“It hides the fact that he has no jaw.”
Her hands flew to her mouth.
“What is it?” Gene asked. “What did I say?”
Anna took off her glasses and flipped back to the photo of Peter Toller, holding the book close to her face. Then forward again to Sadler’s photo. And back to Peter. “Look at these two,” she said, pushing the book Gene’s way.
“What am I looking at?”
“Wait a minute.” On her laptop she clicked open the folder of the photos Liz had taken at the Harvest Festival and found one of Paul and Maddy at their table under the tent. She enlarged it, centering on Paul, and whipped the screen around for Gene. “Which one of the two men in the book looks like Paul Gilmartin’s father?”
Gene examined the shot Liz had taken and compared it to the photos in the book. “Wow,” he said. “Sadler. No doubt about it.”
17
In half an hour Liz was at Anna’s door. She took Gene’s place at the table, setting up her laptop, slinging her jacket over her chair, and Gene, whose interest in genealogical investigation was genuine but often short-lived, started a fire in the wood stove and settled into the couch with another cup of tea and a book on astronomy, his latest read. Jackson and Riley followed him and curled up on the rug in front of the stove.
“Thank you again, Gene,” Liz called out.
“Not a problem,” he said.
“He leaves a book here?” Liz said softly.
“And a spare razor,” Anna replied with a smile, knowing that as much as Liz might want to, she could take the discussion no further with Gene just across the living room. “I hope Dan wasn’t upset when you left.”
“He understands. Anyway, I’m finally making good money off ElkNews.com. Ever since my Sparrow House series, advertising has grown.”
“Deservedly so.”
“But that comes at a price.” She laid her hands on her laptop keyboard. “Working hard.”
“Let’s get to it then.”
Liz pulled up the photo she’d taken of the Gilmartins, inspecting it closely before moving on to the library book photos of Sadler and Toller. “Holy cow, Anna. It’s so obvious once you look at the three photos together. Paul looks like Sadler, not Toller.”
Anna uploaded Liz’s photo of Paul and Maddy to her cell phone then used her phone’s camera to copy the photos of Sadler and Toller. Zoey wanted photos, didn’t she? She’d want to see these. “Now I understand why Paul reacted the way he did when I suggested he put photos inside the Morgan-Sadler House of his father making honey. Good grief, his real father owned that house.”
“But does he know that?”
“Good point. Maybe he doesn’t.”
“His birth certificate?”
“Officially, Paul’s father is Peter Toller, his mother, Jennifer.” Anna started for the kitchen, twisting back and gesturing with her hands as she talked. “Esther said that rumor was, Sadler had a thing for Jennifer Toller. So I’m thinking—”
“They had an affair and Raymond was their child,” Liz finished triumphantly.
Anna filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and leaned across the island, her thoughts rushing, tumbling. “No. Raymond was born seven and a half months after Jennifer and Peter married. It wasn’t adultery—Jennifer wasn’t married when she got pregnant.”
“Peter loved her and married her anyway.”
“How could Paul not know whose son he is?” Anna said. “I wonder if he thinks the Sadler house rightfully belongs to him.”
“How could he not know?”
“So why didn’t Sadler leave the house to Paul? He had no other children.”
“That we’re aware of.”
Anna’s back went straight. “That’s where Paul got his money. I’ve been wondering how the son of a honey maker could afford twelve thousand acres of ranchland, a house in town—and how he could pledge $725,000 to restore the Morgan-Sadler House. Paul knows exactly who his father is.”
“He inherited Sadler’s money? But why wouldn’t Sadler give Paul the house too? Instead he sold it to another family.”
Anna saw Liz’s point. It didn’t make sense. “Tax reasons? Maybe the house was a liability. Or maybe he wanted to get out of that place before he died.”
“I suppose.”
Hearing the kettle whistle, Anna turned to the stove, switched it off, and poured hot water into her mug and a mug for Liz. “Autumn Spice herbal OK? I forgot to ask.”
“That’s fine.”
Anna could tell by Liz’s voice that she was lost in the labyrinth of the Sadler mystery. She set the mug in front of her friend’s laptop and returned to her chair across the table, her own thoughts wandering in search of a logical exit. Minutes went by before either of them spoke.
“Maybe giving Paul money was quieter,” Anna finally said. “Sadler wanted to give his son an inheritance, but he didn’t want anyone else to know he’d had a child with an employee’s wife. If you give someone a house, everyone knows. The person either lives in the house or puts it up for sale, but in either case, everyone knows whose house it is.”
“Hmm.” Liz slouched further in her chair, holding her mug to her chin and breathing in the steam. “That’s possible.”
A ring came from inside Liz’s jacket. She reached around her chair, fumbled for her phone, and checked to see who was calling. “A contact,” she said, setting down her mug and tapping the phone.
Anna warmed her hands on her mug. In spite of the excitement of her discovery and the relatively early hour, she was tired and longed to put the whole mess to bed for the day.
Liz listened, straightening slowly and then bending forward until she had both elbows on the table. “Do they have a good case?” she asked.
Anna rested her mug on the table. “Who?” she said under her breath.
Still listening to the caller, Liz formed the words “Raena Starke.” She motioned to Anna for a pen and scribbled a few words into her notebook before hanging up.
“The police arrested Raena?” Anna said.
“For Ruby Padilla’s murder.”
“That’s not possible. They’re sisters.”
“In politics anything’s possible. My contact said the police have a very good case against her.”
“This is the woman who approved the wind farm?” Gene called out, laying his open book on the couch.
“Yes,” Anna said. “And I have to admit it all fits. Ruby knew her killer.”
Liz took a long last swallow of tea, plunked her mug on the table, and shut her laptop. “I hate to go just after I got here, but—”
“You have to go,” Anna said. “This is a huge story.”
“Off to the police station?” Gene said, taking his cup to the sink.
“It’s going to be a madhouse.” Liz put on her jacket and tucked her laptop under her arm. “I’ll call Dan from my car.”
“Drive safely,” Anna said, doubling her steps to keep up with Liz as she hurried to the door.
“Bye, guys.” Liz flung open the door and then just as quickly shut it, looking back to Anna. “Jazmin’s here.”
“What?” Anna said.
“She’s on the sidewalk, sort of loitering.”
“How did she get here?” Gene said. “She doesn’t have a car.”
“I’ll tell her to ring your bell,” Liz said. “Bye again.”
Anna heard Liz’s car start and back out of the driveway. Seconds later, the doorbell rang. Recalling their last encounter, and determined not to appear anxious or even questioning, Anna planted a neutral expression on her face and answered the door.
“Jazmin, hi,” she said. “It’s good to see you, come in.”
Jazmin took one step inside and instantly caught sight of Gene standing by the kitchen table. She faltered, surprised to see him in Anna’s house. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Don’t mind me,” Gene said. “I was just about to take the dogs outside. Riley, Jackson, come,” he said, giving a sharp w
histle.
Jazmin stepped away from the open door as the dogs raced for the front yard. Gene waited until the last tail passed over the threshold then headed outside, closing the door behind him.
“Sorry,” Jazmin said, moving hesitantly for the table. “I didn’t know Gene was here. I didn’t think . . . I thought he had his own . . .”
“His own house?” Anna said, gesturing for Jazmin to sit. “He does. We had dinner tonight.”
“I thought for a second he lived here.” Jazmin sank into a chair and began to unzip her jacket. The canvas one Alex had returned.
“We’re not married, Jazmin.”
“Yeah, but I thought maybe, you know . . . not that it’s my business.”
“No, it’s not.”
Jazmin’s face fell and her hands dropped from her zipper.
“But considering how often I nose into your business,” Anna said, taking a seat across the table, “you’re entitled. In fact, I think you’re entitled to a dozen nosy comments before we’re even.”
“Yeah, probably.” Jazmin began to grin.
“And not to be nosy, but how did you get here? The bus doesn’t come by.”
“I walked.”
Anna gaped.
“It’s two miles, big deal.”
Jazmin finished unzipping her jacket but left it on. She was probably cold, Anna thought. Night temperatures were now dropping below freezing, and the girl was wearing a jacket fit for temperatures in the fifties.
“Want some tea?” Anna asked, rising from her chair. “Or coffee?”
“No, nothing.”
Anna sat back down. Whatever Jazmin had come to say was important, and it was best to sit still, stay quiet, and let her say it. She reclined in her chair—body language that didn’t suggest a too-eager attitude—and waited.
“I wanted to tell you about Alex Root,” Jazmin said. “Why I was talking to him, I mean.”
“Sure. All right.”
“You know I was talking to him, right? Because he brought, you know, my jacket . . .”
“Your jacket back to Buckhorn’s, yes. Gene was a little concerned.”
Jazmin grabbed hold of the pull on her zipper, fingering it with intense concentration. “It’s like this . . .”
She said nothing.
“Jazmin, despite the impression I’ve given you in the past, you can tell me anything.”
Jazmin stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. “Don’t laugh.”
“Never.”
“I was trying to get information.”
“What kind of information?”
“About his astral projection class and Maddy’s demonology class.”
Anna willed herself to keep quiet.
“Also about the party Paul and Maddy Gilmartin are having,” Jazmin added. “I know you’re doing their genealogies, but I could tell you were digging around for more than that. You usually are.”
“I’ve finished their genealogies.”
“And I was going to ask him about that Zoey woman you were talking about.”
“Did you?”
“No, I didn’t want Alex to know about her in case she doesn’t have anything to do with his crazy stuff.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“So Alex asked me if I was interested in astral projection, and I said yeah.”
Anna sucked in her breath.
“And he invited me to his house, since it’s near downtown and we were outside the Buffalo when we ran into each other. He said he sometimes gives private instruction there.”
“I’ll bet he does,” Anna said through clenched jaws.
“So I said yeah, and I went.”
“Jazmin, I have to stop you.” Anna fought to rein in her emotions, to correct without seeming to correct. “You do know how dangerous that was, right? To go to a strange man’s house by yourself?”
Jazmin shook her head and clasped her hands on the table. “Everyone knows him. He’s a teacher at that place in Boulder, and lots of people saw him talking to me. It’s not like he could get away with trying anything.” She was speaking in her street-smart tone, assuming a mantle of wisdom she hadn’t earned.
“Oh yes, he could.” Anna massaged her temples, wanting to shout the name Raena Starke—a well-known woman, a county commissioner, a candidate for U.S. Congress, and probably a murderer. Most victims knew their attackers, didn’t Jazmin realize that?
“Anyway,” Jazmin went on, “he asked me if I wanted a lesson in astral projection.”
Anna’s hands fell to her lap. She was afraid to ask.
“I didn’t.” Jazmin said. “I’m not interested.”
“I thought you were.”
“Why?”
“I guess I just assumed.”
“Because I’m into wicca?”
Anna raised her hands in surrender. “You’re right, I was wrong. Go on.”
“So I talked to him at his house, pretending I was interested in his classes. I asked him if he ever did astral projection and he laughed, like, of course I have. He said, ‘I do it all the time.’ He said that’s how he knew I worked at Buckhorn’s. I didn’t say anything. How did he know where I worked?”
“Not through astral projection, I can tell you that. Alex Root has spent at least the last couple days prowling up and down Summit Avenue, watching, talking to people. He probably knows where everyone in town works and shops.”
Trying to reassure Jazmin, Anna spoke with more confidence than she felt. She believed that the occult was real, and that some people—though far fewer than claimed—were able to latch on to evil and ride it for their own purposes. Astral projection was among those things that for her, as a Christian, was to remain behind a never-to-be-opened door—not because it wasn’t real, but because it was not what it seemed. There were rattlesnakes slithering among the pretty grasses. At the same time, Anna was beginning to think that Alex was a bit of a con man. He was far too showy, more smoke than fire.
“His house looks normal until you get to the kitchen,” Jazmin said. “It’s full of bee stuff, like photos of bees, honey, and all that, and there’s a huge pumpkin on his table and smaller pumpkins around it. But that’s not the weirdest.” Jazmin paused, brushing orange bangs from her eyes. “He has this drawing of a three-headed animal, with a man’s head, a horse head, and something else. It made me want to puke.”
Anna didn’t recall such a drawing in Alex’s house, but she’d only seen his living room. “Where was this drawing?”
“In his hall.”
Anna bit her inside lip and counted to five. “What were you doing in his hall?”
“He wanted to show me the drawing.”
“Do you realize—”
Jazmin looked to the ceiling and started to roll her eyes.
“No, you don’t get to do that. Anything might have happened to you, and you had no defenses whatsoever.”
“Nothing did happen, except he freaked me out.”
“And if he had grabbed you—”
“He didn’t.”
“You were defenseless. No one would have heard you, no one would have known where you were.”
“All right! I get it!”
Jazmin shouted, but her face did not reflect the anger in her words. She did get it, Anna realized. She knew she’d been foolish, and she knew that Anna had told her as much because she cared, not because she was delighting in yet another opportunity to scold.
“I appreciate you trying to help,” Anna said.
Jazmin looked up from her hands. “It didn’t work. I didn’t find out anything.”
“That’s all right.”
“I think he knew I wasn’t interested in astral projection.”
“Probably.”
“When I was looking at the drawing, he got real close. His breath stinks. He said the drawing was the demon of lust.”
“Oh, Jazmin.”
“Then he gave me this sick smile. He’s got nasty teeth, too.”
She was distra
cting herself, redirecting her thoughts by concentrating on Alex’s breath and teeth—images to call to mind whenever she began to consider what might have happened in that hall.
“He touched my shoulder.”
“He what?”
“He pretended to straighten the frame and his arm brushed my shoulder.” Her hand rose momentarily to her left shoulder. “You look angry.”
“Not at you.” It struck Anna that Jazmin was overly concerned about what she thought of her. The girl often asked if she was angry or pleased. Was that partly Anna’s fault? Did she make Jazmin jump the hoops of her approval? Jazmin needed to grow up, and she never would if Anna kept acting as her barometer of right and wrong. Jazmin had to figure things out for herself—and be pleased or disappointed all on her own.
“Alex Root is not a good person, but you know that,” Anna said. “What you might not know is that he could be dangerous.”
“I ran out of his house. I could hear him laughing. Then I remembered I left my new jacket in his living room, but I was too afraid to go back.”
“You listened to your instincts.”
“I guess.”
“That’s why you were so upset when I saw you on Summit. I should have let you tell me that.”
“It’s OK.”
“You walked all the way here to tell me why you talked to Alex?”
“I figured I should’ve told you in the car.” Jazmin raised the zipper on her jacket. “He’s a scary guy. You have to be careful too.”
“You’re right.”
At the sound of barking, their attention was drawn to the front door.
“I think we’ve kept Gene outside long enough,” Anna said with a grin.
“Yeah, I need to go.” Jazmin stood and scooted her chair under the table.
“I’m driving you home.”
“You don’t have to do—”
Anna interrupted Jazmin’s halfhearted protest. “I don’t let friends walk home in the dark. My car’s in the garage.” She tilted her head at the garage door. “You go ahead, I’ll tell Gene we’re going.”
Jazmin headed for the Jimmy and Anna opened the front door. Gene was halfway down her driveway, his shoulders hunched to his neck. He shot for the door, dogs at his heels.
“I forgot a jacket,” he said as he ducked inside.
Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3 Page 70