by Mary Logue
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
He turned on her. “That’s what they all say. Sorry for your loss. What a stupid thing. Sorry that your wife-to-be died. That you’ll never see her again. That you’ll never get to marry her. We had the wedding band and everything.”
“Do you have any idea who could have done this?”
“Well, I think you should be looking right in your own department. Andrew Stickler had every reason to kill her.”
Amy stepped back. “Why would Andrew want to kill her?”
“He wanted to get her away from me. They broke up when he went into the service and Tammy Lee told me that he’s been bugging her lately, wanting to see her.”
“But why would he kill her?”
“Because she was with me, because she was going to marry me and he couldn’t have her.” Terry grabbed the sides of the table as his voice rose.
“I’ll check into that. Anyone else?”
“Oh, geez.” He wiped at his face. “Tammy Lee didn’t always hang around with the best people. And I was gone a lot, on the railroad. She promised me she was being good, you know, not doing much drugs, not going to the bars, but she liked to have a good time, what can I say.”
“What people? What bars?”
“Oh, you know, around. Some in Durand, she’d go up to Menomonie or even Eau Claire sometimes. I don’t know. I didn’t keep track. When she was with me, we’d stay close to home, but I know she could wander.”
“Can you give me any names?”
As he told her a couple of men’s names, Amy wrote them down. But her mind was still on the possibility of Andrew having something to do with this. She liked him and he was one of them now, a cop. It made her uncomfortable to think about checking up on him.
“Thanks,” Amy said. “And where were you Friday night?”
“Just getting off the road. Got in about nine or ten that night. Went right to sleep. After my shift I’m beat. Tried to call Tammy Lee, but didn’t get her. Figured I’d see her in the morning.”
“Yeah,” Amy said.
He sat down on the bench by the table and put his head in his hands. “When she knew I was home she’d often come pounding on my door in the morning, bringing me a doughnut or something. She could be so sweet.”
“If you think of anything, give me a call.”
At first Terry appeared to have hardly heard her, then he lifted his head and asked questions she couldn’t answer. “What are they going to do with the bones? How will they bury her if that’s all that’s left?”
The phone rang on his bedside table and Andrew grabbed it, still half asleep. “Yeah, who is it?”
“I know it’s late.”
Andrew sat up in bed. Her voice woke him up. He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet and had been thinking about her.
“Where are you?” he asked Meg.
“I’m outside my house, standing at the end of the driveway. It’s where we get the best reception for my cell phone.”
“You should be in bed and asleep. What’re you doing up so late? You shouldn’t be calling me.”
“I know my mom talked to you, and I know she doesn’t want us to see each other for a while, but I had to talk to you myself. Just to make sure this is what we want to do.” Meg paused, then asked, “Can she order you not to see me?”
“Not really. But I think she’s right. Until this death is cleared up, it would be for the best.”
Meg didn’t say anything.
“Are you still there?” he asked.
“Just like that. You’re going to give in.”
“It won’t be forever.”
“But I’m leaving in a couple of months.”
“I know.”
She sighed. “Can’t we just get together to talk it over? I’d like to feel like it’s our decision, not just something we’re doing for my mom and your boss.”
He knew it wasn’t wise, but hearing her voice made him want to touch her again. “Okay. When and where?”
“How about the old wayside rest near Double J? You know, the one they shut down a few years ago. We could park there and no one would see us.”
“When?”
“I’ve got to work tonight, but how about tomorrow night. Say, seven?” Meg suggested.
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He knew he sounded reluctant.
“Is this really okay, or don’t you want to see me?” Meg asked.
Andrew gave a sharp laugh. “You gotta understand. I’m just out of the service. I’m used to obeying orders.”
CHAPTER 11
When Amy called the railroad company, she got some hoarse man at the other end shouting at her. “What? Just wait a minute while I close the door. What’d ya say?”
“I’m calling about Terry Whitman?”
“Yeah, what about him? He in trouble again?”
Amy was surprised by his question and not sure how to answer it, so for the moment she ignored it. “I’m calling from the Pepin County Sheriff’s Department, and I’m checking on Mr. Whitman’s work schedule.”
“Oh, give me a sec. I got to dig to find it. He’s got a few days off, then he starts back to work in three days.”
“What about last week? When did he come off his shift?”
“Yeah, he worked until late on Friday.”
“How late?”
“Depends on when we pulled in. I’d say it was probably around eight. I think we were pretty on schedule that night.”
“Don’t suppose you know where he went?”
“Ma’am, I don’t know and don’t care. Long as he’s here when he’s supposed to be.”
“Right.”
“But I do know that a lot of the guys go over to the Fourth Base after their shift is over. It’s kinda a hangout for the railroad crew. Wouldn’t surprise me if he stopped off there.”
“Thanks, you’ve been a lot of help.”
“What’s he done this time?”
“He’s been in trouble with the law before?” Amy asked.
“Oh, he gets in fights, nothing serious. Just got a temper. Not on the job, though. If he did it while he worked, he’d get the can. I heard he’s getting married. Maybe that’ll calm him down.”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling. His fiancée was killed.”
“Lord, I’m sorry. Terry thought the world of her. He even showed her picture to a few of us. Seemed pretty happy about the whole deal. That’s going to hit him hard. I’ll pass the news around.”
“If you talk to anyone who was with him Friday night, let me know.”
“Sure will do. Terrible thing, terrible.”
Claire always liked the drive down to Rochester, the steep rise on the Minnesota side of the Mississippi up and out of the river valley to the rolling farmland. The bluffs on the west side were often in shadow, so as she drove up the road, she felt like she was lifting out into sunlight. Even just to get away from the department for a few hours felt good.
Earlier that day, Sheriff Talbert’s wife had told her that the surgeons at Mayo had confirmed that putting in stents would not be enough to fix the sheriff’s ailing heart, and they were going to do the quadruple bypass surgery the next day. Claire felt like she needed to see him before he was incapacitated for a week or so. Check in with him about a couple of things pending, but also talk to him about Andrew Stickler and what had happened to Tammy Lee.
She didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone. His wife had assured her that he was in good enough shape to have a visit.
And if she would admit it to herself, Claire wanted to see the sheriff. He was a touchstone for her, a solid person she had come to rely on and she was feeling unsure of her ability to take his place, even for a month or so.
As she drove up over the bluff line and into the sun, she realized with a start that what she wanted was his blessing.
Another forty minutes and she drove into Rochester. She didn’t go there too often and was always surprised by how completely the Mayo
Clinic dominated the town—one posh neighborhood was even called Surgeon’s Hill. Because of the squad car she could park wherever she pleased, but she did find a place in a lot not too far from the main hospital.
The other thing she learned about the Mayo Clinic as she entered the lobby, which was a pleasant surprise, was how much money and wall space they donated to artwork. Walking down the halls was like walking into a gallery. In one of the children’s wings, she had seen an amazing ABC animal hooked rug that had really inspired her. Maybe when she retired she’d take up rug hooking.
When she came to his room, the TV was on but the sheriff was sleeping, and his wife was knitting something out of bright red yarn. Probably something for Christmas. Ella motioned her in.
Claire couldn’t believe how pasty white the sheriff looked, worse than the last time she had seen him. “Don’t wake him.”
“He needs to get up anyway. Lunch will be here in a few minutes, and he won’t want to miss that. Although they’ve got him on a low-cholesterol diet and he’s not very happy about it.”
“Don’t imagine.”
“I told him those eggs for breakfast every morning would catch up with him.” Ella reached over, grabbed his foot through the light blanket, and wiggled it.
“Huh?” The sheriff startled awake.
“Calm down. Claire’s here to see you. Isn’t that nice?”
“Just doing her job,” he said, although Claire could tell he was pleased. He turned to her, his eyes watery. “How’s it going?”
“Well, I do need your help.”
He pushed himself up in bed and wiped at his face. “With what? You’re in charge.”
“I know, but you still know the territory a lot better than I do.” Claire told him about the bones that had been found in the Burning Boat, Tammy Lee Johansen gone missing, then the discovery that they were one and the same.
“Never heard of such a thing,” he said.
“Well, it might have gone unnoticed if the kids hadn’t put pots in the boat for a school project.”
“So you think he just wanted to get rid of the body. Why not throw her in the river?”
“Remember a few years ago, the body that was floating by Point No Point? I think people now know that isn’t a foolproof way.”
“Well, dig a frickin’ hole, then. Why go to the trouble of putting her in the boat?”
“I’m hoping to find out. She was engaged to be married to Terry Whitman, works for the railroad. You heard of him?”
“Yeah, he’s not from the area. We’ve heard he’s been in a fight or two, but no one’s pressed charges. But let’s say it’s established that he has a temper.”
“Well, the other suspect at the moment unfortunately is our own Deputy Andrew Stickler.”
“What? How’s he messed up in this?”
“I guess he was going out with Tammy Lee before he joined the service.” Claire had decided that she didn’t need to mention who Andrew had been dating most recently.
“I don’t know this Tammy Lee, but if she was dating Terry, then Andrew just doesn’t seem her type.”
“Who knows. They were just out of high school. I’m concerned about how to handle it with Andrew. Should I ask him to take a leave?”
“One thing at a time, Claire. He have an alibi for time of death?”
“Well, the time of death is rather broad. We know Tammy was alive early on Friday and the boat was burned on Saturday evening. However, there was a lot of activity in the park all afternoon—so she was probably killed either Friday night or early Saturday morning.”
“This Whitman guy? Where was he?”
“He got off work around eight Friday night. He claims he went home and hit the hay. Would make sense, since he was working an eight-day shift, but maybe Tammy Lee was waiting for him at his house.”
“What about Andrew?”
“You know he’s still staying with his folks. He says that he watched some TV with them and then they all went off to bed. So who knows. He could have snuck out after that. There has been some contact between Andrew and Tammy Lee since he’s come back. I’m not sure how much or what it means.”
“Yeah.” The sheriff rubbed his jawline, which was rough with stubble.
“When you hired him, did you get his service record?”
“Sure. I mean, Andrew’s a good guy. He even got some sort of medal for courage in the line of duty. Something bad went down when he was fighting over there and a couple guys got killed, but he saved a guy’s life. I didn’t read it all—but it’s in the report they sent us.”
Claire hadn’t known that, and she took it in. Andrew did seem like a good guy. Maybe she had been too hard on him.
“I’d keep looking at Terry if I were you,” he said.
“Oh, I intend to, sir, but I don’t want to overlook anything.”
“Not worried about you doing that, Claire. Sounds like you’ve got things under control.”
“Thanks,” she said as a nurse wheeled in a tray: broth in a bowl, a fruit cup, and skim milk. “I don’t think I’ll be staying for lunch.”
“Go eat a hamburger for me,” the sheriff said.
“Good luck, sir, with your surgery.”
He waved his hand at her. “They’re going to fix me up just fine.”
Doug remembered the smell of the old barn, fermenting hay, old wood, and a tang of rusting metal. When he was a kid it had been a working barn, used for the cows and for his granddad’s workshop. Now the roof was starting to sag and the sides were weathered almost silver-gray where the paint had worn off. He wondered how much longer it would last.
Maybe longer than him.
He sat down on a bale of hay and thought about how he would do this thing he planned on doing. He had been working on the plan for so long—it’s what kept him going—and now it was going to happen and then where would he be?
He shook himself, like a horse shakes the flies from its neck. Thoughts were like pesky insects, biting in places you couldn’t reach. Put one foot in front of the other, like his granddad used to say. And look where it got him. Killed one day when the tractor backed up over him. Grandma just shook her head, said she thought he loved the tractor as much he loved anything. Now look what happened, she said.
Doug was only six and they didn’t let him go to the funeral. He had walked around the farm, putting one foot in front of the other, while the tractor sat out by the end of the driveway with a For Sale sign hanging on the radiator.
After that, Grandma sold off pieces of the farm when she needed money. Now all she had left was the house and the falling-down barn.
When Doug had joined the service, he had taken out an insurance policy in his grandmother’s name. He figured it was the least he could do. No one else was watching out for her.
He walked over to the tool chest that Granddad had built into the side of the barn. Not much of a carpenter; it was a rather shabby affair with a few assorted tools left in it. But there was a secret compartment built behind it that he had seen Granddad put the gun in one day, nearly twenty years ago. He was counting on it still being there.
Pulling out the board, he saw that something was in there, wrapped up in an old pillowcase. When he lifted the object out of its hiding place, it was heavy and hard, cold from years of neglect.
Turning back the pillowcase, he saw the barrel of the old gun. It was smaller than he remembered it. When he was a kid, the gun had looked huge and so powerful. He almost laughed to look at it now. Puny.
When he thought of what he had been shooting with in Afghanistan, this was like a slingshot. He closed the chest, sat on the top of it, and looked the gun over. Not big, but a solid piece of work. It needed to be cleaned up and oiled, but it would do the trick.
When he walked into the kitchen with the gun in his hands, Grandma had looked at the gun and then him and said, “What you fixing to shoot?”
He laid it on the table. “Pheasant. You want to fix me up some pheasant?”
�
�Might could do.”
“We’ll have us a feast tonight.”
CHAPTER 12
Claire didn’t know the Sticklers very well. She had met them once or twice, but they were pretty quiet people, farmers, and didn’t get in any trouble. She hated to bother them about Andrew, but it had to be done.
She could have sent Amy—after all, Claire was the sheriff now and should be sticking around the department more than she was—but she felt like this was her call. She wanted this interview to be handled just right. Andrew wasn’t telling her everything, and she needed to know what he was keeping from her.
The farmhouse was set back a good distance from the road, with a stand of pine trees growing on the north side of the house, a solid windbreak. The house was an old four-square with a front porch, probably built at the turn of the last century, a big front door right in the middle of it.
But as with most houses, the door that was used the most was around the back and led into the kitchen. Claire parked so that she wasn’t blocking the driveway and knocked on the back door. No answer, but there was a truck and a Buick LeSabre parked next to each other. Someone should be home.
Claire knocked again, tried the door and found it open. She was just about to walk in when Mrs. Stickler came to the door. Although her hair was streaked with gray, she moved like a younger woman, full of energy. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that had a horse on it, and had a laundry basket propped on her hip. “Sorry. I was in the basement, doing the wash.” Her face blanched. “Andrew okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine. Mind if I come in?”
Mrs. Stickler scooted back out of the way and showed Claire to a chair at the kitchen table. “We’re so glad to have him back, and now with this good job and everything … well, I just can’t tell you.”
Claire could imagine. Just thinking of Meg going away to college was turning her upside down, but to send your child around the world to fight in a war where he might get killed? Too much to ask.
“And we’re glad to have him. He’s a great addition to the force,” Claire said, and was surprised how rote she sounded. “But I’m going to have ask you a few questions about his whereabouts the other night.”