by Maggie Pill
“Aunt Retta, I thought I’d tell you what happened before you hear it somewhere else.” He explained about Faye’s experience at the cabin. “I’m taking her to Sheriff Brill’s office as soon as the doctor finishes looking her over.” In that helpless tone men get when they have to deal with a crying woman he added, “Carla’s with her.”
“You’re sure she’s all right?”
“Yeah. She was plenty scared, though.”
“Who wouldn’t be? Thanks for the call, Honey.”
I pressed end, grateful there was at least one person in my family who found it important to keep me up to date on things like the attempted murder of my sister.
Iris, Pansy, and Daisy were outside, playing with a paddle-ball set I’d dug out of the garage. Iris and Daisy took turns with one paddle, since there were only two, while Pansy waited impatiently for them to find the ball and send it back her way.
“Girls, we need to go into town,” I called. “I’m pretty sure Sheriff Brill is going to need to talk with you again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Faye
My sons insisted I go to the walk-in clinic and be checked out for possible concussion. Once I was pronounced fit, Cramer drove me to the sheriff’s office. He’d called ahead, so Sheriff Brill and Rory were both there. The four of us sat in a small conference room trying to put together bits and pieces that, so far, made little sense. They sipped coffee or soda, but for some reason I couldn’t get enough water. Cramer noticed, and as I got close to the bottom of a bottle he’d rise quietly, go down the hall to the machine, and get me another.
We went over what I knew, which wasn’t much. The attacker had been male, and he’d probably hit me from above, because I hadn’t heard him on the ladder. He’d used some sort of club, perhaps a tree branch, since I had a small cut that the doctor said wasn’t something a fist would cause. There might have been more than one guy, but only one spoke. He or they hadn’t intended to kill me but hadn’t worried about whether I died in that awful hole either. The weapon I’d been looking at was now missing.
“That’s likely the reason someone followed you out there,” Brill said, pulling at that earlobe. “McAdams built himself a secret bunker and hid it down there. Somebody wanted it bad.”
“Why?” I was confused about both Ben’s reason for having such a weapon and someone else’s willingness to kill me to get it.
“We’ve got a few of that type around here--guys prepared to survive if things fall apart.”
“When things fall apart,” Rory corrected. “Guys like McAdams are convinced they will.” He turned to me. “Describe the weapon, and be as specific as you can.”
I tried, but I lacked the proper terminology. I said things like “really big bullets” and “kind of like a shotgun.” Rory and Brill glanced at each other.
“Sounds like an M-79,” Rory said. “Legal if he’d registered it, but grenades definitely aren’t intended for the general public.”
Brill reached for the phone. “Nearest place to get one of those would be Grayling.” Into the receiver he said, “Lila, can you connect me with someone over at the National Guard base? Tell them I need to know if they’re missing any munitions.”
While Brill waited for the call to go through, Rory explained what I’d seen. “An M-79 is a grenade launcher that’s small enough to conceal. It packs a pretty good punch, a 40 millimeter shell—a grenade—that can travel up to 400 yards.” He cupped his chin in one hand. “How many shells were there?”
I scrunched my face, trying to picture the case. “Four, I think.”
Rory sighed. “Somebody could do a lot of damage with four of those things.”
“It would be helpful to know what McAdams planned to aim them at,” Brill agreed. His call went through, and he spoke into the phone. “Sheriff Brill over in Millden County. I have a citizen here that discovered an M-79 hidden in a shack on her property.” He paused to listen. “Four rounds, she thinks.”… “That’s just it, Colonel. Before she could call us someone knocked her on the head and took it.” He changed the phone to his left ear and took up a pen with his right hand. “Sounds like you’re missing one.”
When Brill hung up, his face was grim. “As a good-will gesture to our allies, we offer our facilities for training. They had some foreign troops in last month, a group from Latvia, and after they left, there was a discrepancy in the number of M-79s the colonel thought he had and the number he actually had.”
“One launcher missing,” Rory guessed.
“Right. They looked into it, but the colonel figured one of the generals helped himself to a souvenir. Nobody wanted to make a big deal out of it. You don’t accuse your allies of theft.”
Rory shifted in his chair. “You think the visiting troops provided an opportunity for someone from here to cover his theft.”
“The colonel is sending us a list of people who were on duty at Grayling during the session.”
“Sheriff?”
We turned to see Retta in the doorway. Behind her were the Isley girls, decked out in new clothing. The two older girls had shorter hair than they’d had yesterday. Iris had a blunt cut that framed her face and highlighted her eyes. Pansy had pink streaks in a short, spiky style that made me dread Barb’s reaction.
“It’s a good thing Cramer called me.” Retta’s tone hinted she was used to being left out.
“I would have,” I defended myself. “I didn’t think the girls—”
“They’re here because they’re the best source of information the sheriff’s got.” She gestured briskly. “Come in, ladies.”
Brill seemed okay being bossed if Retta was doing the bossing. He turned to Rory. “Should I see if I can get Julie down here?”
Rory gave me the briefest glance of bemusement. “Can’t hurt.”
The room was getting crowded, so I told Cramer he should go. Giving me an extended hug, he said in my ear, “That was scary. Let’s not do it again.”
“Fine with me!” It was hard to let go of him, but I told myself I’d been a big girl for too long to turn into a shrinking violet now.
As we waited for the psychologist, Rory and I took drink orders for the newcomers. By the time we’d dug up enough change for the machines and returned with sodas, Julie was on her way. At Retta’s insistence, I repeated the account of my ordeal, letting on that I hadn’t been in the bunker long before Cramer found me. I also left out the grenade launcher entirely. I’d tell her about that when the girls weren’t around. The older girls looked embarrassed at hearing about Ben’s secrets. Daisy lost interest early on and began counting the ceiling tiles softly to herself.
“You poor thing,” Retta clucked over and over, stroking my arm. It’s embarrassing to be treated like a child at fifty, but she’s like that. When I finished she patted at my hair, which was no doubt a mess. Retta would have come out of a similar ordeal looking like Angelina Jolie in Lara Croft, Tomb Raider.
Julie arrived, looking younger than before in jeans and a tank top, and settled into the chair Cramer had vacated. Sheriff Brill questioned Iris and Pansy about the renovations Ben had made on the cabin. They reported they hadn’t been allowed near the place from early spring until a week or so before Ben disappeared.
“He acted like it was more his place than ours,” Pansy told us. “He said we should keep it nice and not go moving stuff around.”
“Did any of Ben’s friends help with the cabin?” Brill asked.
They looked at each other. “I don’t think so,” Pansy answered.
“That’s why they’ve been searching the property,” I said. “They knew he had—” With the girls in mind I changed my wording. “—things hidden, but they didn’t know where.”
“What’s the big secret?” Pansy demanded. “Is Ben a bank robber or something?”
A brief silence followed her question, but Rory stepped in. “We think he was planning a crime, Pansy, and there might have been others in on it. Can you tell us who Ben hung around with?”
“Well, Sharky’s the one—the one we don’t like much. Mr. Farrell came over a lot, but he pretty much ignored us unless it was to say, ‘Girl, bring me another beer.’” A natural mimic, she captured Farrell’s arrogance and misogyny in those few words.
“Who else?”
Pansy frowned. “Floyd. I don’t know his last name. Do you, Iris?”
“No. He’s big, though.”
“Real big,” Pansy affirmed. “Ben wasn’t small, but he looked it next to Floyd.”
Iris seemed unhappy with their inability to give us specifics. “You could ask Pastor. He might know.”
It was a good idea—as long as Pastor Cronk wasn’t in on whatever they planned to do with the grenade launcher. Glancing at me, Retta said, “We’ll see if he can help us.”
“Was Ben a good shot?” Brill asked.
“Really good,” Pansy said. “When he was in the army he got all kinds of medals for shooting.”
“Did he belong to the National Guard?”
She shook her head. “He said the military is bad because now they let women in. He had to spend all his time protecting girls who couldn’t pull their own weight.”
“But they taught him to shoot,” Iris added. “He liked that.”
If there was mischief afoot, Ben was the likely marksman. That’s why he had the grenade launcher, though he probably wasn’t the one who’d stolen it.
Brill was checking his computer. “Here’s the list the Guard sent over. No one named Colt Farrell on it.” He squinted at the list again. “And no one named Floyd. The other one is Sharky?”
Iris said, “I think it’s a nickname. He kinda looks like a shark.”
Brill leaned toward the screen. “So we don’t know Sharky’s real name and we don’t know Floyd’s last name.”
Daisy paused her counting. “His name is Floyd Stone, but Mr. Farrell calls him Grave Stone. I asked Ben why, and he said because Mr. Stone is as quiet as the grave.”
We fell silent at the thought that Ben was headed for his own grave. It lasted only until Daisy hit the bottom of her drink and made a loud slurping noise. The group laugh she got was more tension relief than anything else.
Brill finished his perusal. “No Stone on the list, either.”
“Sharky has to be the thief.” Rory turned to the girls. “What can you tell us about him?”
“He’s creepy,” Pansy said. “You have to walk way around him, because he’ll grab you and tickle you, even if you ask him not to.”
“Did Ben like Sharky?” Rory’s voice was deceptively casual.
After some thought Pansy said, “I don’t think so. Sometimes it seemed like he wanted to tell Sharky to leave us alone, but he’d put his lips together and keep quiet.”
“And your mother?”
“When they came over she’d send us upstairs as soon as we got our chores done. Lots of times Mom slept with Daisy, because they’d get real drunk.”
Another silence followed as the adults in the room struggled to accept the things some children learn to live with. Finally, Brill set rather delicate hands on the desk before him. “Mrs. Stilson, I think we’re finished with these young ladies for now. Thank you for bringing them down. Girls, you’ve been a lot of help.”
Retta wasn’t about to be dismissed just when things were getting interesting. She cast about the room, clearly looking for a way to stay. “Ms. Walters, I’d like a few minutes with the sheriff before I take the girls back home.”
Julie smiled graciously. “Let’s go outside, girls.”
Once they left she asked, “What’s next, Sheriff?”
“We try to find out what those guys were up to.”
“No reason to believe their plans are in the past,” Rory said. “McAdams’ death threw them, but they came after the weapon. I’d say someone else will use it, though maybe not as efficiently as Ben would have. They haven’t given up on making trouble.”
“So I repeat, what are we going to do about it?”
Rory’s brows rose at Retta’s inclusion of herself in the investigation. Brill said, “Mrs. Stilson--”
“Retta, please.” She gave him that smile again.
“Retta.” Slightly flushed, he went on. “We have no evidence anyone’s plotting treason or mayhem.”
“They stole that grenade thrower thing from the National Guard.”
“That’s a guess.”
“They attacked Faye and left her in the bunker to die!”
“She didn’t see who hit her. My people are processing the scene, but unless we find something to connect the attack to one of the men the girls named—” He left the statement hanging.
Retta didn’t give up. “We caught Farrell trespassing. Twice.”
“And he claims he was looking for property Ben borrowed. Poor grounds for arresting a law-abiding local businessman.”
Retta made a disgusted noise. I was frustrated too, but he was right. I rose from my chair. “I should get home. Dale will worry.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Faye?” Retta hovered at my elbow as if I might collapse at any second.
“I’m fine. Rory’s going to give me a ride home. I’ll call you later.”
It was no surprise when she said, “We’ll follow you over there. Daisy can visit your dog, and we can figure out what to do next.” I couldn’t help picturing Retta tucking me into bed with a water bottle at my feet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Barb
Shirley and I arrived at Whiting Auditorium to find the place filling with theater lovers. The show was good, as Whiting’s productions always are. I’d have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t kept wondering what was going on at home.
After the show we went her back to Shirley’s house, where we chatted for an hour before heading to bed. The guest room was comfortable, the house was quiet, but my sleep wasn’t restful. In the first place, I’m not at ease in someone else’s home, no matter how much I like them. In the second place, my mind kept returning to Allport, to the case that wasn’t really a case.
Neither of my sisters had texted or called all day. While I told myself they were simply giving me free time, it felt odd to be out of touch with them. If Faye found any trace of Rose Isley, she’d let me know. If Retta got a bit of information from the girls we could use to find their mother, she’d text. Rose’s disappearance had become a personal crusade for all of us. Slapping one of Shirley’s pillows into a different shape, I asked myself yet again, What happened to the mother of those three lovely little girls?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Faye
As Rory drove me home from the sheriff’s office, he made a recommendation. “You and Dale should get away from Allport for a while. I find a change of scenery helps me clear away bad images, so they don’t replay like film on a loop.”
I thought about the bad things he must have seen in his years as a Chicago cop, which helped me put my experience into perspective. I’d survived. I wasn’t hurt. With time, I’d be okay.
Rory was skeptical when I suggested Barb didn’t need to know about my adventure while she was miles away. “I’ll tell her the whole story when she can see for herself that I’m okay.”
“I’ve never lied to her.” He frowned at the car ahead of him. “It’s probably not an easy thing to do.”
“It isn’t,” I agreed. “If she calls and asks what’s going on, make like Eliza Doolittle and stick to your health and the weather.”
Retta’s car was parked outside my house, and I groaned. No doubt Dale had already heard the story from her, which made things ten times worse. With a grimace of understanding, Rory escorted me inside. Retta met us at the door, fussing about what a terrible time I’d had, patting my arm, and making me nervous despite her attempts to be caring.
One look at Dale told me he was a basket case, and Rory and I both set about trying to calm him. Despite our best efforts Dale blamed himself, saying he should have gone to the farm with me. I couldn’t see how he’d hav
e prevented what happened, but logic doesn’t apply when someone we love is threatened.
As I searched for a way to reassure him other than repeating I was fine and it was over, I decided Rory was right: leaving town might be good for both of us. If new vistas could dull the terror I experienced each time I thought about how I might have ended up in that bunker, I was all for it.
When Rory, Retta, and the girls finally left, Dale was still upset. After he repeated for the fifth time that I might have died in that place, I asked, “Do you want me to quit the agency, Hon?”
Dale doesn’t move his head much since it disorients him, but he made a negative motion with his hand. “Barb would go on alone, which would drive you crazy.” He managed a weak grin. “Besides, I think you like sticking your nose in other people’s business.”
“Only when they ask us to!” I was relieved that he saw how important the agency was to me, but I knew he’d also counted the times my life had been in danger because of it.
“How about if you and I take a mini-vacation?”
Dale frowned. “You’d leave town in the middle of all this?”
“In the middle of what? There’s no case for the agency, and the police are investigating the little we know. What can we do?” I ran a hand through my hair, wincing when I inadvertently touched the lump behind my ear. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Barb won’t get home till late, and Retta mentioned she’s taking the girls to church. You and I could take a drive and get a little R&R.”
He liked the idea. “Maybe we could go up the lakeshore and stay somewhere overnight.”
“We could,” I said. “After we visit Harriet, of course.”
Dale grinned again. “Of course.”
Though I don’t like to text, I sent Barb a message rather than calling or leaving voicemail. Despite my flippant advice to Rory, I don’t lie well to anyone, and I cannot lie to Barb. Even on the phone, I’d feel like her direct gaze was seeking out my fibs and omissions, and the whole story would spill out. My text was simple: DALE & I ARE TAKING A LITTLE VACATION. WILL SEE YOU MON PM.