She shrugged. “I was embarrassed, I guess. It’s just that Richie can be so damned charming when he wants to be—at least with outsiders. He was charming with me, too, in the beginning—just as long as he had his own way. I guess I didn’t want anyone to know that I had chosen so…well, so badly,” she finished lamely. “I thought I was smarter than that.”
The waitress came to clear our places. “Was something wrong with the red beans and rice?” she asked, frowning as she picked up Sue’s still-heaping plate.
“No,” Sue returned. “It was fine, really. I just wasn’t as hungry as I thought I was.”
“Would you like to take it home?”
“I don’t think so…”
“What about the boys?” I interrupted. “Wouldn’t one of them like it? I’ve never met a teenaged boy who didn’t have at least one hollow leg.”
Smiling halfheartedly, Sue nodded at the waitress. “Okay,” she said. “You win. I’ll take it with me.”
The waitress disappeared. I turned back to Sue. “Is that what’s worrying you now?” I asked. “Are you afraid that Richie might turn violent with the boys while they’re on this trip to California?”
Her face paled. “I’ve been so pissed at the whole idea that I didn’t even think about the possibility—until just now, although God knows I should have. He’s a big guy, Beau. Six five. Two hundred and sixty pounds the last I saw him. It’s my job to protect the kids. If he were to hurt one of them, I’d never forgive myself.”
Why is it people fall for the wrong person? Then, when the inevitable happens, they spend the rest of their lives trying to get over it. That’s what happened to me with Anne Corley, and this was much the same. Sue Danielson had never forgiven herself for that long-ago kick to the belly that had catapulted Christopher Danielson into the world some two months prior to his due date.
“What would you do if you were in my shoes, Beau?” Sue was asking earnestly. “Would you let the boys go with him or not?”
Having been a fatherless boy myself, I knew this territory painfully well—from the inside out. I knew how much it would have meant for me to have had the chance to spend some time with my own father just once in my life. A three-day trip to Disneyland would have been a gift beyond compare. Unfortunately, my father died long before I was even born. But I could also see the situation from Sue’s point of view. Why should she let the boys go off on a trip with a worthless yahoo who didn’t pay child support and who might very well turn violent if things didn’t go just right? On the other hand, if she kept the boys home and Richie had somehow come to his senses in the meantime, she might very well be denying her sons their one chance of ever having any kind of workable relationship with their father.
“Did Jared witness that first beating?” I asked. Despite the fact that the truth had to be otherwise, I allowed Sue her pride-saving pretense that there had been only one serious episode of violence in her relationship with her former husband.
Blood rushed back to her pale cheeks. “Yes,” she managed.
“Does he remember it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never asked him.”
“He’s what—thirteen?”
“Fourteen,” Sue answered. “Just turned. His birthday was last week.”
“And Chris?”
“Eight. He’ll be nine in May.”
“And you moved out of the house right after Chris was born?”
Sue nodded. “When we left the hospital, I only went home long enough to pack up and leave. I took the kids and went straight from the hospital right into a temporary shelter.”
In the time Sue Danielson and I had worked together, I’d never had any quarrel with her courage under fire. I realized now, however, that nothing the street had required of her could have demanded any more raw courage than leaving a marriage with two children—a six-year-old and a newborn—especially considering Sue’s parents and the rest of her family were almost a continent away from Seattle in Ohio.
“That must be about the same time you left the Communications Center,” I observed.
Sue nodded. “A representative from the EEOC came through the department and told the brass that they needed more female trainees. A recruiter from Seattle PD came to the Com Center and talked to us about the idea of an upgrade and transfer. I didn’t see myself as a women’s libber, but I figured if I was going to be raising a family on my own, I needed to be earning a man’s wages. I jumped at the chance.”
The waitress dropped off our check. It would have been easy for me to pay for lunch each time, but Sue Danielson’s pride demanded that she pay her own way. That meant today’s meal was on her. I made no objection as she brought a much-folded twenty out of her purse and laid the money on top of the bill.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she said, once we were back in the Caprice with the engine running.
“I know,” I said. “I’m thinking. Before you let the boys go, talk to Tared. Ask him straight out if he remembers any of what went on between you and Richie before you divorced. He may remember or he may not. Regardless, go ahead and tell him what happened. Don’t make a big deal of it. Just be matter of fact. That way he’ll be prepared.”
“But…” Sue objected.
“No, wait. Let me finish. If he does remember, he may have put a little kid spin on it that has absolutely nothing to do with reality. And if he doesn’t remember, he needs to be warned. Tell him that time has passed and you’re hoping Richie has grown up. But if he hasn’t, and the kids do go on the trip, Jared may have to be the one who’s a grownup. He’ll need to know how to call for help if he needs to.”
“But how…?”
“Before the kids leave town, go by one of those cellular telephone places. Get one of those little ‘go phones’ so he can call you or 911 if there’s any kind of a problem. You don’t have to say it’s because his dad might beat the crap out of him and his brother. Tell him it’s for him to use to call you if there’s some kind of emergency.”
“What if there is no emergency?” Sue asked. “What if Jared uses the phone to run up a big bill talking to one of his buddies?”
“That’s simple,” I told her. “Tell Jared that if he does that, he won’t have to worry about his dad beating him up because you’ll kill him.”
Sue laughed then, and so did I. “Sounds like good advice,” she said. “So how about getting our minds back on the job and going to see Mildred George?”
“How about it,” I agreed. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”
When we pulled up again at Olson’s Truck Rental there were two vehicles parked out front. One was a beat-up old pickup with an inch-thick layer of dried muck on it. The other was a ten-year-old Buick station wagon, one of the old-fashioned woody variety. Years of sitting outside had caused paint to flake and peel, including the paint on the fake-wood panels.
Unlatching the now-unlocked front door, I held it open long enough for Sue to step inside the storefront office. At a chest-high counter just inside the door stood an immense man. He wore a fleece-lined jacket over frayed Levi’s and mud-spattered boots. Frowning with concentration, he was painstakingly filling in the blanks on a rental form. On the other side of the linoleum-topped counter stood a woman I assumed to be Mildred George. She was tall and angular with iron-gray hair cut in what we used to call a bob. She wore one of those short, wool jacket/ sweaters that would have been more at home in a country-club setting than in that run-down, dingy office.
From what Sue had told me, I knew Andrew George was Agnes Ferman’s older brother. Agnes herself had been sixty-seven when she died. The brief glimpses I had caught of Andrew placed his age at anywhere from seventy-five to eighty. The poised, well-manicured woman behind the counter, however, looked to be a good deal younger than that—mid-to late-fifties, tops.
She waved to acknowledge our arrival without losing the beat of her telephone conversation. “We’ve been over this before, Mr. Tully,” she explained patiently. “Your son-in-
law is not allowed to drive any of our vehicles—not even in an emergency. He’s an unapproved driver, Mr. Tully. If Rob does use one of our trucks and has any kind of accident, the insurance is null and void and you’re liable. Period.”
There was a pause. The woman held the phone away from her ear while Mr. Tully gave vent to a series of explosive-sounding comments.
“I know it’s a busy time of year for your nursery business, Mr. Tully,” she said reasonably, once the tirade was finished. “It’s busy for us, too. But Rob already had that one accident. And, as you know, he has two other tickets besides.”
There was another pause. “In that case,” she said. “I suggest you have one of your other employees do the driving.”
Another angry outburst blew through the phone line. It was loud enough for Sue and me to hear Mr. Tully sputtering although neither of us could make out any of the individual words.
“Of course I understand that based on this you may have to take your business elsewhere. If that’s the case, we’ll certainly be sorry to lose you…”
Mildred stopped talking in midsentence. A buzzing dial tone told everyone in the office that Mr. Tully had slammed down the receiver on his end. She put the phone down and calmly collected the paperwork the other customer had pushed across the counter in her direction. Meanwhile she smiled up at the behemoth of a man standing before her. She seemed totally unruffled by his size, his mane of wildly unruly red hair, his tattered red flannel shirt, or his several missing teeth.
“How long do you think you’ll be needing the truck, Mr. Parker?” she asked politely.
“A week or so,” he said. “Two at the outside, but I’ll have to let you know when we get a little closer to the end of the job.”
Mildred George and Mr. Parker set about finalizing the deal. Minutes later, Mr. Parker stuffed a wad of rental-agreement paperwork and a set of car keys into his pocket. “I’ll be back for the truck in about an hour,” he said. “Soon as I get this one home and get my wife to drive me back.”
“That’ll be fine,” Mildred George said with a gracious smile. “You know which truck is yours. You’re welcome to come pick it up from the lot whenever it’s convenient. As long as you have both the key and the rental agreement, you can do that even if the office is closed.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “You’ve been a big help.”
As the door closed on the departing Mr. Parker, a poised and businesslike Mildred George turned to face us. “Good afternoon,” she said. “You must be the two detectives Grace Tipton called to tell me about earlier. What can I do for you?”
So much for our making an unannounced visit. “We’re sorry about your sister-in-law,” I said, pulling out my ID and handing it across the counter. “We’re looking for information that might help lead us to the person or persons responsible. Anything you could tell us about her friends, associates, or business dealings would be most helpful.”
Mildred George examined my ID carefully before handing it back. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there,” Mildred said. “When it comes to Agnes, I don’t know very much. We were notified of her death, of course, by the medical examiner. And since you’re here, I’m assuming that her death is now being treated as a homicide, but beyond that, I don’t know anything that would be of use.”
“I take it you weren’t close?”
Mildred George laughed outright. “You could say that.”
“Estranged then?”
Mildred George smiled a sad smile that didn’t extend all the way to her eyes. “No,” she said. “Estranged presupposes there was some closeness to begin with. In the case of Agnes Ferman and me, there was never any love lost.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Christmas,” Mildred said. “We had dinner Christmas Eve at Hilda’s house up in Marysville. Hilda is Andy’s sister—his younger sister. She’s also the family’s self-appointed peace broker. I think she thought that if she put Andy and Agnes together in the same room, they’d end up burying the hatchet. That didn’t happen, though. Hilda waited too long. Andy seems to recognize Hilda, but then he sees her several times a week. Before that Christmas dinner, the last time he saw Agnes was years ago at Lyle Ferman’s funeral. Since then, he’s slipped so badly that I don’t think he had any idea who she was. Since he didn’t remember her, he could hardly be expected to remember what it was they had quarreled about all those years ago.”
“Maybe your husband doesn’t remember what the quarrel was all about,” Sue suggested quietly. “But do you?”
Mildred appeared to study Sue for some time before she answered. “They quarreled over me,” she said at last.
“Over you?”
“My sister-in-law didn’t approve of me,” Mildred said quietly. “She was a good friend of Andy’s first wife. Agnes and Betty went all through school together. Agnes has always regarded me as a home wrecker, even though Andy and Betty’s home was wrecked long before I appeared on the scene.”
“When was that?” I asked.
“Thirty-five years ago.”
“That’s a long time to pack a grudge,” I suggested.
Mildred raised one artfully arched eyebrow. “When it came to grudges,” she said, “Agnes was an expert.”
“I see,” I said, wanting to follow that thread all the way to the end. “Can we assume then, if things have been that rocky between you and Agnes all these years, that you’re not particularly broken up that she’s dead?”
Mildred George shook her head. “No,” she agreed. “It would be downright hypocritical to pretend otherwise. I’m not sorry at all.”
“So where were you last Monday night?” Sue asked.
“I was home,” Mildred said at once. “Home with my husband.”
“Will your husband be willing to verify that?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Grace told me you were at the house this morning. You’ve seen Andy. His condition makes it so he barely recognizes me from day to day. He has no sense at all for the passage of time.”
“There’s no one else who would know whether or not you were home all night?” Sue asked.
Mildred George shook her head. “I doubt it,” she said. “You’ll just have to take my word for it. Andy and I were home alone. After he went to bed, I watched television for a little while, then I read a book.”
“What did you watch on TV?”
“Poirot,” Mildred answered. “Law and Order and Miss Marple.”
“So you’re interested in mysteries. According to one of Agnes Ferman’s neighbors there at Bitter Lake, she liked mysteries, too.”
“Is that so?” Mildred replied. “Well, you certainly couldn’t prove it by me, but if it is true, I’d say that’s one of the few things Agnes and I had in common.”
Five
Just then a blue Saab pulled up out front. A beefy, middle-aged guy who looked like he belonged on the pro-bowling circuit got out of the vehicle then turned back to retrieve both a hound’s-tooth sports jacket and a battered briefcase. He lumbered inside, carrying the jacket and briefcase in one hand while he yanked loose his red-and-blue-striped necktie with the other. Nodding as he passed, he slipped behind the counter. He disappeared momentarily into a small, cluttered office. After depositing the briefcase on the front corner of a desk, he reemerged.
“So what’s happening?” He asked the question of Mildred while his eyes remained trained on Sue and me.
“These are police detectives,” Mildred explained. “From Seattle. They’re here to talk to me about Andy’s sister’s death. They wanted to know what I was doing last Monday night.”
“What you were doing?” the man repeated. “You mean they’re accusing you of having something to do with that fire business? Call an attorney, Millie. Get hold of Jack Hornsby right away. Tell him I told you to call. Let him know he should get his butt over here ASAP.”
“Please, Lonnie,” Mildred said. “It’s nothing to get so wound up about. And I’
m not calling Jack. I don’t mind talking with these officers. I’ve nothing to hide. I already told them I was home with Andy all night long. Unfortunately, there’s no way to prove it.”
Mildred hadn’t bothered to introduce us. However, the proprietary way in which “Lonnie” pushed his wide girth around the place implied ownership—that and a certain amount of arrogant self-importance, as well.
“You’re sure?” he demanded of Mildred.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”
Lonnie came back over to the counter then, pulling his pants up under the shelf of his generous belly. “It’s ridiculous,” he said, scowling balefully at Sue and me. “I can’t imagine that you’re seriously considering the idea that Mildred might have had anything whatsoever to do with what happened.”
He looked for the world like a man who was spoiling for a fight. Fortunately for all concerned, Sue defused the situation by stepping up to the counter with her hand extended. “I’m Detective Danielson,” she said. “And this is my partner, Detective Beaumont. I don’t believe I caught your name.”
The man waffled for a moment then took her proffered hand. “I’m Lonnie Olson,” he said, losing the scowl. “Glad to meetcha. I’m the owner here. I know you guys are just doing your jobs, but I got to say that thinking Millie could be involved in a murder is about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Not only that, she’s a valued employee around here. A trusted employee. How you can walk around accusing…”
“Mr. Olson,” Sue interrupted. “We’re not necessarily making accusations, but we are required to ask questions of everyone concerned with the case. And, if at all possible, we’re expected to establish readily verifiable alibis from those same people. That’s especially true of individuals who may stand to benefit as a result of the victim’s death.”
“What makes you think Millie stands to benefit from her sister-in-law’s death? Millie and Agnes Ferman barely spoke.”
It struck me as odd that Lonnie Olson was taking such an interest in every nuance of what was said. He seemed to be displaying far more than a concerned employer’s level of interest in what was going on. I was about to tell him our questions addressed to Mildred were none of his business when the telephone did it for me.
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