He shook his head. “Yeah, I’m all right. I’m tired, and this rock star thing is getting to me, but I’ll survive.”
Becky smiled. “A guy by the name of Brad Dunning is on the phone. He says he’s from the Hanover newspaper.”
John raised his head. “Great. We’ve got to get this story out there. I’ll talk to him.”
After Brad Dunning, the police chief talked to newspapers in the southern part of the state, as well as three television stations. In each case, he was careful to reiterate the fact that Gabriel was unscathed and staying in Clark’s Corner until his band arrived. As he hung up the phone once again, he felt his stomach rumbling. Glancing at the clock, he was shocked to see that it was almost one in the afternoon. He thought he would walk across to Chandler’s Grocery and get a sandwich. He was just about to open his mouth to tell Becky his intention when the outer door of the police office flung violently open and Cully, covered with half-melted snow, burst into the room in a blaze of profanity.
“Cully!” Becky reproved loudly. “Watch your mouth!”
“I can’t help it!” The young man threw his hat on the floor and tore his jacket off. “I’ve been stuck up on that hill with old Burt Clemens, who shouldn’t be driving anyway, trying to get his car out. Then Larry, instead of coming himself, sends his cousin Mike, who’s a moron and can’t even work the wrecker. We finally get the car out, and then what happens? Clemens runs me over!”
John, who had been listening to the tirade half-amused, now rose from his desk and stood in the doorway of his office behind Becky.
Her tone of voice changed. “Cully, calm down,” she said. “Are you hurt?”
The young officer shook his head vehemently, his eyes flashing. “No, but I would have been if the snow hadn’t been so deep. He drove the car right over my leg! He ground me into the snow bank.” Cully was slowly calming. “Mike Sample thought I’d been killed. Then the old idiot drove away down the hill. Never even looked around. He didn’t even know he ran me over.” Cully plunked himself down in the chair facing Becky’s desk and rubbed his leg.
John said, “Cully, maybe you’d better get it checked out.”
“Nah, Chief, I’m fine. I’m just mad. Really mad.”
Becky came out from behind her desk and gave him a maternal pat on the shoulder. Then she picked the hat and jacket off the floor and hung them on the coat hook above Cully’s head.
As Becky turned to get back to her desk, John noticed something. “What’s that on the floor?”
Cully looked behind him, and Becky stooped again to pick up a grimy white envelope. She looked at it, turning it over in her hands.
“Hey, John,” she said, “it says ‘Gabriel Strand’ on it.”
“Bring it here,” said John, taking the envelope from her outstretched hand. “Cully, what’s this?”
Cully looked up. “Oh, that’s a letter or a note or something some fangirl gave me yesterday to give to Strand. I stuffed it in my pocket and forgot about it. I showed it to you, remember, when I came back from the inn in the afternoon?”
“Yeah, I seem to remember you waving something,” Becky confirmed.
John was opening the envelope carefully. As he peeled back the flap, he could smell some sort of perfume, like he’d smelled in magazines the girls brought home. Inside was a folded piece of note paper with writing on it.
Jason joined the confusion. “Hey, Chief,” he said. “I got something.”
John nodded at him to speak.
“That guy, Richard Seeley, did take a plane east. Friday evening, he took a red eye. American Airlines to Boston. Arrived six-oh-five a.m. Rented a car from Enterprise at the airport. He told the clerk there that he was on a ski vacation.”
John forgot his rumbling stomach. “Is that so?” he said, starting forward.
“Yes, sir. I asked the clerk if he had mentioned where he was going, but he didn’t.”
“Did he use a credit card to pay for the car?”
“Yes, sir, he did. I’ve notified the credit card company, and they’re faxing us the records now.”
“Good job, Jason.”
“Thanks.”
John took the folded piece of paper out of the dirty envelope. The note was handwritten in a large, rounded script. He read the note to himself.
Dear Gabriel, I can’t believe this is the end for us. I know you have conflicting feelings for a number of reasons, but we can work it out. I’m here for you anytime. Just let me know. Just communicate with me, please. I can’t stand it when you don’t call me. It drives me crazy. It’s not too much to ask. I will never be far from you. Count on it. Please don’t ignore me. Never ignore me. I’m too important to you. Just look over your shoulder, and I’ll be there. There is something important I have to tell you. Yours, heart and soul, Kayla
He read through it twice, then he said, “Cully.”
Cully looked up and got to his feet. “Yes, Chief?”
“Do you remember who gave you this envelope?”
Cully tilted his head and rubbed his jaw in an effort to remember. “No, Chief, I don’t. I know it was a girl, though.”
“Can’t remember what she looked like?”
“Hmm, not really. There were a lot of people milling around. I was just trying to calm things down.”
“I understand that,” John persisted. “Try to remember, though. Just go sit in the office and see if anything comes into your mind. You should rest that leg anyway.”
“Okay, Chief.”
The telephone on Becky’s desk rang. She answered it, “Clark’s Corner Police Department.” There was a pause, and she said, “Yes, sir. I’ll put him right on.” She turned to John. “John, it’s the detective from LAPD.”
He nodded, went into his office, and shut the door behind him. “John Giamo,” he said.
“Hey, Chief,” said the voice on the other line. “I did discover something, and I think you may find it quite interesting.”
“What is it?”
“This Richard Seeley took a flight out of LAX Friday. American Airlines. He rented a car in Boston.”
“My officer just found that same information, but thanks anyway, Lieutenant.”
“That’s not all.”
“Oh?”
“Richard Seeley was born in Vermont.”
“Really!”
“In a town called Rutland. I Google-Earthed it. It’s not far from you.”
“Yeah, it’s right next door. That’s quite a discovery, Detective.”
“There’s another thing, too. I don’t know if it’s connected at all, but it’s another factoid, so to speak, about this guy.”
“Go ahead.”
“Apparently, after he quit his teaching job, he got a job as a college placement counselor. He worked out of his home for a company. Now that company has brought charges of embezzlement against him.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I guess the guy was counseling and only reporting a fraction of the business he was doing and only turning in a fraction of the money he was making. They fired him on the spot when they found out, and now they’re making their case.”
“Well, that’s interesting. Thanks a lot, Detective.”
“I hope it helps you out, Chief.”
“I hope so, too.”
“Hey, let me know, will you?”
“I’ll keep you updated.”
“Good luck, Chief.”
“Thanks.” He hung up the phone and went back into the anteroom. Becky, Cully, and Jason all looked up expectantly.
He cleared his throat. “Turns out Richard Seeley was born in Rutland.”
“You’re kidding!” Becky exclaimed.
“The LAPD detective discovered it.”
Becky shook her head. “I don’t know any Seeleys around here.”
“Me, either,” said Cully.
“How about you, Jason?” the chief asked. “You know any Seeleys anywhere? The name is ringing some sort of bell with me, but I c
an’t place it.”
“Not me, but I don’t know everybody. And there’s places in those hill towns where nobody’s been.”
“This is true,” John agreed. “We better get on it, though. Isn’t there a part-time constable up there, Becky?”
“I can find out,” she said.
“Good, I’d like to talk to him or her.”
The telephone rang again. Becky answered and said, “Just a minute, I’ll put him on.” Then she turned to John. “It’s Marian Strand,” she hissed in a stage whisper. “Gabriel Strand’s mother.”
The chief arched his eyebrows. He pointed at Cully and said, “Don’t go anywhere just yet.” Then he turned on his heel and disappeared back into his office. He picked up his phone. “Mrs. Strand,” he said. “John Giamo, Chief of Police.”
“I just got off the phone with my son, Mr. Giamo. I want to thank you personally for watching after him. Since I received the call from the police here, I’ve been very frightened. I wanted to fly right out there, but the police have asked me not to.” John noted that her voice sounded level-headed and reasonable.
“We’re working as fast as we can, Mrs. Strand,” he said. “I have reason to believe that an acquaintance of yours, Richard Seeley, could be involved in the murder of a music promoter, Bruce Blake. Did you know Mr. Blake?”
“I didn’t. Apparently he’s a promoter for these shows and concerts on the east coast. Gabriel didn’t know him before he went east this time. The poor man.”
“What can you tell me about Richard Seeley, Mrs. Strand?”
“I’ve known Richard Seeley for many years. We used to teach in the same school system. After his wife died, I kind of reached out to him, you know, because I felt so bad, having been through it myself. We started to go out once in a while. We were both lonely, I guess.”
“How long did you go out together?”
“Oh, probably, around a year, on and off. It was rather sporadic—not every weekend, even—but then he lost his job as a college placement adviser.” Here, she paused.
“And?” John prodded gently.
“And I believe he changed after that. He began coming over to the house unannounced, which I usually didn’t mind, but sometimes it was obviously inconvenient, and he didn’t seem to care. His attitude toward the kids changed, too. He was quite sarcastic with them. Rude, even. He seemed especially critical of Gabriel the more successful Ragged Rainbow got. For instance, one weekend they were opening for Lady Gaga. They were over the moon. Jessie, my daughter, was so thrilled because Gabriel said she could be backstage with them. It was their first appearance of that caliber. Richard happened to drop by the night the promoters confirmed, and we were just blathering away to him about it. Jessie, especially. Richard asked who was Lady Gaga? And Jessie answered like any kid, ‘You don’t know who Lady Gaga is?’ She was only fourteen at the time, Mr. Giamo. You know how kids are.”
“I’ve got three teens myself. I know how kids are.”
“Girls?”
“One girl. In the middle.”
John listened patiently while Mrs. Strand told her story. He was encouraged by the fact that she related the same basic information he’d received from Gabriel, nothing new. That meant Strand had told him the truth as he remembered it. It was reassuring to John to be pursuing the investigation along what appeared to be the right road. “Go on, Mrs. Strand.”
Marian Strand continued with the more recent events. “Then one day this past spring, I was grabbing my coffee to hurry out the door to school. Gabriel was home, and he came downstairs just as I was leaving. He told me to sit down; he had something to talk to me about. Well, I did, and he told me to quit my job. Then he told me about the financial news his manager had given the band members the night before. Good news, Mr. Giamo. One thing led to another after that. I sold my house. Gabriel bought Jessie her horse and the house we’re in now, and we moved.”
“And Seeley?”
“That’s when his behavior became, well, disturbing. He called the house. He drove past it. He left notes under the front gate and at the stable where we board the horse. Gabriel started to get really nervous. Ever since his father died, he’s taken the ‘man of the house’ thing seriously. I never pushed it on him; it’s just the way he is. He was nervous about being away with the upcoming tour. He insisted on the restraining order.”
“When was that?”
“It was a little over a month ago. I haven’t seen or heard from Richard Seeley since.”
“Did you see the blurb in that magazine mentioning the restraining order?”
“Yes, I did. Jessie showed it to me. Mr. Giamo, do you think it was Richard Seeley who killed that man?”
“I really can’t be sure, but he is definitely someone we need to talk to. If you hear from him, Mrs. Strand, call LAPD immediately. By the way, did he ever mention any ties to Vermont?”
“No, he never did, but I will definitely contact LAPD if anything untoward happens. I’m worried about Gabriel. I know he told me that he’s staying at your house and that he’s safe, but I worry anyway.”
“We’ll do our best.”
There were a couple of minutes more of small talk, a polite goodbye, and then John hung up the phone and went back into Becky’s office.
“Find anything?” he said.
“Yes,” she answered. “I spoke to Rose, the town clerk in Proctorsville. She says there’s a Bud Seeley who lives way the heck out on Shropshire Brook Road. Not a familiar name to me.”
“Hmm,” the chief mused. “I still have that feeling I should know that name. At any rate, I better go out and talk to this guy. Did you get any other information on the man?”
“Just that he’s in his late eighties, still lives alone. His wife died quite a few years ago; the town clerk wasn’t sure exactly when without looking it up. The old man has apparently done odd jobs to make a living—raises poultry, rabbits, that sort of thing.”
“Poultry!” the chief exclaimed. “I think my wife might know him. I’m going to call her. I’m remembering something, but my mind’s like a sieve lately. It’s taking me longer these days to sort things out.”
“Just like the rest of us, John. You know when young parents think their kids are so smart just because they can recite the alphabet or sing the ‘Do Re Mi’ song? Well, the kid’s not that smart. It’s just that there’s nothing else in there. No bills, no mortgage, no husbands, wives, children, jobs. Who couldn’t sing the alphabet song?”
John laughed and went into his office to call his wife.
When she answered, John gave their customary greeting. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“Do you remember some guy up in the hills named Bud Seeley?”
“Of course!” Melanie exclaimed. “My uncle used to take my cousins and me up there to buy pet chickens and ducks and things. It drove my mother crazy. The guy raised poultry of all kinds. He had this pet turkey who followed him around. We were scared to death of that thing!”
“I knew it!” John said, pleased with wife. “I knew you’d remember! You used to tell me about that guy.”
“He was a real character. You never met him? He lived way up in the hills on an old farm. Why the interest?”
“It appears he could have a connection to our case.”
“Really?” He heard her pause, then say, “Oh, John! Not Bud Seeley and Richard Seeley! How bizarre. Tell me more.”
“We think that’s where Richard Seeley went when he came to Vermont last week. I’m going up there now to talk to him.”
“He’s still alive?”
“So they say. Want to come along?”
“What about Gabriel?”
“Leave him at the house,” John said shortly. “If he bolts, he bolts, but something tells me he won’t. Not with you there.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Come with me.”
“You never ask me to go with you on police business.”
“I’m asking you no
w. Besides, you know the guy.”
She gave an odd little laugh. “What’s the matter with you today?”
He ignored the remark. “I’ll leave the office now to come get you,” he said.
In ten minutes, John strode into the kitchen of his home. Melanie and Strand were bringing in wood for the stove through the woodshed door. Michael and Peter were sitting at the kitchen table eating pie out of the same dish. Mia was nowhere to be seen.
John watched as the musician smiled at Melanie, taking the wood, one log at a time, from her arms. His eyes were bright, and his skin glowed from the recent exertion in the cold. John had a sudden, stabbing memory of what it was like to be a young man.
“Daddy!” Mia came into the room and immediately hugged him. “What are you doing home?”
There were definite compensations for age, he thought, looking at his three children. Still, the price you had to pay along the way was pretty steep.
“I came to pick up Mom,” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “I need her to help me for a while this afternoon. Where’s Emmie?”
Mia shrugged as she walked to the kitchen table. “She had to go home. Debbie finally got brave enough to drive up here.” She set her laptop down and picked up a small pile of papers. “I brought up a lot of posts from those message boards. Here, I printed them out.” She handed the stack to her father.
“Thanks, Mouse.” Then John addressed the musician. “Strand, who do you know named Kayla?”
Gabriel bent down and deposited the rest of the wood next to the stove, then straightened up. “Kayla? Ah, I met a girl named Kayla at an after-party when the tour just started.”
Keeping the Peace Page 14