One Dog Too Many (A Mae December Mystery)

by Farrell, Lia

  “This is really helpful. Thanks for the coffee. If you remember anything else about the evening of the fifteenth, please call me,” Wayne said. “I hope you can get back to sleep. Sorry to have disturbed your schedule.” He hated seeing her look so exhausted.

  Robert drove the patrol car down Little Chapel Road and into the Ryans’ driveway. A pickup truck was parked in front of them. Robert jotted down the license plate number of the pick-up, remembering Lucy saying that she had seen a truck in Ruby’s driveway the night she died. An attractive blond woman came out of the house and walked over to the driveway.

  “I’m just leaving. I’ll get out of your way,” she said.

  Detective Nichols and Deputy Fuller introduced themselves.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Beth Jensen. I was just bringing some soup and homemade bread to the Ryans. Mrs. Ryan is down with the flu. Mr. Ryan is still limping from his fall on the road yesterday.”

  “Mrs. Jensen, we’re going to be dropping by later today to talk with you. I’m sure you know by now that your neighbor, Ruby Mead-Allison, is dead. We need to talk with everyone who lives on the street to see what they remember from the night Ruby died.”

  “I know. It’s horrible,” she shuddered. “I’ll be home the rest of the morning.” Beth left hurriedly, getting into her truck and pulling up into the grass to turn around. She sped around the patrol car and out of the driveway, pieces of gravel spraying from under her tires.

  The two men walked to the door. Wayne couldn’t stop thinking about Lucy and the night they had broken up. They had been talking about Lucy’s decision to go to medical school when he sensed her starting to pull back. They sat on her living room couch, close together. Her body stiffened, and she edged away. The room was warm and the fire glowed with embers, but their conversation had moved them into new territory, dark and cold as a stream in winter.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready.” He touched her cheek gently.

  The side of her face shone in the firelight. She appeared upset. Suddenly, she glared at him. He was stunned to see that she was furious. “It’s always one way with you, isn’t it, Wayne?”

  He hadn’t responded in his momentary confusion.

  She went on in an angry voice he’d never heard from her before. “You really want to get to know me? You want my whole life story? Well, this is a two-way street, my friend. I’m not going to tell you one more damn thing unless you tell me your stories—all of them. This is supposed to be a relationship, you idiot, not an interrogation.”

  The icy stream tugged hard on his feet. He couldn’t step into the water, knowing he’d slip and fall. Then the darkness would cover him.

  “What do you mean?” He was angry, too. “I told you I was raised in foster care. You know a police captain befriended me and helped me get into the police academy. I’ve told you everything.”

  She threw up her hands, exasperated. “No, you haven’t. What you’ve told me is only the script, the goddamned script! It’s what you tell everyone. It’s your cover story. Everybody knows that much. It’s not enough anymore, Wayne. I want you to trust me enough to let me in.”

  The darkness rose. He clenched his fists. They argued for a while longer, but he couldn’t tell her anything more. His past lay like an oil reservoir, dark and untapped beneath the layers of his well-rehearsed life story.

  “So, I’m just not worth it?”

  God, he didn’t want to end the relationship with her. Lucy was the smartest, sexiest woman he’d ever known. “Give me some more time, won’t you?”

  She shook her head sadly. “No way. You have to show me yours before you get to see mine, my friend. When you’re ready, you can come back.”

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to come back. He wished he had the guts, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Chapter Six

  March 20

  Detective Wayne Nichols

  Detective Nichols and Deputy Fuller were approaching the front door to the Ryans’ house. Wayne needed to concentrate. Thinking about Lucy and his past wouldn’t help the investigation. A woman had been killed. He wanted to find the bastard who had done it. Catching Ruby’s killer was the only thing that mattered right now.

  Detective Nichols rang the doorbell. When Mr. Ryan opened the door, his thick, white hair was damp and still bore the tracks of a comb. He was casually dressed, but his posture was almost military, his manner quite formal. His beautiful pointer, growling quietly, stood at his feet.

  “Can I help you gentlemen with something?” The man’s eyes were wary.

  “Good morning, Mr. Ryan. I’m Detective Nichols and this is Deputy Fuller. I wonder if we might talk to you. I know you’re aware that your neighbor Ruby Mead-Allison is dead. We need to talk to everyone on the road to help us discover what happened.”

  “Come in.” He turned to the dog. “Go on, Tószt, get into your bed.” He held the door open for the men and led them back to the kitchen while the dog went to lie down. The room was tidy but crowded with knickknacks and heavy oak furniture. Dark oriental rugs covered most of the linoleum floor. The scent of menthol mixed with that of a lemony furniture polish in the air.

  They stood at the kitchen counter until Mr. Ryan got situated at the table, and then they sat down with him. Mr. Ryan looked at Wayne and gave a sharp shake of his head. “Her death wasn’t an accident, was it?”

  Wayne shook his head.

  “I figured as much. Ruby lived a life filled with conflict. She was a strong-willed person, very opinionated. Well, you probably aren’t here to ask me what I thought of her. What can I help you with?”

  “Can you remember what you were doing the night of March fifteenth? Four days before your dog discovered the body.”

  Jack Ryan nodded. “I remember that night because it was quite warm, for March anyway, nearly seventy until late evening. The dog wanted to go out but I didn’t let her. I finally got her to lie down by taking her into our room. By the way, my wife Eveline has a bad case of the flu that’s going around. I took her to the doctor late yesterday because she was having trouble with a cough. She’s resting now.” He gave the two men a stern look.

  “We’ll try to be quick, sir.” Wayne’s tone was conciliatory. “Please go on about the night of the fifteenth.”

  “Yes, well, I took out some trash after the dog got settled down. A car was leaving Ruby’s driveway.”

  “Do you remember the time?”

  “Around eleven.”

  “Anything else you can remember?”

  “During the night Eveline got up to use the bathroom. When she came back to bed, she said something about Ruby having more company than any young woman ought to.”

  “Why would she say that?”

  “She said she saw David Allison’s car parked in Ruby’s driveway about 9:30. Then later on that evening she saw another vehicle.”

  “I need to ask Mrs. Ryan if she can identify that second vehicle. Can you have her call me when she wakes up?” The detective handed Jack Ryan his card.

  “Yes, I will, Detective. I hope you catch the killer soon. I know we’re probably not at risk, but we’re worried. This is usually such a safe place. When you get older,” he smiled, “you worry about being out in the country so far from streetlights.”

  The two men drove down the road to the Jensens’ house, a brick ranch-style home painted a soft yellow with green shutters. Two large maple trees stood in the front yard. Beth Jensen answered the door. She quickly bent down to grab a gray kitten trying to escape.

  “Good effort, Weevil.” She held the kitten to her chest as she stood up. The woman’s eyes matched the kitten’s green ones.

  “Hello again, Mrs. Jensen,” Detective Nichols said. “We finished early with the Ryans and need to talk to everyone on the street. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Please, come on in.” Beth opened the door wider.

  Both men followed her blond ponytail toward the back of the house. Unlike the
other two kitchens they had been in that day, this one looked like a place where people actually cooked. The whole house was fragrant with the smell of fresh baked bread.

  For a moment, Wayne flashed back to his seventeenth summer, hitchhiking in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula—the memory of the only good woman he’d known while in his formative years. He was walking down a dirt road. Dust, soft as baby powder, rose in a cloud with each step. The sun warmed his shoulders as he approached an old farmhouse with a wraparound porch. A red barn in need of fresh paint stood behind the house, next to a fenced paddock full of black and white cattle.

  He walked up the porch steps, past pots of red and yellow flowers, and knocked on the front door. It was nearly threshing time. He hoped the farmer would have work for him. A large pleasant-faced woman answered, flanked by two small children, a boy and a girl. The little girl’s hair was intricately braided and the boy had short red curls and freckled cheeks. The woman gave him an inquiring look.

  “I’m looking for work.”

  “Come in then.” She opened the door all the way. “The rest of the men won’t be here for a day or so. You’ll sleep in the barn like the rest of them. I bring food down there three times a day. It’s good grub. A man can’t work unless he’s fed. The milking shed has a shower. You leave your dirty clothes in the basket. I wash every day. Do you have other clothes with you?” She spoke with what sounded like a Finnish accent. “You’re very young. Where did you come from?”

  He shrugged and turned away. She had a kind face. The aroma of bread baking awakened his hunger pangs. The woman was like the bread, warm and fragrant. He ached to have had a mother like her, to have grown up here, to be her son.

  “What’s your name?” She put a hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “I’m Alene Hagström and these two are my grandkids—Ray and Clarice.”

  He thought for a minute and then gave her a name he had read in a book. “It’s John, John Chisolm.”

  “Not from around here then. Where are your folks?”

  He said nothing.

  “All right then. Go down to the milking shed and take a shower. Wait a minute.” She left the room and returned with underwear, dungarees and a clean, faded shirt. “Take these with you. Mr. Hagström will show you where you will be sleeping.”

  He worked there for four weeks and Mrs. Hagström fed them three squares a day, good food—potatoes, meatloaf, tomatoes, green beans, and gravy. He learned how to tie large sheaves of yellow straw with twine, standing them upright in the open stubble of the wheat field. He worked all day in the hot sun, throwing pitchforks of wheat into the combine harvester as it pulled the wheat straw into its whirling mouth and spit out golden wheat heads into a wagon. When he leveled off the pile of grain in the wagon, the wheat moved through his hands like solid rain.

  One day Clarice, the granddaughter, came down to the barn in the middle of the afternoon, carefully balancing a tray with a tall glass pitcher of red juice and fresh cookies.

  “Grandma says I should tell you it’s bug juice.” She put the tray down and wrinkled her freckled nose. “Really it’s Kool-Aid.” She giggled and ran off.

  The wind in the sugar maples had begun to sing of summer’s end when Mr. Hagström came to him to say he needed to move on. He was washing the milking machines when the older man walked up.

  “You need to get on the road, John.” The rest of the men were already gone, and the wheat rested in silos, golden as a lake at sunset. “I don’t have any more work for you, and I don’t feed men who aren’t working.”

  Mrs. Hagström called to him as he walked down the driveway. She went into the house and came back out with a jar of preserves, some apples and bread. “You can keep the extra clothes, John. If you get down to Gros Cap, there’s an Odawa settlement there. You’re part Odawa, I think. They might take you in for the winter. Good luck.”

  Her kind voice still echoed in his mind. Robert bumped his shoulder, forcibly recalling him to the present. Robert and Beth Jensen were both looking at him.

  “Sorry. Lost in thought.”

  Beth cleared her throat and offered the men hot tea. It had a clean lemon scent. The three of them sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Mrs. Jensen, your neighbor Ruby Mead-Allison died on the night of March fifteenth. Do you remember what you were doing that day and evening?”

  She tipped her head to the side and wrinkled her brow. “Oh, yes, I do. The kids were on spring break that week. Bob and I drove up to see my parents in Ohio. Let me double-check the calendar. Hang on a minute.”

  She walked over to her pantry door and ran her finger across the calendar hanging there.

  “Yes, right. We didn’t get home until the night of the seventeenth.”

  “Well, that makes my job easier.” Wayne smiled. “Unfortunately, it also means you can’t help us figure out what happened. One last thing, did you drive the pick-up?”

  “No. It doesn’t have room for the kids and all their stuff. We left it in our locked garage while we were gone.”

  After a few more pleasantries, the men left, but not before tasting Beth’s warm bread and complimenting her on her baking skills.

  Chapter Seven

  March 20

  Sheriff Ben Bradley

  At around two o’clock that afternoon Sheriff Ben Bradley and Detective Wayne Nichols got to the Fannings’ place, where David Allison was staying. The CSI Tech, Hadley Johns, waited in the driveway. He would tape the interview with Ruby’s estranged husband and collect any necessary samples from the house. Tech Johns followed them to the door, and the sheriff knocked. A tall man with dark straight hair, glasses and a sad expression answered the door. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt.

  “Are you David Allison?” Ben asked.

  “Yes.” The man sounded tired.

  Ben introduced himself, as did Detective Nichols and Tech Johns.

  “May we come in?” We need to get a statement from you.”

  David took a deep breath. He turned and led them through the living room without actually inviting them in. The four of them sat down on stools at the kitchen island. David explained that he had been temporarily living with his business partner at the architecture firm, Steven Fanning, due to complications in his marriage and that he had been working from Steven’s house on the day of the murder.

  “Both Detective Nichols and I will be asking some questions about your relationship with the victim, Ruby Mead-Allison. We are taping this interview.”

  Hadley unobtrusively started the digital recorder.

  “I don’t understand. I already went in and talked to someone about this.”

  “That was to identify your wife, sir.” Wayne’s low voice sounded soothing. Ben knew his detective was good at getting people to talk. Often just his voice and reassuring demeanor sufficed to calm people down. “I know that must have been very difficult, and we appreciate your help, but the sheriff and I need to interview you about any events leading up to the night of the fifteenth. I’m sure you understand.”

  David nodded.

  A blue-eyed, brown-haired woman with a ready smile came into the room and introduced herself as Steven Fanning’s wife, Robin.

  “I’m sorry to intrude on you, Mrs. Fanning, but we need to ask Mr. Allison some questions.” Ben tipped his head at Detective Nichols, their nonverbal signal for him to continue the interview.

  “Mr. Allison, I’d like to confirm some things. You’re married to Ruby Mead-Allison, correct?”

  David nodded. “We were getting a divorce.”

  “I understand. However, the two of you were still married at the time of her death, right?”

  “Yes.” His eyes were fixed on his lap and he fiddled with a hangnail on his thumb.

  “The M.E. informed us that Ruby died on the evening of the fifteenth. We’d like your clothes from that day and evening. Do you send your shirts out to be laundered professionally?”

  “I do.” He smoothed his hair back, apparently a nervous habit. Hi
s forehead was shiny with sweat.

  “Is there a hamper or basket where you keep them until they’re ready to go?”

  “I can help,” Robin Fanning said, “I have David’s shirts. I planned to take them to the laundry today. They’re in my car.” She and Tech Johns left to collect the clothing.

  “Can you tell us where you were on March fifteenth?”

  “Just a moment, let me get my planner.” David left the room and returned carrying a pocket calendar.

  “March fifteenth was the day some V.I.P.s were here from Memphis. We had meetings at the office and then all of us went to dinner.”

  A small dog came into the room, nails clicking on the polished wood floor. The dog growled at the big detective and snapped in the air as he reached to pet him. Ben recognized the little red fluff from Mae December’s tote bag at the office.

  “That’s enough, Elvis,” Ben said. The little dog settled down. Ben looked back at David Allison. “I see you have Ruby’s dog. Where did you find him?”

  “Roaming around early this morning when I went out for a walk. Given the situation, I thought I should bring him here.”

  “Did you know Ruby was boarding him at Mae December’s kennel?”

  David swallowed, shaking his head. “No, I guess I should have.”

  “Please call Miss December when we’re finished here. She’s been looking for him.”

  As Wayne continued to ask David questions about his relationship with Ruby, Ben carefully observed the room. It was large and well lit with contemporary furniture and a series of canvases hanging on the walls. Each one was a splash of color. This was one of the few houses on Little Chapel Road that had been torn down and replaced with a new house of modern design. It was obviously the home of a person with taste and wealth. He wondered if the Allison & Fanning Architectural firm generated enough income to pay for a house like this. He made a mental note to check on the background of both men—David’s financial situation in particular.

  They finished up and prepared to leave. Wayne cautioned David Allison to remain available, since they’d be speaking with him again. Tech Johns walked out to the CSI van with David’s laundry.