What would be next? Tar and feathers? Run out of town on a rail?
Scrubbing my face with my hands, I tried to get rid of my ridiculous thoughts. I jumped when a knock sounded at my office door. The door swung open and Sheriff Bill Wilson stood in the doorway.
“Sorry to bother you, Ophelia, but I have a few more questions,” he said, shutting the door firmly. After walking to my desk, he pulled the extra chair closer to me and sat. He hunched over and absentmindedly twirled his hat in his hands before he spoke.
Bill stopped his twirling and looked right at me. I met his stare and tried to look innocent.
“Run it by me again. Why were you in the ditch?”
I picked up a paper clip and twisted it with my fingers. “I told you. I smelled something funny and I went down to investigate.”
“And found the dead hog.”
“Yeah.”
“What happened next?”
I sighed. “It startled me and when I turned to run I tripped. It knocked the wind out of me. While I was lying there, I saw the material sticking out of the dirt.”
“Why did you come and get me? Why didn’t you push the dirt away to see what it was—if you were curious?”
Bending the paper clip back and forth in my hand, I tried to think of an answer to Bill’s question. I couldn’t tell him about feeling death, seeing a vision of a man being brutally murdered while I lay there.
“It seemed strange, that’s all.”
“Why did it seem strange? People dump stuff in ditches all the time. It could’ve been anything. It could’ve been an old shirt someone threw away.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“How did you know, Ophelia?” he asked while his eyes drilled into mine.
“I didn’t know. I saw the material sticking out and it looked as though something was buried there. I thought it was odd. I mean, why would someone bury a tarp or an old shirt in a ditch, for Pete’s sake?” I paused a few beats while I stared back at him. “Are you accusing me of something, Bill?” I asked, frowning.
“No, I’m not, but it seems to me that you’re getting yourself involved in some pretty weird stuff lately—”
“But—”
“No, let me finish. I know you weren’t involved in any way with Adam Hoffman. You didn’t have anything to do with the drugs and the murder of Hoffman’s accomplice. You stumbled into that whole mess last fall. But what happened after Hoffman captured you and Delaney? Your story has so many holes in it that I can see right through it. And there’s Benny’s crazy statement about hexes, witches, and rats rushing at him and Jake.”
“Please. Poor Benny is—and always has been—his brother’s dupe. He was so scared that he would’ve said anything.”
Bill twirled his hat again. “Okay. You’re right. Benny wasn’t the smartest guy in the world to start with. But the bottom line is that six months ago you involved yourself in an official investigation and almost got yourself killed.” Bill stood and walked to the door. Turning, he gave me one last look. “Stay out of this investigation, Ophelia. I don’t intend to be tripping over you this time.”
Before he could open the door, it opened a crack and Darci stuck her head in.
“Excuse me. There’s someone else here to see you, Ophelia,” she said, opening the door wider.
Henry Comacho stood at her side.
“Hey, Jensen, thought I told you not to trip over any more dead bodies,” he said, staring right at me.
Comacho sat in the chair Bill had vacated. We eyed each other in silence as if we were two opponents in some kind of serious card game, taking each other’s measure. Not a single expression flitted across his face and I hoped nothing showed in mine.
His dark brown eyes looked as hard as stones, shielding the thoughts that must be churning in his mind. His lips were held in a firm line, not a glimmer of a smile, a smirk, or a frown. In fact, his face was so lacking in humanity that it could’ve been carved from ice.
His frame sat in the chair easily, but I saw the tension in the lines of his body. If I uttered one word wrong, he’d strike.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” I said, finally breaking the silence.
He leaned forward, relaxing a little. “Really? What do you think I’m trying to do?”
“Get me blabbing. It makes people uncomfortable to be confronted with prolonged silence. They have a tendency to try to fill it any way they can, even if it means jabbering,” I said, crossing my arms. “I watch Cops.”
His face cracked into a smile. “Oh you do, do you? What else do you know about police investigation?”
I picked up the pencils lying scattered across my desk. “Not much. Oh, the ‘bad cop, good cop’ thing.”
“Maybe Joe and I should’ve pulled that one on you when you were in Iowa City. Maybe we would’ve got more information from you.”
“Look, Comacho, I don’t have any information. Period,” I said, opening a desk drawer and shoving the pencils I’d picked up inside the drawer.
I paused in the act of pushing the drawer shut. I didn’t know anything about the murder, not really. Unless you counted the fact that I knew what the murder weapon—the dagger—looked like. I guess, strictly speaking, Comacho would count that. I chewed on the inside of my lip. Damn—how would I get that piece of information to him without telling him how I knew?
“You have something to tell me?” he asked while he studied my expression.
“Ahh no,” I said, trying to settle my face into a mask while I closed the drawer.
His eyes didn’t blink while he studied me. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I said, concentrating on not squirming in my seat.
“Okay, you want to tell me what you were doing in the ditch?”
“That’s the same question Bill asked and I’ll give you the same answer. I smelled a strange odor and thought I saw something. It’s human nature to investigate,” I said, leaning forward and crossing my legs.
“If it’s your nature to investigate, why didn’t you push the dirt back when you saw the corner of the buried tarp?”
“Another one of Bill’s questions. Don’t you guys ever compare notes? If you did, I wouldn’t have to answer everything twice.”
“Humor me.”
“I thought it strange, someone taking the time to bury whatever it was in a ditch. Why not dump it and walk away? Why bury it?”
“Because they don’t want it found.”
“Exactly.” I sat back in my chair, satisfied. “And maybe it was something illegal, so I asked Bill to take a look.”
“You weren’t afraid whatever someone wanted hidden might tie in to the demonstration and the vandalism that has occurred at the PP International facility?”
“What? Why would I think that? How could a dead body be related to the situation with PP International?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Finding a dead body in the ditch is causing them a lot of problems. There are investigators crawling all over the place. It’s brought them unwanted publicity.”
“Someone planted a body to inconvenience PP International? That’s crazy.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ve seen crazier reasons for murder.” He cocked his head. “There’s already been trouble at the facility. The manager had his tires flattened.”
“Flat tires aren’t the same thing as murder.”
“No, they aren’t, but in these situations, violence can escalate. We don’t have an I.D. on the victim yet, but won’t it be interesting if the victim is somehow tied to PP International?”
I bowed my head. The victim wasn’t tied to PP International. Poor old Gus had nothing to do with them. If only I could let Bill know his John Doe was Gus, but I couldn’t. Not without telling him how I knew. I raised my head and saw Comacho staring at me.
“Isn’t your grandmother leading the group trying to stop them?” he asked thoughtfully.
I sat up straight in my chair and narrowed my eyes. “You keep Abby out of
this.”
“Her group will profit from any trouble caused to PP International, won’t they?”
I shot out of my chair. “Are you accusing Abby of something?”
He looked up at me and gave a tiny shrug.
“Ha! You’re blowing smoke, trying to tick me off. That way I’ll tell you whatever it is you think I know. Are you that desperate for leads?”
Comacho stood. “You don’t know what leads I have.”
“You don’t have anything,” I said, my voice rising. Or you wouldn’t be here bugging me. You said you don’t even have an I.D. on the victim. You don’t have motive and opportunity either. Necessary items before you can make accusations.”
“Information you no doubt learned from watching Cops? Look, why don’t you cut the crap, Jensen? And tell me what you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“Okay. Maybe your grandmother can help me out.”
My hands clenched tightly and I glared at Comacho. “I told you to leave Abby alone.”
“You don’t want people you care about questioned, do you, Jensen?”
“Damn straight I don’t. Want to snoop around in my life, go right ahead. But stay away from Darci and my grandmother.”
“Are you afraid of what they might tell me?”
“I’m not afraid because there’s nothing to tell.” I took a step forward. “Leave them out of this or…”
Comacho didn’t budge an inch. “Or what? I’ve already told you it’s against the law to threaten an officer.”
I scrunched my eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Opening my eyes, I looked at Comacho, forcing my gaze not to waver.
“I’m not threatening you, but how do you feel about harassment charges?” I said, stepping back and leaning up against the corner of my desk.
“Not good. Guess I’ll have to make sure I don’t harass you, won’t I?”
“Any more questions?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
He gave another tiny shrug as he walked toward the door. “No, not right now. But I might later.”
“Fine, but if you do, call and I’ll come to Bill’s office. You can ask your questions there.”
“I’d prefer to keep it on a more informal level.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” I said, straightening and moving to behind my desk.
Turning, he said, “I’ll look forward to talking to you again.” With a slight nod, he left.
My knees gave out when he shut the door to my office and I sat on my chair with a thump. My right eyelid gave a nervous twitch and I pressed my finger against it. Dang! How was I going to get out of this one?
Fifteen
“Excuse me, Ophelia.”
I looked up from the computer screen to see Claire standing in the doorway to my office. She had her glasses halfway down her nose and was peering at me over the top of them.
Oh no, I’m getting the look. Must be trouble.
“Hi, Claire.” I smiled and waved her toward a chair. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you,” she said, taking a step inside and shutting the door.
“Is this about finding the body? Look, I’m sorry. I know people in town are curious and it brings the wrong kind of attention to the library, but I can’t change that. I—”
“No, what you found yesterday isn’t the reason I need to talk to you,” Claire said, holding up a hand, palm out, to stop me. She sat in the chair next to my desk and gave me a worried stare. “This is more serious than curious patrons hanging around bothering you.”
“What?”
“You know I have nothing but the utmost respect for you, don’t you?” Claire asked as she picked a piece of lint off her lap.
“Of course. We’ve worked well together over the past four years.”
“Well, I don’t know how to broach this subject,” she said, her eyes refusing to meet mine.
While I watched Claire continue to pluck imaginary lint off her lap, my mind scrambled, looking for a reason to explain her obvious distress. Was it the latest selection of books I’d bought? Had Mr. Carroll complained again? I did a mental inventory of everyone I might’ve ticked off in the last week and came up blank.
I reached over and lightly touched her hand. “Claire, tell me what’s bothering you.”
She stopped her plucking and looked at me. “Olive Martin is making allegations that you’ve mishandled library funds.”
“What!” My jaw dropped.
Claire sighed and shook her head. “Yes. She’s called several of the board members and wants a full audit of how you used the money left to the library by the Thompson estate.”
“But you know how I spent the money.” My fingers tensed around the arms of my chair. “It was used to repair the roof.”
“I know, but the bill presented to the board was higher than estimated.”
“And she thinks I’m skimming the money?” I asked, gripping the chair tighter. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Yes.”
I shoved myself out of my chair and began pacing the narrow space of my office. “Claire, you know that’s not true. The bill was higher because the roof was in worse shape than we had originally thought.”
Claire sighed again. “I know. And the rest of the board members know too. Olive is trying to cause you problems. That’s all.”
I stopped pacing and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. Peachy, like I don’t have enough trouble? Now I would have to go before the board and explain the expenses to the roof. And drag all my records and receipts with me.
Glancing over at Claire, I said, “Why? Why would Olive want to cause me problems? I’ve never had any conflict with her. I barely know her.”
“It’s politics.”
“Huh?”
“Think about it. Her husband is one of the biggest grain producers in the county and he strongly supports PP International’s building project. PP International’s hogs are a good market for his grain, but your grandmother wants to stop PP International. Olive is trying to get back at Abby through you.”
I felt like jumping up and down and screaming, but I kept my tone even. “That’s not fair. And it’s petty.”
Claire lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I know, but that’s the way a small town can be sometimes. Some people carry grudges and will do anything to get even. Olive thinks she’ll hurt Abby by hurting you.”
“She won’t. I have all the receipts and can explain how the money was disbursed.”
“I know, but I thought I’d better warn you about Olive.” Claire stood and walked to the door. With her hand still on the doorknob, she turned and said, “You know it might be best if you keep a low profile for a while. At least, until this thing with PP International blows over.”
My concentration was blown for the rest of the day. I tried, really tried to stay focused, but my mind kept bouncing, from the murder investigation to Olive Martin’s accusations to the possibility of Comacho questioning Abby. At last the clock said 5 P.M. and I grabbed my backpack and left the library.
Charles Thornton waited for me at the bottom of the steps.
“Charles, I’m surprised to see you.”
Charles crossed the distance separating us and handed me a small clear plastic container.
“I heard about what happened to you yesterday and I stopped by the florist and picked these up for you. I hope you enjoy them.”
In the container, nestled in sparkling confetti, were two white orchids. Their petals were pale and fragile; I could see their delicate veining. The centers were a bright yellow that stood out in sharp contrast to the pristine petals.
“Oh, Charles, they’re beautiful. It’s sweet of you to give me flowers. Thank you,” I said and gave him a big smile.
“You’re welcome. My mama always said there’s nothing like flowers to brighten a woman’s day. I hope these brighten yours.”
“They do, they do. The past twe
nty-four hours have been rotten. The flowers are the nicest thing that’s happened to me.”
My words pleased him. He rocked back and forth on his heels, grinning.
“After the demonstration, I didn’t want to call and bother you.”
“Were you there?” I asked.
“Yes, but I was late. I got there right after the medical examiner. Finding that body must’ve been terrible for you.”
“Yes, it was. But it’s under investigation now and hopefully the authorities will find the killer.”
“But to think a killer’s on the loose, here in Summerset. I’m sure people in the community are upset.”
I nodded my head. “Yeah, it’s like a wolf has been set among the sheep. I’m sure a lot of doors will be locked until the matter is settled.”
“Well, I hope you’re locking yours.”
“Always.”
“Hi, Ophelia,” said a voice from behind me.
I whirled around to find myself staring into Fletcher Beasley’s beady little eyes.
“Beasley.” My nose wrinkled in disgust. “What are you doing in Summerset?”
“This little town’s got a big story cooking.” He took a long swig from the coffee cup he held in his hand. “Might be the work of our boy. You know, the one who killed your friend, Brian Mitchell?”
“I don’t know anything. I’m not a part of the investigation,” I replied coldly.
“Maybe you should be. From what I’ve been hearing today, you should be an expert on murder. It’s what? The third one you’ve been involved with—Iowa City, last fall, and now this one,” he said, sneering. “Make a good story, don’t you think?”
I took one step toward him and shoved my finger at his chest. “Get out of Summerset and leave me alone.”
“Hey, it’s a free country. I can go anywhere I want.”
“Oh yeah? Well—”
Charles took my arm, pulling me gently away from Beasley, and stepped between us. “I think the lady’s made it clear you’re bothering her. I suggest you go.”
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