Aunt Lydia was waiting in the sitting room when I entered the house. She’d obviously nodded off in front of the television but straightened and rose slowly to her feet when I popped in to say goodnight.
“You had a good time?”
My lips still tingled from the memory of Richard’s kisses. “Yes, very nice.” I kept my tone light and headed swiftly for my upstairs bedroom.
Aunt Lydia thumped her way over to the foot of the staircase. “So what did you two talk about?”
“Fishing,” I said, then bounded up the steps before she could ask anything else.
Chapter Sixteen
Sunny had begged off work the next day—a Friday, fortunately, which meant the library closed at five o’clock. She claimed she needed to organize and attend the protest, so I was stuck working to the end of the day and locking up the library.
By the time I got home, cars blocked the road beyond Richard’s house. I spied Brad Tucker’s cruiser and assumed he was in charge of security.
I dropped off my purse in the house and confirmed that Aunt Lydia was not home before heading back outside. Walking past Richard’s house, I stepped into the midst of the protest.
It was as calm as I would expect of anything Sunny had organized. Her group, holding up signs condemning the development or asking that the land be preserved as a town park, were clustered off to one side. Facing them, Brad Tucker and some other deputies stood quietly, not making any moves to stop their chanting.
I spied Aunt Lydia standing next to Zelda and Walt and made a beeline to join them.
“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Peacefully, so far,” Walt said. “Both sides remaining civil.”
“Good.” I slid between him and Aunt Lydia. “Strange, I don’t see Sunny.”
“She was here earlier,” Zelda said, “but she slipped away for a bit.”
“Probably just needed food or a bathroom break,” Walt said. “I think she’s been here since early morning, so that’s understandable.”
“Well, sure.” I turned to Aunt Lydia. “You doing okay?”
“Just fine,” she said, but she laid her hand on my arm and leaned into me.
A breeze wafted over us, carrying the scent of orchard grass and honeysuckle. I gazed out over the fields beyond the low fieldstone wall separating the edge of the road from the old Cooper farm.
I pictured Daniel Cooper working those fields with his mule and plow. Would he have wanted a mass of houses springing up in his fields like toadstools instead of his carefully cultivated crops? I didn’t think so.
As I surveyed the crowd, I noticed Sylvia Baker standing off to one side between the deputies and the protestors. That was odd. I wondered why she’d shown up. It wasn’t like her to mix with the townsfolk except when she was lobbying for something.
Of course, if she was a silent partner in Bob Blackstone’s development project, her presence would be more understandable. I narrowed my eyes and studied the tall slender figure with her cap of silver hair. She wore a linen pantsuit that probably cost more than my monthly salary.
“Uh-oh,” Zelda said. “Here comes trouble.”
I turned and glanced in the direction of her pointed finger. A large black sedan had pulled up behind Brad’s cruiser.
Bob Blackstone stepped out of the sedan along with a white-haired man in a navy pinstripe three-piece suit. A moment later, Don Virts appeared, climbing out of the back seat of the car.
They approached us, walking three abreast.
“The law and the profits,” Walt said.
It took me a moment to catch his play on words. “Oh, yeah, absolutely,” I said, giving him a smile.
Brad Tucker pushed his way through the crowd, adjusting his hat to the proper angle. “Can we help you, Mayor Blackstone?”
Bob pulled a cloth handkerchief from his pocket, pressed it under his nose, and sniffed loudly. “Yes, you can disperse this crowd.”
“Afraid I can’t.” Brad surveyed Bob and the other men, his expression sympathetic but implacable. “These people are within their rights to protest. They’re on public land or have permission from the landowner to gather here. I’m afraid I can’t do anything but make sure no one engages in illegal activities.”
Don clutched his arms against his narrow chest. “Don’t seem to be doing much about that from where I stand.”
Brad pushed his hat away from his forehead. “These people have the right to protest, Dr. Virts. I have no authority to stop them.”
“My lawyer may have something to say about that.” Bob Blackstone motioned for the white-haired man to step forward. “We have an injunction.”
“Can’t see what that would be based on.” Brad shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable with this turn of events.
“The law, obviously.” Bob drew up to his full height, dwarfing Don, who stood next to him. “Now I know you’d prefer not to hear this, given your girlfriend’s involvement, but we can prove that this is an illegal assembly.”
Brad scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t have a girlfriend, and how can you prove that?”
The white-haired man stepped forward, waving some papers. “Mr. Blackstone owns this land and is entitled to evict trespassers.”
“But the protesters aren’t on his land. They are standing on public access property, or fields owned by someone else, who has given them permission to be here,” Brad said.
“Ah, but”—the lawyer flourished his sheaf of papers once again—“we have proof that the property lines are incorrect, and instead of standing on Mrs. Clifton Tucker’s property, some of them are occupying my client’s land.”
I released Aunt Lydia’s arm and moved forward as all eyes turned toward Brad and Bob. “That can’t be true,” I said. “There are land plats in the library archives showing all the original property lines. Nothing’s changed for decades, so if this was ever in dispute, why wait until now to say so, Mr. Mayor?”
“Once again, this is none of your business, Amy Webber.” Bob Blackstone’s glare was so fierce, it made me stumble backward. Walt stepped up to grab my arm and steady me as we rejoined Aunt Lydia and Zelda.
Brad cast me a grateful smile before turning his attention back on the mayor. “As Amy says, that’s ridiculous. My family has owned this land for generations. We know where our property lines are drawn.”
“Apparently not,” snapped Bob Blackstone. He yanked down his jacket sleeves before continuing in a smoother tone. “I had another survey done just recently. Seems your family has been encroaching on my property for some time.”
If Bob hoped to rattle Brad, he had miscalculated. The chief deputy straightened and stared down at the mayor. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll just ask some of the protesters to move to the side of the road so they are off what you claim as your land, and they will still be within their rights.”
Bob’s heavy eyebrows knitted together. “I want them gone.”
“Can’t do it,” Brad said.
I looked at him with new admiration. Whatever his faults, it was clear Brad Tucker was a stickler for protecting civil liberties.
Don Virts stepped forward until he was standing toe-to-toe with Brad. “So you’ll protect these troublemakers but not a law-abiding citizen? You didn’t have any trouble harassing me about my own mother’s death. And for your information, I think I know what really happened in that case.”
“If you do, you should make a report at the office, not here.” Brad took two steps back, clenching and unclenching his hands as if fighting the urge to punch Don.
“It was some drifter,” Don continued as if Brad hadn’t spoken. “I ran into him a few days before my mom’s murder, hanging around the back door to the office. Looking for drugs, I suspect. Asked for a handout, but I chased him off, and he threatened me. Said he’d find a way to make me pay for refusing him.” Don lifted his chin and stared up at Brad with a belligerent expression on his foxlike face. “There’s your murderer, I bet. My mom an
d Clark Fowler too. Probably asked for money from both of them and got angry when they said no.”
“That would be convenient,” Brad admitted. “But why didn’t you tell us about this drifter before?”
“Didn’t think of it. I get a lot of bums hanging around the office. They know dentists have drugs on hand, you see. Didn’t even connect it until just today.”
Brad tapped his boot against the gravel surface of the road. “Well, you’d best come into the office and make a full report. But that, interesting as it may be, has nothing to do with what’s happening today.”
Bob Blackstone turned his gaze from Brad to glower at me and my companions. “And of course, the rumormongers are out in full force. I suggest you double-check their information before you act on it next time, Deputy Tucker. If you don’t want a lawsuit filed against the county, I mean.”
Brad shot a quick glance in my direction. “The sheriff’s office doesn’t work off of rumors, Mr. Mayor. We had solid evidence of your confrontation with Clark Fowler.”
“And now you also have my solid alibi for the night he was killed.”
“Yes.” Brad drew out the word as if he was reluctant to agree. “It seems to check out.”
“It was that drifter,” piped up Don Virts. “Just you wait and see.”
“That’s neither here nor there”—Brad crossed his arms and stared down his nose at the three men in front of him—“in terms of this protest. So why don’t you gentlemen climb back into your car and head over to the sheriff’s office, where you can make whatever statements you wish to make.”
“I want you to take a look at this first.” Bob motioned toward his lawyer, who was still clutching the pile of documents.
“All right, but let’s move out of the way.” Brad strode toward Bob’s car, forcing Bob and his entourage to follow him.
As the four men huddled together, staring at the paper work, a voice rang out behind me.
“Nice to see you again, Amy.”
I spun on me heel to face the speaker.
Kurt Kendrick, who seemed to have materialized from nowhere but must’ve been simply hidden amid the crowd of onlookers, brushed back the thick fall of white hair from his forehead, smiled at me, and nodded at Zelda and Walt before allowing his gaze to rest on my aunt. “Hello, Lydia. It’s been a long time.”
My aunt’s face blanched pale as a calla lily, but her extended hand was rock steady. “Quite true, Karl. Although I suppose I must call you Kurt.”
Kendrick clasped Aunt Lydia’s hand for only a second before dropping it. “As it’s my legal name now, that’s probably best.”
“Surprising to find you here of all places, Mr. Kendrick. Wouldn’t think an environmental protest would be your thing.” Dwarfed by Kurt Kendrick’s height, Zelda had to tip her head back to look up at him.
“Well, I’m actually more concerned about Paul Dassin’s legacy.” Kendrick ignored my aunt’s loud sniff of disapproval as he focused on Zelda. “I’m sure he would’ve hated the idea of a subdivision. No doubt he would prefer this land to become a town park named in honor of Daniel Cooper. What do you think, Mrs. Shoemaker?”
“I didn’t really know the man well, but I suppose you’re right.” Zelda glanced up at Walt. “Did you ever meet Mr. Dassin, dear?”
Walt shook his head. “Saw him around town occasionally, but I didn’t know him. I was so busy with work back then, and he seemed to keep to himself.”
Aunt Lydia fixed Kurt Kendrick with her most imperious gaze. “He was a homebody. And rather depressed in his later years. Especially after you left town and never bothered to communicate with him again, Karl.”
I studied the rigid set of her jaw. She wasn’t going to forgive Paul’s former ward. Not any time soon, anyway.
“I’m sorry for that, but I had my reasons.”
“No doubt.” Aunt Lydia looked Kendrick up and down. “So now you want to protect his legacy? Well, better late than never, I suppose,” she said before turning her back on him to speak with Zelda and Walt.
As the protestors’ chants mingled with other side conversations, I coughed to draw Kendrick’s laser-sharp glare off my aunt. “So you support the efforts to fight the development, Mr. Kendrick?”
“Please, call me Kurt.” He flashed me a toothy smile. “Yes, I do. I suppose I should actually have a word with Ms. Fields at some point since she’s the primary organizer of the protests.”
My stomach lurched as I remembered the information that Aunt Lydia and Zelda had shared concerning this man. If Kendrick was involved in shady deals and had criminal connections, he might also have a dangerous motive for seeking out Sunny. It was impossible to read his mood in his carefully composed face, which just made me more nervous. Sure, maybe he did want to talk to Sunny, but not about her environmental causes. She was the only eyewitness to his black Jaguar being at a murder scene, after all. Despite receiving clearance from the sheriff’s office, he might still have an interest in silencing any future testimony.
“I don’t think I’d try that today,” I said. “She’s pretty busy. Maybe stop by the library sometime next week, when we can both chat with you.”
Kendrick looked down at me, his blue eyes shadowed under his pale lashes. “Of course. A much more sensible plan. I’ll do that. Although it won’t be next week. I must leave the country tomorrow for a buying trip, and I’ll be gone for quite some time.”
He looked away, and I followed his gaze to the men clustered around Brad. As if he sensed someone staring at him, Don Virts turned his head and took two awkward hops backward.
With Kurt Kendrick examining him like predator eyeing his next meal, Don’s expression betrayed an emotion that raised the hair on my arms. It was fear, pure and simple.
Zelda’s words came back to me. Don had borrowed money from Kendrick. Had he ever repaid it? Or had Doris been murdered for a debt her son couldn’t repay?
Think about it, Amy. Or maybe it was two different killers. One person who murdered Doris to send Don a message, and then Don himself killing Clark so there wouldn’t be any more issues with Bob Blackstone’s development deal. A deal that might provide its investors, including Don, enough money to pay off old debts.
A swearword escaped my lips.
Aunt Lydia turned to face Kendrick and me. “Everything okay, Amy?”
“Sure, just stepped on a sharp rock,” I replied, lifting my foot. “Thin soles, not made for gravel roads.”
She looked me over before lifting her chin and staring at Kendrick. “So Kurt—as I suppose I must call you—are we to see more of you around town now? Have you decided to grace Taylorsford with your presence after isolating yourself for several years?”
“Perhaps, although I don’t live here most of the time. And I must travel quite a bit for my work.”
“Oh, yes, buying and selling art now, aren’t you? Not what I would’ve expected, if I’m honest. But I hear you’ve made quite a tidy sum.” Aunt Lydia tipped her head to one side as she examined him. “Pity Andrew never lived to see you succeed in the art world.”
“Yes, that is a pity.” Kendrick looked over her head as he spoke, his expression blank.
But if I could hear the anger rumbling under his words, so could Aunt Lydia. She straightened and thrust back her shoulders. “He talked about you for many years, you know. Wondering where you’d gone and if you were okay. His best friend, who just disappeared one day without a good-bye. But I must tell you—eventually he just stopped mentioning your name. I guess he finally forgot you.”
“Perhaps he did.” When Kendrick turned his gaze back on Aunt Lydia, his eyes blazed blue as the heart of a flame. “Perhaps that was for the best.”
Aunt Lydia didn’t even blink. “I certainly thought so.”
I examined my aunt and the art dealer. They would’ve made a beautiful couple—both tall and handsome with distinctive features set off by their white hair and blue eyes. But the gaze they fixed on one another didn’t look friendly. No, not at
all. In fact, it resembled a mongoose staring down a cobra.
The three of us stood in uncomfortable silence until a loud “No” rang through the air.
“I’m not leaving without speaking my piece.” Bob Blackstone strode toward the protestors, leaving Brad, Don, and the lawyer behind.
“Think I’ll head out,” Kendrick said. “Nice to see you again, Amy.” He walked away without speaking to Aunt Lydia again.
As Kurt Kendrick mingled with the crowd clustered near the trees, Bob Blackstone faced off with the protestors. “Now listen here, you lot,” he shouted over their chants, “I have something you need to hear.”
They quieted down, lowering their signs. “All right,” said one young woman. “Say what you’re going to say.”
While Bob outlined the merits of his development to the skeptical crowd, his lawyer and Don Virts stayed back at his car and consulted their phones. So much for his backup.
I glanced over at Sylvia, wondering if she would join Bob Blackstone or stay silent. But she remained at the edge of the crowd. In fact, she was also on her cell phone, chatting away. Some business matter, probably.
As I watched, Sunny strolled out of the woods that rimmed the Tuckers’ farm. I assumed she’d probably stopped in at Brad’s mother’s house to rest or use the facilities. Head down, she walked up behind Sylvia and paused.
Sylvia grimaced and gesticulated with her free hand, leading me to surmise she was arguing over some contentious deal. Then as if sensing a presence behind her, she turned on Sunny with a furious expression. Sunny backed away, obviously apologizing.
“Uh-oh,” I told Aunt Lydia. “Looks like Sunny’s getting an earful.”
“Sunny can handle herself,” Aunt Lydia said, but she frowned as my assistant jogged over to meet us.
“Hey,” I said with a smile.
Sunny didn’t smile in return, which was odd. She twisted a lock of her hair around her finger and muttered a quiet “Hello.”
Aunt Lydia laid her hand on Sunny’s arm. “Sorry, I saw you were being harangued by my cousin. I hope she wasn’t too rude.”
A Murder for the Books Page 17