A Valley to Die For

by Radine Trees Nehring

  If he’d searched the house looking for the papers, then he’d been upset enough to forget completely about leaving fingerprints, though, if she was reasoning correctly, he’d known JoAnne was dead by then. Otherwise, he surely wouldn’t have chosen Sunday to search the house.

  Stupid, stupid! And he’d been a law officer for thirty years, he should have known better! Everyone knew you wore gloves for committing crimes. Oh! Oh, dear.

  Carrie sat up stiffly, and FatCat stirred, then settled. The purring began again.

  His crime was... what? Breaking and entering? To some people, it might look like Henry had reasons to kill JoAnne, especially if he had lost his temper, if they had quarreled.

  What would the sheriff think? He didn’t know the events or the people who were involved.

  Leave it alone, she thought. Let the sheriff and his men do their work.

  No, she couldn’t leave it alone. Not now.

  Henry really was a good person inside. He had hugged her, comforted her. He’d understood. And he had shed tears. Even the kisses Saturday night meant nothing next to what was revealed in that hug, or those tears. He just could not be a killer. Why, he didn’t even hunt! He probably didn’t even own a gun.

  Law enforcement officers dealt only with facts. And cold facts had nothing at all to do with the truth in this case, or with Henry’s fingerprints in JoAnne’s house.

  But, what would the sheriff think? She wished she knew just what the sheriff was thinking right now.

  And what was she going to do? Well, for one thing, she’d better re-hide the contents of the box.

  After going over options inside her house, she decided to put the few important documents she kept at home in the box on top of JoAnne’s papers. She could take Susan’s birth certificate to her own safe deposit box later, if she hadn’t figured out some way to get Henry and his daughter together in the meantime.

  When she added her papers to JoAnne’s, there wasn’t enough space left for the baby things. She put the box in a cabinet in her office, then roamed the house, carrying the plastic bag with its tiny reminders of a baby girl who had undoubtedly been loved, but not welcomed, by the parents who conceived and bore her.

  After rejecting a number of hiding places, Carrie decided she’d put the bag inside FatCat’s mattress. No one would ever look there. She removed the mattress and down pillow, tucked the plastic bag under the flap in the bottom of the mattress cover, tied it closed again, then fluffed up the down pillow and put it on top. There, that would do, and FatCat, who had been prowling the house with her, would never talk. JoAnne’s cat could guard JoAnne’s secret.

  She looked at her watch. Time to get ready to go to the Booths’, but first she’d pick out a book to take to Shirley. She was standing in front of the bookshelves when the phone rang.

  “Hi. Dinner’s to be at 6:30, after Roger finishes with milking. Shall I pick you up about 6:15?

  Carrie made an instant decision. “Can you come a little early, Henry? We need to talk.”

  * * *

  She was stepping out of the shower when the phone rang again. Grabbing her towel, she went to the bedroom to answer.

  “Carrie, I just saw a bit in the Tulsa paper about your friend JoAnne Harrington being shot! It doesn’t say much. What happened? Um, are you all right?”

  “Oh, hello, Evan. There isn’t much to tell, really. She was killed sometime on Saturday and put in the woods behind here, near where... well, you know the area. I found her when I was out for a walk and now all the manpower in the county sheriff’s department is roaming the hills. I don’t know much more than that.”

  “How awful for you. I guess it was a hunting accident? Didn’t you tell me she liked to walk in the woods?”

  “They don’t think a hunter shot her. Something about the wrong kind of gun. I suppose they’ll get it all figured out eventually.”

  “So, ah, they’ve talked to you about it?”

  “I’ll say! Lots of questions about what I was doing, and about JoAnne. Of course I didn’t know anything that would help them.”

  “So you... they... have no ideas about how it happened?”

  “Well, I sure don’t, and of course they aren’t telling me what they think.”

  “What about JoAnne’s family? Are they coming there?”

  “A niece and her husband and child are the only remaining relatives. Susan, the niece, is flying here Wednesday. Her parents—JoAnne’s sister and her husband—were killed several years ago in an automobile accident.”

  “Terrible thing. Do you have to play hostess? Guess the niece can stay in her aunt’s house, though.”

  “She’ll probably stay here. It may not be legal for her to be in JoAnne’s house. The sheriff has sealed it.”

  “Do they think your friend was killed in her house?”

  “I have no idea.” She was tapping her foot, impatient to be done with this conversation.

  After a silence, Evan asked, “What can I do?”

  Carrie was sure he was simply being polite. She responded, “Nothing at all, Evan, thank you.”

  But he said immediately, “I know what, you must come here until things are cleared up; um, get away from all the fuss. Surely the girl could stay someplace else.”

  “Goodness no, Evan. I don’t think the sheriff would like it if I left, and I’m executor of JoAnne’s estate. There’s a lot to do for that, I’m sure. I’ll go to see the lawyer first thing tomorrow.”

  “Fine. Just let the lawyer handle it all. They can do that. Talk to the sheriff. Surely he doesn’t really need you. You can’t be a suspect.”

  Carrie noticed excitement in Evan’s voice now, and he was talking faster and faster.

  “I’ll come get you. I’ll pick you up at your house tomorrow afternoon, and you can stay in the guest suite at the office. Ask for a leave of absence or a vacation from your job.”

  Carrie was stunned. This was a new Evan, and everything he said was aggravating her. Still, he was just trying to be kind, and offering to come here to get her must be hard for him.

  “Thank you, Evan, but no, I do feel I need to be here. It isn’t that bad, now that the initial shock is over. I appreciate your kindness. Maybe I can come later.”

  “Will you keep me posted then? I am concerned about you... I worry about your safety... ”

  “I’m fine, Evan. It’s nice you’re concerned, but I may not have time to talk to you for a few days. After I get back from the lawyer’s tomorrow, I hope I can get into JoAnne’s house and begin cleaning it up. Then I—”

  “Cleaning up?”

  “Yes, someone searched the place and pretty well trashed it.”

  “That’s odd, isn’t it?”

  “Sure it is, but then all of this is. Look, I’ve got to hang up. I’m going to dinner at a neighbor’s house, and I need to get ready.”

  “Who?”

  “Who? What do you mean? Oh. The Booths. They have a dairy farm in the valley. I’m sure I’ve told you about them.”

  “Oh, yes.” He paused, and she thought he was through, but then he asked, “Have you called Rob?”

  “Actually, it hadn’t occurred to me. Maybe I should if the story is showing up in newspapers. I can call him tonight when I get home.”

  “I’m just so sorry you’re there alone. Do consider coming over here. I think it would be best for you.”

  “Thanks, Evan, but no, and I’ve really got to go. We’ll talk later.”

  What an old maid, Carrie thought as she hung up. I always did think he was a bore. Now he’s getting to be a pest as well. I’m sorry he saw that piece in the paper.

  Then, ashamed of herself, Carrie tried to think good thoughts about Evan as she went to get dressed.

  * * *

  She was waiting on the porch when Henry pulled up by the steps. He leaned across, pushed the door open for her, and, after saying hello, was silent as he waited for her to fasten the seat belt.

  She looked up at him. “Henry, there
is no time to be delicate about this. The detectives found your fingerprints all over JoAnne’s house, all over it. Have they talked to you about it?”

  He shut his eyes for a moment, then said, “Not yet.”

  “Well, they mentioned it to me, trying to shock me into saying something indiscreet, I imagine, or giving away some secret I’m supposed to know. I did neither. I simply implied that you and JoAnne were lovers.”

  “You did WHAT?”

  His voice banged against her ears, and she winced. “Well, wouldn’t that cover the presence of your fingerprints simply everywhere?”

  Henry started to laugh, but the sound held no humor.

  This was awful, and she wanted to scream at him to stop laughing. She’d reasoned it all out. Wasn’t her plan the only way to explain the fingerprints safely? Maybe she was hurting him, but she couldn’t help it. The very presence of those fingerprints proved he wasn’t thinking clearly. It was obvious he needed her help to get him out of this mess.

  “Henry, stop it. It will not be funny if they arrest you for JoAnne’s murder.”

  “Tell me why anyone, especially you, might think I killed JoAnne?” The laughing had stopped, and he turned his head away from her now. His voice was so low she could barely hear him.

  “Well, it’s ridiculous, of course, but how do they know that? Unless you were her lover, how would you explain the fingerprints to them—tell them you searched the place? Won’t they ask why? I didn’t know you’d been in the house, so, of course, I was honest when they first asked me if you and JoAnne knew each other, and by the time I learned about the fingerprints, it was too late. I had already told them you were barely acquainted. We do have to explain the fingerprints in a logical way. You and JoAnne were lovers. That ought to do it.”

  The silence wasn’t much better than the laughing. Finally, he said—his words still quiet and full of an emotion she couldn’t identify—“Why are you doing this... lying!”

  “Lying?” Her voice shook, faltered, but she pushed the words out. “It could be true. I thought you’d be grateful!” She wondered if her tone revealed what she was thinking, that he should be grateful to her for trying to help him. “And, how do I know that you and JoAnne were not lovers?”

  “If you don’t know that... ”

  Now he sounded furious. This was going all wrong! She said, “Well, it makes a logical story, doesn’t it?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that I was as curious about those meeting notes as you were? Didn’t you search the house for them? Why wouldn’t I do the same thing?”

  “If you barely knew her, why on earth would you expect the sheriff to believe that, casual-like, you just walked in and searched the whole place for the dumb meeting notes? For heaven’s sake, Henry, the place is a mess. Why did you make such a mess, and why on earth didn’t you wear gloves?”

  She was almost shouting, but was too upset to care.

  “I did not make a mess, and I didn’t wear gloves because I couldn’t know anyone would ever care whose fingerprints were in JoAnne’s house, now could I!”

  He twisted to look straight at her, and she dropped her head. She didn’t want him to see her face. The light was dim, but what if he could tell she knew he was lying? She wanted to open the car door and run and run. She wondered if he’d follow her if she did.

  He went on. “Yes, I searched JoAnne’s house, but I did it early Sunday morning. I went there again, hoping she’d be back. I wanted to ask about her meeting with the Environmental Commission, and I thought I’d have time before I went with you to look for the frost flowers. Of course, she wasn’t home, so I decided to go in... you must agree the meeting was important enough to all of us to justify that.”

  “But... ”

  “Let me finish, Carrie! I’d probably just left the house when you came. I did not make a mess. I was very careful.”

  They were both quiet, then Carrie thought of something.

  “Did you look inside JoAnne’s bedroom closet?” she asked, wondering if he’d realize that searching a clothes closet would seem ridiculous to anyone who really believed he was in the house looking for a meeting report.

  He did hesitate, as if thinking over his reply, but simply said, “Yes, how did you know?”

  “The door was open Sunday. I had looked in the closet and closed the door on Saturday.”

  “My mistake.”

  “Where did you get a key to the house?”

  His voice rose again. “All right, Sergeant McCrite, I found the key under the flower pot. Any self-respecting burglar could have found that key in seconds. It’s really an obvious hiding place. Knowing JoAnne, I’m surprised she didn’t realize that.”

  Carrie decided not to comment on the fact that he wasn’t supposed to know JoAnne very well, but there was still the problem of the EC notes. If Henry was so determined to use JoAnne’s supposed request that he go over the notes with her as his excuse for being in the house, she would have to tell him the truth before he was questioned.

  “You said JoAnne called you to come and help her organize her notes from the Environmental Commission meeting.”

  “Yes.”

  “Henry, there never were any notes! Sergeant Taylor called the chairman of the commission on Sunday. JoAnne never met with them! She couldn’t have made notes.”

  He was silent, and the urge to shout at him bubbled inside her again while she waited for his answer. She wanted to make him tell her the truth, but how could she do that? How could she tell him what she was feeling—what she knew?

  Finally he said, very softly, “Someone has lied then, right?”

  “Henry, did JoAnne really call and ask you to come by?”

  “Yes.”

  “It wasn’t because of the notes, was it?”

  He stared out the car window for a long time, but Carrie refused to break the silence or give him an out.

  “I thought it was,” he said finally. “That’s what JoAnne told me.”

  He is lying, she thought, surprised she could tell it so easily in his voice, even when the post light by her drive was the only light in the car, and she couldn’t see his face. Henry King hated lies, and he was a lousy liar. She wondered if she should act as if she believed him.

  Before she could make up her mind, he went on. “You’re a very smart woman, very smart, but don’t meddle in my life. This is not any of your business, Carrie.”

  You have no idea, she thought, but swallowed her impatience with him and said, “Well, do we save you from suspicion by letting everyone believe you were JoAnne’s lover?”

  “No one who knew JoAnne—or me, I hope—could possibly believe that.”

  Her eyes dropped to her lap. She was about to twist the finger off one of her gloves.

  “No one in the sheriff’s department ever met JoAnne Harrington, and would anyone else really be sure? They must believe it.”

  This time his silence lasted a long time. She wondered what he could be thinking. He still didn’t seem to grasp the fact that she had come up with a plausible way, maybe the only way, to get him out of an awful mess.

  “All right, Sergeant McCrite, it seems you’re in charge.” His shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

  She hesitated before she spoke. Maybe the lie was painful, but wasn’t it for his own good? They had to go through with it.

  “Okay, we agree then. I guess we’re ready to go to dinner now.”

  As he started the car, Carrie was thinking, this will work. We’re only lying to save him. Henry understands that.

  But, she wondered, if that’s true, why am I so miserable?

  Chapter XI

  Jason’s blue Buick was already parked in front of the porch that ran along the width of the Booths’ white frame house. Henry pulled in behind it, and since he had to walk around the car anyway, Carrie sat still and waited for him to open the car door for her.

  She hoped that physical closeness and a smile from her would melt his frostiness. However, Henry stepped back
as he opened the door and, since he didn’t look at her, there was no reason to smile. She thought about apologizing for being so quick to organize a defense for him without any discussion, but she couldn’t get the words out.

  She stumbled on the porch step, and Henry reached for her arm, steadying her. She glanced up to see yesterday’s sorrow in the shadowy lines of his face. Was it because she’d asked him to say publicly he was JoAnne’s lover? Well, after all, that had once been true, and what other reasonable excuse could they offer for his fingerprints being in JoAnne’s house? She thought she’d worked out a perfect strategy, and now... Oh, phooie! The man was just being pig-headed. He’d come to understand, especially if he found out she knew about his past.

  Roger opened the door and greeted them warmly, shaking Henry’s hand and giving Carrie a hug. At least he wasn’t going to let the problems surrounding them get in the way of open friendship.

  Jason was standing by the stone fireplace with the framed photograph of a cow in his hands. There were a number of similar pictures on the wall, each with a blue or red ribbon attached to the frame. Roger had evidently been showing off prize-winning members of his dairy herd. When Carrie and Henry came into the room, Jason put the photo down and came to shake hands awkwardly with each of them.

  As soon as she could, Carrie left the men and headed for the kitchen. She needed the comfort of Shirley’s quiet presence and the large room full of chintz and warmth.

  Shirley was humming as Carrie came in, quite at ease cooking for guests. Of course, Carrie thought, she and Roger raised four children, so she’s used to a crowd.

  Shirley smiled from the stove and declined Carrie’s offer of help. “I’m near ready. Just rest yourself there at the table. I reckon you’ve had quite a day. You look a bit peaked.”

  Carrie laid the book she’d brought with her on the counter. “I thought you might enjoy this. It’s called A Living History of the Ozarks. The woman who wrote it, Phyllis Rossiter, traveled all over this area and tells about the beauty and history of lots of places near here.”

  Shirley wiped her hands on her apron and came to see the book. She touched it carefully, then picked it up and looked inside. “See,” she said, “here’s a picture of the bluff in Roaring River State Park in Missouri. It isn’t too different from the bluffs around this valley. Roger and I took the kids to Roaring River a few times. Thank you. I’ll enjoy seeing this.” She put the book down and pointed to a chair. “Now, you sit there and rest.”