Wade just shook his head. “I’m never bored.”
Tipping his chin down, Vince glanced over the top of his glasses in Tony’s direction. “Job security, Tony. You’re my job security. As long as you keep your job, mine is safe.” Even as he started pulling out bags and boxes for evidence collection, he kept up a running commentary on Tony’s personal crime wave. “However, I would appreciate having some better working conditions though. What is it? Like a hundred degrees and ninety-nine percent humidity out here today?”
Tony grinned. “You’re going to love the kitchen and the greenhouse. At least the attic, where I estimated the temperature at two hundred degrees, is clear. Only something small with wings could have moved around in there.” As miserable as he was in his uniform and vest, he imagined the crime scene costume would be like being sealed in a portable steam room. “Come right this way.”
All merriment stopped abruptly as the unit began working their way through the house and greenhouse and yard, collecting samples. Everyone was aware of the serious nature of their job. Doing their work properly could mean the difference between catching a killer and letting one run free.
Tony entertained himself by making notes of his own. What he saw, what he smelled. Who he saw drive by. Who parked at the store and watched from there. Who looked grim and who looked pleased. Although there had been no official news released, there were three houses with neighbors who undoubtedly reported to at least one other person, and so on. He’d be shocked if there were three adults in the county who had not already received word of Candy’s death.
“Sheriff?” one of the TBI’s younger investigators waved from the back of the house. “You asked specifically about garden tools?”
“Did you find some?” Tony walked closer but saw nothing.
“Stashed under here.” The investigator lifted a chunk of prefab lattice away from one side of the raised porch.
Sure enough, an untidy pile of tools—a hoe, rake, and spade—all jumbled together, looked like they had been shoved under there to hide them. Tony had spent enough time with Alvin to know the boy was not responsible for this mess. “Alvin.” He spoke the name aloud.
“You think someone named Alvin put these here?”
“No. I don’t. I just remembered that I need to notify him. Our victim is his mother. You might want to examine those tools first.” Tony frowned, even as he pulled out his cell phone. If anyone would know how to contact Alvin, it would be his own aunt. Martha was Alvin’s landlady and friend. Tony punched in the number. Thankfully, Martha answered right away. Tony started to explain when she interrupted.
“I was wondering when you’d call.” Martha lowered her voice. “We heard about it hours ago.”
“How?” But he knew. Within seconds of the call for the ambulance, not to mention Dr. Grace leaving her office, the rumors would have begun. “I need to tell Alvin about his mom. He sure doesn’t need to hear it on the news. Did he leave you his contact information?”
“Yes, yes.”
Tony heard the sounds of rummaging and finally, “Here’s the number.” Martha rattled off a series of numbers. “He told me he probably won’t have his phone turned on. You can call the front desk. That’s the second number I gave you.”
“Thanks, Martha.” Tony said. “I think I should drive up there and tell him in person. It’s not the kind of thing a boy should learn on the phone, much less from a message left with a stranger.”
“You call me when you get back, and let me know how he’s doing and if he needs anything.” Martha sniffled. “That poor boy.”
Tony agreed and disconnected the call.
The ambulance arrived and parked on the crowded driveway. Tony told the ambulance crew that it could be hours before the body would be ready to transport. He signed his name on every form to insure the proper chain of custody.
And so, having signed over the body, and leaving Wade to help or answer questions for the TBI, Tony drove to plant camp.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
The classroom at Theo’s shop was abuzz with excitement. Candy Tibbles murdered! The announcement had come from a quilter who had heard about it when she stopped to get gas at Kwik Kirk’s. Someone else said the woman was killed in her own bed, sending a chill of fear through the room. The woman possessed even less information than Theo herself, but if the facts were wrong, who knew? If Candy could be murdered, couldn’t any of them be murdered too? No wonder Tony called her shop “gossip central.”
There was also much speculation about the mysterious assailant who attacked the man now referred to in Silersville as Not Bob. The article in the Silersville Gazette had been short on facts and filled with the suggestion of violence and widespread crime. The true name of the victim had not been released.
The condition of the hitchhiker was discussed at length. The man continued to be in intensive care in a Knoxville hospital, and no one was releasing his name to the public. Theo knew Tony had contacted some family member, but for some reason, Tony was keeping the name to himself.
The quilters suggested, with not much confidence, that maybe the man had killed Candy, thinking she was Bob too. The whisper of a connection among the three events created speculation about a serial killer. Theo couldn’t say the person wasn’t a serial killer, except neither man had died. Both were gravely injured, but not dead. Candy’s was the only death.
The similarities were not lost on her though. Both Candy and Not Bob were at their own homes when they were attacked. Park County wasn’t exactly the kind of place where the residents usually had to lock their doors, much less fear their neighbors. Or it hadn’t been until recently.
Theo had witnessed similar situations before—not the attacks, but her shop filled with the curious, hoping the sheriff’s wife would have inside information. And be willing to share. Theo was very good at keeping secrets, but even she was in the dark. She didn’t even have official word of Candy’s death, and she certainly had no insight into the crime. Hoping it was all a big mistake, Theo pushed several women into the chairs around the frame and the charity quilt. “Put some stitches in it while you’re sitting there. I know you’ll feel better after doing a good deed. Just think of the joy this will bring someone.”
Theo studied the quilt: a combination of maroons, blues, and greens mixed with cream pieced into interlocking stars. She thought it was one of the prettiest charity quilts they had worked on. The top had been “rescued” after a friend of a friend passed away and a family member didn’t know what to do with all her unquilted tops. Over the years a large number of charity quilts had been finished in this room. Tiny little quilts for the Alzheimer’s project, lap quilts for veterans, raffle quilts for every kind of charity, pillow cases for Benjamin Smiles. Quilts for first babies, last babies, animal shelters, and the homeless. If there was a cause, they made a quilt for it. If it didn’t go to a designated person, it was raffled and the money donated.
As for the gossip, there was always some. It was rarely small-minded, petty speculation; Theo wouldn’t stand for that. But news of illness or sorrows or joys traveled around the room. Theo knew when a grandchild arrived or a medical diagnosis was serious. People in cities might know a few of the same people, but in small towns, it was different. Lives intersected on all kinds of levels. The man living next door might be the mechanic. Children who had Mrs. Scott for third grade grew into parents of the children she was now teaching. All were children whose lives were better for hearing her tell mystical stories, always beginning with “Once upon a time,” every day right after lunch. The sheriff’s children played with the rich and the poor.
Plant camp was not what Tony had envisioned. In his mind “camp” was filled with games, laughter, pranks, maybe a tire swing you could jump from into the deepest part of the creek. Glancing around at the two-story building attached to a long greenhouse, Tony thought it was more like science class. All-day science class. The accommodating woman at the front desk led him through a
labyrinth of hallways, past spotless rooms, some with visible plants and some with microscopes and people in lab coats. At last she stopped and tapped on a door.
A serious, professor-type woman wearing laboratory glasses and a scarf tied over her hair opened it a crack. “What?”
“Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a family emergency for one of your summer kids.” Tony’s escort delivered the words in a rush, almost like one long convoluted word.
The professor blinked, assimilated the information, then nodded her understanding. “Who?”
“Alvin Tibbles,” Tony spoke up. “I’m the sheriff, and a friend of his.”
Instead of ushering him in, she shut the door in their faces, startling Tony but not his escort. A moment later, Alvin squeezed through the doorway, carefully closing the door behind him. “Sheriff?”
“Tony,” he automatically corrected him and tipped his head, indicating Alvin should follow him away from the perky secretary. “I’m afraid I have bad news.” It didn’t matter how many times he practiced the words; they never got easier to say. “We’ve found your mother in your greenhouse. She has passed away and there is an investigation under way.”
Alvin listened intently, his expression almost that of someone who doesn’t know the language and is trying to interpret it anyway. He shook his head. “No. I don’t think it’s her. She never goes in there. She always says it’s creepy.”
“I’ve known your mom for a long time.” Tony led Alvin farther down the hall. “It is her. Whether she went into the greenhouse on her own, or someone else took her there is unclear.” Tony watched as the boy blinked, suddenly looking less than his age. In spite of their problems, Candy was his mother and the last living relative Tony knew of. Set adrift by circumstance and a killer, Alvin deserved answers and justice.
“What do I do now?” Blinking hard, Alvin jammed his fists into his lab coat’s pockets.
Tony didn’t know the answer. Should he suggest the boy stay at camp, pretending his life hadn’t changed, or take him to his own aunt’s house where he’d have nothing to do? It could be a while before they had the results of the autopsy, much less any answers to their questions. “I don’t know. I can take you back with me.” He very carefully avoided the word “home.” “Do you want to stay here during the investigation?” Tony deliberately didn’t mention the autopsy. “It’s up to you.”
Alvin stared at the floor for a long time. “I’ll stay here. I guess.”
“That’s fine.” Tony wrote his private number on a card. “You can call me any time, even if you just want to talk, or if you change your mind. If you do, I’ll come pick you up.”
The fingers reaching for the card shook badly but finally managed to grasp it. “You find out who did it. Promise?” Alvin’s eyes flooded with tears. “She’s not bad, you know. I was not abused, and she was always fond of her family and good to animals, she’s just not—” He paused, collecting himself. “It was always like she was under-baked or something. Not finished, you know? Like how sometimes bread don’t rise.”
Tony nodded. “I think that’s the best description I ever heard of your mother.”
Alvin wiped his flooded eyes, squared his shoulders, and returned to the classroom.
Dragging himself back to the Blazer, Tony hoped he could keep his promise. Who would bother killing Candy?
Tony called Theo and listened carefully to her report on shop gossip. He reached for the antacids in his glove compartment when she mentioned the fear level rising, and people connecting Candy with the other two recent attacks. Tony couldn’t even promise her they were wrong.
“I’m going to Knoxville to have a little chat with Not Bob in his hospital room. Maybe he can shed some light on his own attack.” Tony disconnected and notified dispatch where he was headed.
Not Bob lay on a narrow bed, tubes running in and out and all around him while a bank of monitors flashed numbers. Tony studied their attack victim for a while before noticing the man was watching him.
Tony introduced himself then asked, “Do you feel up to a few questions?”
“Yes.” Not Bob’s voice was a soft whisper. “Some.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
After a moment, Not Bob said, “It was something like you’d see in the movies. One moment I’m squeezing the shampoo bottle.” He paused and his eyes drifted shut. “Next thing, a raging freak screams at me and hits me with a hammer or a wrench, over and over. It seemed like he had one in each hand. I’m trying to dodge him, but I’m slipping, and blood’s running down he drain and mixing with water, and he’s like a mosquito buzzing around everywhere.” He choked on his words.
Alarmed by the man’s breathing, Tony interrupted. “I think you need to breathe. Relax. Take your time.”
Not Bob nodded and wheezed hard, like he’d been running. “Next thing, I crawl for my cell phone. Left it on the sink. I tried punching in nine-one-one, wasn’t sure I did.”
“You made the call.” Tony paused to let the man catch his breath again. “Do you remember my deputy arriving? A female.”
“Was she the angel?” Not Bob grinned. “When she talked to me, I thought I was dead. She had pretty golden hair like a halo, but man, she was furious and kind of bitchy for an angel. She kept saying something over and over. It was like ‘No. You do not get to die today.’ ” Not Bob’s voice faded, and he drifted off to sleep.
Tony left Not Bob smiling at his memory. It wasn’t until Tony was back in the Blazer that he realized he hadn’t asked for a name of someone to notify. Luckily, Not Bob was well enough to do it himself. As Tony drove back to Silersville, his mind played with the pieces of their puzzles, hoping to line everything up.
Candy was hit in the head with something hard and slender enough to leave a dent in her skull. Only after the autopsy would anyone be able to say with any certainty if the blow was or wasn’t caused by a hammer or a pipe wrench. The idea of some crazed person running around the county, invisible, hunting for the elusive Bob, gave Tony the chills. Was it possible he had other weapons in his arsenal besides those two?
The acts might make perfect sense to the basher. Tony was torn. Without more information, he could create hysteria by claiming they had a serial attacker on their hands, or let his people suffer needlessly if they weren’t warned.
He settled for having the department issue a warning to county residents to lock their doors and call if they witnessed anything suspicious. He only hoped they could service all the calls. If someone else was attacked, he’d have to borrow help.
Tony decided it was time to start the door-to-door investigation into Candy’s death. More crimes were solved with footwork and interviews than in the laboratory. They’d talk to Candy’s closest neighbors first.
The house directly across the road from Candy’s, and therefore also across the highway from the convenience store, belonging to Kirk Kilpatrick. Diagonally from Candy’s home was Opal Dunwoody’s house. Opal was a nosy old lady well known by all of his department employees. She might hold the record for the number of complaints called in—everything from branches blown down to excessive noise to accidents on the highway. Occasionally she called to find out if her telephone was working.
When he returned from notifying Alvin of his mother’s death, Tony turned into the cul-de-sac directly behind a car parking in the driveway of the house next door to Candy’s. Tony watched the driver, a man in his late twenties or early thirties, hurry into the house and decided to start his interviewing there. Candy’s next-door neighbors were people he did not know. He thought he would talk to them first, and with any luck, he would learn they witnessed the crime and he wouldn’t need to talk to Opal Dunwoody, not because he didn’t like her but because there was no such thing as a short visit with Opal.
Tony asked Sheila to stay with the TBI and asked Wade to join him for the interviews. Walking to the house next to Candy’s together, Tony knocked on the home’s front door and set off a frenzy of barking. Above the
sound of it, he heard a woman’s voice saying, “Hush, Reggie,” just before she opened the door. In spite of the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, she looked younger than he’d expected. Reggie looked about half poodle and half Corgi: long, low, and curly.
Tony introduced himself and Wade. “And you are?”
“Etta. Etta Vanderbilt, no relation to the more famous family. Won’t you come inside?” She pushed the dog back from the doorway with her foot. “Go away, Reggie.”
Surrendering, the dog trotted away. By the time Tony and Wade made it inside and closed the door, Reggie had returned with a well-dressed man carrying an infant.
Etta introduced them. Her husband, Paul, shifted the baby and offered his hand.
“We’re investigating a disturbance,” said Tony. He didn’t want to give away any information; he just wanted to collect it. “Do you know your neighbors?”
“That woman!” Etta hissed the words. Anger chased some of the fatigue from her expression. “Did she call you to complain about the baby crying? She claims we’re a disturbance. And all night long her radio is blasting—we had the windows closed and could still hear it!” Etta’s voice rose with each word.
Her husband nodded but didn’t speak; his lips stayed pressed tightly together.
Tony thought the man’s expression said it all. These people thoroughly disliked Candy, maybe even hated her enough to go next door and bash her with a shovel, or whatever. “Did you notice anything different lately? More visitors? A new one? Arguments?”
“No.” Etta, having given her opinion, was now considering his questions. “The visitors and arguing were normal for her. With the big trees separating the houses, it’s hard to see, so it’s mostly voices. And music.”
“Anything else you can think of?” Wade glanced up from his notebook. “Unusual sounds? Screams? Notice anything or anyone unusual anytime in the last few days. In the entire area, not just at Candy’s?”
Barbara Graham - Quilted 05 - Murder by Sunlight Page 10