by Sylvia Nobel
I could tell she was dead serious. But unlike some of the townsfolk, I didn’t believe she had a screw loose. This was a woman with deep convictions willing to wage a valiant fight for her crusade. But would she kill for it? “Willow, tell me truthfully, do you actually believe those little birds are more important than a human being?”
The guarded expression on her face confirmed that she’d caught my implication. “That’s a trick question, isn’t it? Listen, lady, you’re a day late and a dollar short. I’ve already been questioned up the wazoo about what happened last May. And if there was any proof that I’d done away with the old bastard I’d be in jail, wouldn’t I?”
“Something’s still not clear to me. Since your efforts had already succeeded in keeping the mine closed for four years and, apparently everyone in town knew Grady was resisting Haston’s proposal to reopen it, what was the problem between you two? I would have thought you and Grady would be on the same team, for different reasons, of course.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear. That depended on when you talked to him, or if he was sober. One day he’d swear that it would stay closed forever and the next he’d deliberately taunt me, saying he’d changed his mind. Make no mistake. He was using the situation to get even. To torture me.”
I frowned. “That’s odd. He used the same seesaw strategy on the Pickrells. Why?”
“Because, that’s the kind of person Grady Morgan was. It was a game with him. It made him feel superior. God-like. I’m not sorry that horrible man is gone. I only hope his daughter, or whoever she is, doesn’t waffle on her promises the way he did.”
So, she doubted Audrey’s authenticity as well. “What promises?”
An expression of profound misery clouded her plain features as she reached up to extract Lovey Dovey from her hair and set the bird tenderly on the back of a kitchen chair. “He vowed that if an agreement was ever reached he would set aside several acres of the property for a riparian preserve.”
“He put that in writing?”
She nodded her reply.
“And he reneged on it?”
“He was laughing...” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. “I pleaded with him not to, but he was cackling like a mad man and tore up the agreement right in front of me.”
“When?”
Her unusual eyes glowed with distress. “That same afternoon.”
Her admission was stunning. “So, besides Marta Nuñez, you were the last person to see him alive.”
“I’m not stupid. And I’m also well aware of how incriminating this all looks, but I’m not so sure I was the last one.”
“What do you mean?”
She moved aside a stack of papers from one end of the sagging couch and sat down with a tired grunt as the dogs gathered around her feet, panting, and pawing her legs for attention. “I was so mad afterwards, I just got in my car and started driving.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Out past the mine road. I was crying and yelling and pounding the steering wheel and well, it was getting dark when I finally got back to town and...”
“About what time was that?”
“Eight-thirty, maybe.”
“Go on.”
“When I passed the road leading up to the house, guess whose truck I saw turning into the drive?”
Since pickups seemed to be the vehicle of choice for this hilly community, my mind raced with possibilities. “You tell me.”
There was a shrewd gleam in her eyes. “Jesse Pickrell’s.”
That set me back. “You’re sure of that?”
“Absolutely.”
“But. Marta claims Jesse was there before you came.”
“Maybe she was.”
“And you told this to the deputy?”
“Yes.”
I digested the information for a few seconds. “The windows on her truck are pretty heavily tinted. How can you be sure it was Jesse driving?”
“I can’t, but like I said, it was almost dark.”
“You’re positive the truck went up the driveway?”
“As far as I know.”
“I see.” I remembered Marta’s account of how she’d come home early and gone to sleep. If she was telling the truth, she couldn’t have known Jesse had returned. And if Jesse had done the deed, why hadn’t Marta seen the truck or at least heard it leaving the scene? But what if it had been parked down the hill out of sight? That would explain how she’d escaped after Marta had seen her running past the window.
And then again, I reminded myself, this could also be an elaborate lie. One thing was certain though. Willow undeniably had the motive and opportunity.
Preoccupied with my thoughts, I was a little disconcerted when she suddenly jumped to her feet. “Look, I’ve got a deadline to get this stuff done, so if that’s all the questions you have, I’ve got a lot to finish up.”
She accepted my thanks for her time with an impatient nod and shooed me towards the door. Outside on the porch, I bundled the papers under my arm and squinted at the hazy afternoon sunlight pouring through the trees.
While pleased with the fact that I’d gained valuable insight on her activist mentality, as well as the intriguing information entailing Jesse’s second trip to the Morgan house that day, a measure of frustration permeated my psyche. I’d wanted to grill her about the threatening sign posted on the mine gate, as well as the slain rabbit, but most importantly I was disappointed that I had failed to come up with one ounce of proof to buttress my suspicion that Willow was the phantom caller.
Feigning forgetfulness, I snapped my fingers and whirled around just as the screen door closed behind me. “You probably don’t have a phone up here, do you?”
“Sure I do. You need to use it?”
That shot my theory all to hell. “No. Thanks.”
“You won’t forget to give that stuff to Miss Morgan, will you?”
I patted the sheaf of papers. “Got ‘em right here.” Thoroughly disheartened, I started towards the gate, then acting purely on impulse, I swung back to fire one last question. “By the way, I don’t suppose there’s an outside chance that you were ever acquainted with Rita Morgan?”
She hesitated a few seconds before answering. “As a matter of fact, I was.”
Chapter 15
Willow’s closing remark took me completely by surprise and I threatened to camp out on her doorstep until she agreed to divulge more information.
In a nutshell, she’d met and become friends with Rita while attending high school in Tucson. They’d continued to write to each other even after her family had moved to Chicago during her junior year. But the letters stopped after the death of Rita’s first husband and Willow had lost track of her in the midst of her own personal problems and the messy divorce from the chemical giant. Enmeshed in her various causes, Willow’s vagabond lifestyle had carried her to the far corners of the earth before she’d returned to Arizona years later to tackle the timber and mining industries.
Thankfully negotiating the last few steps leading down to Toomey’s garage, I mulled over the evidence. Willow appeared to meet all the criteria necessary for her to qualify as the villain. She’d known Rita in the past, she’d made no secret of her unavowed hatred for Grady Morgan, and lastly, she certainly possessed a strong justification for discrediting Audrey, even to the point of labeling her an imposter. And what about her apparent money woes? Were they severe enough for her to risk stealing from Grady? Even though her profound zeal regarding the animal rights movement could no doubt justify her motives, somehow, I could no more picture her skulking about the Morgan house pilfering items for her cause than I could imagine her issuing death threats.
But one thing I was sure of. Willow could not have slaughtered the rabbit. Although, I had to consider the disquieting possibility that she might have arranged for someone else to do it.
It worked to my advantage that I’d stayed later than expected at Willow’s because Toomey was just closing the garage and
offered me a ride. It had been a terribly long day and by the time he dropped me off, I felt physically and emotionally drained. I was anxious to share all my news with Audrey but the small amount of sleep coupled with the unexpected exercise had taken its toll to the point where I could barely clamber up the front stairs to my room.
In record time, I’d stripped, bathed, and changed into shorts and a T-shirt before allowing myself the luxury of flopping onto the bed. The downy mattress seemed to fold around me and with a grateful sigh I closed my eyes, reveling in the notion that except for the phone call to Ida Fairfield, my agenda for the remainder of the evening included little more than a large dose of peace and quiet. The crowning touch would be another of Marta’s scrumptious meals followed by a good night’s sleep. But I’d barely completed the thought when a faint sound at the doorway caused me to look up just in time to see Audrey hurl something at me. Instinctively, I raised a hand and deflected the book before it crashed into my cheek. Caught somewhere between stunned amazement and outrage, it took me a few seconds to get my bearings before scrambling to my feet. “What the hell are you doing?”
Her eyes flashed fire. “Admit it! You think I’m crazy too.”
I groaned inwardly. Not another tantrum? At that particular moment I came close to conceding the possibility, and had to marshal what little patience I had to keep from reaching out and shaking her. “Jesus, Audrey. What’s bugging you now? I thought you’d be in a great mood considering the way Duncan Claypool fawned over you all morning.”
“Oh sure, like I believe him. He’s just being nice because of all the money at stake.”
“You’re not making much sense.”
“Of course I’m not. I’m a mental defective, remember?”
“Oh, please. Get a grip, will you?”
“But what if it’s true? What if Jesse’s right?”
“Oh, I get it. You’ve been lying around all afternoon worrying about that stupid remark. Well, forget it. No one thinks that.”
“You do.”
I met her glare of accusation with disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
She pointed a trembling finger. “That.”
Puzzled, I reached over and picked up the book she’d thrown. It was mine—the one on epilepsy I’d been reading the night before. I shot her a look of irritation. “Why were you snooping around in my room?”
“I wasn’t snooping. I found it by accident.”
“By accident? I left it on the night stand.”
“It was on the floor. Right here,” she said, pointing to the doorway.
I must have looked skeptical because she burst out, “I thought you were going to be my friend?”
“You don’t make it easy.”
Angry tears jumped to her eyes. “I saw the page you marked. I read the part about the epileptic personality,” she said, placing special emphasis on the word epileptic. “I know exactly what’s going to happen now. I’ve seen it before. You’re going to treat me like I’m some kind of a freak like everyone else does when they find out.”
I gritted my teeth. “No, I’m not. I bought this last week to educate myself about something I know very little about, so stop trying to read something sinister into it.”
Apparently stung by my rebuke, she looked chastened. “I’m sorry, Kendall. I guess I was...I thought maybe you’d be afraid to be around me anymore.”
“That’s not true.”
Her despondent sigh filled the room. “Can you believe my shitty timing? Of all the places on earth, why did I have to have an attack in front of Jesse and Haston and...Duncan.”
Oh. So that’s what was really bothering her.
“When he left this afternoon, he promised to call, but I know he won’t.” She hugged her elbows and leaned into the doorjamb, whimpering, “And it’s my own fault.”
“Don’t be silly. You can’t control the seizures.” I expected her to agree, but instead she stood in stony silence, looking guilty. “Audrey, what is it?”
She fiddled and picked at the material on her long skirt before answering. “Sometimes, I don’t take my medicine.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because a lot of times it makes me feel sick.”
“What are you taking?”
“Dilantin.”
“And how long have you been on it?”
She gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know. Years.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake. Why didn’t you say something to your doctor?”
“I told you. Mom told me not to discuss it, so I just... didn’t.”
I thought her explanation both lame and irresponsible, but somehow right in character. I rose and pressed the book firmly into her hand. “Here. Apparently, you need this worse than I do. And I think you should go see Dr. Orcutt about a change of medication right away.”
“I don’t want to.”
The abject panic in her eyes puzzled me. “Why not?”
“What if it does run in the family?”
“You mean epilepsy?”
“No,” she said through trembling lips. “Insanity.”
The sight of tears streaming down her grief-stricken face evaporated my exasperation. With an inward sigh, I put my arms around her, once again, holding her while she wept. Try as I might, I couldn’t banish the vision of her radiant expression this morning as she’d basked in the warmth of Duncan’s attention. Poor kid. Was she right? Had it all been a ploy? A craven scheme cooked up between Haston and him to break down any resistance she might have for their plans?
I swallowed the sour taste of resentment gathering in my throat, preferring to believe that his actions were genuine and he was not some jerk bent on romancing this vulnerable young woman for his own selfish purposes.
But my own reaction presented another uncomfortable dilemma. I was dangerously close to losing my objectivity. Teetering on the edge. And that wasn’t good.
From my first day on the job four years ago at my dad’s little newspaper back home in Spring Hill, I’d carried with me his sage advice. “Go ahead and get emotionally involved with the subject matter of your story. It makes for passionate writing. But steer clear of emotional attachments to the people. It skews the facts and eventually obscures the truth.”
I patted her on the back as she pulled away and delicately blew her nose on a tissue. “Listen, Audrey, you’re not crazy, so you can chalk that off your worry list.” “What about my father? He talked to ghosts, you know,” she said, fluttering her fingers through the air. “And what about my sister? She died in an asylum, remember?”
“Why dwell on them? Look at the bright side. From what we’ve learned, you also have relatives like your great-grandmother, Hannah, who were intelligent, courageous, hard-working people. But if it will put your mind at ease, why don’t you ask Dr. Orcutt about your sister’s condition when you see him?”
She looked doubtful. “What if that’s one of the things he promised my mother he wouldn’t tell me?”
“Then we’ll go around him and talk to the other people who knew her.” Her continuing expression of uncertainty prompted me to add, “I promise you, we’re going to find out what happened, but right now, I think it’s just as important that we keep our eyes on the ball and deal with the present situation first. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for you, and maybe when you know where you stand legally and financially, you’ll feel more in control.”
She wiped her eyes, looking no less miserable. Maybe.”
I sat down on the bed and motioned for her to join me. “I have a lot of things to tell you. Do you feel up to talking?”
“I suppose.” The material of her long skirt flared out around her like a field of wildflowers as she plumped down cross-legged at the foot of my bed. “Oh my,” she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “What happened to your feet?”
I followed her line of sight to the red welts covering my heels. “Poor planning. The next time I go hiking, remind me to wear the proper shoes.”
/> Tiny frown lines etched her smooth forehead. “Why were you hiking?”
“I’ll get to that in a minute. But right now I want to tell you what I learned from Jesse.” As I repeated the conversation, her expression grew so bleak that, for sake of maintaining what was probably a tenuous calm, I decided to skip over the rabbit incident and concentrate on the other things I’d learned.
When I concluded, she sat blinking in confusion. “Oh, wow. They both sound totally weird. So, which one do you think it is? Jesse or Willow?”
“Good question. Let’s go over the facts one at a time starting with Jesse, and let’s assume for the time being that she is telling the truth.”
Audrey drew a big breath as if to steel herself. “Okay.”
“We know that your father, Jesse, and now you, have all been contacted by a woman who claims to have known your mother from a long time ago. From the list of people that we know of, that could be Marta, Willow, Fran Orcutt, and from what Harmon Stubbs tells me, D.J. is dating a woman named Bitsy who may have been friends with your sister, Dayln.”
Audrey’s eyes were huge as she sat listening intently, alternately bunching then smoothing the material on her skirt. “So, that means she knew my mother too.”
“I would imagine so. And it’s certainly one of the questions I intend to ask her as soon as I can. But that brings us back to square one. Who, besides Jesse, has anything to gain by challenging your identity?”
She shrugged.
“Okay, how about this? Suppose Jesse isn’t telling the truth and that she was the one tormenting your father with crank calls because of his refusal to sanction Claypool’s involvement. Now we know from Marta that she was here that last day arguing with him, and from what Willow just told me, it appears she was here after Marta had left for the evening.”
Audrey’s mouth sagged open. “She came back?”
I held up a hand. “So Willow claims. Although she can’t swear Jesse was driving. But let’s say she was. Let’s say she and your father had another big blow up, she loses it and dumps him into the ravine.”