heard of it?"
His sarcasm stung, his disbelief obvious. Marilyn twisted her handkerchief, darting miserable glances at the closed door. She bowed her head, unable to look at him. "I don't know anything about it, Sheriff Larkin."
Cas didn't comment and after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. "I liked Denise. I don't know anyone who didn't, or why anyone would want to hurt her. Please, may I go now?"
Cas knew this speech was the truth as surely as he knew the denial of knowing anything about the club was not. He reached for one of his cards. "Yes, you can leave, Marilyn. But I may have to talk to you again, either here or at your home. If you want to talk to me, if you think of anything that might shed some light on this, no matter how unimportant you think it is, call me at the number on this card."
Marilyn accepted the card he handed her.
"Anything you tell me will stay between us. So if you think of something you feel would help clear up what happened or might have any connection with it, call the number on that card."
"Yes, sir." Marilyn made her escape.
He called Doris and Curtis next. Though he asked his routine questions and followed up with some about the club, he got the same negative results as with Marilyn. None of them knew of anything negative about Denise's relationships with her friends. As for the club, they didn't admit knowing anything about it. But they were so nervous hearing the questions it was obvious they either knew about it or were members. They were just too frightened to talk about it.
"Someone's done a good job of frightening them." Cas frowned as they left quickly, not waiting to completely close the door.
Janice stuck her head in, her pleasant face lightening the gloom that was trying to settle over him. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow at three?" She watched as he collected his notes.
"Yes, I'll be here. Let's see. That's Marilyn, Doris, and Curtis. Tomorrow I'll see Diane and Dennis. Casey is the one that's at home sick."
"Right." Janice's dimples showed.
"Until tomorrow then. And thanks for your help, Janice, I appreciate it. If anyone comes to you with anything or wants to talk with me be sure to let me know. I'll leave a few cards here on the desk, just in case. Thanks again."
His briefcase and notes he laid beside him on the car seat as he left. Reading the address Janice had written out for him he made a note to himself to get the few notes he'd taken typed up when he got back if Gladys wasn't too busy.
Casey's home address he found with no difficulty and pulled up in front of it, wishing he'd thought to call first.
A woman he felt must be Casey's mother opened the door to him. Her face took on a puzzled expression when she saw him. She glanced out at his car at the curb.
"I'm sorry to bother you," Cas apologized. "I went by the school and talked to some of Denise Davis's friends and learned Casey was absent due to illness. May I talk to him, please? I won't be long, just some routine questions."
Casey's mother was hesitant and Cas added, "I'm talking to all of her friends in an effort to find anything that can shed some light on what happened to her or what led up to it." His voice hardened a little as he added, "Is Casey able to get up, or should I go in to see him?" The way he worded it and his expression made it clear he meant to question Casey.
"I guess it might be better if you come with me, he's in his bedroom." She opened the door for him and crossed the living room to enter a hallway. Cas followed.
Pausing in the hall, he heard her talking to someone in the bedroom before she beckoned to him.
"He's not really sick," Mrs. Taylor explained. "Just awfully sore. He will be able to go back to school in another day or so."
Cas went in and sat in a chair which had been placed near the bed. He started when he boy turned toward him.
Casey had a black eye, a messy looking cut above his eyebrow, and his lips were swollen and split. He seemed careful not to move any more than he had to. His expression and the rainbow hue of healing wounds told more about his pain than he would admit out loud.
"Casey," Cas asked in his no-nonsense tone. "Who did this to you?"
"Oh, it was only a misunderstanding. There aren't any hard feelings now. It's all been cleared up."
Cas didn't buy it. "Someone beat you up so bad you're too sore to get up. That doesn't sound like any mistake or minor disagreement to me. Now tell me. Who did this to you?"
"Would you believe it if I told you I don't know them?" Casey asked so hopefully it was comical.
"Would I be sheriff if I was that stupid?" Cas replied in the same tone.
"I guess not." Casey tried to grin, but his mouth was too sore.
They heard someone stifle a chuckle and Casey's mother came to sit on the end of the bed.
"Casey," she entreated her son. "I don't want to be afraid I'm never going to see you again when you go back to school. Tell the sheriff who it was who did this to you. Please?"
"I can't, mom." Casey spoke directly to his mother. "If it just drops now there'll be no more trouble, I promise. He only did this to punish me for something he thinks I did."
Punish. Punish? The word was somehow familiar, but eluded Cas. He couldn't place where he'd heard it, just that it was recently.
Aloud, Cas asked, "Who is it that wanted to punish you and what for? If I hurt as bad as I know you do I'd want to see whoever hurt me that much get what's coming to him."
"I can't tell you. I'm sorry," Casey added with an apologetic look at his mother.
"I think you're making a mistake. What if this person does this again? Or worse?" Cas eyed the bruises and split lip as he spoke.
"He won't." Casey seemed sure. "It'll be all right now. It's all over."
Cas sympathized with Casey's mother. "You can stay if you want to while I ask my questions. And if you find out any more about this," he gestured toward Casey. "Call and let me know." He gave her one of his cards. He noticed she was attractive, about Connie's age and dressed neatly and casually as Connie did.
"I will. Thank you." She tucked the card into a sweater pocket. "And I'd like to stay."
Cas asked all the questions he had asked the others with the same results. When he asked about the secret club, Casey looked down and wouldn't meet his eyes.
"No, I don't know anything about it or of anyone who belongs to it, or might belong to it," Casey carefully told the sheet in front of him.
Cas knew without looking at his mother she was as concerned as he was about finding out who had given Casey those bruises. He left, hoping she could change his mind about naming them.
* * *
Back in his office unanswered questions about Denise and her killer, the secret club, and the beating someone gave
Casey Taylor churned in Cas's mind.
An invisible killer, an invisible club. But their results were certainly visible. Cas clenched his fists. Denise was dead and someone or more likely, two someones, had worked Casey Taylor over good.
The two bursts of violence must be somehow connected but how eluded him as he pulled out the file and his writing pad. Putting the notes about Casey in a separate file he wrote down everything he'd heard, thought of, and some remote possibilities along with things to follow up on. He kept the two files together.
It was obvious the three students he had talked to were either members of this mysterious club no one wanted to talk about or knew who the members were. Casey was too, and he'd got a beating for some reason. Maybe he had told someone about the club and been punished for it.
Punished! It fell into place.
He remembered what Missy had said she overheard at the slumber party about somebody being punished. And by the devil? Yes, this is the work of some of the hooligans in that mysterious, anonymous club. He scowled at the double file and closed it, leaving any more organizing or questions for later.
Casey Taylor's bruised face haunted him as he drove home. He was a nice clean kid, Cas thought. He couldn't look him in the eye and tell a lie when he was asked about that club, even though he knew neither Cas nor his mother believed him. For some reason he thought he couldn't talk about it.
"Kids! I'd like to get hold of the low life that beat him up like that and give him, or them, a dose of their own medicine." Cas thought. His knuckles showed white on the steering wheel.
Chapter 6
"Today's the day!" Connie's heart danced.
Her excitement mounted as she hurriedly inspected the kitchen. All the debris from a hurried breakfast was cleaned up or in the dishwasher. She turned her attention to her own appearance. More nervous than she dreamed she would be, she examined her nail polish as she climbed the stairs.
She chose a light suit and the shoes she'd bought to work in. Moving quickly she concentrated on preparations to keep from worrying she wouldn't find any local business or professional office in need of her services. She scolded herself to get on with it as she walked resolutely out the door.
She laid her purse along with the envelope with the resume and Jed Allen's recommendation in it on the car seat beside her and backed the car around to head out the long driveway. On the way to her new career? She tried not to think about it. Being able to take her time, along with the conviction her decision was right, calmed her enough to let her enjoy her short trip to town.
Everything looked so pretty in the spring. If she didn't have any luck after the three calls she had scheduled she promised herself she would just come back and enjoy being home. For the first day, anyway.
She drove around the square admiring its quaint old-fashioned look as she always did. The courthouse that housed the city offices was almost exactly the same size as the old Nelson mansion across the street from it. The little park in the middle of the square made a pretty picture with its fountain and iron benches to sit on. The Nelson mansion was beautiful on its own. It had azaleas almost in bloom and other foliage thrusting through the wrought iron fence surrounding it.
Admiring the old mansion and the azaleas she was glad the city council had decided to keep the square the way it was when the city was incorporated. That it was so long ago was part of its charm. Pride swelled her heart and came out to form a smile on her lips as she drove.
The Nelson mansion housed a large and much enjoyed county library. The City Beautiful Commission saw to the gardening and upkeep of it and the rest of the town square. Connie drove slowly, enjoying her unaccustomed leisure.
She turned and drove past The Smithy. It hadn't changed very much either though it was now in the business of selling hearty stew and chili in the winter and sandwiches and ice cream in the summer. It still looked much as it had when shoeing horses and ironwork were its only functions. Half of it was the open blacksmith shop with a dirt floor, where in the summer there were tables set out to eat, visit, and people watch when the weather was warm. The other half was the actual restaurant part where the food was prepared and had seating for the winter months.
Two blocks down a side street Connie stopped at The Secretary's Necessary. The quaint name always brought out a giggle.
The place was well named. It had everything from paper clips on up. She wanted to get some copies of her resume and the recommendation from her job in Fort Craig.
Connie thanked the Lord for copy machines.
She looked critically at the papers. She had been hanging onto them like a drowning man clutching a log. There was a tiny ink stain on the resume but it didn't detract from the content and might not even show up on the copies since it was at the bottom.
These were all that stood between her pride and the embarrassment of being unemployed. The thought still scared her.
Glancing in the window as she parked she made a guess at what she would need. She decided on twenty copies of each so she wouldn't have to come back.
"If I haven't got any encouragement after making twenty calls I guess I'd better try something else whether I've been endorsed by the Head of the House or not!"
While she waited for her copies she bought a manila folder to put them in and two typewriter ribbons, resolving to keep her receipts just in case for her tax return.
With her copies and bolstered up determination the first office she visited was Dick Randolph's law office.
When she entered, a receptionist at a desk just inside the door looked up. Connie mentally crossed her fingers and asked, "May I see Mr. Randolph?"
"Do you have an appointment?" The question was softened by a friendly smile.
"No, I don't have an appointment. My name is Connie Larkin and I would like to talk to him about possibly doing some work for him. I don't mind waiting," she added hopefully. "If he can spare me a few minutes?"
A voice behind Connie spoke. "I'm Lisa Randolph, could I help you, Ms. Larkin?"
"Yes, thank you." Connie smiled as she turned. She knew Lisa acted as her husband's secretary.
"Please come in."
Connie entered the small office and took the chair indicated.
"I have been working in Fort Craig and am trying to find work here in Maryvale. I would like to do secretarial work. Typing; filing; correspondence; monthly statements, or whatever you have need of." Connie's fingers clung to the folder as she talked.
"I will be freelancing and will come in only when you need me. That would also save you paying for benefits on a full time employee." Connie smiled hopefully around dry teeth and her nervousness.
"You mean, if I understand you, not exactly part-time. Only when we need you?"
"Yes, that's right. I'm going to call on some more people here in Maryvale, too and hope to work for several places on an as needed basis. I don't want to work full time as I did in Fort Craig. So it would be as you said, only when you might need me."
"I see." Lisa was reading the resume and Jed Allen's recommendation which Connie had laid on her desk when she came in. She looked up.
"Have you decided on rates yet? And what if we only need you for half a day?"
"Yes, I would come in for half a day. I charge eighty dollars for nine to five o'clock and forty dollars for eight to twelve noon. I do my own taxes, so you won't have that to do. And I will bring my own typewriter to use."
Lisa laughed at that part of the offer. "You must have seen the monster when you came in."
"Monster? No, I didn't. I did see a quite impressive looking word processor near the front desk."
Lisa Randolph smiled. "We'd have to fight Jill for that word processor and I wouldn't give us any great odds on winning." Lisa pointed to something across the room. "That's the monster, over there."
Connie turned and saw an old model Underwood manual typewriter sitting on a low file cabinet.
"I use it sometimes when there is something I have to type. An extra envelope
or something. It does pretty well, believe it or not."
"Oh, I believe it. I've typed on one like it, but it was a long time ago. The main thing is you have to hit the keys so hard, or it seems like it, after using an electric one for so long."
"What kind of typewriter is yours?"
"It's a Royal. A Swintek portable. And I supply my own ribbons. It's got the usual readout, memory, and it justifies."
"Justifies?"
"Yes. It lines up the right margin."
Lisa did not look enlightened.
"Look at my resume and the recommendation. See how the right side is even?"
"Oh, I see. Yes, that does look good. I wasn't sure what you meant by justifies. You've broadened my education," she smiled at Connie.
"I don't have any business cards yet. But I'm going to have some printed," Connie assured her, thinking she would like to work for her. "In the meantime, my name, address, and phone number is there on the resume. My husband is Casper Larkin, and we're listed in the phone book if you don't happen have the resume close at hand when you want to call."
"Oh, of course! Sheriff Larkin. I knew your name sounded familiar, I just hadn't connected it yet."
"If there is anything else you need in the way of records or references, I'll be glad to supply it." Connie pictured herself putting her bare foot on a huge ink pad for a footprint if that was needed. The thought let her relax a little and smile.
"No, this is fine, right here." Lisa looked at the clock. "I'm afraid Dick is going to be quite a while. He's working on a business merger of some kind. If it's all right with you, I'll keep these," she picked up the resume and recommendation. "And I'll tell him about your service. Or we can get Jill to set you up an appointment to talk to him another time if you would prefer to?"
Connie shook her head. "No. That won't be necessary. Thank you for taking time to talk to me. If there's anything else you want to ask or you need me, Please give me a call."
* * *
Connie's next stop was Pronto Prints. She ordered five hundred business cards. She handed the manager or the man behind the counter, all the information she wanted on them.
The Devil in Maryvale Page 6