“Where would he have found friends?” Liz asked.
Elise spread her hands and shrugged. “I don’t know. In town? He was job hunting. He tried the town office, the newspaper, a couple of outfitters on Summit. He took the car in for servicing, he went grocery shopping for me.” She gave another shrug. “He brought back coffee and doughnuts a few times. That wasn’t like him. It was nice.”
“You said he found some peace,” Anna said. “Was he troubled about something?”
“It was just the way Jordan was,” Elise replied. “Not hugely troubled, but never really happy either. He should have seen someone, but he hated doctors and psychiatrists.”
“Do you think . . . ,” Liz began.
This time, Anna saw, her friend knew the words to use but was reluctant to use them.
“Do you think he really planned a hunting trip?” Liz said. “Could he have been going somewhere else? With someone?” She winced as she spoke, aware that she was introducing Elise to a new and tragic possibility.
“No, there’s no way.” Unshaken by Liz’s thinly veiled suggestion, Elise was adamant. “If you knew how unlikely it was that my husband would be invited anywhere by anyone. Male or female. That’s why I was happy when I heard about the hunting trip, when I believed he was going on it. It was so different. I thought he was changing. Things were changing for us.”
“But you don’t know why he would lie?” Liz asked.
“He wasn’t the most open of husbands.” Elise’s small, childlike hands clutched at her coffee cup. “I never should have married him. I loved him, but I knew our life would come to a bad end.”
Grief made you say things you ordinarily wouldn’t, Anna knew that. But even so, Elise’s openness and willingness to criticize her husband shocked her. “How long you were married?” she asked.
“Seven years.”
“Are you from Colorado?”
“California. Never been out here a day in my life until last October. But Jordan missed the mountains.”
“Then he’s from Colorado?”
“Born and raised in Elk Park. Though he was living in California when we met. That’s why you couldn’t find his family. His parents aren’t living. Two aunts and an uncle are in California. The rest, I don’t know.”
The clipped sentences, the aimlessly roving hands—all signs of the exhaustion that came with grief.
“He was twenty-eight, I was twenty-four,” Elise continued. “My dad thought I was too young. We never had kids, you know? Jordan didn’t want them. I thought there was time to change his mind.”
Anna tried to catch Liz’s eye to signal her that it was time for them to leave. Questioning this woman was indecent. “Have you got someone to stay with you?” she asked Elise.
“In a few days I’ll go to one of the hotels on Summit,” she answered. “But for now I want to stay here. It feels right.” She took a tiny sip of coffee, and when she laid the cup back on the table, she stared into it for several seconds before speaking again. “After that, I don’t know what I’ll do. But thank you for letting me talk about him. The police said someone named Henry Maxwell was found near where Jordan was. They asked me if I knew him.”
“Did you?”
“No. I suppose Jordan might have.”
Anna asked for Liz’s notebook, tore a sheet of paper from it, and wrote down her phone number. “Call me if you need anything at all,” she said, sliding the paper across the table to Elise. “Or if you just want to talk.” She stood and started for the door, motioning for Liz to follow her.
“Wait a second.” Anna stopped in her tracks and swung back to Elise. “Your husband said he was going on a hunting trip, but your car’s outside. Do you have a second car?”
“No, someone picked him up,” Elise said.
Anna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t home at the time.”
“Did your husband give you a name? Any name?”
“He never mentioned a name. But what does it matter? The trip was a lie, wasn’t it?”
“He might not have been going to Wyoming, but he ended up ten miles from your house. He was picked up by a real person in a real vehicle. Did you tell the police about this?”
“Yes. They wanted to know why I didn’t report him missing. I told them everything I know. Everything I’ve told you.”
Anna wasn’t sure if Elise understood the implications of this unknown visitor and his ride. Whoever had picked Hetrick up at his house was involved in the hunting subterfuge. He—or she—knew why Hetrick had lied to his wife, knew what he was doing in the pine trees off Saddleback Road. Whoever it was might even be Hetrick’s murderer.
“Are you going home to California?” she asked Elise.
“I think so.”
“It’s good to be with family.”
Elise rose from her chair, and the tissue on her lap fell to the floor. “Well, I’ll show you out.”
“No need,” Anna said, moving for the door. But Elise overtook her and reached the door first, swinging it wide. As Anna stepped outside, she turned to ask one more question. “Have you ever heard of the January Club?”
“The police asked me the same question. Why?”
“You never heard of them until they asked?”
“No, never.”
“If someone from the club contacts you, don’t talk to them, don’t invite them in. And don’t accept any invitations from any of the members.”
Elise’s eyebrows went up. “Invitations?”
“It’s hard to explain, Elise. Just don’t talk to them. And call me if you need anything.”
Tromping through the snow on her way back to Liz’s SUV, it occurred to Anna that Elise was genuinely bewildered by her admonition and had probably never heard of the January Club until the police questioned her. Good. Already Anna knew the club was a cancer. She kept finding it in places it ought not to have been. If pressed, she couldn’t have said for certain what evil the club did—except for the séances—or if its members broke any laws, but the idea of it being a club for encouragement was laughable. There was far more going on.
As she dug for her car keys, Liz whispered, “That ride and the cabin rental—what if Hetrick was having an affair?”
“I thought about that. Could be.”
“But?”
“I think it has something to do with the January Club.”
Liz started the engine and switched off the heater, which was blowing cold air out the vents. “It sounds like the police do too. Why is that, Anna Ivy Denning? Or is that something else you can’t tell me?”
Anna groaned. “I can’t, I can’t. Just trust me, the January Club is involved.”
Liz shifted sideways in her seat. “You’ve got to introduce me to this club.”
“What?”
“Get me into this club. Tell them you want to join. No, tell them I want to join.”
“Everyone in Elk Park knows who you are, Liz.”
“So what? They’ve all got jobs too—or they did. Why can’t I want to join?”
Anna considered the benefits of another visit to Curt MacKenzie’s house. She could take photos of the Sorg portrait and some of the items in the back room, find out more about Sorg, dig into Henry Maxwell’s past, ask about Jordan Hetrick.
“Well?” Liz said.
The muffled tones of an incoming text sounded at Anna’s feet. “Hang on,” she said, pulling her purse from the floor and retrieving her phone. “It’s Melinda.” After reading the text, she keyed in a quick reply then stuffed the phone back in her purse. “Henry Maxwell’s will gives everything he owns but his house to the January Club. The transfer is supposed to happen tomorrow, right after the will is read.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. What did you tell Melinda?”
“She asked me to come over as soon as possible.”
“Does she have a copy of the will?”
“She must.”
�
��I’ll drive you to her house and take you back to your car later. I want a look at that will. I’ve got a contact in the legal department of the town office who might be able to help.”
Liz gazed into her rearview mirror as she backed down the Hetricks’ long, slippery driveway, her tires fighting the snow. “No, no, back up,” she said suddenly, waving a hand.
Anna turned to see a green Honda Pilot churning up the drive toward the house. “It’s still coming.”
Liz braked. “Now we’ll get stuck. Whoever it is can just figure out a way to go around us.”
The Honda maneuvered dangerously close to Liz’s SUV and came to a stop alongside it.
“It’s Tanner Ostberg,” Anna said, rolling down her window. “Tanner, what are you doing here?”
Tanner lowered his window and poked his head a few inches past the door frame. “Anna, right? I’m working for the Herald.” He leaned into the steering wheel and arched his neck. “Is that Liz Halvorsen driving?”
“That’s me,” Liz called out. “How did you know?”
Tanner made a face and threw his head back, glaring at the ceiling of his Honda. “Shoot!” He puffed out his cheeks and again turned to the open window. “They told me you heard the police made an ID, but how did you get here so fast?”
“Sorry,” Liz said. “Contacts. You got here pretty fast yourself.”
“My contacts,” Tanner said, brushing back his long bangs. “Too bad they’re slower.”
Liz rested her left arm on the steering wheel and leaned sideways toward Tanner’s car. “Do you happen to know someone named Soda Ashbrook?”
An expression halfway between surprise and fear flashed across Tanner’s face, but he took control of it so quickly that Anna couldn’t read him for certain. “I’ve met her doing my job, why?”
Curious, Anna thought. Doing my job. As if to say, “I’ve met her, but it wasn’t my fault.”
“Nothing important,” Liz replied. “We just met her. Apparently, she’s into black metal.”
Tanner’s brown eyes narrowed. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I was curious about it,” Anna said, “but she didn’t tell us much. I thought she was an expert.”
“Why did you think she was an expert?” Tanner’s eyes shifted from Anna to Liz, regarding them with suspicion—a not unwarranted view, Anna thought, given that she had no interest in black metal, whatever it was, and was talking completely off the top of her head.
“Contacts,” Liz said brightly.
“What contacts? Who was talking about her?”
“No one was talking about her,” Anna said. “Not in that way.” It seemed Tanner had more than a business-related interest in Soda. There was no other reason for his protective response. “We’re just working on a story and heard her name.”
“You two are working together?” Tanner asked.
Anna heaved a sigh. Lying was exhausting, not to mention wrong. “Actually, Tanner, to be honest,” she began. Immediately she felt a kick to her calf.
“To be honest, we need a push to get going,” Liz said. “The snow’s a little deep here.”
Tanner glanced down at the driveway. “They need to plow, or at least shovel tracks for the tires.”
“She’s alone now,” Anna said.
“I realize that.” Tanner stepped out of his car and made his way to the front of Liz’s SUV, slogging his way through six inches of snow.
Anna stuck her head out the window. Tanner needed to hear her and understand. “Elise’s husband’s gone and she’s devastated. Be respectful and gentle, okay?”
“Anna, I know how to not be an ass.” Tanner laid his hands on the SUV’s hood. “Don’t gun the motor and don’t run me over. Just back up slowly and smoothly.”
Liz put the SUV in reverse and threw a hand over the backseat, craning her neck as she slowly backed down the driveway. Once she gained momentum, Tanner let go of the hood and blew on his hands to warm them. Anna waved her thanks and watched as Tanner walked to his Honda and knocked the snow from his shoes on the car’s tires.
“You could have made it without his help,” Anna said. “I’ve seen this SUV plow through two-foot snow berms.”
“I didn’t want to fishtail into his car,” Liz said. “Besides, I had a feeling it was someone from the Herald coming up the driveway. I had to know for sure.”
“Thanks for kicking me. I almost blew it. I was going to tell Tanner the real reason we went to see Soda.”
Liz’s tires caught full traction when she hit the plowed street. She let go of the seat back and put the SUV in four-wheel drive. “One of the people who was at the January Club meeting last night, and that includes Tanner, is a murderer. You can’t trust any of them.”
“Beverly Goff,” Anna said. “I’ve been concentrating on Henry Maxwell and Jordan Hetrick so much I lost sight of her murder, and it happened almost in front of me.”
8
“I brought Liz,” Anna said as she and Liz entered the Maxwell house. “She knows more about wills than I do.”
“I need all the help I can get,” Melinda answered, shutting the door behind them. “I’m losing all my dad’s belongings and every cent in his bank account. Come on back to the kitchen.”
The suitcase that had sat in the middle of the living room was gone, Anna noticed, but one of the couches was piled high with papers, folders, and letter boxes of the kind she had seen in Henry Maxwell’s bedroom, and in the kitchen, stacks of photo albums and old letters covered the table.
Melinda cleared two places at the table by arranging the albums and letters into even higher stacks. “I’ve been looking for things that might help in your research, Anna. Now that my dad’s gone, I can look without worrying he’ll see me doing it. It’s a relief.”
Anna was again reminded that Henry Maxwell’s death was not mourned—at least by his daughter. “Does your brother know about your dad?” she asked.
“Don’t have any idea. Coffee?”
Anna slung her jacket over the back of a chair, sat, and declined the coffee, reminding Melinda—and Liz—that they couldn’t stay long.
“My brother gets half the house, so I’ll have to find him somehow,” Melinda said, taking a single white cup from the cabinet.
Liz dropped her purse to the floor and took a seat. “Who’s the executor?”
“My dad’s lawyer. I’ve never met him, but I did a little research on the Internet, and it looks like he’s a partner in a bona fide law firm.” Melinda turned and leaned on the counter, cradling the cup against her abdomen. “He should be able to find my brother, shouldn’t he?”
“Probably,” Liz said. “Since your brother is getting half the house, it would be part of his job to locate him.”
“I wonder if your dad was current on his address,” Anna said. “Did he stay in touch with your brother?”
“I think so. He knew how to find me, so . . .” Melinda frowned, her shoulders drooping in defeat. “I got a phone call after I texted you. Dean Price wants to come here tomorrow and start carting things away, right after he drains my dad’s account at Western Peaks Bank. I think he’s worried I’m going to hide valuables from him.”
“The club gets his money too?” Anna asked.
“According to the will.”
“Is Dean designated in the will as the person to carry out all this?”
“Yup.” Melinda opened her mouth as if to say something then closed it. Straightening her spine, she set the cup on the counter then faced Anna. “I have every intention of doing just what Price suspects. If I find anything valuable in the house, if I find anything that morally belongs to me, I’m taking it.”
Anna and Liz were silent as Melinda spooned coffee into a filter and started the coffee maker. Anna briefly wondered if Melinda’s search of her father’s things had more to do with finding valuables than with locating genealogical materials or family mementos, but another glance at the envelopes and albums on the table settled that. There
were no valuables to be found in photo albums and old family letters. More than anything, Melinda was looking for answers to questions that had troubled her for almost two decades.
“Your father was a letter keeper,” Anna said.
“A hoarder is more like it,” Melinda replied over her shoulder.
“Oh, I’ve seen hoards and this doesn’t come close,” Anna said in an effort to lighten Melinda’s mood. Did Henry Maxwell have no redeeming qualities? Did Melinda have nothing good to say about him? Then again, the man had kept a finger and a bone necklace in his bedroom. Maybe “hoarder” was the kindest thing anyone could say about him.
Melinda poured coffee into her cup, grabbed sheets of paper from atop the microwave, and took a seat at the table. “Here’s the will,” she said, laying it between Anna and Liz. “I’d love for someone to tell me it’s not legal.”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Liz said, pulling the papers her way. “If your father signed and dated it, and two witnesses signed it, it’s legal. Can I take photos?” Liz bent down and reached into her purse, pulling out her camera.
Wrapping her hands around her cup, Melinda watched as Liz leafed through the five pages, then stood, hovered over the pages, and snapped a photograph of each.
“On first glance, it’s legal,” Liz said, sitting and sliding her camera back in her purse. “A basic will signed in the presence of the attorney and Dean and Rose Price.”
“Great. Just great.” Melinda let go of the coffee cup to massage her temples. “Those thieves. Why do they want everything in the house? It’s like they want to punish me.” She dropped her hands and looked from Liz to Anna, imploring. “What can I do? What would you do?”
Anna wasn’t about to advise Melinda to break the law, but she understood the temptation to squirrel away at least a few of her father’s things, especially since there was nothing she could do to hold on to his bank account. After all, what right did the January Club have to family mementos? “Can you legally keep any of his things?” She laid a hand on a stack of letters. “Like these? Or the photo albums? The club can’t be interested in them.”
The Club (Anna Denning Mystery Book 4) Page 7