Mud Bog Murder

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “So what did you find out from Darrel?”

  “Well, not what we thought.” Frida signaled for another drink.

  “What then?” I wanted to shake her to get on with it.

  “Here’s what we know. It concerns you, Eve, as well as Grandfather Egret. Darrel bought the hand and planted it. He stole Jenny’s ring and called us to say we should search Grandfather Egret’s shed.”

  “We all knew Grandfather didn’t have anything to do with Jenny’s murder,” said Nappi.

  “I knew that too, but it’s not the way we decided to do things. And I thank you for your help on this, Alex,” Frida added.

  “I could have done that, you know.” I was a little hurt she hadn’t asked me.

  “Oh, Eve, honey, think about it. You going to Darrel and telling him you’re doing him a favor? I don’t think that would have worked. I needed someone with whom Darrel didn’t have bad blood. Besides, as it turns out, Darrel told us something that made it clear how much he disliked you.”

  “What was that?”

  “He and his buddies were the ones who put that alligator in your shop.”

  “He must have taken a shot at me also, then?”

  “Nope. He said he didn’t have anything to do with that,” Frida said.

  “You believe that?” I asked.

  “I don’t think Darrel has the stuff for killing, and that was a situation that could have resulted in your death.”

  “He didn’t confess to the killing then?” said Alex, sounding disappointed.

  “No, but we can free Grandfather Egret now that we know how he was set up and who did it. Sammy’s at the jail right now, picking him up. He said he was taking him home and would talk with all of you later.”

  “If not Darrel, then who killed Jenny?” I asked.

  Frida finished off the rest of her drink. “We are back to square one on this case. Darrel doesn’t know who set him up to play these pranks. He just responded to phone calls. He didn’t recognize the voice.”

  “You mean Darrel simply enlisted his buddies to play jokes suggested by a voice over the phone?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t just for the fun of it. He was paid,” Frida said.

  “How much?” asked Alex.

  “Not as much as you’d think.”

  “That fits in with what we know of the jerk,” Madeleine said. “Jenny said it herself at our shop. He shoplifted from the cut-rate stores, merchandise of questionable quality, so it’s not surprising he would settle for a miniscule payoff.”

  “He got fifty bucks for the hand and split a hundred bucks with his buddies for that gator in your shop.”

  I gave a snort of disgust. “I would send him the bill for cleaning the alligator poop and disinfecting the place so it didn’t smell like the swamps, but it cost me more than he made off the trick.” I wondered if I should take my case to small claims court. I’d ask Mr. Lightwind when I saw him next.

  “I get the feeling Darrel would have done both deeds for free. He just seems to like making trouble for folks,” said Frida. She got out of her chair. “Jenny’s murder case is ongoing, and I need some sleep. Let me know if you think of anything.” She trudged to the door, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “The poor woman,” said Grandy. We all nodded.

  And what about Shelley? I wondered.

  “Shelley,” I said. “She called Darrel her best friend. We may not agree, but she’s suffered the loss of her mother, and she has no one else except for Darrel.” And me, I added to myself. Alex gave me a warning look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Shelley McCleary is not your responsibility,” he said.

  “Then whose is she? She trusts me. I’m not about to abandon her now.” I got out of my chair. “I’ll be back at the house later. I’m going to the McCleary ranch.”

  Although she was older than I was when my parents died, Shelley was like me—alone, confused, looking for comfort after the awful blow the world had dealt her. I couldn’t leave her with Darrel as her sole support.

  “No dinner?” asked Madeleine.

  “I’ll grab some takeout,” said Grandy. “It’ll be waiting for you when you get home, Eve.”

  I nodded, feeling not at all hungry, although my stomach did let out a growl as I rushed to my car.

  Before I could open the car door, Alex was at my side. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You? Why are you concerned about Shelley?”

  “I’m not. I’m worried about you. Shelley had every reason to kill her mother. She didn’t try to talk her out of the mud bog racing.”

  “She changed her mind about that once she hooked up with Darrel.”

  “Darrel certainly has been a bad influence, and he may have talked Shelley into seeing the situation his way: with Jenny out of the way, she and Darrel could use the property any way they wanted. Shelley has already signed an agreement to do a mud bog event in a few months. What does that say about her?”

  “That’s she’s desperate.”

  “She might be desperate enough to kill again, and her target could be anyone getting in her way, like you.”

  I hesitated. Could Alex be right? My gut said no, he was wrong about Shelley, but I didn’t want to fight with Alex.

  “Come along if you want.”

  He got into the passenger’s seat. Before he could say anything, I held up my finger to stop him. “Please don’t say, ‘I’m glad I talked some sense into you.’ ”

  “How did you know I was going to say that?”

  I shrugged. Maybe the “sight” that Grandfather Egret and Grandy had was catching. Huh.

  As it turned out, I need not have worried about Shelley. She was being taken care of by her next-door-neighbor Clay Archer, whose sentiments about Darrel turned out to be the same as my own.

  Chapter 21

  When Alex and I entered the house, Shelley rushed into my arms, sobbing.

  “I know Darrel didn’t kill Mom. I just know it.”

  “Perhaps not, but he may know who did kill her,” I said. “That’s why the police are holding him.” I glanced at Clay, whose expression I found hard to read.

  He said, “I know you care about him, Shelley, but think about it. He did some pretty mean things to Eve and to the elderly Mr. Egret. Darrel’s been in all sorts of trouble before too.”

  “But he was playing a joke, that’s all,” she wailed.

  “Did you know about all this before he was arrested today?” asked Alex.

  “No. No!” She dropped onto the couch and buried her face in her hands.

  “Of course she didn’t,” Clay said. “Darrel hid it all from her. Trying to win her trust. I can’t understand why the police haven’t arrested him for murdering Jenny. He was just angling to marry Shelley. After he removed her mother, he could take over the property.” Clay’s voice was hard, his face contorted with anger. He moved toward Shelley and placed an arm around her shoulders. Instead of leaning into his comforting embrace, Shelley leaned away. The expression on her face changed from distress to repugnance. What was that all about?

  “Mr. Archer is right, Shelley. You might have been his next target,” Alex said.

  I didn’t believe it for a minute. As much as I disliked Darrel, I knew he wasn’t clever enough to develop a plan to kill Jenny, win over her daughter, then engage in tricks to aggravate me and implicate Grandfather Egret in the murder. Darrel didn’t plan all this. He was just an opportunistic criminal. A shirt in the store? No one looking? Steal it! And if he was so smart, why had the fake hand been traced so easily to him? Putting the alligator in my shop and hiding the hand in Grandfather Egret’s shed were actions not designed to leave anyone physically hurt. But shooting at me? As Frida pointed out, I could have been killed.

  “I don’t know if you should be alone, Shelley. Why don’t you come home with me?” I offered.

  “Or me. I’m right next door,” Clay said. He saw the look of shock on my face. “Oh, don’t worry yourself, E
ve. It’ll be all proper. I have a housekeeper who lives in. What do you say, Shelley? It’s up to you.”

  “I want to stay here. This is my home. I’ll be fine.”

  “I can drop over and check on you,” said Archer.

  Shelley shook her head. “No.” Looking at me, she added, “Eve, I’ll call you if I need anything.”

  “Archer seems genuinely fond of Shelley,” observed Alex as we drove away.

  “I’m not certain she feels the same way about him, but anyway, he’s a guy. I think female company is what she needs right now.”

  “Unless it’s Darrel,” Alex said.

  “He’s more her age. I’m sure she sees Archer as ….” I stopped to think about what I was about to say. What did she think about Archer? I hadn’t gotten the feeling she saw him as a father figure. In fact, thinking back to her reaction to his attempt at comfort, I had the distinct feeling she felt ill at ease with him.

  “You’re off the hook, Eve. Archer can look in on her if she needs someone.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Archer is wrong, you know. Darrel is responsible for the alligator and hand stuff, but not for killing Jenny. He’s just too limited. But who was giving him orders to set up those scenarios and who paid him? Was it the person who killed Jenny?”

  “I have to admit I’ve got no idea.”

  “I wonder if George knew Darrel?”

  “Your George?”

  “Not mine. George, who’s now with another woman. George, who likes to force women to …” I stopped. I hadn’t told Alex about my encounter with George. Me and my big mouth.

  “You never told me much about the conversation you and George had when I sent you out to his place. Did something happen you’re not telling me about?”

  “Kind of.”

  “It did or it didn’t. Tell me.”

  So I did, and I knew it was a mistake.

  “I guess I need to have a little talk with George.” The look on his face was terrifying.

  “Don’t you dare, Alex. Frida knows what happened, and she thinks George’s current live-in may change her mind about supporting his story. Just let it go. Please. There’s murder on our plates, and that’s more important than George’s proclivity for hitting women.”

  “Unless it’s behind Jenny’s murder.”

  He was right, but somehow George didn’t track as the killer for me.

  We drove on in silence, both thinking our separate thoughts. I hoped Alex’s weren’t still focused on George.

  “Have you ever met Darrel’s father? What do you know about him?” I asked.

  “You think he might have been Jenny’s killer? What would be his motive?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just looking for someone who could have worked out this scheme and had Darrel do some of the dirty work.”

  “You busy tonight?” asked Alex.

  “Why do you ask?” What was Alex up to now?

  “Let’s pay a visit to Darrel’s pappy and see what he has to say.”

  Wow! I guess I’d graduated into the ranks of acceptable sidekick.

  Darrel’s father, Darrel Senior, was a large man with a reddish complexion and broken blood vessels decorating his cheeks and nose. He answered the door with a bottle of beer in his hand.

  “Yeah? Who the hell are you?”

  We told him. He slammed the door in our faces. We decided to play on his sympathies.

  “We know your son has been arrested, but we can’t believe he’s responsible for Jenny McCleary’s death. We’d like to talk to you. Maybe you can help us figure out who put him up to the pranks he copped to.” It looked for a minute as if Alex was wasting his breath, as if his words couldn’t penetrate the door.

  “Okay, come on in then.” Darrell Senior opened the door to a living room that looked as if it hadn’t been cleared of the rubble left from the last hurricane. Empty food containers occupied every horizontal surface. A stack of empty pizza boxes formed an end table for the recliner chair, and a pile of beer cans sat next to a plaid couch, its two seat cushions indented by deep butt depressions. From his bleary eyes, I knew we’d come to the wrong place to find Jenny’s murderer. The only planning this man seemed capable of was sorting his way around the trash in his living room and into the kitchen, where I assumed the beer was stashed in the fridge. It was a case of the apple not falling too far from the tree.

  I tugged on Alex’s sleeve and whispered in his ear, “This is a dead end. Let’s go.”

  Alex shook his head.

  “So, can you think of anybody who’d want to hurt Jenny McCleary and set your son up for it?”

  He set down his beer can on the pizza-box end table. It teetered there momentarily, then fell onto the rug. Luckily the rug was so filthy that once the beer stain dried, probably no one would be able to tell there was another spot in the pile. Now that was clever decorating. Maybe I had misjudged Darrel Senior’s planning capabilities.

  “Damn. Be right back. Can I get you folks a cold one?”

  We shook our heads.

  We heard him open the refrigerator door. “Damn.”

  He came back into the living room. “Good thing you didn’t take me up on that. I only got one more left. Gonna have to make a beer run.”

  On second thought, if the guy hadn’t prepared for his beer needs, he was no planner. I took him back off my suspect list.

  He flopped into the recliner across from the couch. The chair’s leather was cracked in several places, but someone had mended it with that great American fix-all, duct tape. The pattern of the tape almost made it match the couch—mustard yellow and silver.

  “Anyone?” Alex said, reminding him of the question.

  He popped the top of the beer, took a deep slug, and gave the question some thought. It looked like thinking, but he might have passed out.

  He reentered the world with a loud belch. “Well, here’s something to ponder,” he said. “I think one of the ranchers vying for the mud bog event kind of put all his eggs in one basket, so to speak. He needed the money from the event bad; otherwise his ranch would go into foreclosure. As it turns out, it did.”

  “You mean Tom Riley?” I said.

  And there it was, sitting in front of us all the time. Tom Riley had needed money, Jenny beat him out of the event, he killed her, and then the ranch was put up for sale. A revenge murder that didn’t net him a dime.

  But where was Tom Riley now?

  We’d forgotten Frida was off duty when we called her at the station, and both Alex and I wanted Frida to be the official with whom we shared our information about Tom Riley. Neither of us thought it necessary to disturb her at home. We said good night and arranged to meet early the next morning at police headquarters.

  The following morning at police headquarters, I let Alex tell Frida what we’d learned from talking with Darrel Senior.

  “Riley isn’t around here anymore,” Alex said. “I checked when we were looking into the applicants for the mud bog event. I never followed up with him because he had given up on the event and left his ranch when the bank foreclosed on it. That was weeks before the event, but he might have come back here that morning.”

  Frida sat in her desk chair, feet up on the edge of the desk, arms linked behind her head. “I’ll find him. Nice work, guys.”

  Alex left the station before me. Frida and I continued to talk about Jenny’s murder.

  “I’m worried about Shelley. That poor young woman has suffered two losses, one right after the other. I mean, if you can consider Darrel’s arrest a loss. I don’t understand what she sees in him.”

  “Male company,” Frida said. “And there’s little enough of that going around in this place, especially when some consignment-shop owner hogs her share of available men by taking two instead of the allotted one.” She smiled, taking the edge off her remark.

  “I don’t have two men. I don’t even know if I have any.”

  “Oh, right.” Sh
e laughed so hard she began to sputter. The phone on her desk rang, and she recovered enough to say hello. She listened for a minute, then disconnected.

  “Well, I guess that solves part of Shelley’s problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Darrel’s father just posted his bail.”

  “I can’t believe that. Where would he get the money? What was bail set at anyway?”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “Mortgaging his house and all his possessions wouldn’t net him more than a few thousand, would it?” I asked.

  Frida shrugged. “I’m told he paid in cash. He must have resources we don’t know about.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  I walked out of the building, trying to reconcile Darrel Senior’s trashy house with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Someone had to have loaned him the money, and I wondered who and why.

  If Darrel tried to see Shelley, he was probably out of luck. Clay Archer was right next door and would probably see Darrel’s car and take some kind of action. Darrel would have a difficult time getting to see Shelley if Clay had anything to say about it.

  I decided to call Clay to let him know Darrel was probably coming his way and to see if I could set up a time for Grandy, Max, and me to visit the ranch for a ride on his horses. There was no answer. Maybe Clay already knew about Darrel and was at Shelley’s house. The thought should have comforted me, but I wanted to check on Shelley myself. Right now I needed to help Madeleine open our rig.

  When I got to our shop on wheels, Madeleine was already there.

  “I stopped by our new place this morning on my way here and found that everything is almost finished. We have a decision to make, Eve. Do we run both places or move everything into the new place and operate out of there?”

  “If we do both places, we’ll be stretching ourselves thin, especially with the baby on the way,” I said.

  “Need I remind you, as I have David numerous times? I’m pregnant, not ill,” Madeleine said. “We could each work one place and set up a schedule to alternate weekly or daily, whichever we want.”