“Well, I’m up in the Meadow, and Haley took off after a woodchuck, and …”
“You’re calling me about a woodchuck?”
“No. I’m not. I’m calling you about the shotgun I just found by the woodchuck’s hole.”
“What are you doing up there? You found a shotgun? Did you call the police? Did you touch it?”
She wasn’t sure which question to answer first.
“I stepped on it, and I called you first.”
“Gracie, call the sheriff’s department. Now!” His take-charge tone broke through her daze.
“All right. I will. I … I …” she stammered.
“I’m on my way. Don’t touch anything, and for heaven’s sake, stay where you are.”
She heard the call end. She stood looking at her phone as if willing it to dial itself. Grimacing, she punched in 9-1-1.
Jim’s pickup bounced and jerked up Jemison Road. He parked behind the small red SUV on the shoulder and looked up the rolling green hill toward the pond. She waved to catch his attention. The faint sounds of sirens set Haley to howling mournfully. Jim lengthened his stride, hurrying to join Gracie, whose face was pale under her freckles.
“Where is it?” he demanded.
She pointed to the ground ahead of her. Haley licked Jim’s hand and then began howling again. The sirens were closer.
“Dang! You’d have thought they’d have checked this area out. How could they have missed it?” Jim demanded.
“I don’t know, but it’s here,” Gracie said glumly.
She shaded her eyes and looked down toward the road where three sheriff’s department vehicles pulled up. They’d thankfully cut the sirens.
Gracie grabbed Haley’s collar. The dog was anxious to inspect the group headed their way. Investigator Hotchkiss tromped ahead, looking exceptionally aggravated, dressed in a cap, jeans, and a black T-shirt.
The crime scene team went to work securing the area, while the investigator tossed out questions. Gracie answered each quickly, the old feeling of being a suspect returning. This was not earning any points with the policewoman. Why couldn’t some passerby have found the gun? A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. The policewoman was not happy that a dog and human had contaminated the area. But who could have anticipated walking over a gun and possibly the murder weapon to boot? The low conversation of the deputies and guys in black T-shirts indicated they thought they had the real deal. The shotgun hadn’t been there long either, according to the technicians. Gracie watched as they combed the area for any other evidence. Cameras clicked, but nothing else seemed to interest them. The investigator surveyed the newly mown field.
“Do you know who was here cutting the hay?” she asked, looking toward Gracie and including Jim in her gaze.
“Haven’t any idea,” Jim replied. “Jackson Farms was supposed to get the hay off the field, but you’d have to ask Tobias.”
“Any idea where he might be?”
“Not really, but he’s probably at home,” Jim answered, scanning the edge of the woods where the trail led into the Meadow. “I think I hear a chainsaw. He could be down in the woods a ways. I’ll go up and see.”
“I’ll tag along, Mr. Taylor,” Investigator Hotchkiss affirmed, her eyebrows knit in concentration. “I hear that chainsaw too.”
The gravelly buzz seemed louder. Now that it was beginning to get dark, Gracie wondered why Tobias would still be cutting wood.
The investigator closed a small black leather covered notebook and stuck it in her back pocket. She motioned for a deputy to join them. Gracie stepped back and watched them take off smartly toward the woods. She wasn’t sure if she was off the hook with the investigator, so in the spirit of cooperation, she trailed behind the trio, with Haley heeling rather well for once. The trees draped a dark canopy against the setting sun, and it took a second for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.
Jim led the way toward the sound of the chainsaw. He waved his arms to get Tobias’ attention, who was just finishing cutting up a small branch. The woodpile had grown since the last time she was up here. It was stacked at least four feet high now and maybe ten feet in length. Tobias had made good progress on cutting up the large elm. The saw rumbled to a stop.
Tobias was dressed in a dirty white T-shirt that stuck to his skin, soaked with sweat. He pulled a red bandanna from his back pocket and wiped his face. Jim called his name, and the wiry man looked up in surprise. His face registered shock and fear when he saw the deputy and investigator. Dropping the chainsaw, he turned and ran.
Chapter 37
Gracie put on a pot of coffee, while Jim washed his dirt-caked arms and face. Haley lapped half a bowl of water and then flopped into her bed by the fireplace with a groan.
“I’m telling you, none of this makes sense,” Jim grumbled, drying off with a towel that was really meant for dishes only.
“Not much,” she agreed. “I thought Toby’s alibi was airtight with Roscoe. Do you really believe he found the shotgun in the woodpile?”
“Maybe.” He threw the towel on the counter. “Judas Priest! I wish he’d quit climbing trees to get away,” he griped, examining his scratched-up arms and rubbing his left elbow. He eased onto a stool and gratefully took the mug of steaming coffee from Gracie.
“At least he didn’t slug any police officers tonight or threaten them with anything.”
“A small favor. However, he’s locked up again. I’m hoping Roscoe wasn’t mistaken about the timeframe he was with Toby.” Jim sighed heavily and took a quick sip of coffee. “His lawyer sure has his hands full.”
“So, do you think,” she began tentatively.
“No, I still don’t think he killed D. B. He’s stupid for tossing the gun in the field to get it out of his woodpile. If he’d only called the sheriff’s department when he found it. What an idiot! Sorry, Chief, but I’ve gotta go home. See you in the morning.” He took another gulp and slammed the mug on the counter.
Gracie had never seen Jim quite that angry, so silence and a weak smile were her response.
*****
The green Geo trembled and lurched into the kennel’s parking lot, bright and early on Friday. It was a little too early for Gracie, who’d just left the house to walk down the long driveway to open up. It had been a very short night, and a migraine loomed as a distinct possibility.
Roscoe, who looked a little more disheveled than usual, called out a half-hearted, “Good morning.”
She mutely nodded and snapped her fingers to keep Haley’s attention on heeling, rather than sniffing Roscoe. He trotted to catch up with her, while Haley managed to lag behind to check out his shoes. He sleepily related his late-night interview with the sheriff’s department. Tobias still sat in the county jail, his bail revoked. His fingerprints had been found on the shotgun, much to the District Attorney’s delight. Roscoe rubbed a hand through his hair, his dark eyes worried.
“I know my notes are correct. I am always exact on details. Without fail,” he confirmed.
“I’m sure the police will realize it and release Tobias. Jim would bet the farm that he didn’t kill anybody.”
She unlocked the reception area door and punched in the code to disarm the alarm. A chorus of barking greeted them as they walked through to the office.
“Jim is accurate in his assessment of Mr. McQuinn. He was not fond of Mr. Jackson. However, there are others who rather loathed him.”
Gracie looked at him, a bit shocked that the mild-mannered, would-be reporter spoke so strongly.
“Anyone in particular?” she asked.
“After I complete my investigation today, all of the facts will be presented to Investigator Hotchkiss.”
“Are you talking about Ben Richter? He’s kind of an unknown quantity, you know.” Gracie was getting irritated with his vagueness.
“I am quite aware of who Mr. Richter is. Once the information I’ve requested is received, he will be more than a suspect.”
His voice was strangel
y confident. She looked at him in surprise. This must be the new-and-improved Roscoe.
She arched an eyebrow, trying to come up with the right thing to say. “Be careful,” was all she could manage.
*****
Jim finished feeding the last of the canine guests, while Gracie put the day’s receipts in the small safe under her desk. They’d sent everyone home a bit early, since all the pick-ups and drop-offs were completed way before closing. Haley came trotting through the door with Jim close behind.
“I guess I’m headed to Warsaw to talk with Toby’s attorney,” he said wearily, thumbs resting on his belt. “He won’t talk to my parents, just lucky me,” he sighed.
“Nice. Maybe Roscoe has come up with something this afternoon.”
“Maybe, but I’m not holding my breath. I tried calling him a few minutes ago, but he didn’t answer. Have fun at Isabelle’s party. Must be quite the bash tonight.”
“You’ve lucked out, my friend. I was going to ask you to accompany me. I’m actually hoping to scope out some information on Cynthia Harkness. She hasn’t explained exactly what she was doing the night of the murder, from what Isabelle told me.”
“Why would she talk to you about that?”
“No reason. But maybe the conversation will work its way around to it somehow.”
“Then good luck to you. Watch your step though. She is a sniper.”
Gracie shrugged with feigned unconcern. “I can take her.”
He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Chief! Don’t do anything stupid, please. Let the police handle this.”
“But, of course.”
Her phone buzzed loudly on a stack of papers piled on the desk. “My reminder alarm. Time to dress for cocktails at 6:30, Mr. Taylor.” She raised a drooping hand as if waiting for a prince to kiss it. “Cinderella is off to the ball.”
“All right. I’ll lock up. Go get beautiful.” He grinned.
“Thank you, kind sir. Come on, Haley. We’re outta here.”
In the excitement of the last couple of days, Gracie hadn’t given much thought to what she was actually wearing to Isabelle’s party. It meant something elegant and sophisticated, which wasn’t her wardrobe’s forte. She went through her closet twice without success. Sitting on the bed wrapped in a bath towel, she racked her brain in desperation. Her mother’s voice chiding her about poor planning echoed in her head. Of course. She had a dress from two years ago that was as close to a cocktail dress as she had. It was hanging with the winter coats in the guest bedroom. Haley followed her down the hallway and into an untidy bedroom, where boxes of memorabilia sat in limbo. She slid the coats back until the navy blue chiffon dress was revealed, still in a drycleaner’s bag. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hurried back to her room to finish getting ready.
The finished product wasn’t bad, she decided, looking at herself from every angle in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. The sleeveless dress fitted her well with its sweetheart neckline and empire waist. A navy beaded diamond shape in the middle of the bodice gave it some pizzazz. She found the matching low-heeled sandals stuffed in the back of her closet. A quick wipe-down made them presentable. She’d swept her hair into a casual up-do with ready-made curls trailing gracefully down the back. The phone, which was on the bathroom counter, buzzed again, warning her that it was time to leave.
Chapter 38
The string quartet finished what Gracie thought was something by Handel. The three men were in tuxes, and the violinist wore a gauzy, cream-colored dress cut generously for her plus-size figure. Isabelle had carefully staged them inside the cedar-shingled gazebo.
A few guests were sipping wine, comfortably seated on the gazebo’s deep cushions, enjoying the music up close and personal. The music resumed. The perfect June evening was balmy, and the air was sweet with roses, peonies, and honeysuckle.
Gracie looked around at the crowd that spilled out onto the manicured lawns. There must have been at least 40 or 50 people milling around. A few familiar faces drifted by, but it was obvious that the guest list was mostly from out of town. How she’d gotten invited to this shindig was beyond her comprehension. Isabelle was probably trying to upgrade her social status for her.
Obtaining information on Ms. Harkness was most likely going to be difficult. The sea of people planned to write big checks and consume a lot of food and alcohol. But the alcohol part might be useful, if Mrs. Allen had made the guest list again.
Gracie had managed to pick up a club soda and lemon from the bar, set up under a huge umbrella in the center of the yard. The dark-haired, Antonio Banderas-looking bartender was very charming. Several mature women, stuffed into sequin-plastered dresses, their necks and ears adorned with jewelry, seemed quite content to sip martinis near the big umbrella. Gracie suddenly felt severely underdressed. She’d even forgotten to put on a pair of earrings. Everyone else must have hauled out the family jewels for the occasion.
A hand on her elbow almost made her spill her drink. It was Ann Marie Allen. She had a martini glass in her hand and looked like she’d had more than one already.
“Oh, hi, Ann Marie.”
“Hi, yourself, Jane.” The woman smiled broadly and took a sip. She was dressed attractively in a scoop-necked, delicate green print dress. Strands of pearls dripped over her cleavage.
“Gracie. It’s Gracie,” she corrected, smiling.
“Sorry. That’s right. Your cousin sure knows how to give a party.”
“Yes, she does. Looks like you’re having a good time,” she answered. “Is Cynthia Harkness here by any chance?”
Ann Marie snorted and looked back over her shoulder. “She’s over there with the congressman.” She swung her glass around, sloshing the contents over the rim.
Cynthia was wearing a short red, strapless dress, which showed off her legs and other assets to perfection. The congressman didn’t appear impressed as they continued an intense conversation. Ms. Harkness definitely wasn’t happy, but then Gracie hadn’t seen a real smile on her face—ever.
Before Gracie could maneuver her way toward them, Isabelle snagged her from behind. Fortunately, she mostly passed muster with her cousin, who steered her toward the food. The table on the patio was loaded with a stunning display of hors d’oeuvres. Crab puffs, shrimp, cheeses, tiny quiches, and fruit on skewers—she couldn’t take it all in. She kept an eye on Cynthia, who was working her way through the crowd, shaking hands and looking generally pleasant. She was mentally rehearsing her opening line to see if Ms. Harkness would give her any idea what her true relationship had been with D. B. She took a crostini from a silver platter and drifted back toward the big umbrella.
*****
The Friday night crowd at Midge’s was noisy. Harried waitresses hauled plates of fish as fast as Midge and her assistant cook could get them out of the fryers. Roscoe sat at a back table in the corner near the bathrooms with Allie, who had somehow managed to get the night off.
“Are you sure you should meet this guy by yourself?” she fretted. “I thought you said he has a bad temper and might have murdered his wife.”
“Shhh. Not so loud, Allie. He wants to explain the development on Jemison Road. What better place than at the site? I’ll have opportunity to take some photos before sunset. Because of the sensitive nature of the work, he’s asked that I come alone. He’s already explained that he doesn’t want any other papers knowing about it before The Sentinel. I do have the exclusive.” He beamed.
“Exclusive?” she exclaimed and then clamped a hand over her mouth. “I think it sounds fishy to me,” the little brunette argued with barely subdued volume.
“Ah, fishy. Quite amusing,” Roscoe smiled and dug into the crispy fried haddock.
Allie looked blankly at him and frowned. “You’d better call the police if anything suspicious happens. I really don’t like this at all. Maybe I should go with you.”
“There’s no need. I have it under control. I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock for our date at the
drive-in,” Roscoe said.
*****
The string quartet took a break while Congressman Streeker rambled on about his new economic plans for his rural constituency. More help for dairy farmers was on the way, and schools would receive more funding. The speeches never changed from term to term, Gracie thought, shifting her feet. They hurt already, and she was ready to find something more exciting than club soda if the politician kept droning on.
Surveying the crowd, she noticed Cynthia Harkness drifting toward the patio. It was time for another crab puff, she decided.
She found the long-legged aide sitting in a chair, her eyes closed and rubbing a piece of ice on her forehead.
“Are you all right? Can I get you anything?” Gracie asked, surprised at the woman’s sudden vulnerability.
Cynthia opened her eyes and looked blearily at Gracie.
“I’ve got a blistering headache,” she answered huskily.
“Let me get you some aspirin or something,” Gracie offered, setting her glass down on a small wicker side table. She hurried to the downstairs bathroom and snatched a bottle of ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet, making a dash back to the patio.
“Here, take a couple of these,” she said, popping the top from the bottle.
Cynthia opened her eyes and dumped four pills into her hand. She swallowed them with a generous amount of liquor from her martini glass.
“Thanks. It’s been a hellish night. You’re Isabelle’s cousin, right?”
“Afraid so,” she smiled bleakly. “I imagine your schedule is pretty demanding. It takes a toll,” she sympathized.
“It was. But not after tonight,” the woman answered. She finished the martini and put the glass on the table.
“Oh.” Gracie was at a loss. “Finished with fundraising events, then.”
“You might say that,” was the crisp reply. “Now if you don’t mind, I need a couple of minutes,” she said dismissively, leaning back against the chair, eyes closed again.
Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) Page 20