by Joanne Fluke
Danielle took another sip of her tea and then held the improvised ice pack back up to her cheek. “You won’t tell anyone about this, will you, Hannah?”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Hannah promised, evading a direct answer. She certainly wouldn’t gossip about it, and that was really what Danielle had meant. “If you ever want to talk to anyone about it, I’m here. All you have to do is call me or jump in the car and come over. I’ve got a guest room and you can use it anytime you need to get away.”
“Thank you, Hannah.”
There would never be a better opportunity and Hannah seized it. “There’s something else, Danielle. If you want to press charges, I’ll help you.”
“No, I could never do that!”
It was the answer that Hannah had expected. She knew that most battered women mistakenly protected their abusers, at least until the problem got so severe that someone else noticed. Unless Danielle pressed charges, or someone actually saw Coach Watson hitting Danielle, there was nothing that the authorities could do. Hannah decided she’d give it one more try and then move on. “If you press charges, Boyd will get some help.”
“What kind of help?”
“Counseling, anger-management workshops, that sort of thing.” Hannah hoped the disdain she felt didn’t show in her voice or on her face. To her way of thinking, mandatory sessions with a counselor were merely a slap on the wrist for chronic abusers. Anyone who caused the physical damage that Coach Watson had meted out to Danielle should have to suffer the full consequences of the law.
“Boyd’s already getting counseling.”
“He is?” Hannah wanted to make a crack about what a poor counselor Boyd must have, but she didn’t.
“It’s really a lot better now. Boyd’s only hit me once since school started.”
“Counting today?” Hannah couldn’t resist asking.
“No, but he’s under a lot of pressure with his football team. They’ve lost three straight.”
So what does Boyd say to his team? Hannah wondered. If you boys don’t make those touchdowns, I’m going to go home and smack my wife?
“He’s always sorry, after. Really, he is. He actually broke down in tears when he saw what he did to my face. And then he went straight to the phone to put in an emergency call to his counselor. That’s where he is now. I didn’t want to tell you before, so I made up that excuse about football practice. Boyd drove all the way down to St. Paul because he felt so guilty.”
Hannah’s ears perked up. Boyd had rented the Compacts Unlimited car in St. Paul. “Does Boyd see a counselor in St. Paul?”
“He goes to The Holland Center,” Danielle pronounced the name with reverence. She looked as proud as anyone could with one black eye covered by a package of frozen peas. “It’s the best in the state and he sees Dr. Frederick Holland, the head counselor and founder. You’ve probably seen his name in the papers. He’s done some wonderful work with serial rapists.”
Nothing Hannah wanted to say seemed appropriate but it didn’t seem to matter. The dam had broken and Danielle wanted to talk.
“We almost got a divorce last spring. Boyd just couldn’t seem to control himself, and Dr. Holland thought we’d have to split up. But Boyd said he’d just try harder, and it’s worked.”
Hannah glanced at Danielle’s face again. If this was trying harder, she was glad she hadn’t seen the results of Boyd’s former abuses. Danielle was going to have a shiner the size of the Grand Canyon. “Isn’t that kind of therapy expensive?”
“Yes, but Boyd’s medical insurance covers eighty percent. It’s the one through the teachers’ union and they’re very good about that. Dr. Holland bills it as occupation-related stress counseling. It would be too embarrassing for Boyd otherwise.”
“I guess it would.” Hannah did her best to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. God forbid that the wife beater should be embarrassed!
“When you rang the doorbell, you said you wanted to talk to me. Is it about Ron’s murder again? Or what happened to Max Turner?”
Hannah assumed that Danielle wanted to change the subject, and that was fine with her. As a matter of fact, it was perfect. She needed to know more about Boyd’s rental car. “I’m just clearing up some loose ends. Has Boyd rented a car lately?”
“Yes.” Danielle looked surprised. “How did you know about that?”
Hannah thought fast. “You told me that you drove out to the casino in Boyd’s Jeep Cherokee and I just assumed that he rented a car for the trip.”
“But that’s not exactly what happened, Hannah. Boyd rode to Minneapolis with another coach, but when he decided to stay over to see Dr. Holland, he rented a compact for a day. He had an appointment on Wednesday morning and he couldn’t ask Maryann to drive him. Boyd doesn’t want her to know anything about his problem.”
“Of course not.” Hannah gave the appropriate response.
“It was an early appointment, seven in the morning,” Danielle went on. “That was the only time Dr. Holland could work him into his schedule. Boyd had to leave his mother’s house at six to get there on time.”
“Didn’t Maryann notice that he was gone when she got up?”
“Yes, but he told her that he was going to get up early and go out for doughnuts. His mother just loves doughnuts. Boyd brought them back with him after he saw Dr. Holland.”
Boyd’s appointment could be verified with a phone call and Hannah decided she’d do it the minute that she got home. “Did Boyd ever borrow money from Max Turner?”
“From Max?” Danielle frowned. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to mention it, Danielle. Not even to Boyd.”
“All right,” Danielle agreed, but she looked a bit uneasy. “What is it?”
“Max lent money to quite a few people in Lake Eden and one of those loans might have something to do with his death. Why did you say you didn’t think Boyd had borrowed from him?”
“Because Boyd doesn’t need to borrow money when he’s got mine. You must know what teachers are paid, Hannah. We could never afford to live on Boyd’s salary alone. We bought the cars and the house and practically everything we have with my money.”
Hannah’s eyebrows shot ceilingward. This was a surprise development. “What money is that?”
“The money I inherited from my uncle. I was always his favorite and he left it to me. He put it in a trust fund and I get a lump sum every year.”
“And that’s why you can afford all these luxuries?”
“That’s right. When I get my lump sum in January, I give Boyd half and my mother invests the rest for me. We’ve done really well on the stock market, and Dr. Holland thinks that’s part of Boyd’s problem. It’s very difficult for a strong male like Boyd to be married to a woman who makes a lot more money than he does.”
“I suppose it is.” Hannah settled for a safe comment.
“That’s the reason I keep my inheritance a secret,” Danielle confided. “Dr. Holland says that Boyd’s ego is too fragile and he’d be tempted to strike out even more if his friends knew. You won’t mention it, will you?”
“Absolutely not,” Hannah agreed quickly. She could imagine the damage that Boyd would inflict on his wife if the word got out that Danielle was supporting them. He might even borrow a page from the storybook and kill the goose that laid the golden egg.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I know it’s confusing,” Hannah tried to explain as she walked back into her condo. It was clear by his startled expression that Moishe didn’t know what to make of her comings and goings today. “I’ve come back to make a few phone calls. What do you say I keep you busy with a dish of ice cream?”
Moishe rubbed against her ankles as Hannah pulled a carton of French vanilla out of the freezer and scooped some into a dessert dish. She carried it out to the living room, set it down on the coffee table, and patted the surface. Moishe didn’t need a second invitation. He approached
the dish, sniffed at the mound of icy white, and then tasted it with the tip of his tongue. The cold must have surprised him because he drew back to stare at it, but that didn’t stop him from going back for a second lick.
While Moishe was busy exploring this intriguing new foodstuff, Hannah flopped down on the couch and reached for the phone. She had to call Dr. Holland to confirm that Boyd Watson had kept his appointment on Wednesday morning.
Five minutes later, Hannah had her answer. She’d pretended to be a medical claims adjuster and she’d asked Dr. Holland’s receptionist to verify the time of the appointment. The receptionist had told her that Mr. Watson had seen Dr. Holland at seven in the morning and that his appointment had lasted the usual fifty minutes.
“I don’t know whether I should be relieved, or disappointed,” Hannah confided to her feline roommate. Boyd Watson wasn’t the killer and he was free to batter Danielle whenever he felt the urge.
But there was still that photo of the rental car folder in the snapshot that Norman’s mother had taken. And Woodley also started with a W. Hannah went to the kitchen to fetch herself another diet Coke and thought about the rental car that someone in the Woodley household had used. She didn’t think that either Judith or Del would have rented a nondescript black compact, not when they had a whole garage full of luxury vehicles to choose from. But there was Benton and his name wouldn’t have raised any red flags for the manager at Compacts Unlimited because his driver’s license would still show his East Coast residence. Benton could have rented a compact car to drive from the airport to Lake Eden. He’d told Andrea and Bill that he’d taken the shuttle, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was true.
Hannah picked up the phone and got the number for the shuttle service at the Minneapolis airport. There was only one shuttle that ran to Lake Eden and that made her job a little easier. She punched out the number of their airport office and rehearsed what she would say to get the information she needed. She’d picked up a new skill by listening to Andrea on the phone with the hotel clerk at the Buttermakers’ Convention. It was possible to get all sorts of information if the person on the other end of the line really wanted to help you.
“On-Time Shuttle Service. This is Tammi speaking.”
Hannah winced at the insipidly cheerful voice. Why did companies always hire girls who sounded as if they should be working at Disneyland? “Hi, Tammi. I really need your help. My boss, Mr. Woodley, took the shuttle to Lake Eden on Wednesday afternoon and he can’t find his briefcase. He asked me to try to locate it and I’m wondering if your driver happened to find it on the shuttle bus?”
“I don’t think so. Our drivers check for lost items after every run and there’s no briefcase in our lost-and-found bin.”
“Uh-oh,” Hannah groaned, hoping that she sounded dismayed. “Is it possible that someone at your office mailed it to him and it just hasn’t gotten here yet?”
“We don’t usually do that, but a couple of our drivers are here right now and I can ask. Would that have been the two o’clock, four o’clock, or six o’clock shuttle?”
That stumped Hannah completely, but she recovered quickly. “I should have asked Mr. Woodley, but he just left and I didn’t think of it. Is there some way that you could check for me?”
“No problem. The passenger’s name was Woodley?”
“That’s right,” Hannah said, and spelled it out for her. “Benton Woodley.”
“I’ll have to put you on hold. Just a moment please.” There was a brief silence and then music spewed out from the little holes on the receiver. It sounded like the chorus from “It’s a Small World,” and Hannah was in the process of wondering whether Tammi had chosen the song when her cheerful voice came back on the line. “Mr. Benton Woodley was our passenger on the two o’clock shuttle. I checked with the driver, but he said he didn’t find anything except a pen and a monogrammed handkerchief. Maybe you should check with the airlines?”
“Good idea. Thanks, Tammi. I really appreciate your help.” Hannah hung up the phone and thought about what she’d learned. Moishe jumped up on her lap and started to lick her arm with his raspy tongue. He seemed to sense that she was upset and he was doing his best to comfort her. Hannah stroked him absently and thought about the times of the murders. The fact that Benton had taken the two o’clock shuttle didn’t rule him out as the killer. He could have flown in the night before, rented a car from Compacts Unlimited, and made a round-trip to Lake Eden to kill Max and Ron. If he’d returned the car to the airport location, he could have walked to the shuttle station and boarded the two o’clock bus to give himself an alibi. But why would Benton want to kill Max Turner? He hadn’t visited Lake Eden in years, and as far as Hannah knew, he’d never spoken more than a few words to Max.
Her mind spinning, Hannah reached for the phone again, intending to call Compacts Unlimited to find out if Benton had rented a car. But perhaps she should leave that to Bill. He knew the manager and he could get the information much faster than she could. Hannah punched out Bill’s number and reminded herself of the things she had to tell him. There was the photo of the rental folder and her suspicions about Benton. Bill didn’t know anything about that. There was also Boyd Watson and she had to tell Bill that she’d eliminated him as a suspect. She wouldn’t mention Danielle’s painful secret right now. It would be better to wait until she had Bill’s full attention. Perhaps they could think of some way to put the fear of God into The Gull’s head coach.
“Bill? I’ve got some information that…” Hannah stopped short as she realized she was talking to a recorded message. Bill wasn’t at his desk. When the beep sounded, she almost hung up in sheer frustration, but better sense prevailed. “Bill? It’s Hannah. I eliminated Coach Watson as a suspect. He’s got an alibi. But remember those pictures we took in Del Woodley’s den? Norman brought them over on his lunch break and one of them showed a Compacts Unlimited rental folder. I figure that Benton must have rented it. Judith wouldn’t be caught dead driving a compact and Del’s got his fancy Mercedes. The W in Max’s appointment book could stand for Woodley, but I don’t have a motive. I’m going to nose around to see what else I can find out about the Woodleys.”
Hannah sighed and hung up, picturing Bill in the sheriff station’s lobby, eating dozens of the cookies she’d baked for the open house and mingling with the people who’d driven out to see their new cruisers. He was probably having the time of his life while she was sitting here agonizing over clues that didn’t fit and suspects that disappeared like snowballs in the sun. She was supposed to be assisting Bill, not doing all of his legwork for him. Who was bucking for detective here, anyway?
Just then the phone rang, jolting Hannah out of her glum mood. She reached out to answer it, expecting Bill, but it was her mother.
“I’m so glad I caught you, Hannah. I have the most amazing news.”
“Yes, Mother?” Hannah held the phone an inch from her ear. Her mother could deafen the person on the other end of the line when she was excited.
“I’m here at the mall with Carrie. She needed a new battery for her watch. You’ll never guess what I just saw at the jeweler’s! What do you think it was?”
Hannah made a face at Moishe. She was almost thirty and her mother still wanted her to play guessing games. “I’ll never be able to guess, Mother. You’d better tell me.”
“It was Del Woodley’s ring!”
“His ring?” Hannah didn’t understand what was so startling about that. Everyone she knew took rings to the jeweler’s when they needed repair or resizing.
“It was for sale, Hannah. The jeweler had it displayed in a glass case and he wanted twenty thousand dollars for it.”
“Twenty thousand dollars?” Hannah gasped.
“That’s not unreasonable for a platinum setting and a diamond that size. Now why would Del Woodley’s ring be up for sale?”
“I don’t have the foggiest idea.” Hannah took a moment to ponder the question, but it really didn’t make any sense.
“Are you sure it was Del Woodley’s ring?”
“I’m positive. I admired it at their party last year and I noticed this tiny little scratch on the band. The ring I just saw at the jeweler’s had the very same scratch. Do you want to know what I think?”
“Sure,” Hannah agreed. It wouldn’t do any good to say no. Delores would just tell her anyway.
“I think Del’s in financial trouble. That’s the only reason he’d part with that ring. He told me that he just adored it.”
“You’re right, Mother.” Hannah began to smile. This opened up all sorts of intriguing possibilities. “Did you find out how long the ring has been there?”
“Of course I did. The jeweler said he’d had it for six months.”
“Did he confirm that it belonged to Del?”
“No, dear. He said that whenever he accepts any expensive jewelry on consignment, he keeps the identity of the original owner confidential.”
Hannah thought about that for a moment while her mother went on to describe every detail of her conversation with the jeweler. The Woodleys had spared no expense at their party, but that meant nothing. Judith was proud and she was the type to keep up appearances. If Del’s business was in trouble, he could have borrowed money from Max. And if Max had called in his loan, as he’d done with Norman’s parents and several other people in town, Del Woodley would have had the perfect motive to murder him.
“I’m sure I’m right, Hannah,” her mother went on. “You know how good I am at noticing little details. We stopped in at the antique shop, too. Do you remember those lovely dessert dishes I gave you?”
“Yes, Mother.” Hannah glanced over at the dessert dish she’d used for Moishe’s ice cream.