“So he hasn’t been captured yet?”
“No, although they did find Kurt Kendrick, and right there on his estate.”
“Really?” Aunt Lydia sat up with jolt.
Zelda nodded vigorously, bouncing her crisp blonde curls. “He was tied up on the floor of one of his own sheds. It must have been quite traumatic for him. He isn’t a spring chicken anymore, you know.”
I made a face. “Seems awfully convenient to me.”
Aunt Lydia’s golden eyebrows arched over her blue eyes. “What are you saying, Amy?”
I tapped my foot against the floor. “I just don’t trust Kurt Kendrick. He and Reese shared a couple of significant looks before Reese went for that gun. They could’ve been in on the forgery scheme together. Maybe that Quinn group had nothing to do with it. It could have been something Kurt Kendrick orchestrated on his own. Which means he might be protecting Reese just to keep his own involvement in the scheme a secret. Reese could’ve even bartered his silence about Kendrick’s part in the crimes for Kendrick’s protection. Come to think of it, the whole abduction thing could’ve been part of some contingency plan. Kendrick’s smart enough to have worked out a few escape routes for Reese ahead of time. This could’ve been one of them. I bet that gun wasn’t even loaded.”
Walt’s dark eyes narrowed. “That’s a pretty sophisticated level of planning.”
“But not outside the realm of possibility. Don’t you think it’s worth consideration, Aunt Lydia?”
“I believe Kurt’s capable of such duplicity, but I don’t know…” Aunt Lydia sat forward. “Something about the way he talked about that forgery ring made me think he truly believed they were behind the entire operation. Hugh was well aware of their activities too, so it wasn’t something Kurt made up out of whole cloth.”
“But as I recall, I mentioned their name first. So Mr. Kendrick could’ve just latched on to that. You know, agreeing that they were the group behind the forgery ring even if he previously knew nothing about them being involved.”
Aunt Lydia tapped the tips of her fingers together as she considered this idea. “I suppose. But I sensed he was speaking the truth.” She met my questioning look with a wry smile. “As you know, I usually take Kurt’s words with a bucket of salt, but I felt he was being honest in this instance. He might be mistaken in his assumption, but I believe he is convinced that this Quinn group is tangled up in this case.”
“You’re saying this is tied to organized crime?” Zelda scooched around on her seat to look directly at Walt.
“Yes, at least it’s a possibility.” Walt hesitated for a moment, as if considering how much he could divulge. “Apparently the Quinn family started up their operation in Europe right after World War Two. It started as a family thing, but they’ve expanded over the years. Even though Interpol and other authorities have arrested a few of their low-level operatives, no one’s been able to track down, much less bring in, the real brains of the outfit.” He spread his hands wide. “Or so I’ve heard.”
Zelda’s light brown eyes widened. “But here, in Taylorsford?”
“I guess it doesn’t really matter to them where the artists live, as long as their ‘go-betweens,’ as Kurt called them, can keep in contact,” Aunt Lydia said.
“That means there’s someone in Taylorsford who works for these criminals?” Zelda looked both baffled and thrilled by this idea.
I bounced the leg I’d swung up over my other knee. “Not necessarily. It could be Kendrick, as I suggested, but I guess it could also be someone who just came to town whenever they needed to pick up a forged painting. Or maybe Reese shipped stuff to them? I don’t know.”
“Which brings us back to Kurt Kendrick.” Zelda said. “Remember what I told you this summer, Amy? I mean, about him hiring my late husband’s moving company to transport works of art? He could be moving forgeries too, for all we know.”
I sat back, my head spinning from all these theories. Rachel LeBlanc and Caden Kroft had been murdered, and it was possible that some shadowy criminal organization had orchestrated their deaths. But it was also possible that Reese had stabbed his wife to obtain her life insurance, then murdered Caden to silence any possible witnesses. Of course, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Caden had killed Rachel in a drug-fueled rage, and Reese had then murdered him for revenge. Or the Quinns had ordered the hit on Rachel, but Reese—erroneously believing Caden was the murderer—had still been Caden’s killer. Or Caden’s death wasn’t connected to Rachel at all. Maybe it had been a drug deal gone wrong, as Brad had suggested to us when we were waiting to be questioned earlier. I rubbed at my temples. The possibilities and permutations seemed endless.
“What makes the sheriff’s office so sure Caden was killed over drugs?” I asked, hoping Zelda had heard additional details about this part of the story.
Of course she had. “They found drugs on him, and he was stabbed. That apparently makes them think he knew his assailant, or trusted someone enough to allow them to get up close and personal. As you would in a drug deal, I suppose.”
“But they left the drugs on his body?” I asked. “That seems odd.”
“It does indeed,” Walt agreed, looking thoughtful.
Aunt Lydia stirred in her chair. “What I want to know is who lured Reese LeBlanc into the forgery scheme. He had to have a contact, and that person is as culpable as he is, at least as far as the forgeries are concerned. They need to be found.”
I studied her conflicted expression. Of course she wanted to know who it was. She was undoubtedly still obsessed with discovering who’d convinced Uncle Andrew to become a forger. Not that they were likely to be the same person, given the span of years between the events, but perhaps she thought arresting one of these liaisons could lead to answers about others. Even those from the past.
“If the authorities can track down Reese, they might get some answers out of him,” Walt said.
“I don’t understand how he just vanished into thin air.” Zelda slumped back against the sofa cushions. “He supposedly ran into the woods on Kurt Kendrick’s estate, and even though he could’ve hiked up into the mountains from there, it seems like search teams with dogs and such could track him down. How could he get very far on foot?”
“We don’t know that he didn’t have a car or something, though.” I dropped both feet to the floor as a possible scenario occurred to me. “Sure, if he just took off without a plan, he’d probably be caught right away. But what if he had worked out various escape scenarios with Mr. Kendrick ahead of time? They could’ve stashed a vehicle somewhere. Maybe even a motorcycle. That would’ve been easy enough to hide somewhere on the estate, and Reese could’ve grabbed it and made his way to a back road before the authorities arrived.”
“True.” My aunt rubbed her right eye with her fist. Although she still sat straight as a spear in her chair, she was obviously exhausted from the day’s events. “Anyway, I doubt we’re going to solve all these mysteries tonight.” She forced a smile as she looked over at Zelda and Walt. “Now, can I get you something? Coffee? Wine? A snack?”
“Oh no,” Zelda said, “we don’t want to put you out. We just stopped by to make sure you were okay.”
“And deliver all the news.” I flashed her a grin.
She smiled in return. “Just trying to keep you in the loop, my dear.”
Walt stood up and held out his hand to Zelda. “We should be getting along, though,” he said, helping her to her feet. “I bet you’d both like the chance to rest.”
“I won’t argue with you about that,” Aunt Lydia said as she rose to her feet. “But thanks for coming over. We hadn’t heard what had happened to Reese and Kurt after we left the estate.”
Zelda paused in the doorway. “Oh—before I forget—I guess you did hear that Mr. Kendrick was taken in for questioning.”
“No, we hadn’t,” I said.
Aunt Lydia grabbed the edge of a nearby bookshelf. “Really? After what happened to him?”
<
br /> “Well, I think they did have a doctor or EMT or someone check him out first. But maybe Deputy Tucker was thinking along the same lines as Amy. About Mr. Kendrick possibly being in on the escape, I mean.”
“More likely the sheriff’s office just wanted him to explain why he was hiding Reese LeBlanc all this time,” I said.
“He was harboring a fugitive, so he could be charged with obstruction of justice at the very least.” Walt placed his hand in the small of Zelda’s back and pressed her to move forward. “Now let’s go, Zel. Allow these ladies time to relax.”
As I trailed them to the front door, I admitted that the idea of the authorities questioning Kendrick appealed to my sense of justice.
He may honestly believe in Reese’s innocence and not be involved in the forgery ring, I thought, but he’s undoubtedly dabbled in some other shady deals.
“Wouldn’t it be ironic justice if his own questionable activities were uncovered as a result of him protecting another criminal?” I asked Aunt Lydia, after we’d said our good-byes to Zelda and Walt and locked the door behind them.
She headed for the kitchen without answering me, but after pouring a large glass of sherry, she leaned back against the counter and met my inquisitive gaze.
“Just remember that whatever comes out of this, Andrew’s name is likely to be dragged through the mud,” she said, before taking a long swallow of her drink.
“It was so long ago.” I grabbed a wine glass from the rack and pulled an open bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator. “Don’t you think people will just overlook that in the midst of all this other drama?”
Aunt Lydia shook her head. “In Taylorsford? Nobody overlooks anything, not when there’s a juicy story involved. In fact, I bet Mel Riley will be chomping at the bit to spread that gossip far and wide.”
I frowned. The mention of Mel made me think of her son and our last encounter. “Oh, with everything that’s happened, I forgot to tell you—when I ran into Trey Riley on my walk the other day, he followed me back here and displayed an interest in our house. I can’t be sure, but I suspect he’d like to buy it for some future development project.”
“That will happen when hell freezes over.” Aunt Lydia took another sip of her drink. “And even then, I think I’d rather let the devil have it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The next week flew by in a blizzard of rumors. I dreaded heading into the library each day and spent my morning walks girding myself for the onslaught. My anxiety had nothing to do with typical library queries. It was fueled by the fact that our patrons spent more time clustered around the circulation desk, bombarding Sunny and me with questions about the LeBlanc case, than they did conducting research or checking out books.
Not that either of us had any news to add to what we’d already shared. Every day Sunny asked Brad for updates, and every day he told her the same thing—the authorities were still searching for Reese and Lila, who seemed to have evaporated like dew in the sun.
“I still say Kendrick had to have helped Reese escape,” I told Richard when we chatted on the phone on Friday night. Stuck at Clarion for a dance recital technical rehearsal, he’d stolen a few minutes to give me a call.
“Possibly. But the authorities released him and claimed he was cleared of all suspicion,” Richard said, before pausing to answer the stage manager’s question about a follow spot.
I rolled over on my bed and stared at the cracks in the plaster ceiling. “Which makes no sense. You’d think they’d have charged him with obstruction of justice at the very least.”
“Who knows? I have a feeling Kurt can talk himself out of most sticky situations.”
“He’s probably had a lot of practice,” I said darkly.
“Could be. But listen, I have to go. We’re about to start the run-through. You know I’m crashing at Deidre’s place tonight, right? I have to be here bright and early, and I don’t want to make that drive tonight and turn around and do it again tomorrow morning. I’ll have to silence my cell for this rehearsal too. But you can always reach me by text.”
“That’s fine. But just so we’re clear, please give me the details on this Deidre person again.”
Richard laughed. “Another teacher. And almost seventy. And married to Vivian.”
I chuckled. “Okay, I guess you’re in no danger then, even if you are irresistibly desirable.”
“Mmmm … saving all of that for you,” Richard said. “So sleep in tomorrow if you can. I intend to keep you up late tomorrow night.”
“You think so, do you? We’ll see,” I replied in teasing tone. “Anyway, I luckily don’t have to work tomorrow. It’s Sunny’s Saturday.”
“Good. You can rest all day.”
“Not all day. I have to head out at some point. The cupboard’s rather bare and Aunt Lydia asked me to pick up a few groceries. She has a lunch-and-movie date, you see.”
“Aha, the plot thickens. This date is with Hugh?”
“It is. So of course I agreed to free her up.”
“Of course. Anyway, I won’t be home until around four or so. At least Deidre’s taking over the dress rehearsal tomorrow night so I don’t have to hang around for that.”
“They don’t need you?”
Richard sighed. “As I told you yesterday, this recital doesn’t include anyone from my studio or my choreography. I’m just helping out with a few technical things. That’s not Deidre’s strong suit.”
“Oh yes, you did mention that. Sorry—I’ve been so flaky today. The continued questions about the LeBlanc case and all that nonsense are destroying the few brain cells I have left.”
“Still no word about your uncle’s missing painting? The still life, I mean.”
“No, and Aunt Lydia has given up. Too many other things for the authorities to deal with right now. She thinks it’s gone for good.”
“Too bad. Well, speaking of being gone, I’d better do that for real this time. Deidre is giving me the evil eye. And man, can she.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too,” he said before he hung up.
I dropped the phone onto the bed and hugged my chest with my arms. Richard didn’t seem concerned about Kendrick being cleared by the sheriff’s office, but I still found it disturbing. Kurt Kendrick had hidden Reese, a wanted fugitive, from the authorities. Surely that deserved some sort of charge?
I chewed on a fingernail as I contemplated the implications of this outcome. Kendrick must’ve pulled some strings or called in favors to have escaped any repercussions for his actions. Which also meant that he possessed a powerful sphere of influence. I dropped my hand into my lap and sighed. Another mystery, and not one my research skills could solve.
* * *
I didn’t manage to get to the grocery store until around noon the next day, after Aunt Lydia had left for her date.
“It’s not a date,” she’d told me for the umpteenth time as she slipped on her lavender raincoat.
“Hugh is driving back from his work at the lab to pick you up,” I said. “And then bringing you home after. And no doubt paying for lunch and the movie. So it’s a date.”
She didn’t reply, but I caught a glimpse of her lips curving into a smile before she turned her head and sailed out the door.
I frowned as I studied the threatening sky before hopping into the car. Aunt Lydia’s preferred grocery store was located in a neighboring town about twenty minutes from Taylorsford. I didn’t usually mind the longer trip, but it appeared that I might get caught in a bad storm, and I hated driving in heavy rain.
Oh well, there was nothing I could do but grit my teeth and deal with whatever the weather tossed my way. I knew I’d rather face a storm than Aunt Lydia’s disappointment.
I reached the store just as the first drops splatted against the blacktop of the parking lot. Grabbing my umbrella, I dashed inside, hoping the rain would stop before I finished shopping.
As I pushed my cart down the produce aisle,
I spotted a tall man hovering over a display of cheeses. “Hi, Trey, looking for anything in particular?”
He wheeled around so fast I had to yank back my cart so that he didn’t bang his shins into the lower rack.
“Amy—hello.” Rubbing at his temple with one hand, he looked me up and down. “Sorry, I’m just a bit confused by all these different varieties.” He waved his hand over the piles of cheese wedges and wheels. “Mom wants something for a cocktail party. Not sure whether I should stick with the classics like cheddar and brie or go for something more exotic.”
“Knowing your mother, I’d say take the risk and choose a few things you’ve never bought before.” I examined Trey, noticing how the harsh fluorescent lights seemed to have drained all the color from his face. Of course, no one looked good under those lights, but Trey appeared especially exhausted. Staying up too late worrying over finances? I wondered, and gave him a warm smile. I knew what it was like to worry over money.
“You feeling okay, Trey? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, offering an answering smile. “Just allergies.”
He was dressed neatly as always, in khakis and an ivory cashmere sweater over a peach button-down shirt. I rubbed my right eye, clearing what felt like a film. Of course his wan appearance was simply an illusion caused by the lights. Unlike me, Trey Riley always looked calm and pulled together. “Oh, leaf mold? Yeah, that’s bad this time of year. If we’re lucky, the storm will wash some of it away and clear the air.”
“Damn it to hell, there’s a storm?” Trey snapped before casting me an apologetic look. “Sorry for the language. It wasn’t raining when I came in.”
“Yeah, I hope you have an umbrella,” I said, wondering how he could’ve been so distracted he hadn’t noticed the roiling dark clouds that had filled the sky all morning.
“I’ve got a raincoat in the car. Not that it will do me much good out there.” Trey stared at the refrigerated dairy case as if he’d never seen cheese before.
I tugged on the ties of my hooded sweatshirt. “So your mom sent you out to do the shopping, huh? Sounds like you’re on a mission, like me. My aunt asked me to pick up a few things.”
Shelved Under Murder Page 20