by Maggie Pill
“I thought you were going to fix it so he can’t close the door,” I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“We thought about it, but Buddy thinks he should be able to eat in private.” Pushing herself away from her desk with a scrape of plastic wheels, Faye stood.
He’s a dog, I wanted to say. He hardly thinks at all!
Knowing better than to verbalize that, I took advantage of her absence to place a phone call I’d been considering since last night.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation, Albuquerque. How may I direct your call?”
“Agent Lars Johannsen, please.”
“One moment.”
As I waited, I wondered what I’d say. You’d better come to Michigan before you lose your girlfriend? I hate to tattle, but my sister’s flirting with a killer-handsome Asian guy? Anything I said might create trouble, but saying nothing was equally unpalatable.
“Johannsen.”
“Lars, it’s Barb Evans.”
It took him a beat, which wasn’t surprising. A call from me was probably the last thing on his mind. “Hey, Barb, what’s up?”
There it was. What’s up indeed? “Um, I wondered if you’re planning on flying north anytime soon.”
“Why, is there something going on?”
Yeah, but—“Not really. I just thought we might—take the Agawa Canyon tour.” I had no idea where that came from. “It’s a train in Canada that tours the countryside, and it’s particularly beautiful in autumn.” I sounded stilted and false but hoped Lars didn’t know me well enough to discern it.
“I’ve got nothing pressing right now, so I could take a few days. Is Retta okay with it?” From the tentative note in his tone, I guessed he was aware she wasn’t completely happy with him.
“I thought we’d surprise her. I’ll set everything up and tell her it’s just the three of us girls. When we get to the depot, you and Dale and Rory can be waiting.”
“Sounds nice. When are you thinking?”
“As soon as possible.” That sounded desperate, so I added, “The colors fade rapidly once they hit peak.”
“Yeah.” There was a pause and the sound of pages flipping, and I guessed he was checking a calendar of some kind. “I could come Friday night if you can arrange it for Saturday. I’ll fly back early Monday for some things I’ve got going on Tuesday.”
“All right, I’ll get tickets for Saturday. Give me a number I can reach you that isn’t the Bureau.”
He complied, and we said goodbye. Lars went back to Bureau business, I presumed, and I went about figuring out how to get Retta to agree to the Agawa Canyon tour for no apparent reason other than my supposed desire for a train ride.
Chapter Twenty-five
Faye
Out at Clara’s place that afternoon, I could have sworn the chickens recognized me. Except for the rooster, who kept his distance, they seemed downright affectionate. When I crouched in the center of the flock, one young hen let me pet her smooth feathers as she nestled under my arm like a kitten.
Refastening the gate of the pen, I heard a vehicle pull into the driveway. I went around the house to see who was there, and a man in a snazzy blue pickup truck rolled down the window and called, “Hello.”
He was in his thirties, wearing a tattered sweatshirt and a battered cap that said, Proud Member of the NRA. The tone of the greeting and his curious look told me he wondered what I was doing on Clara’s property. Walking over to his truck so we could speak without shouting, I explained about meeting her at the Meadows and learning of her needy chickens.
“I bet that was supposed to be Gail’s job,” he said when I finished. “The girl isn’t known for expending effort that doesn’t benefit her directly.” He put out a hand. “I’m Fred Marsh.”
As we shook hands, I got the connection. “Related to Caleb Marsh, I assume. Sorry for your loss.”
His lips tightened. “He was my grand-dad.”
“My sisters and I were the ones who found him.”
He sighed. “I guess that’s good, or he might have been there for days. I came out on Sundays and did the heavier chores for him.” Glancing across the lake he added, “Today I’m going to start cleaning the house out.”
“You plan to sell the property?”
He nodded. “I’ve got my own place. My brother lives in Lansing, and no one else in the family has any interest in living this far out of town.”
“It is pretty remote.”
“Actually, we already have an offer.”
It didn’t take a shrewd guesser. “From Gail Sherman?”
He nodded. “She says it would be a shame if strangers bought up the lake we played in as kids.” Chuckling lightly he added, “That’s a switch, because I don’t recall Gail liking the water much.” He glanced at the wood, now neatly stacked in the rick. “She hopes to get her aunt to move into town, at least during the winter months.”
I paused, trying to form a question in a neutral way. “You said you’re not surprised Gail neglected the chickens. What did you mean by that?”
He became apologetic. “Not that she’s a bad person or anything. As a kid she was—” He couldn’t find a word he was willing to put there, so he switched to something less negative. “People grow up, you know, and they’re not like they were in school.” His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, revealing uncertainty about his own words.
I wasn’t sure how many unreliable young people I’d known who turned into model citizens as adults. Maybe it could happen, but I still doubted the character of a woman who could leave a flock of animals penned and unable to fend for themselves.
“Gail’s been real nice about Grand-dad’s house,” Fred was saying. “She offered to buy it as is, and it’s not exactly a palace.” He gestured at the neat yard behind me. “Clara keeps her place up, but Grandpa had arthritis. I did what I could, but to be honest, a buyer would be better off to blow that house up and start over.”
“The view from his place is wonderful, though.”
“That’s true, but the last few years Grandpa had to pay somebody to plow all the way around the lake in the winter. And in spring the road is like the surface of some weird planet—all rocks and holes. Clara has the best spot, if you ask me.”
“Did you know she’s been placed in a nursing home?”
His brown eyes bored into mine. “Did she fall or something?”
“It appears she has some mental issues.”
“Huh.” He glanced at the lake. “I usually stop and talk to her if she’s outside when I come by, and she seemed okay to me. In fact she kind of watched over Gramps since he got crippled up. I guess it can happen fast at that age, though. They just lose it.”
Unwilling to share that Gail Sherman might be plotting against her aunt, I made a noncommittal murmur.
Fred gestured toward the Marsh property. “We’re all sorry to give the place up, but we figure it’s good to have one of the original Sweet Springs families take over. Gail will keep things natural, she says.”
I doubted that but didn’t say so. “It’s got to be hard to have to make that decision when you lost your grandfather so suddenly.”
“Yeah.” He looked across the peaceful, sparkling lake. “I keep wondering why he tried to go down those steps. We’d talked about how dangerous they are when they’re wet, and I’d already put away the boat and everything else down there.” His voice softened as he went on. “I reminded him all the time how slippery the logs get on frosty mornings. I said he should stay off them.” Fred shook his head. “He said he would. He promised.”
***
The more I thought about the conversation with Fred Marsh, the more convinced I was that Gail Sherman’s plotting was more criminal than we’d thought. I ran it by Barb that evening, ending with, “You say the fire marshal suspects the fire was set. Clara says she was forced into the nursing home. Mr. Marsh fell down his steps and died. One of those things by itself is sad but not suspicious. Taken together, t
hey’re kind of scary.”
Barb rose and started pacing, her heels clicking on the wood floor. “You think Gail wants that lake property so much she isn’t willing to wait for it to become available?”
I shrugged. “I’m saying it’s possible. The people out there have known her all their lives. While they might understand that she’s self-absorbed, we all tend to believe people we know won’t cheat us. The neighbors call on the Realtor they know when there’s land to be sold.”
“The devil you know rather than one you don’t.”
“Yes. Gail was probably aware that arson voids an insurance policy, which would put the Warners in a difficult financial position if the fire inspector ruled their place was burned on purpose. While they were still trying to figure things out, she offered to buy it. That could be opportunism, but I think we have to consider she might have created the opportunity herself.”
“She went out there and burned the house down, leaving evidence that could only lead to a finding of arson.” Barb’s tone was disbelieving.
“Look at it the way Gail might,” I argued. “There was no one there, so the risk was minimal. No one got hurt in the fire. She probably told herself it wasn’t all that evil.”
“What about Marsh? Do you think Gail murdered him?”
I sighed. “That’s harder to imagine, but it might have been a spur-of-the-moment thing. Gail goes out to talk him into selling. They’re standing in the back yard, near the steps. She presses too hard for the sale, Mr. Marsh gets upset and orders her off his property. It’s over before she realizes what she’s done.”
Barb dabbed delicately at her nose with a tissue. “If you’re right, she’s getting desperate. Setting fire to an empty house and arranging to have Clara institutionalized are non-violent, though nasty, things to do. But if she’s so determined to have her way that she pushed that old man to his death…” She tossed the tissue into the wastebasket. “We have to stop her.”
I reached for my phone. “I told Retta to ask around and find out what she can about what kind of person Gail is.”
“If she isn’t too busy playing footsie with Rick Chou.”
“Barbara!” She looked faintly regretful about the nasty crack, so I went ahead with the call. “Retta? Are you busy? Oh.” Barb was watching me, and I saw the smile start. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your plans, but we—I was wondering if you’ve had time to ask your friends about Gail Sherman.” After listening for a while, I thanked her and ended the call, skipping over the fact that Retta had been baking a “treat” for Mr. Chou.
“Not many people like Ms. Sherman,” I reported. “Apparently she’ll steal your man if you don’t hang onto him with both hands. However, she couldn’t have burned down the house on Sweet Springs. Retta’s friend at the travel office says Gail was in New Orleans that whole week for a conference.”
“I guess that dampens our theory.”
“Not entirely,” I replied. By now I was picturing Gail with horns and a pitchfork. “It just means she’s not working alone. What if she has a financial backer, or someone who helped her connect with the water bottling company? The other person could be just as willing to commit crimes as Gail is.”
“Faye, are you saying Gail is perpetrating a criminal conspiracy with another person?”
“It’s possible.” I warmed to the idea. “If someone’s working behind the scenes, Gail would simply do as that person told her to. He uses her greed and lets her set things up while he stays out of the limelight. Doesn’t that make sense?”
“We’ll see.”
When Barb says that, she sounds exactly like our mother. The unspoken message is You’re wrong, but I’ll let you find out for yourself.
Her next statement came out of the blue, and I had to take a second to adjust. “I thought maybe we’d ride that train up in Canada this weekend, the three of us.”
“The train?”
“You always say you want to do it, every year, and we never do. I thought maybe this was the year.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure where this was going.
“I mean, we should do more things together, and I know you like scenery, and so do I. Retta, too.”
Barb was babbling, something she seldom does, and I saw a telltale flush on her neck, just like I get when I tell a lie.
“I suppose we could look into it,” I said. “I can go online and see what the tickets cost.”
“Oh, I already did that. It wasn’t that expensive for six tickets, and it will be my treat. We could drive up early Saturday morning and be back home by your bedtime.”
“Six tickets?”
“What?”
“You said you bought six tickets, but you mentioned the three of us going.”
Her face revealed irritation with herself. “Yes.”
“What are you up to, Barb?”
After a heavy sigh, she fessed up. “I invited Lars to come up for the weekend. I thought if he were here, Retta wouldn’t be so tempted by that sleazy Rick Chou.” She must have realized how she sounded. “I know. It’s her business, but—”
“Remember how mad you got at her for telling Rory you were attracted to him when he first came to town?”
“This isn’t like that. Retta’s already attracted to Lars. It’s just that Lars isn’t around very often.” She touched her lips before continuing. “I was hoping you’d convince her to come along. The guys can be there waiting for us.”
“Rory and Dale are in on this?”
“Not yet, but they will be.”
I shook my head. “This is a very Retta-like thing you’re doing, Barbara Ann.”
She huffed disgustedly. “We wouldn’t have to go to these lengths if she weren’t such a-a-flibbertigibbet.” I tried not to smile as Barb fell back on one of Harriet’s favorite put-downs. In a calmer tone she went on, “We both know Retta doesn’t want to lose a man like Lars.”
“I’m not sure we know that,” I said, “but I suppose it won’t hurt for her to be reminded that he’s a good man.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Retta
My sisters and I had a phone conference Wednesday morning, to make sure we all knew what was going on with our two cases. Meeting that way was an advantage for me, since I was in my bathrobe, sipping Spicy Eggnog coffee.
Barbara made no comment about my dinner with Rick Chou, though I was sure she and Faye had discussed it. Despite the snide things I knew she was thinking, I don’t just jump into bed with any good-looking man who comes along. In the first place it’s pathetic, and in the second place, a man likes to think he’s worked to gain a woman’s affection, even if the woman decides from Day One exactly how things are going to go. So far we’d shared only a few exploratory kisses. Rick was pretty good at that, so things were moving along well.
Barbara kept the call professional, and the only time it was uncomfortable was when she reported the former Mrs. Chou’s caution about meeting us. “She refused any sort of mailing or FAX that could be traced to her workplace or home, so we’re making special arrangements for her to sign off on the deed.”
“What’s her problem?” I asked. “She must know Faye can find her with very little effort.”
“Her problem,” Barbara said in her lecturing tone, “is her ex-husband.” Her voice became louder and softer as she paced the office. “If she doesn’t want us to know where she is, I trust she has her reasons.”
“She’s a nut case. Rick didn’t know she had mental problems till after they were married.”
“He says.” Now Barbara’s tone was sarcastic.
“It’s not our job to figure out how much truth one or the other has on his—or her—side,” Faye broke in. “We can handle her concerns by meeting in a neutral spot.”
“Right,” Barbara said. “I’ve asked her to name a place that makes her comfortable, perhaps an airport in a big city. Retta can go there and get the necessary signatures. Chou did say he’d pay travel expenses.” She sounded eager to make Ric
k pay, but the plan suited me. I was interested in meeting Candice Chou to see just what kind of loon she was.
We moved on to the Knight case. Faye had formed the theory that Gail Sherman either had a partner or had hired someone to commit arson in order to hurry the sales at Sweet Springs along. I was doubtful about the second part. “You haven’t met her, Faye. She’s spoiled, but I can’t see her finding shady men in bars and handing over envelopes of cash so they’ll commit crimes for her. And Gail certainly didn’t kill Mr. Marsh.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m not sure, but she’s—I don’t know—too prissy.”
“Murderers can’t be prissy?” Faye’s tone was uncharacteristically impatient.
I took a sip of coffee while I tried to come up with the right words. “Gail is a person I can see flirting with another woman’s husband or stretching the truth about a piece of property, but not someone I can imagine shoving an old man she’d known her whole life down a flight of steps to his death.” It was only a feeling, but I appealed to Barbara, who operates only on logic. “You’ve met Gail, Barbara. Do you disagree?”
“Actually, no.” She thought about it for a second. “Maybe Faye should meet her. She has a good sense of people.”
Though she didn’t say it, I thought Barbara was looking for a way to get Faye back on track. I guessed in her eagerness to protect Clara Knight, Faye had turned into a real Gail-hater…or disapprover, since Faye doesn’t have much capacity for hatred.
Barbara’s idea was a good one in another sense. Faye often sees past clothes and looks and community standing to get a sense of an individual’s motives. “That’s a good idea,” I said.
“I don’t want to—”
“How else are we going to assess Gail’s possible guilt, Faye?” She didn’t offer an argument, so I went on before she could think of one. “Now about the water thing. Barbara, did you ask that guy at WOZ Industries if the water in Sweet Springs is suitable for bottling?”