Secrets for Sale

by Jerri Kay Lincoln

  And last but not—well, you know what I was going to say—was Russ Tabor. I knew nothing about him. Petra had said he was the town clerk, so he must work under Martha. Or at least did. I wondered if he’d be elevated to the town manager until Martha returned. Why would I need to see the town clerk? I think he has something to do with the town records. I’m sure I could come up with some reason to look something up.

  As I was about to put the list away, I remembered something important. Todd Fenton. He wasn’t on the council, but like Russ Tabor, he was most definitely a viable suspect. I didn’t know where to find him, and I didn’t know why he would want to stop the sale of the historical society, but—wait.

  Maybe he didn’t want to stop it and instead wanted it all to himself. He was the son, after all. Didn’t he stand to inherit everything? I’d have to find out if there were any other siblings who would profit from the father’s death. Maybe the killer could be one of them, or Todd was in it with a sibling. The possibilities were endless.

  In the meantime, everyone was on my list and no one was off it. I’d have to figure something out to narrow it down. Maybe Billy would share some details with me. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. He doesn’t like me getting involved in finding murderers, and somehow I always do. Get involved, that is. Although I find them, too. And it usually gets me in trouble—the scary kind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I SWIVELED MY chair to face the fish tank behind me. It had been a while since my life was in such upheaval that I needed the tranquility of the fish to calm me. And although it wasn’t in upheaval now, I thought the meditative quality of their movements would allow me to figure everything out easier. But after my first glance at the fish, I heard a rumbling noise coming from outside.

  Turning back toward the window, I saw Petra swinging her leg off the back of Mason’s motorcycle. I thought she would give him a quick peck on the lips and come inside, or maybe a long passionate kiss. Who knows with Petra and Mason? Instead, what happened was Mason got off the motorcycle, set the kickstand, and gave her a hug. A long, tight, comforting hug. Petra clung to him for several minutes as Mason rubbed her back. Then he pulled away, gave her a quick kiss, climbed back on his motorcycle and sped off, with Petra watching. Standing up and leaning over my desk, I could see Mason drive down High Street, turn on Bridge Street, and go over the bridge toward Coyote Moon.

  When Petra came through the front door, I had already arranged myself to be looking at the fish tank, so she wouldn’t think I was spying on her—which of course I was. But she needn’t know that. When she came in, I turned toward her and said, “Oh, hi Petra. Isn’t Mason coming in?” That was an innocent question, wasn’t it? I hoped so.

  “No, he has to go back to Flag. He’s got classes this afternoon.”

  “Oh, I thought you guys had broken up.”

  Petra looked at me and shook her head, looking thoughtful. “No, Lorry,” she breathed a deep breath out, “That’s not what it was.”

  “Oh,” I said, with an upward lilt as if it was a question.

  “No, it’s, it’s—” said Petra.

  This was it. She was going to tell me what was going on. I held my breath and didn’t say a word. Give her space. Let her tell me of her own accord. Wait for it.

  Then the phone rang, and the moment was gone. Dead and gone. “Rutledge Historical Society. . . . Yes, we’re open today. . . . I don’t know about tomorrow. With the pending sale, every day is a new day. . . . Five o’clock today. Like I said, I’m not sure about tomorrow. . . . Yes, well, I would suggest calling tomorrow before you come. . . . Yes, you’re welcome. Goodbye!” What a waste of an important moment.

  When I turned back to where Petra had been standing, she had disappeared, and I heard the computer keys in her office clicking away. The moment had gone, and it wasn’t my place to ask her what was going on. Huffing silently to myself for the lost moment, I signed off on my computer, patted my leg for Bingo, and stood up and walked toward Petra’s desk. “I don’t think anyone’s coming today, so I’m going to go run another errand. Unless, you know—”

  I hoped the comment would spur her on to tell me what she was about to tell me before, but she didn’t even turn toward me, just kept typing. “That’s fine. I’ll see you when I see you.”

  After loading Bingo into my car, I drove the short distance to the Rutledge Town Offices where the murder took place. I had no idea what I’d find there, but I felt like I needed to go. Looking carefully and with an objective eye at the murder scene was always a good idea. Why didn’t I always do it? Now that I was doing it, it made perfect sense that I should. So there.

  As I pulled out from the back of the historical society, I had a funny feeling that I couldn’t identify. It felt like danger. What was that about? Danger? At the town offices? That made no sense at all. Granted a murder had occurred, but still. I felt fine about ignoring that feeling, because it was ridiculous.

  We parked in the back parking lot of the Town Office, and because there was no front parking lot. Leaning over, I left my purse in the shadows of the front seat. Holding my car keys in my hand, I left Bingo in the car and walked the short walkway toward the modern pink and gray concrete building. I pulled open the glass door with the gold lettering, Rutledge Town Offices, and paused for a moment in the waiting area. That’s where the bulletin board where Elizabeth Conroy and Paul Gallagher said they were standing when someone shot old man Fenton. It was a small room. Had anyone else been there, he or she would have been noticed.

  I walked through the interior door and stood there, considering my options. Straight ahead behind a glassed-in area, sat the receptionist faced the other direction talking to someone. That wasn’t one of my options. I didn’t want to announce myself, anyway. To the left, down the hallway, was Martha’s office. Or should I say Martha’s old office? To the right, down that hallway was the emergency doorway—which did not have an alarm—and a couple of other offices, including the mayor’s. I’d start down that way.

  The office doors were closed. I didn’t know if the mayor was in or not, though it didn’t matter. He wasn’t someone I needed to see. He couldn’t have been the murderer. I wondered where Russ Tabor’s office was. If I could talk to him, it would either shoot him up to the top of my list or take him off completely. There was a door that said Town Clerk, but it was closed, too. No matter. I marched my butt up to the emergency door and, holding it open with my foot, stepped outside. This was where the murder had been committed. Right here, almost where I stood, someone had shot Christopher Fenton dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I STOOD OUT there with my foot in the door and looked around. There was a small cement area, just big enough for a couple of people to stand and smoke. I ascertained that because there were cigarette butts all over the ground. As I looked at how disgusting they looked lying there, I noticed a big rock lying next to the door. It looked like people used it to prop the door open so they wouldn’t have to leave their foot in the door like I was doing. I was going to pick the rock up and put it in the door, but then wondered if Billy had fingerprinted it. I didn’t know if you could take fingerprints off a rock, but maybe there was a smooth surface on it. Leaving my foot where it was, I gazed around at—nothing. Besides the cigarette butts, the rock, and the cement, there was nothing out here. Except the tape on the ground outlining the body of the deceased.

  Stepping inside the door, I let it close behind me with a resounding whoosh. Walking back down the hallway, all the office doors remained closed. Where was everybody? The receptionist behind the glass was still talking, though this time it was on the phone. She didn’t even look up when I passed. I moved down the other hallway toward the meeting room and Martha’s office. Voices floated out at me from Martha’s office, so I stopped outside the door and peered in.

  The mayor sat behind the desk, looking all pomp and circumstance, and basking in his own importance. When he saw me, he stood up, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Miss Lock
harte, what are you doing here?”

  All right, if that’s how he was going to play it, I could handle it. “It’s Ms.”

  He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “What?”

  “It’s Ms. Miss indicates a single woman, and I am a married woman. So it’s Ms. Lockharte, not Miss Lockharte,” I began. Putting my hands on my hips, I continued, “What am I doing here? Perhaps I was under the mistaken impression that this was a public building. Unless you’ve taken it on your own to sell this building to the highest bidder.”

  The mayor blushed a bright, blood red and said nothing. I sometimes had that effect on people, and I was proud of it. This time, though, it looked like the mayor was about to blow a gasket, and it scared me.

  Since I didn’t want to stare at him, because it might make him blow that much sooner, I looked at the two men sitting in front of Martha’s desk. One was Todd Fenton, dressed in a dark blue and yellow striped sweatsuit, like he was out jogging and just stopped by to see what the mayor was selling today. The other man was Russ Tabor who had mostly gray receding hair that looked greasy. He wore a dress shirt with a tie loosely knotted at his neck. He had a scowl on his face, but I got the feeling that he always did.

  While the mayor tried to regain his cool, Todd Fenton spoke up. “Ah, so it’s the town murderess. Have you come back to see if you left any clues behind at the scene of the crime?”

  The mayor came back to earth, then. “She was with me, Todd. I can guarantee you that it wasn’t her.”

  Now it was time for me to point out what I thought of Todd’s attitude. “You seem awfully flippant for a man who lost his father a few days ago. What are you doing back at the scene of the crime? Or more importantly, where were you when your father was murdered? Hiding the gun in the bushes, maybe?” Although I didn’t remember any bushes outside when I looked around, it seemed like a good thing to say at the time.

  Todd became almost as red as the mayor. “I had been talking to my father outside. I stepped inside to use the men’s room, and we planned to meet back in the conference room. He never showed up. You know the rest.”

  “Was anyone in the bathroom with you to verify your presence?”

  “Enough of this!” said the mayor in an elevated voice.

  “So no alibi, huh Todd?” I pressed.

  “All right, all right, enough of these accusations. We know who did it, and what’s done is done.” The mayor gathered up papers from the desk, straightened them, and put them back down again, while I stood there slack-jawed. “I was in here showing Russ his new job of town manager.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute, whoa there,” I said—because now that we owned a ranch, I was getting into the whole cowboy-western theme. I held my left hand in front of my chest so the fingers were vertical and pointed at the ceiling, and held my right hand horizontal on top of the left, in a time-out football motion. I couldn’t think of any western way to do that.

  “First, you said that we know who did it.” I walked over to the mayor, then bent over with my big butt in the air and got right in his face. “You couldn’t possibly mean Martha, because I’m married to the sheriff, and last I heard—this morning as a matter of fact—he had not yet discovered who did it. And you mean showing Russ his new temporary job, right Mayor? Because Martha is still a member of the team here and is on vacation.” I stood up and crossed my arms, looking down at him. “Isn’t that right, Mayor?”

  Then I fixed my gaze on Russ Tabor. “And you, looking like someone just stepped on your foot.” Russ’s face twitched. “Where were you when Mr. Fenton was murdered? That murder was your lucky day, wasn’t it? New job, promotion. Maybe the killing had nothing to do with the sale of the historical society. You wanted everyone to believe that and overlook who really did it. In the bathroom my foot! I think it was you!” At this I pointed my right hand, finger outstretched—index finger, not the middle one—“it was you, wasn’t it! Confess now, Russ. It’s good for the soul!”

  The outburst shocked everyone, including me. It poured out of me, unplanned, unsolicited, suddenly it was just there.

  “I think it’s time for you to leave, Ms. Lockharte. Get out of my office, now,” the mayor said.

  Although he didn’t say it angrily, he said it in a way that made it hard not to listen. I walked toward the door, stepped out, and then popped my head back in. “It’s Martha’s office!” Then and only then did I walk out of the town office building with my head held high.

  Color me haughty! I strolled out to the car so happy that I got the last word with that arrogant mayor. Until I got to the car, that is. I reached for my purse, and that’s when I realized that I had locked the purse in the car and had been holding the keys in my hand. Looking in my hand as if for verification, I saw nothing. Palm to face. I knew I hadn’t left them outside when I went out that emergency door. There was only one place I could have left them. When I leaned forward to get in the mayor’s face, I must have inadvertently set them down.

  Scratch the haughty. Color me contrite. Now I had to go back in to his—I mean Martha’s—office and retrieve my keys. There were no other alternatives. Well, there were, but they were unpalatable. I could leave the car in the parking lot, walk over to the sheriff’s station, hope Billy was there, and get the extra key from him. But he might not be there, and it would be worse if he was, because he’d know that I’d been poking around. No, there was only one solution. Put on my happy face and go back in there and get my keys.

  Walking back into the town office building, my head wasn’t held as high. But after walking through the exterior door, I held it higher, because I wanted to return with at least some of my dignity intact. The mayor was handing Russ Tabor a clipboard when I walked in. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I said and picked up my keys. “I think these are mine.” As I was about to turn and leave, I heard it. We all heard it. A gunshot. Two more in rapid succession.

  “Billy!” I shouted. Then I turned and ran for my car.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  I DON’T KNOW how I knew those bullets had been aimed at Billy, but I think it must have been that weird feeling of danger when I left the historical society. Bingo was barking like a mad dog when I scooted myself inside the car, so I could only surmise that he knew something was amiss, too. Sitting in the car, I grabbed for my purse so I could call Billy. Wait. If he was in the middle of a gun battle—though I had heard no bullets since the first three—I didn’t want to distract him. What could I do?

  Having made my decision, I put my purse back on the floor, started the car, and headed toward the Sheriff’s Station down the street. I pulled into the parking lot, but Billy’s car wasn’t there. Still, they would know what was happening. After patting Bingo on the head, I jumped out of the car and raced to the door, as fast as my three-inch heeled feet could carry me. By the time I used both hands to open the heavy front door, I was out of breath when I arrived at the receptionist.

  “Is Billy okay?” I gasped.

  “He called for backup five minutes ago,” Vanessa said. “Nick raced out of here, and I’ve heard nothing since.” She looked concerned.

  “I’m worried, Vanessa.”

  “I know, Lorry. So am I. But I’m hoping no news is good news. And I haven’t heard another shot since Billy called for backup. That has to be good,” she said with a slight smile.

  Vanessa looked worried, not just because it was her job, but because Nick, the cop that Billy called for backup, was her older brother. She was the receptionist and “Civilian Officer” with the kind face whom I met when I first came in this place to get fingerprinted. Don’t ask. It was another one of those experiences that I’d rather forget. Although not half as bad as when I was locked in the holding cell. Definitely don’t ask about that.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said, on the verge of tears. “When I heard those shots, I knew they were aimed at Billy.”

  “Like I said, Lorry, there hasn’t been another shot since he called for help.”

&nb
sp; I felt a stab of hope. “Oh, so Nick never called in and said, ‘officer down!’ or anything like that? That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  She stood up and squeezed my arm. “Nobody ever called in with an officer down, so I’m sure Billy is fine. I’d say ‘don’t worry about it,’ but I know you will, so I won’t even say it!” That made us both laugh. “Do you want to come back here and wait, Lorry? You’re welcome to.”

  It was a restricted area for sheriff’s department employees, but since I was the sheriff’s wife, Vanessa could afford to be amiable. And I was about to accept when the door burst open and Billy strode in.

  “Lorry!” He took two big steps forward and threw his arms around me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. And as glad as I was to see him, I was afraid to ask and more afraid of the answer. If he was sorry because something had happened to our son, Aiden, I didn’t know what I would do. So in my most adult-sounding little girl voice, I said, “Why?”

  Billy pulled away from me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Because I know how much you don’t want to be a widow. And someone shot at me today! Luckily they missed.” His eyes left mine for an instant. “Or mostly missed.”

  “Okay, what do you mean, ‘mostly’?” I put my hands on my hips but didn’t see any blood coming out of him or any makeshift bandage on him.

  “Oh, just this.” He turned around and held up his foot so I could see it. Right at the edge of the boot, a bullet had made a hole in the sole. “It’s a nick, but it could have been bad.”

  “Tell me what happened, please.” Because I was so glad nothing had happened to him, I hugged him again.