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

by Maggie Pill

  “You sent him,” Barb said. “We didn’t. But think about it. If your little charade at the church didn’t fool Dee, someone else might have recognized you too. What if one of those women tells Farrell you were asking about Ben? What if she knows Margaretta Stilson is my sister, or Faye’s sister—”

  “That’s a lot of ifs, Barbara.” Retta took up the pizza boxes she’d set on the table.

  “And another thing,” Barb said. “Stop decorating my office for me. I like it plain!”

  Looking around, Retta gave one of her ladylike sniffs. “I’m sure it suits you perfectly, Barbara Ann. Now let’s call the girls in to eat before their lunch gets cold.” She stalked off to the kitchen, leaving Barb fuming with frustration.

  “I’ll talk to her later,” I said. “You’d better update Rory.”

  Giving them a little cooling-off time was the best I could do. Retta and Barb stop listening to each other early on in any disagreement. It was up to me to get Retta to promise to leave Gabe out of her undercover enterprises and beg her to consult us before beginning the next one.

  At the same time, I’d make Barb admit that Retta had gained valuable information. Colt Farrell and the guy I’d seen on the beach at Bois Blanc, probably Sharky, were looking more and more like McAdam’s partners in some scheme. The fact that it involved a grenade launcher made it imperative we find out more.

  As for Retta redecorating Barb’s office, I’d leave that one alone. My opinion was squarely in the middle, but I wasn’t about to voice it to either Ms. Plain-and-Simple or Mrs. Spice-it-up.

  Entering the kitchen a few minutes later Barb said, “Rory’s not answering. I’ll try again in half an hour.”

  Retta had set paper plates and napkins on the patio table at the side of the house, and she was busily serving up slices. By tacit consent, the argument was relegated to the past. Our parents had insisted mealtimes be peaceful, and we continued that way, despite any disagreements we might have before or after.

  I called to Iris to fetch Dale and her sisters. Daisy came in first with Buddy at her heels. Dale came next, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. Iris went to look for Pansy and Styx, and everyone present was served by the time she returned, holding the dogs’ leash. “I found him fastened to a fencepost down the street,” she said, her face pale. “But I can’t find Pansy anywhere.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Barb

  Iris led me to the spot where she’d found Styx, but there was no sign of Pansy. Had they kidnapped her? Had she been told some lie that made her go voluntarily? I fought to banish images rising in my mind: Pansy in Sharky’s hands. Pansy terrified. Pansy sobbing in fear. Pansy dead.

  Events of the last few days replayed in my mind. Pansy’s stoic acceptance of all she’d faced. Her insightful observations of the adults around her and their motivations. Her sense of humor, a little sarcastic, like mine. How do parents of kidnapped children keep from going mad?

  I went all the way to Main Street, around a three-block section, and back home. I asked everyone I met if they’d seen a little blond girl with colored streaks in her hair. No one had.

  There was no sign of Pansy in the park. She wasn’t at the Dairy Queen—not that I suspected her of running off to get ice cream. She wasn’t in any of the stores I passed, nor down the side streets. I turned toward home. My phone was there, buried somewhere in my purse. I had to call Rory, had to get help.

  “Here she is! She’s back!” Iris’ voice betrayed relief.

  I hurried to the back porch to see Pansy coming across the yard. I ran toward her, but when I got close, embarrassment overcame me and I stopped short. “We were worried.”

  Her chin jutted, and I realized Pansy thought she was in trouble. “It’s all right. It’s just that when we couldn’t find you, we were afraid something had happened.”

  She looked toward the street. “Something did happen, but not to me. I was walking Styx, and I saw him.”

  “Who?” Retta and Faye came up behind us. I’d been about to ask whom she’d seen, but I was too interested in Pansy’s answer to grouse about Faye’s less grammatical who.

  “Sharky. He was sitting across the street from your house, listening to you talk.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Pansy paused, collecting her thoughts. “Styx and I were coming back from our walk, and I noticed a guy sitting in this junky car in front of the blue house kitty-corner from yours.”

  “The Partons,” Retta supplied, as if it mattered.

  “The guy was just sitting there, staring at your house and listening to something that was playing on a laptop. I tied Styx to the fence and sneaked up behind him. When I got close, I saw it was Sharky. He was listening to you all arguing about someone named Gabe.”

  “Eavesdropping,” I said.

  “From across the street?” Retta was doubtful. “How could he—?”

  “Electronic eavesdropping, Retta.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Oh!”

  I returned my attention to Pansy. “Then what happened?”

  She blushed. “I wasn’t careful enough. Sharky saw me and took off. I chased him as far as I could, but he got away.”

  “You chased him?” I was horrified.

  “You said it was important to find him!” Pansy looked at me earnestly. “You said you needed my help.”

  Though Retta pressed her lips together, what she was thinking came out anyway. “I guess I’m not the only one enlisting assistance from underqualified investigators.”

  “I didn’t—” I gave up halfway through the sentence. There was no way I’d convince Retta there was a difference between what I’d said to Pansy and what she’d asked Gabe to do.

  When I finally reached Rory, I only gave him a little bit of a hard time about holding out on me. Admitting Faye can be persuasive, I let him off the hook. “Some important things have happened since we last met,” I told him. With uncharacteristic honesty I added, “And I’d like to see you.”

  “That’s good to hear, Barb,” he said, his tone low. “Let’s start with dinner, and we’ll go from there.”

  We’d become less shy about meeting in public. Anyone in Allport who took an interest in our private lives knew we were an item. At first I’d fretted about people saying our agency was too close to the local cops, but Rory argued people will say what they say. “Grownups ignore gossip and get on with their lives,” he insisted. I replied that he obviously hadn’t grown up with a mother who asked, “What will people think?” at least once a day.

  Telling myself Rory’s view was better than Mom’s, I tried to ignore the whispers behind my back, the speculations about why I never married, and the surprise that I was having a love affair at fifty-three. It wasn’t easy, but I was trying.

  Rory waited for me outside the restaurant where we first met, our sentimental favorite. The waitress seated us in a corner and asked what we wanted, though she could probably have ordered for him. Rory likes the whitefish, fried, with fries and coleslaw on the side. The man’s trim appearance defies logic.

  After I told him everything, including how mad I was at Retta, Rory chuckled. “Nobody can accuse your sister of sloth.”

  Unwrapping my silverware from my napkin, I laid the pieces where they belonged. “I can think of some other deadly sins she’s guilty of, pride being prominent among them. Because of her goofy idea, Farrell might realize we suspect him of being in on what McAdams was plotting.”

  “I don’t think you can blame Retta for all of it,” Rory countered. “If Pansy’s right and Sharky had listening equipment, they’ve been keeping track of you before today.”

  “Farrell!” I said. “He owns an electronics store, and he’s been in my office.” Colt Farrell’s visit seemed sinister now, where before I’d deemed it merely irritating. “As soon as I get home, I’m going to find the bug he planted while he was there.”

  “Why would he do that?” Rory asked.

  I counted my arguments on my fingers. “B
en disappeared, and they didn’t know where the weapon was. Whatever they’re plotting is imminent. Farrell learned Ben’s landlords run a detective agency, and he figured we’d be able to track Ben down. Pretending to be a concerned friend, he tried to hire us, but he gave me the creeps and I turned him down. That didn’t matter, because he brought along insurance--a listening device he planted in my office.” Anger coursing through me I added, “He’s heard everything we said for days!”

  “Maybe not,” Rory replied. “If this Sharky character was listening in his car, it’s likely their device transmits just a short distance.”

  “So they heard us when one of them was close enough to eavesdrop, but that’s all.”

  “Yes.”

  The waitress came with our food, and we waited until she placed it, stood back, and expressed her wish that we enjoy our meal. When she was gone I said, “That explains how they knew they should follow Faye to the cabin.”

  “Easier than trying to find the place themselves. All they had to do was wait until she located the weapon and take it.”

  We ate a little, but neither of us was in the mood to linger over dinner. When I finished half my meal, I set the napkin beside my plate. “If I find a device, should I bring it to your office?”

  Rory chuckled. “No need. I’m coming with you.”

  “We won’t be able to prove Farrell planted it even if we find one,” I said grumpily.

  “We might tie the device to Farrell,” Rory said, “but you’re right. So far all the evidence we have points to Sharky.”

  “And we don’t know who he is or where he is.”

  “We’re a little closer, thanks to Sheriff Brill. He called that Guard colonel back and had him ask his people about Sharky as a nickname. A Richard Stark from Allport was on duty the weekend the weapon went missing. He and Ben served in the same unit when they were both full-time soldiers, so they’ve known each other for years. And his sergeant says Stark has a mouthful of pointy teeth, which might get a guy nicknamed Sharky, right?”

  “Right.” I rose from my chair. “Let’s see if we can find that bug.”

  Rory followed me to the house, where we went right to my office and began a search. At first we found nothing, but he encouraged me to replay Farrell’s visit in my mind and recall the things he’d touched. My gaze went to the pencil cup. Farrell had picked it up, ostensibly to read the quotation written on it, but now I suspected a different motive. Dumping the whole thing on my desk, I stood back as Rory sorted through the pencils, pens, and the odd paper clip with his own pen. There it was, a small device that looked a little like Grandma Harriet’s hearing aid. Rory wrapped it in some tissues from the box on my desk and put it into his shirt pocket, and I felt a little less violated. Colt Farrell and his buddies wouldn’t know what our next move was going to be. But then, neither did we.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Faye

  Dale and I were watching TV in the den when Barb came home. I heard her voice and Rory’s deeper one coming from the office. When he left Barb went upstairs, but she didn’t settle down for a long time. I think sometimes that clever mind of hers refuses to quit and let her sleep. I’ve heard her leave in her car after midnight and come back hours later. When I asked her about it, she said she drives around until she feels tired. What is it she thinks about so much that she can’t sleep?

  I learned the cause of that night’s sleeplessness the next morning when Barb told me she and Rory had found a bug in the office. That made me feel like spiders were walking on my neck. Why had someone done that? What had they heard? Even the most innocent comments I’d made seemed ill-advised at the thought that someone had been skulking outside our home, listening.

  Barb and Rory were determined to find Sharky if possible. Since they had that covered, I offered to find out what I could about Floyd Stone. He worked for the post office, so I’d begin there.

  The people at the Allport Post Office are cheerful, helpful, and efficient. Cheryl, the postmistress, knows me pretty well, since I do most of the mailings for the agency. I waited until other customers had been served then asked about Floyd Stone.

  “He’s one of our carriers.” Checking the clock she said, “He’ll be back around four if you need to speak with him.”

  “Actually, I wanted your impression of him.”

  Her unusually high brow tightened. “Is he suspected of a crime?”

  I equivocated a little. “Not at this time. I’d just like to know what kind of person he is.”

  Cheryl thought about it. “I guess he’s okay. I mean, we’ll never be friends, Floyd and me. He has some pretty weird ideas.”

  “I’ve heard that. Can you give me an example?”

  She fiddled with the various hand stamps at her work station for a few seconds, lining them up like little soldiers. “Two years ago, the postmaster position opened, and Floyd and I both applied for it. He made it clear he was going to get it, said they’d never choose a woman over a man.”

  “But you got the job.” When Cheryl merely shrugged I went on, “How did he take that?”

  “He never said a word.” Setting her elbows on the counter, she leaned toward me. “For almost two full months, he didn’t say one word to me. I’d tell him things he needed to know; he’d grunt. It was ridiculous.” She took a deep breath, as if reliving a decision she’d made. “One day I faced him down. I said, ‘Floyd, I know you’re disappointed you didn’t get the job, but if you can’t handle working for a woman, I’ll get you transferred to a different office.”

  “Can you do that?”

  She chuckled. “I have no idea, but I couldn’t stand his Poor Me face one more day.”

  “Did it work?”

  She waggled a hand in a maybe/maybe not gesture. “He speaks to me if he has to, but that’s as far as it goes. Most of the time he avoids me like the plague.”

  “Great working conditions!”

  “Well, he’s out on the route all day, so it isn’t too bad.” She stood up straight again, signaling she needed to get back to work. “I still get little hints he’s unhappy, though. A few weeks ago Floyd said he’d heard about a conference I should go to. I took it to mean he thinks I need instruction.”

  “A conference?”

  “On leadership.” Cheryl smiled grimly. “I try to look at it as a positive thing. At least he’s finally thinking of me as the leader around here.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Barb

  Sheriff Brill called just before noon. “Did you hear we’ve got a lead on Sharky?”

  “Rory mentioned it, but I don’t know the details.”

  “Richard Stark, National Guardsman, lives in a rental house just outside the city limits. He worked as a janitor at a nursing home until 2013, but he got fired. According to his former boss, a Mrs. Andrews, he spent most of his shifts hiding instead of mopping. No indication of any present employment.”

  “Mrs. Andrews fired him?”

  “She says she never would have hired him in the first place, but the facility administrator has a soft spot for vets and wanted to give him a shot.”

  “What was the reason for her initial dislike?”

  He chuckled. “She says he looked at her funny.”

  “Not funny in a humorous sense.”

  “No. He’s creepy, she says. If he’d done his work, she’d have tolerated him, but the staff kept finding him sleeping in closets and smoking outside the back door. After the required rigmarole of warnings and documentation, she let him go.”

  We’d told Brill about the man Faye saw on Bois Blanc, and he reported what he’d done about it. “We sent men to search Farrell’s lot, but if the weapon was ever there it’s gone now.”

  I told him what Faye had learned about Floyd Stone at the post office, ending with, “Ben was angry because Rose wouldn’t marry him and legitimize their relationship. Stone got passed over for promotion in favor of a woman. And Sharky got fired from his last job by a woman. Three of the four men we�
��re looking at have reason, at least in their own minds, to hate a woman.”

  “Which could easily become women in general, if you’re looking for someone to blame for your problems.”

  “Exactly. What does Sharky have to say for himself?”

  “We can’t find him.” Brill sounded disgusted. “I sent a car to his place, but it looks like he hasn’t been there for several days. There was a dog chained near the front door, and the poor thing was half-dead from thirst. My guys took it to the Humane Society.”

  “Sharky’s gone into hiding?”

  “He’ll guess we can tie him to the stolen weapon, and he knows Pansy saw him at your house. He’ll probably leave the state.”

  “Unless they plan to complete what they see as their mission first,” I murmured. “Sheriff, are there any upcoming events in the area that relate to feminism or women’s rights?”

  I heard pages flip and guessed Brill was consulting a calendar. “We’ve got President Bahn coming to the college on the third.”

  A few weeks before it had been all Retta could talk about. A local woman spent a year in Asia in the 1990s, living with a family whose daughter was her age. Twenty years later the daughter, now Madame Bahn, was president of her country. Currently visiting the US, she was on her way from D.C. to the West Coast and had arranged to stop briefly in Allport to see her old friend. When they heard about it, the local college had asked Madame Bahn to speak while she was in town, and she agreed.

  “That could be it,” Brill said. “She’s a female in a leadership position. They might try to disrupt her speech or even kill her.”

  “How depraved does one have to be to plan something like that?” I asked, but it was a rhetorical question. I’m only too familiar with the things people do to other people.

  “It’s time to call in the State Police,” Brill said. “It’s a credible threat, and the sooner they’re on it, the better.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff. If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”