The Dunn Deal

by Catherine Leggitt

  “He has spies everywhere.”

  By that time, we had rolled to the edge of the parking lot. Jesse stopped the car and turned so he could see her. “Who?”

  Her head jerked up and she peeked out the window. “Colter.”

  I scanned the parking lot. Cars came and went in an ordinary fashion all around us. No one paid the slightest attention to us as far as I could see.

  Jesse returned to driving. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Nevada City. The market.” She ducked to the floor again.

  Nodding, Jesse headed onto Highway 49, driving north three miles to Nevada City without further questions. Once we turned onto Broad Street, I tapped her shoulder. “We’re off the freeway now. I haven’t seen anyone behind us. Do you want to tell us why you called?”

  She craned her head to peer out the back. Apparently satisfied that no one followed, she climbed onto the seat, sitting

  sideways so she could stretch her matchstick legs. “You said call if I heard anything about Mary Wilson’s death.”

  Jesse and I exchanged a glance. Hearing Mary’s name, a lump formed in my throat.

  Jesse asked, “What did you hear?”

  Amanda twisted the large metal crucifix hanging from her neck and glanced out the back window before continuing. “Word is, she had what they wanted.”

  “They who?” I asked.

  “The cops, of course.”

  That made no sense. “What could she have that the cops wanted?”

  She shrugged and her black lips tightened into a straight line. “That scumbag came over last night.”

  Jesse studied the rear view mirror. Since Amanda was sitting up, he would be able to see her now. “I assume you mean Deputy Colter?”

  She nodded, clenching her fist until her black fingernails dug into her palm. “He came in all lovey-dovey as if we don’t know what kind of creep he is. My mom is so stupid sometimes. She was actually glad to see him. I knew he was there for no good.”

  I leaned toward her. “So, what did he want?”

  She sneered. “Can you believe my mom let him touch her?” She shook as if shivering. “What a jerk! Totally arcane! All he wants is money.” She jiggled her head, tinkling the chains hanging from her ears. “He’ll shake out every last penny she has.”

  “Did he say why? What’s the money for?”

  “Well, that’s the weird part.”

  Jesse parked in front of the market in almost the exact spot we first met her.

  Amanda squinted out the window. “This is perfect. Thanks.”

  Jesse turned to her. “What’s the weird part?”

  “While he’s buttering her up to take her good jewelry, the only nice stuff she’s got left, he promises her that his ship is about to come in and when it does he’s going to pay her back with interest. He says he’s working on something big. Something that’s going to leave him rolling in lettuce.”

  “What would he be working on that would bring in a lot of money?”

  Jesse shook his head.

  Amanda’s black lips curled into a mocking smile. “Well, you can just bet he’s not getting a promotion at the sheriff’s office.”

  Jesse’s frown deepened. “What do you think this has to do with Mary?”

  She’d been about to climb out of the car, but stopped with one army boot already planted on the ground and looked back at us. “Oh, sorry. Thought I already told you that part. He said, ‘That little slut snooping around almost blew the deal.’ Guess that’s why he needs money.” She raised her fist and trotted toward the market where a group of kids dressed in black and chains had already gathered.

  She didn’t make any sense. We sat a minute staring after her.

  Jesse broke the silence first. “Do you think we just got used for a ride to Nevada City?”

  “Could be.” I shook my head to clear the fog. “But she did have a little news.”

  As we turned toward home, Jesse and I discussed Deputy Colter’s anticipated windfall and what Mary could have possessed that would interest the authorities. Not a single brilliant conclusion occurred to us. Rather than becoming clearer, the circumstances swirling around this case kept getting more and more muddled and confused. What could it all mean?

  I’d promised Zora Jane I would accompany her to the ladies’ meeting at church that evening. Jesse urged me to go even though I didn’t really feel up to it. He was right, of course. As usual. We needed to get out and do something purely social. Get our minds off the tangled happenings unraveling around us. I think he hoped it might make me forget Molly for a while, but nothing could keep me from fretting over my dog. She filled my thoughts at all times, no matter what I did or how I tried to forget.

  For the Hawaiian themed dinner and program at church, Zora Jane and I dressed in colorful outfits. Zora Jane, of course, wore authentic Hawaiian garb purchased on a trip to Maui several years earlier. A beautiful long sleeveless sheath with tropical blue, red, and yellow flowers cascading over a beige background. The dress featured a slit up the side which showed off one shapely leg. She even wore a fake flower lei to complement the dress, a yellow hibiscus in her hair, and a brown kukui nut bracelet. I wore a bright red dress with flowers and a shell necklace Zora Jane loaned me. I did my best to mimic her laidback island demeanor while we rode into town.

  Just before we got to church, the long black Cadillac pulled out in front of us.

  I glanced at Zora Jane. “Do you think she’s in there?”

  Zora Jane leaned forward to peer out the front. “Can’t tell with the tinted windows.”

  I contemplated the clock on my dash. “We’re a bit early. What say we follow her and see what she’s up to? Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk to her.”

  Zora Jane nodded so I passed the church driveway and continued following the Cadillac.

  The long vehicle glided through town, winding around a few corners into Nevada City before coming to a stop in front of Morgan House on Broad Street.

  I pulled into a parking spot down the street. “Bet she’s turning in for the evening.”

  In silence, we watched the chauffeur hop out to open the back door. Out stepped Constance Boyd, still looking every bit the lady, even at the end of the day.

  “What do you think?” I asked Zora Jane. “This looks like our chance. We may not get another.”

  She exhaled a long breath. “Guess so. Dear Lord, please guide us.”

  By the time we’d hurried through the white picket gate, Constance and her entourage had nearly made it to the front door of the Victorian bed and breakfast. She spun flawlessly on one heel when she heard us, her expression more stunned surprise than welcome. “Well. Don’t you look festive?”

  Babble bubbled. “We were on our way to a ladies’ meeting. It’s Hawaiian night and that’s why we’re dressed like this. But we saw your limo and it’s very important for us to speak with you, so we followed you.”

  Zora Jane joined in. “Could you spare a few moments to hear us out? We won’t be long.”

  Rebecca, the assistant, started to protest, but Constance held up one perfectly manicured hand. “I’m terribly sorry. It’s been a long day. You understand, I’m sure. I need my rest.” She turned to walk toward the door again.

  I went after her, getting between her and the door when she mounted the porch steps. “Please, Miss Boyd. We’re terribly sorry we missed our appointment with you. We, that is, I, had a mishap and got covered with mud. I fell in a mud pit and lost my shoe and then I had to buy other shoes. I couldn’t think where to get shoes close by. You know Grass Valley really has no

  good shoe stores. I ended up at Kmart. Then I had to buy socks too, but could only find flip-flops that fit, so by the time we got back for our appointment, you had already left. We chased you all over town—”

  Miss Boyd tittered. Her assistant stared at the ground. The chauffeur holding the front door fixed his eyes on the sky.

  “What?” What was so funny about a shoe lost in the m
ud?

  Miss Boyd shook her head. “That’s the most original yet most pathetic excuse for being late I’ve ever heard.”

  I pleaded with puppy-dog eyes.

  She reached for my arm to help her up the last step. “Oh, all right. Come in, won’t you? You don’t mind if I sit while you talk?”

  Miss Boyd led the way with Zora Jane and me bringing up the rear.

  Once inside, her flunkies bustled ahead, taking the load of files and papers she carried and bringing a tray of tall crystal glasses with disks of lemon stuck on top. A glass pitcher of iced tea and a plate of cookies rested on the tray. Rebecca poured iced tea in the glasses and passed them around with the plate of cookies. She motioned for us to sit in the front sitting room with silk embroidered pillows at our backs. Constance Boyd sat across from us, adjusting the pillows behind her. Her helpers toiled like worker bees for a few minutes while no one spoke. Then, as if someone had struck a gong, they all disappeared leaving us alone in the exquisite antique filled room.

  After taking a sip of her beverage, Miss Boyd leaned on the pillows and folded her hands in the lap of her periwinkle skirt. “Okay, ladies, what can I do for you?”

  I opened my mouth, but before words came out, Zora Jane spoke. “Miss Boyd, I’ve been praying for you every day since our first meeting. Do you remember that we talked about

  Jesus that day? Have you thought about Him since then?”

  My mouth stayed open while my eyes widened. I stared at Zora Jane in disbelief. Did I hear her correctly? Had she forgotten the reason for our visit?

  Constance Boyd squirmed in her chair. “I… actually, I’ve thought a lot about what you said. These days not many people dare to speak to me like you did. I’ve been wondering… about spiritual things lately.” She paused to look down at her long painted nails. “Not because I think you’re right, mind you. We each have our own truth.”

  Zora Jane bent toward her and asked quietly, “What were you wondering?”

  She spoke without looking at us. “I’ve come so far in my life. Accomplished everything I ever set out to do and more. I work hard and I attract success because I believe with all my heart that I will be successful. Yet once I attain my next goal, I always find it’s never enough.”

  I studied Constance, amazed at the vulnerability this very public figure shared with us. What did it mean? Was she so exhausted that she’d let down her guard with strangers? My eyes swept back to Zora Jane. How would she respond?

  Zora Jane nodded, eyes glued to Miss Boyd. “It’s that way for all of us. Material things, things of this world, were never meant to satisfy our souls. Only God can satisfy that hunger.”

  Miss Boyd’s perfectly modulated voice sounded almost wistful. “I do believe God is in all of us. I am a good person, no matter what you say. I give back more than anyone else I know.”

  Ball in Zora Jane’s court. Would she continue?

  She did. “I didn’t say you’re not good. That’s what the Bible says. God’s Word says no one is good enough by God’s standards, no matter how we try. I quoted that verse from Romans 3:12. Paul goes on to say that we’re all sinners in need

  of a savior. The one true God is completely good. Can you say that about yourself? Can you truly claim never to have told a lie or dishonored your parents? Never gossiped or held a grudge?”

  Miss Boyd’s elegant eyes met Zora Jane’s. “What I really want to know is, how does God satisfy the soul’s hunger?”

  Zora Jane did not back down. “That’s what Jesus came to do. He died a horrible death on the cross to give you this gift. When you come to Jesus humbly, admitting that you are a sinner in need of a savior and ask Jesus to take your sin and set you free, then you begin a personal relationship with God. That relationship will satisfy your soul.”

  A veil dropped over Constance Boyd’s eyes. The professional barrier. She brushed her blue skirt as if she could oust that idea with a sweep of her hand. “I’m afraid I just don’t believe all that Sunday school stuff. That truth may work for you, but not for me. I cannot believe God would allow His Son to suffer so horribly for only some of the people He created and let all the rest go to hell. No. What about people in other nations who never heard of Jesus?”

  Zora Jane answered right away. “All we can say about that is that God will be just. He cannot be otherwise. But as for Truth, there can’t be many truths. That would be like saying the earth is either flat or round depending on your belief. The Truth is unchangeable, regardless of what we choose to believe. God is Truth. He cannot lie. His character is unchangeable.”

  Constance Boyd shook her head as if trying to shake the words out of her ears. Then she stood, signaling our dismissal with her Ultra Brite smile. “Thank you for coming, but that’s all the time I can spare just now.”

  Zora Jane started to reply, but Constance had already waltzed toward the door. “Rebecca?”

  The studious assistant appeared almost at once. She must have been spying on us from the next room.

  I stood firm. “But we didn’t talk about the investigation yet.”

  “Please show these Hawaiian ladies out.” Constance Boyd turned toward us. “I do appreciate your prayers, but please don’t worry another second over the eternal state of my soul.”

  Rebecca nearly pushed us out the door, but Zora Jane managed to get in the last word. Just before we were shoved through the door, she turned toward Constance. “I will continue to pray for you, that God will satisfy your soul hunger through His Son Jesus.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wednesday morning brought rain, hard Nevada County rain that clattered on the rooftop like Santa’s sleigh and reindeer. Jesse and I bundled on layers of warm clothing and drove through the torrent to the sheriff’s office, where I’d been summoned for a ten o’clock appointment with Detective Rogers.

  Phones rang and officers moved in and out. Some carried a file or a coffee cup. A few chattered on cell phones. One had a German shepherd on a leash which made me think of Molly. I still hadn’t given up hope of finding her.

  Jesse sat next to me, waiting. I put my arm through his and squeezed. His sleeve was wet probably because he’d held the umbrella more over me than himself. Water puddled off the folded umbrella next to me.

  The clock in the waiting room showed ten o’clock. Sitting still was not in my nature. Just when I’d decided to go get one of the donuts from the pink box next to the coffee machine, Jesse stood and pulled me to my feet. “You’re on, little lady.”

  He drew me to him for a quick hug and an encouraging smile.

  Detective Rogers shook Jesse’s hand, and then led me to the conference room.

  Around the conference table sat the same Goth boys we’d seen with Miss Boyd at the Union Hotel, along with their mothers. Also a couple of fathers had come along this time. A serious man in a brown business suit studied a file on the table in front of him. I settled where Detective Rogers pointed at the other end of the table.

  The detective seated himself in the middle between us and cleared his throat. “I really appreciate your coming this morning, Mrs. Sterling. These boys were arrested in connection with the death of Mary Wilson and have been questioned several times. They are now on bail. I would like you to hear their story.”

  I nodded.

  He continued, “First, let me make introductions. On the far end are Josh Walker and his mother, Mrs. Susan Walker.” He pointed to a lanky lad wearing green spiked hair, a ring in his lip, and a dark expression.

  “Next to Josh are Matt Mazzerella and his parents, Gregory and Anna Mazzerella.” Multiple silver rings pierced Matt’s eyebrows, ears, and nose. Matt glared at me through the mass of rings. His father’s face showed no emotion, but his mother managed a polite nod and slight smile. Matt’s forearms rested on the mahogany table. A jumble of tattoos covered them. From my vantage point, they looked like Celtic symbols.

  “Last we have Chris Callaway and his parents, Peter Finch and Tanya Blakely.”

&nb
sp; I dipped my head.

  Chris presented the most normal appearance among the three, with close-cropped blond hair and wholesome good looks. His attitude, however, was pure Goth. Mrs. Blakely looked and acted as if she was sitting on tacks.

  Detective Rogers concluded his introductions. “The boys are being represented by Mr. Kurt Benson, attorney-at-law.”

  I turned to the gentleman. Without a smile or greeting gesture, he extended his card as if I might need his phone number and would want to call him.

  I took the card. “Pleased to meet you all.”

  Detective Rogers didn’t have his tape recorder, just a big stack of file folders. He opened the top one and read to himself for a moment before leaning back in his chair. Then he glanced at the boys. “Perhaps we should begin by having you boys tell Mrs. Sterling what you know about Mary.”

  The three stared at each other. Josh spoke first. “Like we told the detective, life is bad. People hurt you. We gotta stick together for protection. Mary Wilson was Goth. Gothdom didn’t approve her leaving us. First thing you know, she’s arrested. When she gets out, she heads straight for the park.”

  Matt straightened in his chair. “We tell her get out while you can. She says her old man’s gone but she wants to stay in his house. Says she’s not afraid of him because she had ‘insurance.’”

  Now they had my attention. “Insurance? How much?”

  Josh shook his head, making the ring in his lip quiver. “Not life insurance. Something important in case the psycho caused trouble. Insurance against him.”

  I regarded each one in turn. “She didn’t say what this insurance was or where she kept it?”

  Chains jingled when they shook their heads.

  “That’s all she told you—just that she had something she could use against the Kingfisher?”

  They nodded agreement.

  The expression on Detective Rogers’s face read expectation.

  I blinked at the boys, waiting for a brilliant moment of clarity that never came. So I turned to the detective. “And you have no idea what it could be?”

  He shrugged. “Afraid not. Hoped you would. Or at least you’d know where to look.”