Sleuthing at Sweet Springs (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 4)

by Maggie Pill

  “Marsh could already have been dead at that point.”

  “What you’ve told me suggests another possibility.” I heard Rory’s chair squeak as he went on. “Someone could have knocked and gotten the old man to go outside with him.”

  “Telling Marsh there’s something he should see on the lake.”

  “Maybe. When they get to the back of the house, he pushes Marsh down the steps. Once he makes sure Marsh is dead, he erases his footprints, at least most of them, and leaves.”

  Realizing we had nothing to prove any of that, we sat silent for a few seconds. “Pure speculation,” I finally said.

  “And the M.E. ruled the death was accidental.”

  “An elderly man, slippery steps. Simple answer.”

  “Unless you look at what’s happening on the other properties on Sweet Springs.” I heard Rory sigh. “Should I talk to the sheriff, or will you?”

  “He’ll listen to you sooner than he will to me.” When he made a sound of objection, I said, “It’s a fact of life, Rory. You’re a fellow cop and you’re male. Right now it only matters that he pays attention to what we have to say.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Retta

  Diane and Jolie were waiting in the driveway when I arrived Thursday morning. The day was overcast but not cold, and Diane looked darling in black leggings, a long, burgundy tunic-type sweater, and a matching hat and scarf in pink. Most of the time I don’t mind being petite, but when I see a woman with legs that long, I get a little envious. Tunics make me look like one of the seven dwarves.

  I got out of the car and made doggie introductions. Styx was a perfect gentleman. He sniffed, of course—dogs do that—but otherwise he was as sweet as he could be. Jolie responded well, making little hound-sounds of joy and excitement.

  I showed our new friends several spots that had walking paths, explaining the advantages of each. “This one’s usually deserted in the daytime,” I said at the county park, and at the sports pavilion, “This one’s plowed all winter, at least by noon.”

  The last place I took them was the trail along the river. “There are three loops,” I told Diane. “The first one follows the bank for a while then turns into a stand of pine trees so big you’ll feel like you’re lost in a forest. The two longer ones cross a bridge to a small island. One circles the edge and returns; the other crosses to the opposite side then follows the bank to the bridge where we turned off the highway. Those trails take a while, at least two hours for one and closer to three for the other.”

  We took the short trail. Enough leaves had fallen that our passage was noisy with the swish-swish of our feet pushing through. The dogs found plenty of interest in the squirrels that scooted along the path or scampered up nearby trees. We kept them on their leashes, since it was new territory for Jolie. Styx understood, though he shot me a mournful look when a squirrel darted across his path and he couldn’t chase after it.

  Diane and I chatted amiably about Allport, finding decent stores (We agreed there wasn’t much worthwhile shopping), locating a decent dentist (I recommended mine), and getting a Michigan driver’s license. She wasn’t very political; in fact, she had no idea who most of the candidates were. Her biggest interest seemed to be celebrities—who was having whose baby. Now I keep up, so that was okay with me, but I couldn’t help but think what Barbara would say about the lack of depth exhibited by the wife of a man as brilliant and educated as Landon.

  Diane did have some interesting things to say about Stanley Wozniak. As we talked about their decision to relocate Diane said, “Mr. Wozniak was determined to get Enright up here. It would have been hard to turn down his very generous offer.”

  “Stanley has to pay well, because he’s a little hard to work for,” I said. “It’s good that your husband has an even temperament and doesn’t mind working a lot of hours.”

  “That part’s a pain,” she agreed, “but we like it here so far.” Digging in her jacket pocket, Diane took out a pack of cigarettes. “I apologize, but I’ve been wanting a smoke all day. En thinks I quit, and his nose is every bit as good as Jolie’s when it comes to smoke in the house, so I have to sneak in my ciggies.” She gave me an impish grin. “I can count on you not to tell, right?”

  “Sure.” She lit up, sucked in smoke, and smiled faintly at the rush it provided. It reminded me of when Faye was a smoker and how I used to worry about her health. I decided Enright must really care about Diane, because nagging our loved ones into quitting that nasty habit is the best thing we can do for them.

  “Tell me how you and Enright met. He seems too shy to have ever asked a woman out on a date.”

  “Oh, he knows what he wants when it matters,” Diane said cryptically. Gesturing around us she went on, “Imagine a place the exact opposite of this—a factory with gray walls stuffed with noisy conveyer belts that shake the whole place. I spent eight hours a day checking seals on bottles that passed by.” She made a disdainful click with her tongue. “Not rocket science, trust me.”

  “But Cinderella dreamed of going to the ball.”

  She chuckled. “I sure did. I’d look up to the admin section and think, ‘What have those people got that I haven’t got?’”

  “And the answer was—?”

  Her voice was light. “Brains. Education. Class.”

  Truth shone through her light tone, and I felt sorry for her. “I think you’re very classy.”

  Tossing the cigarette butt to the ground, she crushed it with her toe. “You didn’t see me back then. I was hopeless!”

  Though Enright had brains and education, he couldn’t be considered classy. Still, I imagined him visiting the factory floor, seeing the lovely Diane, and being smitten. Had she settled for brains, education, and no class because she wanted so badly to have the life she’d always dreamed about?

  Since she didn’t pick up the butt, I stooped to retrieve it, wrapping it in a tissue and stuffing it into my pocket for disposal later. “Enright must have seen something in you.”

  Diane wasn’t one to kid herself. “What does a man see in a woman?” She glanced at me sideways. “I know people make nasty comments about trophy wives and gold-diggers, but if our marriage works for us, what business is it of theirs?”

  Jolie strained at the leash, pulling Diane ahead a step. So the lovely worker bee had set her cap for the shy but well-paid engineer, just like in a romance novel. How had it worked out for them? Diane might be a little bored in this new location with her husband gone so much, but she didn’t seem unhappy. She had a lovely home and beautiful clothes. Having seen how Enright brought take-out food so she didn’t have to cook, I guessed he was putty in his attractive wife’s hands. The marriage might not be based on mutual passion or traditional love, but Diane was correct: a match is a match if it works for those involved.

  Diane’s phone sang a few bars of Kanye West, and she answered. “Hey, babe. How are things?”

  Listening for a few seconds, she said, “That’s all right.” She rolled her eyes at me. “Just bring home something great for dinner. You know I’m not about to cook.”

  She put the phone in her pocket. “Working late again. What a surprise.” She sounded resigned but not angry.

  We walked on for a while. “I assume when you and Enright married, your career in water bottling came to an end.”

  Diane shivered delicately. “En didn’t want me to ever go back to that place.” She curled her lips under her teeth for a moment before adding, “He didn’t even want me to hang around with the girls I used to work with. He said women with nose rings and tats are poor examples of the feminine ideal.”

  I tried to imagine Don telling me who I could hang around with. “If they were your friends, why did he care?”

  “En said I should make new ones.” She must have seen disapproval on my face, because she added, “That was another reason it was better we moved away and got a fresh start.”

  “From what he said last night, I gather your husband doesn’t approve o
f the bottled water industry.”

  She shook her head. “He says it’s ridiculous.”

  “So he’s happier working at WOZ.”

  “Happy?” She gave me a wry look. “Does En look like a guy who understands happiness? He’s all about science.”

  Unsure if that was a criticism or simply a statement of fact, I said, “I guess that’s good, because the EPA and the state of Michigan are interested in how WOZ treats the lakeshore.”

  “It sounds to me like he’s doing different work with the same result.” With a jerk on the leash, she pulled Jolie away from a discarded hot dog bun. “I think it’s all as dull as science.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Faye

  Barb had gone to put her beloved Chevy into winter storage, with Dale following in her more modern Ford Edge. Together they had washed and waxed the old car, changed the oil and added stabilizer, and checked the air in the tires. Once they reached the storage unit, Dale would help her put carpet strips under the tires and cover it with a drop cloth.

  Though Dale didn’t often drive anymore, he enjoyed helping Barb and loved that old car almost as much as she did. The distance they had to travel was short and it wasn’t raining or snowing, so the task wouldn’t strain Dale’s abilities. As usual, he checked the weather several times before they set off.

  I admitted to myself that I was glad to see the Chevy gone for the next few months. Retta was always going on about how it was sure to break down when Barb was out in the middle of nowhere, and there’s a lot of nowhere in northern Michigan. While I didn’t criticize Barb’s baby out loud, I did worry.

  Barb sometimes went out at night, after we were in bed. She was very quiet, but old houses aren’t silent places. Stairs creaked, doors squeaked, and floors shifted, no matter how lightly she treaded. When we first began sharing the house, I thought she was meeting some man she didn’t want us to know about. Now she had Rory, and everyone in town knew it. Barb didn’t have to sneak away at midnight to see him, but she still went out, at least once a month. Where did she go?

  I’d conjured up all kinds of theories, but none of them convinced me for long. My sister wasn’t a spy or a cat burglar or one who’d go looking for UFOs in the night sky. She was much too responsible, too practical, for such silliness. I’d thought about telling Retta, but I couldn’t predict how she’d react. She might simply say, “Barb, Faye wants to know where you go in the middle of the night.” On the other end of the spectrum, she might roll her eyes and tell me to keep my nose out of Barbara’s affairs.

  Since Barb’s secret outings were none of my business, and since I didn’t have the nerve to come out and ask what the midnight absences were about, I worried around the edges of the problem. Her car might break down. She might get lost on some dark road on a starless night. A violent man might follow her and hurt her. Worry is what I do, and believe me, I’m good at it.

  When she drove her newer vehicle, I had one less worry. Not that it helped much.

  Rick Chou visited the office just before closing time, stepping inside quickly and closing the door with a firm bang to keep out the sharp wind. He seemed faintly disappointed to find I was the only one there. “I wondered if Ms. Evans has found Candice yet.”

  His assumption I was office staff and no more was faintly annoying, but I was used to it. “We’ve made contact,” I told him. “It’s a matter of working out how the signing will be handled.”

  “Good. My real estate agent has a bite on the property, so I’d like to get this wrapped up in the next week or so.” With a smile he apparently thought would melt my female heart he added, “Candice is a great person, but she has problems with men. I guess her dad was real hard on her.”

  When I didn’t respond, he abandoned the it-wasn’t-anything-I-did-wrong attempt. Fiddling with a button on his coat he said, “Retta tells me you’ve got a case of suspected elder abuse. I suppose that’s more interesting than locating a stubborn ex-wife.”

  I tried to read the intent behind the question. Was it idle curiosity, or was Chou trying to wheedle information out of me? I made a mental note to caution Retta about discussing our cases with anyone. Even an offhand comment made to the wrong person could create problems in such matters.

  “All of our cases are interesting, Mr. Chou.” I said primly.

  He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, jingling the change there. The look that passed over his face might have been anger, but it might also have been irritation that his charm didn’t work on me. Guys like Chou aren’t used to that.

  In the end he forced a smile. “Well, I appreciate what you ladies are doing. My agent says these buyers are motivated.”

  “Do you mind telling me who your agent is?” It was a hunch.

  “The property’s listed with a couple of online realties,” he replied, “but up here I’m working with Gail Sherman at So-Rite.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Barb

  Checking the email on Friday morning, I told Faye, “Candice Chou is willing to meet us on Monday.”

  “Where?”

  “She’ll be passing through the Madison, Wisconsin, airport in the afternoon and has a two-hour layover.”

  “Still not taking any chances, huh?”

  “I assume Retta’s willing to go?”

  “She’s on her way here now,” Faye said. “I’ll get her a flight and pull the documents together—” She paused as scratching sounded from the back of the house. “—as soon as I let Buddy out of the entryway.”

  My cell buzzed, and I saw the call was from my nephew. As soon as Faye was gone, I picked up. “Hi, Cramer.”

  “Aunt Barb, I’ve got stuff on Chief Neuencamp’s problem.”

  “Great.” I rattled around in my desk drawer for a pen. “I’m ready—give me the name.”

  A noise in the outer office alerted me, and I peeked out. Retta came in the front door, accompanied by a dozen leaves the blustery wind blew in. Taking a broom from the closet she swept them up, listening to my end of the conversation as she worked.

  “Name?”

  “Harold Gager, twenty-six years old.”

  “A man? But the phone calls—”

  “There are at least two people involved. The guy at Subway says Gager comes in all the time to use the free Wi-Fi. He sends the emails. A partner must make the calls.”

  “Is this guy employed?”

  “Works at the Ugly Bar. Nights.”

  “Any idea why he’s doing this?”

  “He filled out an application online to be an officer on the APD last July. Maybe the chief was rude to him or something.”

  “Rory isn’t like that.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. The chief’s a really good guy.”

  “I didn’t know you’d ever met him.”

  “Yeah, well, April had a little problem a few months back.”

  “Oh.” Cramer’s ex-wife had had several “little problems,” usually stemming from her tendency to drink too many Mojitos.

  “She got into it with this other girl. April poured a pitcher of beer over her head, and the girl called the cops. The chief had taken a shift, like he does sometimes, and he took April in so she could sober up.” Cramer paused, but I knew what was coming. “The next morning she called me to come and drive her home.”

  “And you went.”

  “I did.” He sounded ashamed. “Chief Neuencamp didn’t see any sense in charging her, but he said she can’t keep doing this stuff. I paid for the things that got broken in the scuffle, and he let her off with a warning.”

  “And what happened after that?”

  I heard scuffling on the other end and pictured Cramer scraping his foot like a kid ashamed to tell what he knows. “April didn’t like what he said, but as far as I know she hasn’t been in trouble since.”

  “You know you aren’t responsible for her.” I glanced at Retta, who was removing brown leaves from one of Faye’s plants. She didn’t know it was Cramer on the other en
d of the call, although she might be able to guess from what she was hearing.

  Cramer sighed. “I know. It’s just hard when someone could be different—happier—and you can’t get them to see it.”

  “I understand.” I got back to business. “So what’s the information you have for me?”

  Cramer provided a short bio and addresses, both work and home, for Mr. Gager. He’d come to Allport from Indiana with a woman who had since tossed him out and moved on with her life. He lived alone in a trailer park just out of town and worked nights tending bar. When I’d copied the details down, I thanked Cramer and ended the call.

  “Is somebody picking on Rory?” Retta took a seat on the chair closest to my desk.

  I paused, wondering how much to tell her. On one hand, Retta’s nosiness was irritating, as always. On the other, she knew the Allport undercurrents. She might even know the man Cramer had identified and why he was angry at Rory. Without saying who’d done the work of tracking Harold Gager down, I told her what he was up to. She was outraged at the insult to Rory’s character. “We are so lucky to have a decent, experienced chief of police in this town. I can’t believe somebody’s trying to get him fired.”

  “Apparently Gager wanted a job but wasn’t chosen.”

  Retta slapped the desktop. “So naturally it’s Rory’s fault. Like school kids who blame the principal for rules they don’t like.”

  I said what Rory would have said had he been present. “Those who aren’t smart enough to think those things through blame the person they see, not the system he works for.”

  She made a rude noise. “And you can’t reason with them, because they love having someone to hate.”

  “Well, now that I’ve found out who it is, I intend to stop him. I want to be there when he’s caught. I want to look him in the eye when he realizes his plans are ruined.” I sounded like some B movie hero, but that was how I felt. This was personal, and I intended to see these people fail in their attempts to ruin Rory.

  Retta leaned closer. “What are you going to do?”