Roger considered. “Well, I didn’t pay any special attention. There’s been a little more action since the quarry folks bought that farm at the end of the valley, and of course it’s huntin’ season. We get some traffic, mostly on weekends, fer that. I’m afraid I can’t recall anything special though. Just trucks. That’s what we see this time of year, hunters’ trucks.”
“Do you recall seeing Ms. Harrington’s grey truck, maybe early Saturday?”
Carrie looked around the circle. Everyone was paying close attention. They’ve found JoAnne’s truck, she thought.
Shirley shook her head, and Roger said, “Nope. Shirley and I worked together in the milkin’ barn from about six o’clock until time to clean up and go to Carrie’s. We didn’t pay any mind to who was drivin’ on the road.”
“You didn’t hear any vehicles?”
“Just heard cows and milkin’ machinery,” Roger said, as Shirley nodded in agreement.
Taylor looked at the rest of them in turn. “Any one of you remember seeing her truck, or noticing other cars or trucks coming or going on Walden Road? I know Mrs. McCrite and Mr. King both live down in the woods far enough so they wouldn’t see cars on the road—if they were at home. Mr. Stack, is your house the brown one on the east side? If so, you can see the road from your windows. See anything at all that you remember?”
“Our kitchen’s in the back,” Jason said. “My wife is away helping our daughter, and from about seven until time to leave for the meeting at Carrie’s, I sat in the kitchen alone, reading and getting together an outline for the meeting. I did go out in the yard once for more firewood. Someone drove by quite fast then, come to think of it, but I didn’t really look at them. I remember wondering who it might be, since it hadn’t been daylight long and I didn’t think a hunter would be leaving yet. I was sure it wasn’t one of us.” He swept his arm around the circle.
“What time would that have been?”
“Oh, 7:30 or so. I didn’t look at the clock.”
“Truck or car?”
“My impression now is that it was a truck. A car would have sounded different, and we don’t see many outsiders on the road in cars. Mag and Jack Bruner live at the beginning of the road, and at least one of them would probably have been out checking on their chickens. Have you asked them if they saw something?”
“Yes. Jack Bruner was at his chicken houses, but doesn’t remember seeing or hearing anything,” said Taylor.
He stopped to eat his second cookie, and Carrie noticed that he glanced down at the plate of cookies by his elbow with something that could only be described as longing.
Shirley had seen his glance too, and she lifted her eyes to Carrie’s and smiled.
“Well, now,” Taylor said, “I do have some more questions for you individually, and I think they should be asked privately. Mr. and Mrs. Booth, would it be imposing too much if I asked if you have a room where I could talk with each of the folks here? It sure would save time. I’ll need to talk with all of you eventually, and now might be easier, though I’m sorry to break in on your party.”
“You can have the front bedroom,” Shirley said. “We use it for an office now.”
“That’s fine. I appreciate your help. Will you show me that room then?” He turned to Carrie. “I’d like to talk with you first, Mrs. McCrite. Some things have come up since we spoke last.”
Shirley disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, to finish cleaning up, Carrie supposed, and Roger led the way down the hall to the first room. There was a twin bed pushed against one wall, but the rest of the room did look just like an office, with a big oak desk and metal filing cabinets. Taylor pulled a chair up at one side of the desk for Carrie to sit in. He took the desk chair for himself, removed a pen and pad of paper from his pocket, laid them on the desk, and leaned forward, folding his hands on the desktop as he looked at her.
Carrie’s heart began thumping. What was he going to ask? What would she say... what would the others say? Would their answers sound reasonable? Would Henry’s?
Before Taylor could begin, Shirley pushed the door open and came to the desk, putting a plate of food and a glass of milk in front of the astonished man. She took a napkin and silverware from her apron pocket, laid them down, then left, winking at Carrie as she passed.
Don Taylor looked at the food, then at Carrie, and blushed. He looks like he has no idea what to do, she thought. Finally, he picked up the fork, speared a piece of meat and put it in his mouth, following with a carrot, a bite of potato, and a swallow of milk.
Carrie wasn’t sure whether to talk or not, but since she couldn’t think of anything to say, she sat in silence and stared at Taylor’s reflection in the window behind his head. She decided the man couldn’t be much older than Rob. Well, at least seeing him eat lessened her own nervousness even as it increased his.
She wondered what Harrison Storm would do if he came in right now, and she almost giggled, whether from nerves or humor, she really couldn’t have said. Then she thought about Shirley’s wink and felt better.
Taylor pushed the plate aside, took another swallow of milk, wiped his mouth with the napkin, and looked at her.
“When did you last see Ms. Harrington’s truck?”
She considered. “Wednesday. I picked her up after I got off work and we drove into Guilford for supper. Her truck was parked next to the house then, like maybe she planned to go someplace later. I didn’t see her Thursday. That’s when she was supposed to drive to Little Rock.”
“And Friday?”
“We talked on the phone Friday evening, that’s all.”
“What time did you talk on Friday?”
She didn’t remind him he’d asked her these same questions Sunday afternoon. “Around eight.”
“Did she seem different in any way then? Notice anything unusual?”
“Oh, yes. She was excited.” Carrie spoke slowly, remembering the conversation. “We’re all doing research, trying to find some way to stop the stone quarry that’s planning to destroy the valley. You know about that, and about JoAnne’s plans to go to Little Rock. I assumed she was excited because she had good news about what she learned there. She was going to tell me, I think, until her cat dumped something over and she had to hang up. But before she did, she said she’d have a surprise for us at Saturday’s meeting. Of course, you’ve found out she never went to Little Rock. Now we can only guess what her good news was.”
“Any ideas at all? You think her news was about the quarry?”
“Yes, I do, and I haven’t the faintest idea what it was. Maybe she talked to the quarry owner himself. Perhaps you should ask him.”
“Yes, Charles Stoker. We haven’t located him yet.”
Taylor changed the subject. “Have you talked with Mr. King about his relationship with Ms. Harrington?”
She looked at her lap. “Not much.” She wondered if Taylor thought she was jealous.
“Did you tell him we’d found his fingerprints in the house?”
“Yes.”
“Did he offer an explanation?”
“Turns out they were old friends, but you’ll have to find out about that from him.”
He looked at her for a moment, and in the silence Carrie heard a noise, then realized she was tapping her index finger on the arm of her chair. She stopped, hoping he hadn’t heard the tapping.
Taylor, relaxed now, took another bite of food, chewed, and swallowed. Then he leaned back in his chair and asked, “Have you had further thoughts about why anyone would have a reason to kill Ms. Harrington?”
“No, that is, unless it had something to do with what she discovered about the quarry—something that might stop it—and the owner or someone found out, and... ”
“Hmmmm, yes. Tell me, are there plans for a funeral for her? I think the funeral home in Guilford called us.”
“A memorial service only. Saturday. Her niece, Susan Burke-Williams, with her husband and son, will be here.”
“The body
has been sent to Little Rock for autopsy. If it’s a memorial service, I don’t suppose that will matter.”
For just an instant, Carrie wanted to protest, “To us, JoAnne is more than just a body!” but instead she said, speaking quietly and looking at her lap, “I guess it won’t matter, but Susan would be the one to say. She’s coming Wednesday. She’ll be staying at my house, since we can’t use her aunt’s house.” She looked up at Taylor again. “Do you know when you’ll be through there?”
“Should be by noon tomorrow. If your lawyer approves, you can have it after that. Sorry, it’s a mess.”
There was a pause.
“I’ve been thinking,” Carrie said, “that you’ve found JoAnne’s truck.”
“We have.”
“And?”
“It was in the barn on the abandoned farm. Someone drove it into the half of the building that’s still standing.”
Carrie decided it couldn’t hurt to ask detective-like questions. “Any evidence in the truck?”
Taylor looked at her sharply, and she thought he might not answer, but after a moment he said, “It’s quite obvious that Ms. Harrington was sitting in her truck when she was shot, then was removed from the cab and hidden in the camper shell, probably until early Sunday morning when she was moved to the hillside.”
“Blood in the truck cab?” She was trying to be detached, to prove he couldn’t shock her, and to push away the thought that it was JoAnne’s blood they were talking about.
“Yes.”
“Why do you think someone would go to the trouble of moving her?”
“We don’t know.” He looked at her. “Do you?”
Carrie ignored the question. She hoped he thought she was simply an old woman with a morbid curiosity.
“Fingerprints?” she asked.
“Yes, mostly inside. Ms. Harrington’s, and yours, of course. There are one or two unidentified prints. We’ve sent to Kansas City for the niece’s prints. I assume she’s been in the truck?”
“Yes, and I’ve been in it with JoAnne lots of times. She and I were together a lot.” Carrie stared at her reflection and Taylor’s in the night-mirrored window behind him.
“Mrs. McCrite, you’re sure you neither heard nor saw anything at any time over the weekend that seemed unusual, other than the Saturday morning shots, that is?”
She hesitated, then said, “Quite sure.”
He rose. “Thank you, then. I’ll talk to Mr. King next. Will you ask him to come in, please?”
Carrie didn’t know what to say to Jason, Shirley, and Roger after Henry left the room. Then, remembering Taylor hadn’t said she couldn’t repeat information he’d given her, she told them about the conversation concerning the quarry and the finding of JoAnne’s truck, and she said they were looking for Charles Stoker, the quarry owner.
“Think I’ll ask Sergeant Taylor if he’ll tell me what town Stoker lives in,” Jason said. “It might help us. I’m glad they’re checking up on the man, and it’s good you could mention our suspicions about him without any fanfare, Carrie.”
Henry was gone a long time. Conversation in the room had slowed to small talk by the time he returned. She looked carefully at his face, wondering if Taylor had asked him about his relationship with JoAnne, and what the answer had been. What was Taylor really thinking about Henry... about all of them?
Henry was frowning, but that might be just because this whole situation was difficult. She hoped he’d tell her what had been said later.
Taylor spoke only briefly with the other three, and then, after thanking Shirley for the food, he said good night.
When the sound of Taylor’s car had died away, Jason looked around at the group and said, “Well, I found out Stoker lives in Ocalla. Did anyone other than Carrie learn anything that will help our cause?”
When they all shook their heads, he said he’d be in touch with each of them by phone no later than Thursday night. With that, Jason and Henry said their thank you’s and rose to leave.
Carrie went to Shirley, looked up at her, and found she had to blink her eyes quickly several times. After a moment, she said, “I’m really grateful for your help. I think we can work in the house tomorrow afternoon. How about one o’clock?” She had planned to add “thank you” but, surprised by her feelings, couldn’t say more.
This time Shirley did give her a quick hug, smiled, and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get it in shape, and it’ll be nice to work together—the two of us.”
Roger and Shirley watched from the porch until Henry and Carrie were in the car, then waved and returned to the warm house. The car started with a chug and rattle and bounced along, following Jason’s tail lights down the lane toward Walden Road.
While Henry was concentrating on driving, Carrie’s thoughts went back to Don Taylor’s questions. Surely Henry would tell her what they had talked about. They couldn’t suspect him now, if they ever had, since the presence of his fingerprints in JoAnne’s house had been explained.
When they were out on the road, she began to tell him what Taylor had asked her, almost shouting to make herself heard above the noise from the car and the road.
Then she said, “I guess he told you about JoAnne’s truck?”
“Yes, and that’s a relief. It’ll give them more to go on.”
When he didn’t offer anything further about what had been said while he was with Taylor, she asked, “You weren’t ever in JoAnne’s truck, were you?”
“No. No Henry King fingerprints there.”
“Thank goodness. What do we do next?”
“I’m glad you asked.”
“Yes? Why?”
“Because you have a tendency to make plans for folks without their okay, or hadn’t you noticed?”
“Oh.” For just a moment, her lower lip moved out. Why didn’t he understand? He really should be thanking her for helping him!
After the car was up the hill and settled into its regular whir and rattle, Henry said, “I think we do exactly as we discussed after supper. I assume you’ll be busy all day tomorrow, and Jason asked me to go into Bonny with him to see what we can find out at the Court House and County Historical Society.”
“Then will you call me tomorrow evening?” she asked. “I’d like to know what you learned. I hate being unable to help. Since I’m going to be at the lawyer’s in Guilford anyway, maybe I can ask him about laws covering land use.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Why not? It wouldn’t be suspicious. I’m going to be there anyway.”
“Do you know him well?”
“No. Just met him when JoAnne signed her will.”
“I think Roger’s right. The less folks know about what we’re seeking, especially in Guilford, the better. We aren’t sure where anyone’s sympathies lie yet.”
They pulled up in front of Carrie’s porch. “Can you come in?” she asked. “I’d like to hear more about what you and Taylor discussed.”
“No, not tonight. I’m meeting Taylor at my house.”
“But, why?”
“He needs to take my gun with him. It’s the same kind that killed JoAnne. They want to make tests.”
“Uh... your gun? How did he find out you had a gun?”
“He asked, and I told him, of course! Are you going to suggest that I should have lied about that, too?” His face, seen in the dim porch light, looked as hard as his voice sounded. “Or,”—he looked out into the night—“do you think my gun killed JoAnne?”
She felt as if he’d struck her, and she couldn’t answer his question.
Just what would you say if you knew I had a copy of your daughter’s birth certificate inside this house, she was thinking, and that I also have a note saying I’m not to tell you about it? Would you say I should be honest about that? What on earth would you tell me to do about that?
And the gun? Well, he had asked her the awful question, but hadn’t provided any answers he surely must know she needed to hear.
How could he be so
inconsiderate? Why didn’t he understand?
Well, if he didn’t, he didn’t. She had no way to explain her thoughts to him now.
She heard her voice saying, “Call me tomorrow evening then,” and, feeling like she’d been parachuting through a dark sky into unknown—and dangerous—territory, she went to unlock her front door.
Chapter XIII
Henry’s gun.
A .38 Police Special. Carrie had no idea what that meant, but she supposed it was a gun policemen carried, and that JoAnne had been killed with a policeman’s gun. Carrie only knew of one policeman, or ex-policeman, who might be involved in JoAnne’s death.
A little before midnight, she decided that worrying about a gun was going to keep her awake all night.
She bounced from her left side to the right, facing away from the clock. Think about something else.
The gun faded into an image of JoAnne’s dead face. No!
Why had she been angry at JoAnne? Why had she ever assumed JoAnne would go off without a thought for her cat or her house, leaving everything in the charge of faithful, pick-up-the-pieces Carrie?
If she managed to figure out who JoAnne’s killer was, Henry would respect that. He’d see she was a good detective... much more than a smart woman.
Honesty. Think about that. She was honest. Except when... Phooie! Well, think about...
Rob. She’d called him as soon as she got home. At least that conversation had been very satisfying. Rob had the knack of showing concern without too much anxiety. He offered to come right away if she needed him, though it was nearing the end of the semester. If she didn’t need him immediately, he would, he promised, come for Thanksgiving.
Keeping her tone casual, she had asked if he’d like to bring a friend. He’d hesitated over that one and hadn’t given a direct answer.
She wondered if her son assumed she’d be jealous of any other woman in his life. Hmpff, she’d always hoped for a daughter-in-law. Rob was thirty, but Amos had been thirty-five when he married her. There might even be a grandchild some day—a velvety baby to hold.
She thought about Susan and baby Johnny. Oh, goodness, she’d forgotten she needed to find a baby bed. She’d told Susan she’d get one. The problem was, where to borrow or rent it? She’d have to do that tomorrow, too.
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