“Actually, I’ve heard some of that story. Didn’t they hang out with Larry Louama?”
“That’s a fact. That boy is nothing but trouble! Thank goodness he’s in prison now. One less scumbag to worry about.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“I don’t care. He was getting to the point of... uh oh... here they all come. Better get out there and be friendly.”
I shook my head and left the kitchen. Sunny ran over and grabbed my hand, then led me to the table where her sister and grandfather were just sitting down. DuWayne was working his way toward us, bringing the Ybarras with him.
“Len, I think you know these folks,” he began. Len struggled to turn and shake hands before committing his weight to the seat. He tripped on the legs of the metal folding chair, and almost fell. I could see that he was very tired, and also noted DuWayne didn’t reach out to steady the older man. “Girls, and Ms. Raven, these are old friends of mine, Pablo and Juanita Ybarra.” He looked at Star and Sunny, and added pointedly. “They were friends with your mom, too.”
The girls didn’t seem to know what to say, but sat there in awkward silence. The unpleasant DuWayne had changed like a chameleon to become personable.
“We were very sorry to learn that Angelica was really dead,” Pablo said.
“Yes, it’s such a shame. But perhaps it’s good to know.” echoed his sister.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “Do you live around here now?”
“I’m in Detroit,” said Juanita. “Pablo still lives in Emily City.”
“What do you do?”
Pablo answered first. “I’m a manager at Pizza Plus.”
“I’m in sales,” added Juanita.
“Oh, what do you sell?”
“Fad-fueled, big-ticket items to people with too much money and time.” She flashed me a white smile from her perfectly made-up face, and laughed, but with little humor.
Neither of them asked me any questions, and I wasn’t sure what else to say, but it didn’t matter. The serving line had started and Sunny pointed and pulled on my arm.
“Would you like me to bring you a plate?” I asked Len.
“That would be very kind,” he said.
We all shuffled over to the serving table, and the Ybarras joined the line behind me. Detective Milford materialized from somewhere and imposed himself beside the Ybarra siblings. They glanced at him, but seemed to be missing the intimidating signals he was sending. As I headed back toward Len, juggling two large plates and two dessert plates, I noticed that the detective hadn’t moved ahead in the line. I thought he must still be making sure that everyone knew they were under scrutiny, by virtue of his presence.
I made it to the table safely with all the plates, and Len was content with the food choices I had made for him. The rest of our time at the church was spent eating, or listening to DuWayne, Juanita and Pablo making small talk about events from the past. They seemed to have a lot of private jokes that set off laughs, smirks and high-fives. The rest of us were not exactly uncomfortable, but the focus had definitely moved off Len and the girls.
I told Star how much I enjoyed her poem and that I thought she was courageous to read it during the service. She looked pleased. Sunny nudged me under the table, and when I looked at her she took a deep breath. But when she spoke, it wasn’t to me.
“Dad, I think Grandpa needs to go home and rest. Can we leave now?”
To DuWayne’s credit, he looked at Len with some compassion. The older man was practically shaking with the effort to remain somewhat upright without leaning on the table.
“Sure, Sunshine. Let’s go.” The words were right, but DuWayne always sounded slightly angry to me.
Star ran around the table to help Len stand, and DuWayne turned to say goodbye to his friends who were also on their feet and seemed anxious to leave. Sunny pulled me down to her level.
“Dad’s leaving tomorrow afternoon. I’m really glad,” she whispered.
- - - - - -
1. Used with permission. Graham Kendrick ©1987 Make way Music. www.grahamkendrick.co.uk
Chapter 21
After the Leonards and DuWayne left, things wound down quickly. A few stragglers were still eating, but they soon brought their plates to the pass-through to the kitchen and then headed for the exit. The ladies’ group prided itself on using real plates and silverware for funeral lunches. I grabbed one of the spare aprons, tied it over my dress, and began washing dishes. Adele was bustling about wiping off tables, so I chatted with several other people who were helping to tidy the kitchen.
When the dishes were done, I saw Adele deep in conversation with a large young man, and an older man who was nearly bald, neither of whom I recognized. I’d met enough new people for one day, and scooted for my car while I had the chance.
Paddy was more than happy to see me when I arrived home. He hadn’t spent such a long time in his kennel since he’d come to stay with me.
“How about a walk?” I asked him. “I need some exercise too.” I changed clothes and got us each a fresh drink of water.
Now that I knew about the former cabin on my property I was really curious. I wondered if it might be possible to put a canoe in the river there and paddle up to the dam. The water wasn’t fast-moving at this time of year, and the ruined rowboat seemed to indicate that some previous owner might have visited the island.
Paddy ran free, although I took his leash along, just in case we encountered a porcupine or something. We followed the route Sunny had led us on before: take the deer path to a large cedar, jog to the white birch and then head straight east to the water.
However, when we got to the white birch, I felt drawn, instead, to the northeast, toward Angelica’s grave site. I hadn’t been there since the body had been discovered. The police seemed to be finished; my driveway provided the closest vehicle access, and I hadn’t seen an official car since Tuesday. It was no trouble at all finding the way. The ground was softer here, and so many officers and technicians had been back here since Saturday that a path was well trampled.
Nearing the water, I knew I was getting close because the yellow crime-scene tape was strung through the trees. I was surprised to see it still in place, feeling pretty sure that there was no one assigned to guard the site.
A light wind lifted the leaves, and on the breeze came the smell of fresh cigarette smoke. Maybe I was mistaken.
“Hello,” I called. “Anastasia Raven here. Who’s on duty?” I reached down and grabbed Paddy’s collar, and clipped him to the leash. If the site was being protected, I knew they didn’t want a dog disturbing things. Fastening the dog only took a couple of seconds, but I was surprised when no one answered.
“Hello!” I tried again, louder this time. I was also closer by now. Surely the officer had heard me. But the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and a slight gurgling from where the river bent and water slapped against a fallen log.
I reached the grave site. The smell of burning tobacco was strong here, but there was no one in sight. It looked to me as if the police were finished, since the grave had been filled in, leaving a large area of raw dirt but no gaping hole. Oddly, there were footprints all over the bare area. It took me a couple of seconds to react to the fact that the prints had been made by someone wearing high-tech athletic shoes with swirling patterns and a nipped waist between the ball and heel, and were not the marks of the dress shoes or work boots the official visitors wore. The impressions were also very fresh. Suddenly, the quiet in the woods seemed unfriendly. No birds flitted from branch to branch, and just then a small cloud moved across the sun, deadening the sunny day. I shivered involuntarily.
I tried to sort out the tracks. I hadn’t seen any with this distinctive pattern on the well-used path I’d taken to this location. Then I realized they both came from and led toward the water. A blue jay screeched in anger from a distance upstream and Paddy began barking frantically and tugging against the leash.
“Who’s there?” I yelled, but
I doubted I could be heard over the din the dog was making. “You’re on private property.” I was pretty sure whoever it was had crossed over the boundary line to my land by that time. I released the dog. “Go get him, Paddy,” I said.
This wasn’t a command we’d worked on, but I was sure it was what Paddy had in mind anyway. He ran along the water’s edge, and I followed as fast as I could. A partial shoe track showed occasionally in areas that weren’t overgrown with grass. I passed a half-smoked cigarette that had fallen to the ground, and paused a moment. I wanted to pick it up, but realized just in time that it might be of interest to the police. Whoever was in the woods didn’t seem to want to be identified. I compressed the burning end with a small stone to put it out, left it in the mud and jogged on. Paddy was barking furiously, as if he’d cornered something. He was no longer moving away from me.
I rounded a bend and broke into the clearing where the cabin had once stood. Paddy was there, with his front feet in the water, gazing at the small island in the river. The running-shoe tracks were all over the bank here, and I also saw a straight drag mark in the sandy mud that looked as if someone had pulled a small boat up on the bank, and then hurriedly pushed off again.
“OK, you can stop now,” I told Paddy. “They’re gone.” He directed one last resentful yelp toward the island and came to me. I patted him on the head and scratched his ears. “You tried your best, but maybe it’s just as well we didn’t catch him. Or her. I think we should go call Detective Milford.”
We hurried home, jogging part of the way, since a look at my watch told me I’d have to hurry to catch Detective Milford at the station. Actually, I had no idea if he worked regular hours or not, but it was worth a try.
Back at the house I called the Sheriff’s Office. When a woman answered, I asked for Detective Milford. She told me to hold, but I guessed she only covered the receiver since I heard a muffled shout, “Dennis, wait up, it’s for you.”
While I waited, I absently studied the information I’d posted beside the phone in May, when I learned I was outside the jurisdiction of Cherry Hill. The Cherry Hill Police number was easy to remember. It was just the local exchange with 4-4-5-5 (H-I-L-L) at the end. The county number wasn’t memorable at all; I’d had to read it off the card.
“Milford here,” came his familiar gruff voice a moment later.
“It’s Ana Raven. I’m not sure if this is important or not, but someone’s been out at Angelica’s grave site.”
“What makes you think so?”
A trace of annoyance flickered through my mind. He made it sound as if I were too stupid to know anything, but I realized he only wanted details. “I walked out there after the service today. Someone was smoking, and when I called to him, he ran off. Paddy chased whoever it was, but it looks as if he left by canoe from the spot where we found the old rowboat.”
“You saw a man?”
“No, I never actually saw the person. But there are tracks all over that look like they were made by expensive running shoes. They seem large for a woman, but it could be.”
“You saw the boat?”
“No, just the drag mark on the bank.” I admitted. “I really didn’t see much at all. It could just be someone who’s curious, but I thought you should know.”
“And you’re correct. Did the tracks go directly to the grave?”
I felt vindicated. “Yes, there was no wandering around that I noticed. Oh, they dropped the cigarette too.”
“Did you pick it up?”
“No, I thought I shouldn’t touch it, but it was still burning, so I just pressed the hot end into the mud and left it in place. I didn’t think we needed a forest fire. I can find it again.”
“Good.” He sighed. “Stay home and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can scare up a tech.”
I made some iced tea, and sat on the terrace to await the detective’s arrival, with Paddy dozing at my feet. About forty minutes later, Detective Milford and a young man I’d seen the previous weekend, but never met, stepped out of a county car. The technician was carrying a duffel bag, and was introduced to me as Cameron Slater.
“Leave the dog home,” Milford ordered.
I didn’t argue, but took Paddy inside and shut him in his kennel. “Sorry, boy,” I said. “The detective isn’t a dog lover.”
The three of us hiked back to the river once again. I pointed out the lack of unusual tracks on the path we followed, and then how they appeared and covered the bare dirt at the roped-off area. Milford grunted, and the technician went to work, pulling out equipment to take casts.
“Where’s that cigarette?” Milford asked.
“This way,” I said, and pointed upstream along the river bank. I found the butt with no problem. It was lying in the mud, and didn’t seem to have been disturbed since I had put it out. The detective pulled out a small camera, snapped several photos, and scooped the cigarette up in an evidence bag.
“And the tracks go on farther? Your prints seem to cover some from the running shoes.”
“To the old cabin site.” We continued upstream and I was careful to stay behind Detective Milford, rather than chance being reprimanded for destroying any additional tracks. At the clearing, he took more pictures, long shots, and close-ups of the drag marks and jumbled footprints. He didn’t speak, and I kept quiet as well, following his lead. Slater arrived in the clearing a few minutes later.
“All set?” Milford asked.
“Yes, sir. I got pictures, clear impressions, and looked around. Someone had been poking around under several trees. Leaves were disturbed, but no serious digging.”
“You’ll need to stay here until a deputy arrives,” he told Slater.
“Yes, sir.” The young man seemed as intimidated by Milford as I did, and he glanced around nervously. I suspected staying in the woods alone wasn’t high on his list of favorite activities.
“Ms. Raven and I are going back to her house. You’ll be relieved by a deputy who’s scheduled for duty tonight. Go back to the grave.” He then turned to me and pointed toward the white birch. I realized he was even more familiar with this terrain than I was. He’d probably been over it many times in the past week.
When we reached the house, he first spent some time on the car radio, while I waited on the terrace. Finally, he unfolded his meaty frame from the car and approached me.
“You did the right thing to call. We’ll have someone here to watch soon. That was no casual sightseer. We haven’t given out the exact location of the grave. Did you tell anyone?”
“No, of course not. You told me not to on Saturday.”
“And don’t be surprised to hear a motorboat. We need to check out that island.”
“I’ll appreciate knowing no one is hiding there.”
“Why didn’t you call me right away, this afternoon?”
“What? I did.”
“You called me from your house.”
“Where else would I call from?”
“You don’t have a cell phone?”
“No, I’ve thought about getting one, but haven’t yet.”
“Do it. Tomorrow. And keep it with you. This is a murder case, and someone who knows more about it thinks you saw them.”
Chapter 22
I hoped the Sheriff’s car in the driveway would deter anyone from coming to the house, and with a motorboat being dispatched, access from the water was being watched. I felt slightly apprehensive, but with Paddy at the foot of my bed I managed to fall asleep not long after it got dark.
Adele phoned me while I was eating breakfast. She was calling a meeting of the committee which had oversight of the Family Friends program. She said most everyone else was able to attend, even with the short notice. After I told her about the events of Wednesday evening, I assured her I’d also be at the church at ten o’clock. I asked if I could bring Paddy, and she thought that would be fine.
While I finished my coffee, I tried to focus my thoughts on the committee’s tasks. With all the distu
rbing events of the past week, it was a challenge to think about day-to-day needs of the Leonard family. My mind kept veering off to images of DuWayne chatting with his friends rather than his family, or the deer-in-the-headlights look Sunny had developed. However, I knew we, as a group, needed to find some ways to help Len and the girls get back to normal life as quickly as possible.
Adele was waiting at the fellowship hall when I arrived. She had a large notebook open in front of her on a long table. Another woman, Geraldine Longcore, was filling a carafe from the coffeemaker at a side table. A plate of donuts, some with chocolate and some with pink icing, had been placed on the conference table already, with sugar and creamer packets. Geraldine brought over the carafe, cups, and napkins. I very much wanted to talk with the fourth member of our committee, John Aho, who had been assaulted by DuWayne’s friend Larry. I hoped he’d be there, but I knew he only made it to daytime meetings when he felt things were under control at the service station.
As I was bent over looping Paddy’s leash around a table leg, I saw a man’s feet enter the room, but when I straightened up, it was not John, but rather the bald man Adele had been visiting with the day before. Paddy lay down quietly; he was really getting used to being good indoors.
“Everyone, meet Ralph Garis,” Adele announced. “He’s decided to join our committee, since he has a special interest in one of our families.”
“Oh?” asked Geraldine.
“Ralph is the father of Paula Garis Wentworth. You know, she owns the restaurant where Angelica Leonard wanted a job.”
Suddenly it all clicked. The large young man who had been with him yesterday was probably Frank, Paula’s brother.
Geraldine got right to the point. “I haven’t seen you in church lately, Ralph,” she said sharply.
“We talked about that, Dini,” explained Adele in a rush. Dini was Geraldine’s nickname, although I suspected she didn’t care for it very much. Geraldine was a large, proud woman, and the diminutive “Dini” didn’t fit her. “He’s on the church membership roll, and there’s nothing in the by-laws requiring regular church attendance to be on a committee.”
Paddy Plays in Dead Mule Swamp Page 10