Evil Under the Moon (Moon Mystery Series Book 5)

by Helen Haught Fanick

  “Yes, he did. He told me the woman was Lea Logan, so I guess he found her ID. She worked at the restaurant there in the country club.”

  “Do you go to the Garden Room?” I asked.

  “No, no…it’s too rich for my blood. Geneva’s, too.”

  Geneva looked as if she’d like to disagree with him, but she didn’t say anything.

  “You never knew Lea Logan, then,” I said.

  “No, I never heard of her till that morning. From what I’ve seen of her pictures, she was a nice-looking young lady.”

  I assumed by this time that Andrea didn’t want to mention the fact that we hadn’t been able to locate Lea’s purse. “One last question,” she said, “and I hope we won’t have to bother you anymore. When you made your statement, did you mention the fact that you were looking for Chester Hubbard’s lost golf club when you found Miss Logan?”

  “It’s been so long now, I can’t remember what I said. You must have read my statement. They surely have a file on all this.”

  “We haven’t had a chance to find all the evidence in this case, but we will,” Andrea said. “Thanks so much for the information, and for your delicious coffee. We enjoyed it.”

  “You’re most welcome,” Geneva said. “Come back anytime. I’m always ready to make a pot of coffee.”

  I wondered whether she loved having visitors or whether she had something more she wanted to tell us when her husband wasn’t around.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Geneva’s apparent desire to see us again wasn’t the first thing I brought up when we got into the car, however. “What do you think about the fact that Farley Harper was out there on the golf course looking for a lost club belonging to Chester Hubbard? And Hubbard told him he thought the club was lost on the back nine. Was he arranging for someone to find the body who could be easily manipulated?”

  “What’s interesting about it is that Farley’s statement has disappeared. It isn’t in the stack of statements we found in the evidence box. The former sheriff and Hubbard are friends, and I’m sure Walter Stanley thought they’d take Farley’s statement, ask him not to discuss the details with anyone, and that would be the last of it. The last of it once the statement disappeared, that is.”

  “But if they had told Farley not to discuss the case, would he have told us what he knows?”

  Andrea turned onto the road to Pine Summit. “It’s been almost five years. If they did tell him that, he’s probably forgotten. Either that, or he thinks this is another official investigation, and he should repeat the information again.”

  I thought about this for a bit. “I think you’re right. He’d be willing to discuss the case with us, because we’re representing the new sheriff. Something else I found interesting was his certainty that Lea’s purse was found at the scene. We haven’t found that, either. What do you suppose happened to it?”

  “I wonder if it’s in the safe. If it had money in it, someone probably would have put it there. I hope Jordan can come up with the combination soon. I wonder if Walter Stanley was the only one who had it.”

  “Who was his chief deputy?” I asked.

  “His name’s Kerry Richards. Jordan didn’t keep him, so there’s no way she’ll want to go to him for the combination either. I suppose she could call in a locksmith, but then word will get around about that, and Walter Stanley will find out eventually.”

  We were almost to Pine Summit now, and I felt the urge for an afternoon coffee. “Why don’t we stop at Nell’s for coffee? It’s nice enough this afternoon that we can sit on the deck and enjoy the scenery.” I was talking about Nell Flanagan’s Restaurant on the banks of Greenbrier Creek in Pine Summit. Nell has been our friend for years, and we find her restaurant a wonderful place to relax and forget about murder.

  “Good idea. That would be most refreshing. But there’s something else about our visit with Farley Harper I wanted to mention. What was your impression of Geneva?”

  “I thought possibly she wants to talk to us—without her husband being present. What did you think?”

  “I got that impression too. We won’t go back right away, though. We’ll wait a few days and see if she makes an attempt to contact us.” She pulled into the restaurant parking lot.

  We waved to Nell on our way through, and went on out the back to the deck. The wind was rustling the new leaves that were just beginning to open on the surrounding trees, and the creek murmured quietly below, completing the soothing ambiance. As we headed for our favorite table, I noticed Tony Calabria and Ruth Freer seated in a far corner. “What do you suppose they’re doing out here in Pine Summit?” I whispered as we sat down.

  “No idea. They look like they might be arguing. Let’s pretend we don’t see them.”

  The waitress came and took our order for coffee. Even I couldn’t hold any more food after the bountiful lunch we’d had. Nell came out and sat down at our table. “What are you two up to these days? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I think I told you we’re volunteers for the new sheriff,” Andrea said.

  Nell nodded. She had helped us campaign for Jordan. “So are you working on a case?”

  I tried to keep my voice down so Tony and Ruth wouldn’t hear and realize we were there. “Do you remember when a girl named Lea Logan was murdered?”

  “Yes. Are you looking into that?”

  “We are,” Andrea said. “It’s the first of a batch of cold cases Jordan wants us to look at.”

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll solve it and all the others, too,” Nell said.

  “You give us too much credit,” Andrea said. “We do our best.” After hesitating a moment, she continued. “That couple over in the corner. Do you know them?”

  “They come in occasionally. He always pays with a credit card, so I should know his name, but there are so many customers that I can’t remember them all.”

  “He’s Tony Calabria. He’s the chef at the Garden Room.”

  “Really? At the country club? How interesting. I’m surprised he’d come here…although all they had this afternoon was coffee.”

  “Everyone loves your food, Nell,” I said. “I’m not surprised at all that they’d come here.”

  “The woman with him is Ruth Freer,” Andrea said. “She’s the sous chef at the restaurant.”

  Nell chuckled. “Maybe I need to get better acquainted with them. I’ve always wanted to eat at the Garden Room. Maybe they can arrange an invitation for me.”

  “We went there the other day as part of our investigation into Lea’s death. She was a waitress there.”

  “Yes, I remember that,” Nell said. “How did you manage to be invited there?”

  Andrea said, “We have a friend who’s a member. He took us. Next time around we’ll ask him if you can be included, too.”

  “I’ll gladly pay for everyone for the chance to eat there. Who’s your friend who’s a member?”

  “Jack Bradley. He’s a jeweler in Martindale. He came here with us a time or two when we were looking into Cora Taylor’s disappearance.”

  Nell signaled the waitress to refill our coffee. “I remember him. Nice-looking man, probably in his sixties?”

  “Yes, that’s the one,” I said as the waitress poured coffee.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Tony and Ruth had gotten up and were walking toward us. They’d have to pass nearby on their way out, and there’s no way they could miss us. So instead of heading on back through the restaurant, they came to our table and stopped. “What are you two doing out here in Pine Summit?” Tony asked.

  “We live here,” I said. “We could ask the same of you—what are you two doing here in our little town?”

  “We come here sometimes because we love the food. Of course, we could only hold coffee this afternoon.” He looked at Nell. “Aren’t you the owner?”

  “The owner and chief cook and bottle washer. I’m flattered that you like my food. Andrea and Kathleen tell me you’re the chefs at the Garden Roo
m.”

  This would clue them in that we had seen them previously but hadn’t made an attempt to speak to them. They seemed to disregard it, however. “That’s right,” Tony said. “You must come by soon and sample our wares. Or have you been there before?”

  “No, I haven’t, but I’ve been arranging that with my friends. I hope you’ll see me soon.”

  “Won’t you sit down and join us?” Andrea asked. “We can pull up another chair.”

  “Thanks, but we need to be on our way. We love to explore the back roads, and we have an excursion planned for getting back to Martindale. We hope to see you all again soon.”

  “I wonder if they’re a couple,” I said when they left. “We got the impression they might be arguing when we came out on the deck, which makes them seem like a couple. It was because of that that we acted like we didn’t see them and sat down over here. We didn’t want to interrupt an argument.”

  “They appear to be about the same age,” Andrea said, “but people can be a couple no matter what their age. Or age difference. Of course this is totally immaterial to our investigation of Lea’s murder.”

  “But not totally immaterial to my nosiness,” I said.

  Nell laughed and insisted we leave without paying for coffee. “Next time, you’ll have apple pie to go with it, and I’ll make up for it then.”

  We went on home and found Chad Harris had let himself in earlier in the day and left a note on Lea’s laptop: “On my way to Morgantown. No luck so far in figuring out the password. I’ll give it another try when I get home again.”

  #

  Saturday morning, and we were on our way to Benwood to talk with Hank Weaver, Lea’s boyfriend. I was looking forward to his mother’s coffee more than the interview. “I have a feeling this meeting isn’t going to be particularly productive,” I said.

  “We’ll see. You know what I’m wondering about? Lea’s father. Where is he, and why haven’t we learned anything about him? Did she have anything to do with him? Maybe Lea’s friend Cindy could tell us. It’d be interesting to talk to him, to see if he has any insight about her death and who might be responsible.”

  “We can ask Hank and his mother, too. They might know where he is. Or, if nothing else, we could go back and see her mother.”

  Andrea laughed. “He probably wants to keep his whereabouts a secret from her, wouldn’t you think?”

  “I would if I were her ex.”

  We pulled into the Weavers’ driveway just before ten. A middle-aged man answered the door; I assumed he was Hank’s father. “Please come in. I’m Henry Weaver, Hank’s father. Please have a seat in here, and I’ll call Hank.”

  We were in the living room, and we sat down on the couch. Hank’s mother, Hannah, came in. “It’s good to see you two again. I’ll make some coffee. Hank will be right with you.”

  We thanked her and looked up to see Hank walk in just after she left. He came over and shook hands with us. “I’m Hank Weaver, of course. I’m so glad Lea’s case has been reopened. Our whole family has been hoping for justice some day.”

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet us,” Andrea said. “We’ll try not to take up too much of your time. Our first question is always, ‘Do you have any idea who would have wanted to harm Lea?’”

  “Not really. There was one man there at the country club—I believe his name was Hubbard—and he was always hitting on her. He was married, too. She never talked to me about it, but Cindy told me. When I confronted Lea about it, I told her I was going to have it out with him. She begged me not to—she said her job would be in jeopardy if I did, and she really needed the job. I was still simmering about this, wishing I could do something, when she was killed.”

  “Did she seem to be afraid of this man?” I asked.

  “Not at all. She just seemed to be afraid of losing her job, and she really needed the money for school. I find it hard to believe he could have killed her…a married man, well-known in the community down there, etcetera. My gut feeling is that this was a robbery gone wrong.”

  “The deputy who was first officer on the scene noted that her purse was there with her. He secured it in an evidence bag, but we haven’t been able to locate it, so we don’t know whether anything might have been taken out of it,” Andrea said.

  “I don’t suppose she had any expensive jewelry,” I said.

  “Not at all. We were waiting till we finished school, and I was going to get her an engagement ring.” He stopped talking, as if he was about to choke up. Then in a moment he went on. “Mom said you visited her mother, so I’m sure you could see they aren’t people who can afford jewelry.”

  “We got that impression,” Andrea said.

  Hannah walked in with coffee and brownies, and we took time out for refreshments. She sat down in a nearby chair. “I always make these brownies when Hank’s coming home. They’re his favorite.”

  “I can see why,” I said. “The aroma’s fantastic.”

  Andrea helped herself. “Where do you live, Hank?”

  “I still feel like I live here, but I work in Cleveland and come home now and then on weekends. I’d like to be closer, but the best job offer I had was there.”

  “Was there anyone at college who didn’t get along with Lea?” Andrea asked.

  “No. She got along fine with everyone. She did okay in her classes…not great, but okay. She had no problems at West Liberty at all.”

  I stopped munching a brownie long enough to ask, “Do either of you know anything about her father?”

  “I think he lives somewhere downriver. She saw him now and then and took him some leftover food from the restaurant.”

  “Was he in need?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I met him once, but I didn’t get much of an impression about him. He has a small house somewhere, she told me. I met him when he came to her apartment in Martindale. I’m not sure he’d know anything, but his ex-wife might be able to tell you where he is.”

  “We’d better stop by there on our way out of Benwood,” Andrea said.

  Hank laughed. “I don’t envy you.”

  Hannah shook her head. “Don’t be naughty, Hank. Have more coffee and brownies, ladies.”

  We did have second helpings of both before going on to Mrs. Logan’s house.

  She came to the door and opened it—partially. She wasn’t about to let us in. “What do you want now?”

  “We’d like some information about your ex-husband,” Andrea said.

  “Which one?”

  “Lea’s father.”

  “What do you want to know about that bum?”

  “We’re trying to locate him,” I said. “We want to talk to him.”

  “I can’t imagine why, but I guess he still lives up Hog Run.”

  “Where’s Hog Run?” Andrea asked.

  She opened the door a little wider. “I guess you might as well come in.”

  We went in and sat down in the living room.

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  “We don’t want to take up that much of your time,” Andrea said. “If you could just tell us…”

  “I don’t suppose you know where Hog Run is. Well, as you’re heading down the river, there’s a hollow that leads up to the left. There used to be two or three families that lived up in there, but last time I saw Ollie, he said everyone moved out but him. He lives in the first house on that road.”

  “How long ago was this?” I asked.

  “It’s been a few years. I ain’t seen him in quite some time. I think Lea’s death was hard on him. I don’t guess he’s ever come around asking for money since she died.”

  Andrea’s always good at finding places, but still I thought we needed better instructions than “a hollow that leads up to the left.” “How far south is Hog Run from here?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a few miles on past Moundsville. There’s a little country store and gas station there on the right just before you get to it. Bentley’s, I think, is the name of the place.
”

  “I think I know the store you’re talking about,” Andrea said. “We’ll watch for the Hog Run road after that.”

  “It ain’t paved. Might be kind of bad driving up in there.”

  “We’ll be careful.”

  We thanked her and told her goodbye. Then by the time we got on Route 2 going south, it started to rain. A dirt road in the rain—what could go wrong there?

  I watched through the slow-moving wipers for the store Mrs. Logan described, and we spotted it about five miles past Moundsville. “This must be the store she mentioned.”

  “I’m sure it is. Now help me watch for a dirt road leading off to the left,” Andrea said.

  “There—coming up on the left. That must be it.”

  The road was overgrown and looked as if no one had driven in there in years. At least the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Andrea maneuvered the Accord between bushes that were brushing the sides of the car. Within a couple hundred feet I could see a house ahead. As we got closer, I saw that the place had seen better days—much better days. It was small, unpainted, and the front porch was sagging. The front door stood open.

  “This place doesn’t even look like anyone lives here,” Andrea said. “Stay here. I’ll knock on the door.”

  She got out and walked through the mud to the steps. I could see her hesitate for a moment; I ran my window down. Then I heard a growl followed by frantic barking. The worst looking dog I’ve ever seen jumped up from the porch and was just standing there, barking. I could hear Andrea saying something to it, and it quieted down right away. I think I’ve mentioned that my sister is a retired math teacher, and she has a way of speaking with authority that made students pay attention. I think the same must apply to dogs.

  She went up the stairs and to the door, looked inside, and turned around. When she was back in the car, she said, “I thought the door was open. There is no door—and it looks like there’s not much left in the house, either. He can’t be living here now.”

  At this point the dog came off the porch and stood in the road ahead of us. It started howling. Andrea got back out of the car. “Where are you going now?” I asked, but she shut the door and headed for the dog. They both disappeared toward the back of the house.