Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3)

by Maggie Pill

  “But that wasn’t enough for them.”

  “Right.” Her lips pursed in anger. “Once it was decided that only the men could vote, Colt said women shouldn’t speak out in meetings, either. He found it in the Bible.”

  “St. Paul, I believe,” I said grimly. “I’ve wanted to discuss that with the man myself.”

  “If he’s in the Bible, God wants us to hear what he had to say.” Dee spoke forcefully, but it seemed like she was trying to convince herself as much as me. “Last month Colt said women shouldn’t hold leadership positions in the church. We shouldn’t even sit on committees, according to him.”

  “Did he get his way?”

  “Not yet, but he isn’t the kind to give up.”

  “Is that why Ben left the church?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know why they stopped attending. It’s a shame for Rose and the girls, but at least Colt isn’t as mouthy without Ben to support him. Floyd tosses in an ‘Amen’ every time he speaks, but people know Floyd just wants someone to blame for everything that’s gone wrong in his life.” She sipped her tea again. “Going to services used to be a joyful hour of communion with the Lord and other loving hearts. Now Colt starts his lecturing and I have to fight down the urge to make trouble.”

  “Don’t some of the men stand up for the women?”

  She nodded. “They do, but to be honest, we can barely afford to pay the pastor and keep up the building. Being a big financial contributor, Colt usually gets his way in the end.” She raised her cup but forgot it halfway to her mouth. “He’s Joan’s husband.”

  “Joan’s last name is Farrell?”

  “Yes. She and Colt own an electronics store on 10th.”

  “What does Joan think of his views?”

  “She agrees a hundred percent.” Dee turned the teakettle on again. “Joan grew up living on welfare peanut butter and venison shot at midnight. Colt provides a good living, so she thinks the sun rises and sets on his say-so.”

  I tried to recall the names of the men who were at the farm the night Ben died. “Is there anyone at your church named Sharky?”

  She thought about it. “No.”

  “Could it be a nickname for one of the men?”

  “If it is, I don’t know it,” Dee said. “I call people by their proper names unless they ask me not to.”

  I liked that. I have a perfectly good name, Margaretta, but my parents called me Retta from Day One. I learned to accept it, though Retta doesn’t have half the music Margaretta does. Since I’m not fond of my own nickname, I don’t usually use them.

  “No one went out there when Ben stopped coming to church?”

  Dee shrugged. “I guess we were all afraid he’d think we were sticking our noses into his business.” Putting a hand over her mouth as if to stop herself from saying more, she said it anyway. “Ben didn’t like people questioning what he said and did. If Rose objected to anything, he’d say God told him it had to be that way. She got tired of hearing that.”

  “And you think they quarreled about it?”

  “She tried not to argue in front of the girls. She didn’t want them scared.” Dee’s smile was sad. “She really does think men are supposed to lead the family, but I think she was afraid of the choices Ben might make for her girls.”

  Like taking them out of school? I thought. Or giving one of them to his friend? That was especially creepy.

  “I guess she’ll have other things to worry about when she gets back home,” Dee said. “Any idea when that will be?”

  “No. I mean, I haven’t heard anything.” Thanking Dee for the tea and the information, I headed for my car, hoping she hadn’t seen the doubt in my eyes. Barbara was very likely right: Rose Isley was never coming home, and it broke my heart.

  Many things went through my mind, but I forced myself to concentrate on just one. Though my fears for Rose were deep, there was nothing I could do for her at the moment. The girl-haters’ club at Ben’s church was irritating, but I didn’t see how it connected to the theft of a grenade-gun from the National Guard.

  I wanted to contact the men Dee had mentioned, to see if they really were crazy enough to steal a weapon from the U.S. government and plot some terrible use for it. I wanted to know more about Colt Farrell’s views, but interviewing a man like him wasn’t something a woman could do effectively. Taking out my phone, I turned it on and located Gabe Wills in my contacts.

  “You want me to buy electronics where?” Gabe said when I explained the job.

  “Mr. A.I. It’s the name of a store in the Morton Plaza. What I really want is for you to engage the owner in conversation.”

  “Engage?”

  I sighed. “I want you to talk with him, Gabe. About religion.”

  “Religion?”

  Holding back a sigh, I answered a dozen questions from “What if the owner isn’t the one who waits on me?” to “What if he doesn’t believe in Jesus?” Finally I said, “Gabe, if I’m right about this guy, all you have to do is say you and your wife are looking for a church. That will get his interest.”

  “Um, Mrs. Stilson…”

  “Yes?”

  “I can’t tell him my wife wants a church. I don’t have a wife.”

  “Okay. Say it’s your girlfriend.”

  He thought about that. “I guess that’s okay.”

  It was apparently all right to lie about looking for a church but not about whether he was married. Gabe’s reasoning escaped me, but I was happy he agreed to do it. Barbara wouldn’t approve, but if Gabe got Farrell talking, we’d get an idea of his level of craziness. It might even shed light on what they were planning to do with the grenade-thingy.

  By the time Gabe arrived twenty minutes later, I’d changed into my own clothes again. With specific instructions: “Look interested and don’t argue,” I sent him inside. Gabe isn’t capable of debating Biblical doctrine, but his look of constant confusion might generate a desire to instruct in a pompous sort like Farrell.

  Twenty minutes later, Gabe left the store, arms laden with items I agreed to pay for in exchange for his help. I met him at his truck, but first he had to show me what he’d bought, like a kid at Christmas. Once we got that out of the way, I led him through his meeting with Colt Farrell.

  “Well, he didn’t wait on me at first,” Gabe began. “He was on the phone in the back. When he finally came out, I mentioned about my girlfriend and me looking for a church home. That’s what they call it.” Gabe’s tone was instructive. “A church home. The guy was real excited to tell me about his church.”

  “What did he say?”

  Gabe’s grin was wide. “Let’s just say Ms. Evans would have him for lunch.”

  “I understand he isn’t a fan of women leading in church.”

  “Women leading anything, anyplace, anytime.” Gabe sniffed. “I got a big lecture on the downfall of the great U.S. of A. and how it all started when we gave women the vote.”

  “Did it, now.”

  He raised his hands in comic defense. “Don’t blame me! I’m just telling you what he said. According to Mr. Farrell, there’s indistutable proof that every state in the U.S. started falling apart the minute it let women vote.”

  I didn’t correct Gabe’s mistaken version of indisputable, though Barbara certainly would have.

  “He says it was a woman who put the information all together, so that proves it’s true.”

  Sure it does. “Is he the type who might get violent on the subject?”

  Gabe’s eyes widened. “Heck, yeah! He started out pretty tame, but the more he talked, the madder he got. He said it’s women’s fault we got a welfare state and Muslims taking over and illegal aliens sneaking across the borders by the millions.”

  “How did we do that?”

  “That wasn’t real clear.” Gabe scratched his chin. “He did say they got no right being in Congress or running anything.”

  “Because our heads are stuffed with cotton, hay, and rags.”

  “What?
”

  “Never mind. How did you get away from all that wisdom?”

  “I was starting to get a little antsy about that.” Gabe pushed a lock of greasy-blond hair out of his eyes. “His phone rang. I already paid for my stuff, so I told him, ‘Go ahead and take the call.’ I wanted to get out of there before he started in again.”

  I pressed an extra twenty into his hand. “I’m so glad you helped with this, Gabe.”

  He stuffed the bill in his jeans pocket. “Is this a case the Smart Detectives are working on?”

  “It didn’t begin that way,” I replied, “but I’m pretty sure it is now.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Faye

  When Dale and I got home, Barb’s car was in the driveway and the Isley girls were in the back yard. Iris lay on the porch swing, her legs draped over one end as she read a book. Daisy rushed forward to hug me as we got out of the car. Seconds later she and Buddy were playing catch with a tennis ball.

  Barb came onto the porch, shading her eyes from the bright sun. “Retta’s on some mission, so I’m kid-sitting. Pansy took Styx for a walk, which is a good thing.” She gestured at Buddy, joyfully chasing down the ball. “I’ll have her take him out to the workshop when they get back so he and Buddy don’t meet.”

  “Good.”

  Barb backed into the kitchen, her eyes moving from me to Dale and back. “So what’s going on?”

  “Let’s sit down, and we’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Okay.” She lifted one brow in wry amusement. “I just happen to have some newly-frosted sugar cookies, if you’re interested.”

  Dale chose a purple-sprinkled cookie and left, guessing I was about to be scolded. When he closed the door, Barb gave me a little smile to show she wasn’t angry. She’d obviously been worried, but I was all right. Now she wanted to know why she’d been kept in the dark.

  Once again I told the story of discovering the grenade launcher, getting locked in the bunker, and being rescued by my sons. “We all sat down in Sheriff Brill’s office and tried to figure it out,” I finished. “Afterward, Rory suggested Dale and I get away for a while, to kind of decompress.”

  Barb shook her head, disgusted. “I called Rory last night. He didn’t lie to me, but he didn’t tell the whole truth.”

  With a sigh I confessed, “I asked Rory—and ordered Retta—not to tell you anything. I didn’t want you to worry.”

  She leaned toward me. “Faye, don’t be that much of an idiot ever again, okay? No matter what’s going on, I’d much rather know than be left in the dark.” She turned aside, and I saw tears in her eyes. “I should have been here.”

  “Don’t start that,” I ordered. “That’s what Dale said, and it’s just silly. Things happen. You and I talked about this, remember?”

  Barb sighed. “I know. Just promise me you won’t keep things from me ever again.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry.” I paused. “There’s more to tell. Dale and I went up to Bois Blanc Island and searched Farrell’s lot.”

  “What?”

  I told her about our decision to visit the island, seeing the boat named Mr. A.I., and about meeting the scruffy man on the beach.

  “Sharky.” Barb told me about Pansy’s call saying she’d seen him drive by the house on Saturday.

  “If he was here, it wasn’t Sharky who hit me.”

  “No, but whoever did might have given Sharky the grenade launcher to hide up on Bois Blanc.”

  “We didn’t find it on the lot, but it could have been on the boat.”

  “And we have no idea where the boat is.”

  We went over everything again but got no further. In the end, we sat sipping our tea and wiping away cookie crumbs. Finally I said, “I should start figuring out what to make the girls for lunch.”

  “You don’t need to walk in the door and start cooking,” Barb said firmly. “I’ll order pizza.”

  While she was on the phone Retta bustled in, full of news about her morning. Dale came inside, got two more cookies, and made himself scarce, since her chirpy voice and constant movement puts his nerves on edge. The three of us sat down at the kitchen table, and Retta told us what she’d learned about Ben McAdams and his friends.

  Barb was furious at such thinking. “Women are ruining the country? Do they know—?”

  “We know, Barbara,” Retta interrupted before she could begin a lecture on the contributions of the female sex to society. “We aren’t going to debate them, but if they’re planning something involving that nasty weapon, we have to stop them.”

  “I wish we knew where that thing is.” Barb glanced around the room as if it might be behind the refrigerator or under the sink.

  “At least one of those men must live within the city limits,” I said. “Rory will have jurisdiction.”

  “I looked it up on my phone,” Retta said. “Both Stone and Farrell live in the city limits.”

  “Ben’s remote location is probably why the weapon was stored at the farm.”

  “Do you think they’ll give up now that he’s dead?” I asked.

  “No.” Barb was typing search terms into her iPad. “They’re probably refiguring things as we speak.”

  “How are we going to find out what they’re planning?”

  Barb leaned back in her chair, pinching her lower lip. “We know there’s a boat involved. Maybe we should concentrate on that.”

  “Barbara Ann, Michigan is almost surrounded by water.” Retta’s tone was disgusted. “The fact that they have a boat tells us nada.”

  Barb’s face twitched with irritation. “This is what we do, Retta. We gather scraps of information, put them together in different ways, and see what fits. If they plan to use Farrell’s boat for something, we need to know when and why.”

  The office phone rang, and Barb rose quickly. “I’ll get it. You rest.” Despite her concern, I followed her down the hallway to listen. Not to be left out, Retta tagged along.

  “Yes, Gabe.” … “Good to hear your voice, too.” She rolled her eyes at Gabe’s exaggerated politeness. As she listened, though, her expression turned dark.

  “No, Mrs. Stilson didn’t tell us you were helping with our case, but she’s here now. I’ll put you on speaker so we can all hear what you have to say.”

  The pizza guy had just pulled up out front. Retta’s face flushed, but she covered it by going to the door, taking three large boxes from the sandy-haired kid, and setting them on a side table, all without looking at either of us.

  Barb pressed a key, and Gabe’s nasal voice came through. “Well, I remembered something the guy at the store said that might be important. He got the call I told Mrs. Stilson about, so I was about to leave then I saw this really cool physical activity monitor he’s got in there. They keep track of everything, but Mindy says—”

  “Gabe, you had something to tell us about Mr. Farrell.”

  “Yeah, right. I stopped to look at the monitor—It’s really cool--and I heard him say, “I’ll take care of that. It’ll be harder with two, but we can do it. No more calls. Meet me on the dock at one.”

  Barb glanced at Retta and me. We both shrugged. The information seemed to confirm the boat was involved, but it might be nothing more than a fishing trip.

  “Thanks, Gabe. I’ll pass the information on to Chief Neuencamp.”

  “Okay.” After a pause he said, “If you’re going after these guys, I can come along. I been practicing with my knife, and I’m getting pretty good at hitting a target.”

  “You are not to carry any kind of weapon while working for us, Gabe, especially since you’re still on probation.”

  “It’s just a jackknife,” he said. “Legal, but if I throw it—”

  Barb rolled her eyes again. “There will be no knife-throwing. All we’re going to do is tell the chief what we know. The authorities will handle it from here.”

  When she hung up, Barb left her hand on the receiver as if holding onto something would keep her from flying into a rage. “Retta, you
sent Gabe to interview a suspect?”

  She blushed again, but being Retta, defended herself. “Who was I supposed to get to do it? Rory? Dale? I knew a guy like Farrell would say more to a man than he ever would to one of us.”

  With a sigh that said she couldn’t win, Barb tried to explain. “These aren’t games, Retta. Farrell might be part of a group with plans to kill people. Gabe is nobody’s idea of an undercover operative. Who knows what Farrell might do to protect himself?”

  Retta waved the argument away as if swatting at a fly. “A guy buying new ear buds isn’t going to trip Farrell’s radar. And like I said, it isn’t like Lars is around to help.”

  Lars Johannsen, Retta’s FBI boyfriend, lives in New Mexico. Gabe is about as far from Lars in appearance and brainpower as any two men can get, but she had a point. Gabe had apparently been successful in getting Farrell to share his views.

  I knew I should support Barb, but I felt my body temperature start to rise. Nothing brings on a hot flash faster than an argument. “Gabe’s not equipped for undercover work, Retta. We want to give him work, but we don’t let him investigate.”

  “You exposed him to danger,” Barb said harshly, “without consulting Faye or me first.”

  “He got the information, didn’t he?” Retta’s voice vibrated with the bratty tone that irritates Barb no end. “That proves he can handle himself. And I paid him myself, so it didn’t have anything to do with the Smarty-pants Detective Agency.”

  She emphasized the last few words, underscoring her dislike for the name we gave our business. Several times she has proposed her choice, the Sleuth Sisters. Every time, Barb shoots her down.

  “The Smart Detective Agency is made up of your sisters.” Barb also emphasized the name, underscoring its permanence. “You don’t think it might reflect on us?”

  “I don’t see how.” If she doesn’t want to acknowledge something, Retta simply ignores it. “How could they possibly know we sent Gabe into their store?”