by Paula Munier
“So you’re not worried about Rucker showing up here.”
“Should I be?”
“We’re not sure. But you should be aware of the possibility.”
“Okay.” She nibbled at a macaron. “So what can I tell you about George that you don’t already know?”
“We’d like to know more about the circumstances that precipitated his fall from grace,” said Mercy.
“You mean his wife.”
Mercy nodded. “Ruby Rucker.”
“How she talked that man into marrying her no one will ever know. He was a timid man, wouldn’t say boo, could barely sell a house.” Mary Lou popped the rest of the macaron into her mouth. Kept them waiting while she chewed and swallowed, her eyes on Troy the whole time. When she was finished, she grinned at him and went on. “George’s parents were determined that he should take over the family business one day, so they sent him out to Las Vegas to this real estate convention at Caesars Palace, hoping that he would get inspired. All he did was get married.”
“Do you know how he met her?”
Mary Lou shook her head, but not a hair moved. “Not at Caesars. That would have been a step up. Aunt Martha—George’s mother—told me that he went to get a haircut at a barbershop off the strip somewhere called A Little Off the Top.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course, it was a topless hair salon, but George didn’t know that. He didn’t even know there was such a thing.” Mary Lou laughed out loud for the first time, a braying so surprising Mercy nearly jumped out of her seat.
“Can you imagine?” Mary Lou went on. “A Little off the Top? You know, that place was really just a front for other kinds of business.” She put air quotes around the word business. “You know what people out there in the desert are like.”
“So that’s where George met Ruby.”
“George went in there and Ruby cut his hair. She took a little off the top and decided she wanted to take it all.”
“So Ruby was a hairdresser.”
Mary Lou sniffed. “If you want to call it that. That’s not what we call it here in Peace Junction. Anyway, poor George didn’t know anything about women and she snookered him good. She gave him a haircut and God knows what else, and then she got him drunk and before you could say ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ George ends up at the Little Church of the West in an Elvis Presley costume marrying Marilyn Monroe. You should see the pictures. George looks practically unconscious, but he does look happy. I’ve got that picture somewhere.”
“We’d love to see it,” said Mercy.
Mary Lou looked to Troy for confirmation.
“That would be great,” he said, and she sprang into action. “Have another cookie while I go look in the back room.”
As soon as she was out of the room, Mercy slipped out of her chair and behind Mary Lou’s desk. She opened the drawers and sifted through the usual clutter of pens and pencils, business cards, brochures, stationery, stamps, tape, paper clips, rubber bands. No daybook. No photos. She probably kept her calendar and her pictures on her smartphone, thought Mercy. More’s the pity.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“Just looking.”
“Stop snooping and get back to your seat before she comes back.”
She’d just sat down when the Realtor reappeared with a dusty round beribboned hat box. “Here it is. I found these when I went through the attic a couple of years ago. I sent some to George, and just shelved the rest.”
“You’re in touch with George?”
“Not really. I mean, we mostly communicate through lawyers. Not that we have much to say to each other. I never really knew him. The occasional family reunion, weddings, funerals, that sort of thing. What I know about him is what Aunt Martha told me. After he went to jail, she confided in me. She needed someone to talk to. I felt sorry for her.” Mary Lou removed the top of the box. “Go ahead, have a look.”
The three of them began to sort through the photos. Most were childhood pictures of George, some with his parents, but the majority were simply George at every stage of his young life: George in his crib and his carriage, George learning to swim and skate and hit a baseball, George graduating from kindergarten and high school and college. He was their only child, and they obviously adored him. What could happen to a family.
“Here it is.” Mary Lou held up a color photo of a confused-looking man in a white sparkly jumpsuit, black bouffant wig askew, hugging a curvy young woman in a platinum blond wig and white halter dress that left very little to the imagination. The young woman appeared attractive, but she was wearing such heavy makeup it was hard to know what she really looked like.
“What happened after the quickie wedding in Vegas?” asked Mercy.
“George brought her home, and his parents nearly disowned him. But she had a charm about her, I’ll give her that. And she tried to fit in, at least at the beginning. She left her Sin City ways behind her and did all the things George Rucker’s wife was expected to do. She sang in the choir at church. Joined the historical society. Worked here selling houses. And boy, could she sell a house.”
“So she was good at it.”
“Ruby was a born salesperson. Unlike poor George. When Uncle Edwin and Aunt Martha realized that she might be able to help their son figure out how to run the business successfully on his own, then they accepted her into the family. They thought that maybe with Ruby’s help, George would man up and they’d be able to retire to Florida sooner. So they put her to work in the office with George and she started learning the real estate business. She was good at it.”
Mercy pulled out a photo of a young woman in front of a Cape Cod cottage holding a large SOLD sign. “Ruby?”
“Yes. You can see she toned down her Vegas look for one more in keeping with Vermont.” Mary Lou smiled. “But not too tame. She’d wear one of those sexy outfits of hers, clever little pantsuits that were basically sewn on. Long sleeves to cover her tattoo. How many more she had—or where she had them—I’m sure I couldn’t say.” She winked at Troy. “Every man in town wanted Ruby Rucker to sell his house for him. Commercial real estate, too. All those leases … she could talk men into doing anything. And she did. But she was nice to the women, too. Bowled them over with flattery and full-on charm. Soon she was listing and selling more property than anyone in the county.”
“And how did George Rucker handle that?” he asked.
“He loved it.” She pointed to another photo, this one of George and Ruby at the town common on what appeared to be the Fourth of July. They were in jeans and T-shirts and waving American flags. “She was good for him, at least at first, and she was really good for business. Rucker Real Estate became the hottest realty office in town. Anyone who was anyone did business with Ruby and George. Even the judge.”
“What judge?”
“Judge McDermott. Married to the richest woman in the county. Between the two of them they owned a lot of property here and across Vermont. Ruby became their primary Realtor.”
“You’d think Ruby would have liked her new life here, if she were so successful. What happened?”
“Word was she started fooling around. I suppose that was inevitable. There are few men on earth as boring as my cousin George.”
Mercy could feel Troy glance her way. She asked the question, anyway, steeling herself for the answer. “With whom?”
“Anyone and everyone, at least that’s what Aunt Martha said. Of course she was his mother, so she was biased in favor of her son. I personally can’t imagine how he ever thought he could keep a woman like that happy in the bedroom.” She pointed to another photo, this one of a sullen George in a suit and tie and a vamping Ruby in black leather pants and a red sweater in front of an old hunting lodge in the mountains.
“Just look at the poor man. He just didn’t know what to do with her.” She smiled at Troy, as if say, I know you’d know what to do with me. Mercy looked away before she laughed out loud.
“Not that it was all his fault,�
�� continued Mary Lou. “Ruby was a flatlander, big time. I think it amused her for a while, living in the mountains, playing the role of the wife of a local big shot, but not for long. Even the judge’s parties couldn’t keep her here.”
“What do you mean?”
“The judge had houses all over Vermont. He’d send Ruby out to find out-of-the-way places he could buy and fix up for his parties.” Once again Mary Lou made quotation marks with her fingers, her long red nails dramatizing the word parties.
“What kind of parties?” asked Troy.
“Wild parties.” Mary Lou placed her elbows on the desk and leaned in toward Troy, revealing a cleavage worthy of a Victoria’s Secret model. “I usually don’t repeat gossip.”
Mercy fought to keep her poker face but couldn’t hold back a hiccup. Mary Lou glared at her, and then focused again on the game warden.
“But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt just this once. To help you with your investigation.”
“We would appreciate it, ma’am,” said Troy.
Mercy marveled at how he managed to combine the authority of the law enforcement officer with the downhome appeal of the outdoorsman. He had often told her that he owed whatever people skills he had to Susie Bear’s charisma, not his, but that was just false modesty. Troy was outplaying Mary Lou Rucker-Smith, and she didn’t even know it. Susie Bear wasn’t even in the building.
“I suppose since the old man is long gone, I can tell you what I’ve heard.” Mary Lou straightened her spine, wiggled her chair back a bit, and crossed her legs high on her thighs, allowing one shoe to slip off her heel and dangle from her toes. “Rumor was that these parties were the kind where anything goes and the only women invited were the kind who could land a man in jail.”
“Drugs? Prostitution? Money laundering?”
“All of the above.” Mary Lou shrugged. “Bad boys and their toys.”
“When did the judge die?”
“Oh, he didn’t die. His wife found out about the parties and that was the end of that. He retired and they moved to Hilton Head. Then he died.” Mary Lou paused. “His wife was the one with all the money, you know.”
“What happened to the parties?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” She examined her nails and her gold bangles jingled. “I can tell you that the judge’s wife had me list all the properties they still owned up here.” She beamed. “Sold them, too.”
“Impressive,” said Mercy. “When was this?”
“Before the recession hit,” said Mary Lou. “Thank the Lord.”
“So the parties went on after Ruby left town.”
“Oh yes. She just bought and managed the properties for the judge. As far as I know, that was the extent of her involvement.”
“And George?”
“George was too busy trying to keep Ruby happy. But that was always a lost cause.” Mary Lou opened her arms as if to hug the world and then pulled back and placed her palms over her heart. “We love Vermont, and Vermont has its charms, but it can’t compete with the temptations of a place like Las Vegas. Not for a woman like Ruby anyway.”
“What do you know about the day she left?”
“Of course I wasn’t there, but Aunt Martha told me it was like any other day. Ruby came into the office after filing some papers at the courthouse, and then went to lunch and never came back. Ruby often took long lunches so nobody noticed she was gone until closing time.”
“Where was George?”
“George had lunch with his parents every day up at the Rucker Mansion on High Street. It’s the home of the Peace Junction Historical Society now.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know what papers she filed that day,” said Mercy.
Mary Lou frowned. “As it happens, I do know. They were the closing papers for a hunting camp down south. A terrible investment. Made worse by George, who bought it and some others from the judge.”
“Why would he do that?”
“George wasn’t too smart—and the judge was very smart. Or at least his wife was. He unloaded several white elephants on poor George. God knows what he promised him. George was desperate after Ruby left. Vulnerable to the likes of the judge.” She frowned harder, and then seemed to think better of it. She smoothed the frown lines between her eyebrows with her manicured fingers. “Very bad for the business. It took me years to recoup the losses after the crash in 2008. And some I still haven’t sold. Like that hunting lodge.”
Mercy fished out the photo of George and Ruby in front of an old lodge. “This place?”
“That’s it. What a dump.”
“Down south where?” asked Troy.
“Down your way in the Green Mountains. Deep in the forest. Too remote for even the most avid hunters.”
“Could you show us on a map?”
“Sure.” Mary Lou turned to the bookshelf behind her desk and pulled down a roller map of Vermont. She pointed to a spot in the south.
“That’s not too far from where Colby was killed,” said Troy.
“Colby,” repeated Mary Lou. “You mean the biologist who was murdered?”
“Yes. Did you know him?”
“Of course not,” said Mary Lou. “But every murder hurts second home sales. And second home sales are what keeps us alive.”
“Right.”
“The sooner you catch the guy, the better. For all of us.”
“We are on it,” said Troy.
Mercy wondered if Mary Lou’s self-interest truly knew no bounds.
“And George, too.” Mary Lou folded her arms across her chest, showing her cleavage to best advantage once more. “After all those years in prison he must be a different man now. Tougher. Meaner. Dangerous. Should I be worried?” She turned those green eyes on Troy and Mercy swore she batted her false eyelashes.
“I don’t think so. We really think he’s looking for Ruby. But you should still be careful.”
“He knows he won’t find her here,” said Mary Lou. “No one knows where she is. George hired a private detective to track her down after she took off, but the man never found her. Aunt Martha used to say he was throwing good money after bad.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have copies of that private investigator’s reports, would you?” Troy drew his chair in closer to Mary Lou. Close enough for her to smell that heady combination of man, earth, and forest. If she swooned, Mercy wouldn’t catch her.
“Of course.” She floated over to a file cabinet, retrieved a file from the middle drawer, and returned as languidly as a bored courtesan. She handed Troy the file, and her fingers brushed his. Score one for Mary Lou, thought Mercy.
“Thank you,” said Troy, placing the file across his knees.
“George could also be motivated by revenge,” said Mercy. “That might bring him here.”
Mary Lou rested her chin on her folded hands. “Aunt Martha said George blamed local law enforcement. He was convinced that they had something on Ruby and that’s why she was leaving town.”
“Not the adultery?”
“George didn’t care about that. He would have forgiven her anything. Some folks said she was sleeping with the sheriff, but Aunt Martha never believed that for a minute. She said the sheriff was not that kind of man. She always felt bad about George shooting him.”
Mercy felt her face flush.
“Now August Pitts was another story,” said Mary Lou. “Aunt Martha thought that he was the more likely candidate. Not to speak ill of the dead but I can tell you from experience that he was a pig. May he rest in peace.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
All it took to get the address and the keys to the old hunting lodge from Mary Lou Rucker-Smith was Troy’s cell phone number and the promise that he’d return the keys in person “very, very soon.” She’d offered to show Troy the place herself, but she wasn’t dressed for a trek through the woods and Mercy suspected she hardly ever was.
They picked up Elvis and Susie Bear from the café. Wyetta handed Mercy and Troy a boxed pecan pie “t
o share” and a couple of ham bones in a paper bag for the canines, and the dogs wagged their goodbyes to their new best friend Earl. They were only about five miles down the road when they heard the siren and saw the flashing lights behind them.
“That didn’t take long,” said Mercy.
“Nope.” Troy slowed down and pulled over as far as he could onto the shoulder, which wasn’t very far thanks to the walls of snow plowed along the sides of Route 15.
“Let me do the talking,” he told her. They waited as the officer approached the vehicle. He was a big guy, well over six feet and built like a fullback.
The dogs sat up, alert, all eyes trained on the window where the deputy was now standing.
“Roll down your window, Warden Warner.”
Troy obliged. “Deputy Purdie.”
“You’ve been interrogating the good citizens of Peace Junction.” The deputy was wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses. The sun was bright on the snow but Mercy didn’t think he wore them for the glare.
“No. Just asking a few questions.”
“You’re out of your jurisdiction.” The way he said it made Elvis growl and Susie Bear thrust her big shaggy head and barrel chest up onto the console between the front seats.
“Down,” said Mercy and Troy in unison, and the dogs fell back.
“Good call,” said the deputy.
“We’re following up on a few leads in connection with the explosion in Northshire. You can contact the Major Crime Unit for confirmation.”
Mercy was surprised to hear him refer the deputy to the MCU and not the Vermont Fish and Wildlife Department.
“Heard about that. Glad everyone is okay.” The deputy removed his sunglasses with a swagger.
Mercy bit her tongue to keep from laughing.
To Troy’s credit, he did not react at all. “George Rucker escaped prison,” he said evenly, “and may be a person of interest.”
The deputy leaned over and crossed his arms against the edge of the truck’s door on the driver’s side. “Hard to believe Rucker is capable of that.”