“Aw, if only…” He placed his hand on his heart, took the bill, dropped it in the cash drawer, and handed her the change. “So, what’s up, Miss Ida?”
“Just thirsty.” She popped the tab and took a sip.
“Naw. I know you, you got questions on your mind. What is it this time?”
Actually, she had come in just for a Coke, but as long as he expected questions. “You know Kelby Oliver? She’s not been here long.”
“Sure I know her. She was just here. Stopped in on her way home from work. Nice lady.”
“You say that about all the ladies.”
“And why not?” He smiled. “It’s true.” He gave Ida a shrewd look. “And why are you asking about her? Is she in trouble?”
Ida shrugged. “She’s new in town. Just wondered about her. Cops, you know. Always wondering.”
“Oh, sure, of course. Yeah, you wonder.” He made a soft snort. “I used to deliver her newspapers when she first moved here. San Francisco Chronicle and Oakland Tribune. Told us to just leave them on her porch. Wouldn’t even open the door. Thought that was kind of strange, but people have their ways.”
“You ever see anybody with her?”
“Nope. Never even saw her till she started working over there for Dr. Farley. She’s started stopping in and buying the papers now. She in any trouble?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“You’re not the first person to ask about her.”
“Who else was asking?”
“Some man. Wanted to know her name, where she lived.”
“You tell him?”
“Why would I talk about my customers?”
“What’d he look like?” I knew it, Ida thought. Kelby is in some kind of trouble. This man is trying to find her. The description was so vague it could have been any male. Late forties, thin, tired.
Ida wanted to call Kelby’s sister and see what the sister knew. What could it hurt to just call and talk? Maybe ask why Kelby didn’t wear glasses when she obviously had a vision problem, find out why she was so terrified.
30
House key in hand, Cary turned a complete circle in small increments, dipping and tipping her head, trying to catch movement with her small spot of sight. Anybody watching would think she’d lost her mind. There were so many hiding places. The barn, two small outbuildings, the trees, the cornfield. Oh, God, the cornfield. Wind tossed the stalks and kicked up dust, just like footfalls from a person walking through. Grit blew in her face and brought with it the smell of corn and the sickly sweet odor of decay.
Heart tripping in a drum roll, she tried the door. Still locked. He could have kicked in the back door or broken a window. She went around the house, peering at windows, bobbing her head like an old lady with new bifocals. Windows all seemed okay from her position on the ground. The rear door was still locked. With a shaky hand, she unlocked it. The kitchen was just as she’d left it that morning.
It was nearly seven and still stifling hot, but she went through the house checking locks. She left the windows closed. All the slips of paper she’d placed in strategic places were just where she’d put them. Except the torn one in the front door. She pulled in a shaky breath.
Despair settled over her like a dirty cotton blanket. She couldn’t breathe, or fight her way out. She’d fled halfway across the country and nothing had changed. He was still terrifying her. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get free. She might as well just give in now, he was going to win, no matter how hard she fought.
The clock on the wall ticked, the wind moaned, and her heart beat louder than both. Give up. She’d never get away. Why prolong her terror? Why not just open the door and yell, “Come and get me!”
A shot splintered through her fright. Mitch! Oh my God! Wildly, she looked around for some place to hide. Maybe she should run. Out the kitchen door. She could hide in the cornfield—
A fist pounded on the door.
* * *
Ida was rolling through campus when dispatch sent her to investigate reports of a gunshot. Overheads flickering, she drove to the Oliver place and banged on the door.
“Ms. Oliver?”
It took the woman so long to respond that Ida had adrenaline ready to charge, in case Kelby had been shot. When Kelby finally opened the door, Ida pushed through.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Kelby said. “Just fine.”
She didn’t look fine, Ida thought. She looked the color of cooked noodles, and about as sturdy. “We got a report of a shot fired. You hear a shot?”
Kelby nodded. “A shot, yes.”
“Who fired it?”
A weird expression came over Kelby’s face. Ida didn’t know what it meant. Guilt? Fear? “Do you own a gun, Ms. Oliver?”
“No. I—no. I don’t own a gun.”
“Uh-huh.” Then why look so guilty?
“A man was seen here earlier.” Ida didn’t mention she was the one doing the seeing and she’d only seen him driving away. She wasn’t even positive he’d been here. “I want to make sure nothing is missing.”
“What did he look like?” Kelby was nearly trembling with terror. Her eyes didn’t seem to be tracking either.
Ida repeated the vague description she’d gotten from the clerk at the flower shop. “Sound like someone you know?”
Kelby shook her head.
Ida couldn’t tell whether or not she was lying, but the description was so vague it could be anybody. “I’ll check out the house. Make sure everything is all right.”
“That’s not necessary. I—”
Ida was already moving. With Cary like a shadow behind her, Ida went up stairs, looked in all three rooms, went down to the basement and shined her flashlight into dim corners. Something was definitely not right here, but she couldn’t see anything that pointed at what it was.
She fished out a business card, told Kelby to call if she needed anything, and opened the door to leave. A big blackbird oozed blood on the porch steps. She squatted over it. Dead, apparently shot. She retrieved an evidence bag from the car, scooped in the bird, and threw it in the trunk with the riot gear. By that time the scorching sun was finally settling down behind the low hills, painting the horizon vivid colors of orange and pink and purple.
* * *
As night slowly crept in over the shreds of daylight, Ida made the rounds of neighbors. The closest weren’t all that close, the equivalent of a city block spread between Kelby’s house and the nearest. Several people heard the shot, but no one had seen anything, or anybody suspicious. Typical.
They didn’t seem to know all that much about Kelby either, and that struck Ida as odd. They only knew someone had moved in because they saw the moving van, then lights and the delivery van from Erle’s Market bringing groceries. That was six months ago. When they knocked they got no answer. They watched her drive by now and then, but she never stopped to talk or just be friendly. Lately, she’d changed. Went by on foot sometimes now, always looking around, up and down, like she thinks somebody’s hiding in the trees, or she isn’t quite all there.
Pearl Wyatt gave Ida the opinion that Kelby was stuck-up. Several times Pearl had waved and Kelby ignored her. The time Pearl made a cake and carried it all the way over there, Kelby wouldn’t even answer the door.
“Well that did it, let me tell you. See if I bake that woman any more cakes!” She invited Ida in out of the heat. The house was so cool goose bumps popped up on Ida’s sweaty skin.
“Isn’t this weather just something awful? I don’t know when we had such a hot spell for such a long time. Have a seat, I’ll get us something cold to drink.” Pearl bustled off to the kitchen, a middle-aged woman, somewhat overweight, who seemed pleased to have company. Pictures of small children—grandchildren, Ida assumed—lined the mantle. An embroidered plaque hung by the door asking God to bless this house and watch over all who lived here. Ida sat on the couch and leaned against the brightly colored Afghan spread over the back.
&n
bsp; Pearl returned with two tall glasses of lemonade and handed one to Ida, then plopped down into an easy chair. “I heard the shot. Did old man Lundstrom get away again? Crazy old coot. They really ought to lock him up. He was over that way the last time he got out.”
Pearl shook her head. “I saw her—Kelby, you know—lugging stuff around over there. Had a mind to go and see if she needed a hand.” After a hefty swallow of lemonade, she went on. “Didn’t see her for three or four days or so afterward. I figured he probably scared her to death with all his whoopin’ and hollerin’ and carryin’ on about Nazis.”
“Is she a good neighbor?”
Pearl gave a ladylike humph. “Well, doesn’t cause any trouble, you know. I introduced myself when she moved in. But let me tell you, there was something real sneaky about her moving in like she did. Middle of the night. Had my own eye on that property, I don’t mind telling you. Wanted it for my son. Just waiting till that skinflint Otis came down in price.”
Pearl folded her arms across her ample bosom. “And before I know it, she swoops in and grabs it. I was fit to be tied. But what do you expect? She’s from Caly-forn-ya.”
She shook her head at the unfairness of it all. “That place would have been perfect for Al, and there that woman just goes and snaps it up from right under my nose.”
A loss that still rankled.
“I heard she’s taking care of Dr. Farley now.” Pearl took a swallow of lemonade. “Darla Cleary, over at Erle’s Market, told me. Did you know she had a stroke?”
Ida looked interested and Pearl kept going. “I didn’t talk to Kelby but the one time. Just seemed to want to be by herself. I see her walking by almost every day now.”
“Does she get many visitors?”
“Not that I’ve seen. I just wonder why she’s walking in this heat instead of driving. Once or twice I started to go out and ask if the car broke down and did she need a ride, but she just waved and kept on. So, I guess she didn’t want anything.”
Ida thanked her for the lemonade and went out to the cruiser. Why did somebody who hid out in the house for six months suddenly start showing herself?
Because the reason for hiding was over. She was grieving over some loss and couldn’t face socializing. She was a recluse who didn’t want to encourage neighbors. Coming from California, she didn’t like the political climate of conservative Kansas. Coming from California, she was afraid a neighbor would ask if she’d found a spiritual home yet.
Or she’d thought the danger was over.
After getting the name of the Realtor from Pearl, Ida couldn’t see any harm in paying him a visit. How could asking questions get her in trouble? Laverty Realtors was a husband-and-wife team with an office on Fourth Street. Rich Laverty greeted her with a smile, like she was a real person with real money who wanted to buy a house. What a joke! Her biggest hope was to keep her job so she could make car payments.
“If I can’t interest you in a property,” Rich scooted back his desk chair, “what can I do for you?” Round, ruddy face with beginning jowls, putting on weight through the middle. Wiry, reddish hair sprinkled with gray.
“The house you sold out by the cornfield.”
He nodded. “Applegate place. It’s the original farmhouse, you know. Generations of Applegates farmed that land.”
Ida knew that Laverty, like a number of people in Hampstead, came from a farming family that no longer farmed. He shook his head sadly. “Farming’s never going to be the same. Small farmers are going out of business right and left. It’s just too damn much.”
“I know a lot of farms are in trouble.” Ida sat in a wheeled armchair that was so comfortable she wondered if she could take it with her.
“An understatement. Farmers are trying to sell land. Neighboring farmers don’t want it, they can’t afford it. Farmers are throwing in the towel. They just can’t hack it, or they’re going bankrupt.”
“It’s a sad thing,” Ida said. Osey had talked about this as though it was a personal tragedy. Pasture left to grow weeds. In a generation or two, even the landscape will change. The prairie will be lost.
“Tell you the truth, I didn’t think that place would ever sell. The house isn’t much, and it’s way the hell out, isolated and right by that damn cornfield. You can smell the damn corn all the time until the combines come in to harvest. Which should be any day now. They’re late this year.”
“Something about it appealed to Ms. Oliver,” Ida said. “What was it she liked about the place? The isolation?”
“Beats me. I never even met the woman who bought it.”
“You never met her? Didn’t you sell her the place? Oh, you mean Hattie handled this one.”
“Nope, it was me. Only sale I ever made where I never met the buyer.” He let his chair tilt back with a squeak. “Say, would you like some iced tea? I can rustle us up some real quick.”
“No, thanks. Just tell me how you can sell a house without ever meeting the buyer.”
“The Internet. We’ve been doing that a bit lately. Keep up with the times, you know. We stuck in a picture of that sucker, with all the particulars, on our Web site and, by God, if it didn’t pay off. She’s the first, mind. But hell, one’s all you need, right?”
“Right,” Ida said. “Kelby saw the information and…?”
“Yep. Sent me a fax, asked if it was still available. Wanted more pictures. I fired them off. She decided she wanted it. Didn’t even quibble over price. Just went with the asking price. I faxed her a contract, she signed and zipped it back by overnight mail.”
“Didn’t you think that was odd?”
“Hell, Ida, I’ve been in this business for years. Nothing anybody does makes me think it’s odd. There was a little more to it. All kinds of papers back and forth. Inspections, permission for small plumbing repair, stuff like that, all by fax and phone and overnight mail. I did talk with her on the phone. Seemed like a nice woman.”
“Did she tell you why she wanted to move here?”
“Nope. And I didn’t ask.”
“What did she like about the house that made her want to buy it?”
“I didn’t ask that either. It’s a real personal thing, buying a house. One place just speaks to a person, you know? No rhyme nor reason most of the time.”
“You must have seen her when she picked up the keys.”
“Not then either. She opened an account at First National on Main Street, had money transferred. She had me make arrangements for her to pick up the keys there. She even asked me to have somebody available to open the house when her furniture arrived. Did that myself. Stood on the porch and unlocked the door for the movers.”
Ida thanked him, said if she was ever in the position of being able to afford a house she’d call him, and left, convinced Kelby was running from something, or hiding from something. Or someone. Or she had mental problems. After her shift, Ida went home to the apartment at Vermont and Sixth Street. Two bedrooms and one bath. Second story of an old house with a steep peaked roof. Her living room ceiling went from seven feet at the walls to fourteen feet in the center. The downstairs half of the house was occupied by two guys, a doctor and a lawyer who were rarely home.
She peeled off her uniform and put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. This business of not returning calls from a frantic sister was something else that didn’t sit right. Of course, she didn’t know the situation, and it could be that one sister did something unforgivable and the other one wanted nothing further to do with her. Or something like that. Even she got twisted up in the pronouns, but there was something hinky here and her mind wouldn’t let it alone. Even as a kid, she had to pick at knots and untangle them. This was the same. If it didn’t make sense, she wanted to know why. Generally, if you figured out the why, the whole thing unraveled and it made some kind of sense, although sometimes weird.
Ida got down the tallest glass in her kitchen, filled it with ice, and poured in Coke from a liter bottle. She shoved the bottle back into her almost empty
refrigerator and went to the living room where she’d set up her desk with her computer. Okay. After placing the fan so it would blow directly on her and glugging down a few good swallows, she turned on her computer and searched for whatever she could find under the name Kelby Oliver.
Name, address, and phone number for Berkeley, California. Insurance broker. Divorced. No children that Ida could find. She made a note of address and phone number and kept searching. After three hours, she sat back, rubbed her eyes, and stood up to refill her glass. Kelby had served jury duty on the Lily Farmer case, a young woman raped, beaten, and murdered. The suspect was found guilty and sentenced to prison with no possibility of parole.
Was this connected with Kelby’s fear? Did she have doubts about the man’s guilt? Feel they had convicted an innocent man? Was he innocent? The guilty man still out there? Could that be what Kelby was afraid of?
It didn’t strike Ida as the answer. Kelby was all the time looking over her shoulder, like somebody was coming after her. The guy who committed the murder was behind bars in California, not in Kansas chasing her down. If he was innocent, the guilty party would have gotten away with murder, counting his lucky stars. And why had she moved here? Bought a house without even seeing it, except for pictures on the Internet, moved in and kept to herself. Had her groceries delivered, didn’t talk with the neighbors. That said the woman was hiding. From what? Or whom?
Although, Ida might understand Kelby hiding from Pearl. Especially Pearl, mad because she had lost property waiting for the seller to get more desperate and reduce the price.
Something here that Ida was missing. Another hour at the computer didn’t get her nearer an explanation. She picked up her phone and dialed Kelby’s California number, got an intercept and the recording that the number was no longer in service. She tried information in Hampstead and found out the local number was unlisted. The sister’s name was Faye. What was the last name? How the heck was Ida going to find it?
She took a long swallow of the Coke. Well, there was the firm where Kelby had worked. Personnel records might have next of kin. Yeah, but that could get her in serious trouble. She considered the pros and cons. The cons definitely outweighed the pros. What the heck.
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