Blood Knot: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mysteries Book 3)

by S. W. Hubbard

  After offering his best wishes to Gert and chatting with Earl’s mother, Frank scanned the room and quickly spotted Lorrie. Even in a room full of her own relatives, Lorrie looked bereft, sitting at a picnic table eating with her two kids. The children were obviously losing interest in the meal, and she paused periodically to exhort them to eat, without much success. Soon they scampered off to play with the others of their generation, leaving Lorrie smoking a cigarette and staring into space.

  Frank saw an opportunity to find out a little more about the workings of the North Country Academy. In an unguarded moment, Lorrie might drop some information he could use as he struggled to decide whether he should be protecting the academy from a smear campaign or launching a murder investigation.

  Frank loaded up on chicken, potato salad, and green bean casserole, carefully avoiding the bubbling Crock-Pot that he suspected of holding bear-meat chili. Thus armed, he dropped onto the bench across from Lorrie.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Go ahead.” She looked surprised that anyone would want that seat if others were available.

  “Your great-grandmother sure is enjoying herself.” The music had stopped and Gert now sat in the middle of a circle of admirers, tearing open her presents with the gusto of a five-year-old.

  Lorrie's eyes flicked in that direction, then resumed their blank stare. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Frank sized up Lorrie. She had many of the attributes of a pretty woman—long blond hair, a good figure, clear skin—yet he didn’t find her very attractive. Some aura of damaged goods clung to her. At ninety, Gert possessed a youthfulness that had already been snuffed out of her great-granddaughter.

  “So, Earl tells me you like your job at the North Country Academy.”

  She brightened a bit. “Yeah, the pay is good.”

  Just once, he’d like to hear someone say they found fulfillment in helping troubled kids. “So, what is it that you do over there, anyway?”

  “I’m a Pathfinder,” she said, as if this were as self-explanatory as “I’m an accountant” or “I’m a chef."

  Frank didn’t think she was being intentionally uncommunicative; she just seemed to have lost the art of conversation. “So tell me about it—what’s your typical day like?”

  For the first time, Lorrie’s eyes focused on him with interest. “Earl told me you were nicer than most people think.”

  Frank accepted this with a gracious nod. A compliment was a compliment, however backhanded.

  “Dr. Payne’s a good boss. He really knows what he’s doing. He’s taught me the system of infractions and points—says I’m doing a good job carrying it out.”

  “But I guess writing kids up for infractions all day doesn’t make you the most popular lady. Kind of like being a cop.”

  Lorrie ground out her cigarette in the remains of her potato salad. “They hate me. But I don’t care. They're all such spoiled little rich brats. They don’t appreciate any of the things they’ve been given. They don’t appreciate that Dr. Payne’s trying to save their lives.”

  Frank didn’t like the hard set of her mouth. He’d seen it in too many cops who’d grown so bitter and angry from dealing with bad guys that they couldn’t see the good in anyone anymore. He wondered how spending eight hours a day in a state of constant antagonism with these kids could do them good. Wasn’t there any upside to their regimen?

  “Is it all about not losing points, or is their some way to win points?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, you can work your way out of the hole.” Lorrie flipped her hair back and reached for another cigarette. “Fifty push-ups earns you one point. Or you can volunteer for dirty jobs—cleaning toilets, mucking out the horse stalls, scrubbing floors. And the teachers give out points.” She smiled and for a moment Frank saw the glimmer of a pretty girl. “Especially Paul and Oliver—they’re both soft touches.” Then her face hardened again. “Those kids don’t realize what good teachers they have. But their fa­vorite way to earn points is to rat each other out.”

  That verified what Heather had said. “If one kid tells on another, he earns points for that?”

  Lorrie nodded. “They make sure I don’t miss anything. Little bastards.”

  Lorrie certainly held a dimmer opinion of her charges than Paul Petrucci or Oliver Greffe. It must be a class thing—maybe she resented them for having parents who could afford to spend so much money on their care, when she lived such a hardscrabble life. He wondered where Jake Reiger fell on the spectrum. Had he actively disliked his students?

  Lorrie might be able to provide some useful insights, now that he had her in such a chatty mood.

  “How well did you know Jake Reiger?” Frank asked.

  Lorrie stiffened; the hand that held the cigarette trembled slightly. Frank watched her with carefully guarded interest.

  “I was the Pathfinder in his classes sometimes."

  “How did he get along with the students?”

  “He was experienced. He knew how to handle them—there was never any trouble.” Lorrie stood up. “Tiffany!" she screeched, “Leave your cousin alone!” Lorrie's daughter came skating up the table and grabbed her mother's hand. "C’mon, Mommy! Grammy Gert's going to blow out her candles!"

  There was no excuse to miss the climax of the party. Frank gathered around the massive cake with all the other guests and watched while three relatives armed with butane lighters ignited ninety candles. With so much heat, they sang quickly. Gert, assisted by a dozen puffing, spitting children, blew out the candles.

  Frank’s pumping session with Lorrie was over. She stood chatting with another woman as she ate her cake. Her daughter, having gobbled hers down, leaned tiredly against Lorrie’s leg, while Lorrie absently ran her fingers through the little girl’s hair.

  The cake was damn good, and Frank worked his way through the crowd to pay his compliments to Aunt Sally, the baker in the family. As he passed the buffet table he heard raised voices by the door and the sound of a chair hitting the floor.

  He spun around to see Chuck Betz squared off in front of Lorrie. “The time!” he bellowed, tapping the watch on his big, hairy arm. "Look at the time, Lorrie. You were supposed to have those kids back to my house forty-five minutes ago.”

  Now both kids were clinging to Lorrie, their eyes riveted on their father’s red, sweating face.

  “It’s a party, Chuck. They wanted to stay for the cake.”

  “They can get all the damn cake they need at my house. The deal is, you get them home by eight o’clock on a school night. I’m telling the judge about this!”

  “No! You are such an asshole.” Lorrie’s voice spiraled up the scale. "I hate—”

  Earl stepped forward and laid his hand on her arm. "Lorrie, don’t,” he said quietly. He turned toward Chuck. “Take it easy, Chuck. It’s Grandma Gert’s ninetieth birthday. Don’t ruin it for everyone.”

  “I don’t give a shit about whose birthday it is in your crazy family. She’s broken the rules again, and she’s going to pay. Come here, kids.”

  The children remained frozen to the spot.

  “I said, get your butts over here!”

  “You’re scaring them, Chuck,” Earl said. “Let Lorrie bring them home.”

  Chuck shoved Earl. “Get out of my way. You think you’re hot shit because you work for the police department. You’re not a real cop, you’re an errand boy.”

  Frank thought Earl had been doing a very good job, but now he felt compelled to step in. “Earl may not be a real cop, but I am.” He put his hand on Chuck’s shoulder and turned toward Lorrie. “You take the kids home now, Lorrie. Chuck, you go over there and sit for a while until you calm down.”

  Chuck pulled roughly away from his grasp.

  “I’m warning you, Chuck,” Frank said. “The judge won’t be impressed with an arrest report for disturbing the peace.”

  Reluctantly, Chuck headed for the far corner of the room, while Lorrie and the children gathered their things and left under the si
lent gaze of all the Davises. Before the door shut behind her great-granddaughter, Gert spoke.

  “That girl has had her own personal rain cloud following her all her life.”

  Chapter 1 6

  “That was some party last night,” Frank said as Earl sat down at his desk.

  “Yeah, it was fun. At least until Chuck showed up. I don’t know how two people who used to be in love could be so mean to each other."

  Frank smiled. “Then you must never have been in love.”

  “Guess not,” Earl agreed. “And if that’s what it brings you, I’ll stay solo.”

  “What about that girl who works at the pharmacy in Verona—aren’t you still seeing her?”

  “Nah—too possessive. She kept calling me all the time, checking up on me. Who needs that?” Earl peered intently into a file folder. “What about you and Penny?”

  “Penny? There’s nothing between me and Penny.” Frank shut his desk drawer more firmly than necessary. “She’s too young for me. She’s only five years older than my daughter.”

  “I guess someone oughta tell her that because she keeps looking at you and asking about you.”

  “Asking about me? When?”

  Earl looked up with a grin. Christ, he had fallen right into the kid’s trap.

  “The other day, she asked me if you always had to work on Friday and Saturday nights. Sounds to me like she’s fishing for a date. I told her you’re the boss, you can take off when you want to.”

  Frank felt a pang that he reluctantly acknowledged as disappointment. "Oh, she was asking that because Lucy’s arranged a dinner party to set Penny up with Bob Rush and they want me for some friend of Penny’s from the community college. That’s all.”

  Earl said nothing, but a sly smile played on his lips as he went about his filing.

  Frank raised a piece of paper. “Here’s a guy who was unlucky in love: Jake Reiger. MacArthur Payne told me he left his last job to get a fresh start after some trouble with a woman. I’m going call his sister in Utah and see what she can tell me about him.”

  “Why?”

  “As many times as we’ve gone around and around on this bear attack, we’ve never looked very closely at the life of the victim,” Frank said. “What do we really know about the man? Why would someone want to kill him?” What he didn’t add was that Lorrie’s reaction last night to his questions about Reiger made him wonder if the man had once again gotten involved with a colleague at work. Could Reiger have seduced and dumped Lorrie in the two months they’d worked together? Could the bacon grease on his sleeping bag have been her retaliation? It certainly gave a whole new twist to “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." As a local girl, Lorrie would know that bacon grease was a lure for bears. If they were lovers, she might know what a sound sleeper Jake was. She could have followed the campers up the trail and planted the grease. He certainly didn’t see Lorrie as a cold-blooded killer, but it might have been a cruel retribution that went too far. Earl would be appalled if he knew such ideas had crossed Frank’s mind.

  “Payne gave you the sister's number?” Earl asked. “I thought he was mad about this idea of Rusty’s that the bear attack wasn’t an accident.”

  “Now he thinks someone’s intentionally spreading rumors about the academy. My new assignment is to put an end to that.” Frank kicked a file drawer shut. “Of course, if the truth I uncover happens to be unpleasant, I’ll be screwed for that.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s barely seven in Utah—maybe I can catch the sister before she leaves for work.”

  Kathy Reiger answered on the first ring, sounding frazzled. “Who is this again?” she asked after Frank identified himself. “What do you want?”

  Frank introduced himself again, then asked, “Had you heard from your brother since he started teaching at the North Country Academy? Was he happy there? "

  “He called me when he got there. Said the setting was beautiful and he could hardly wait to get out and explore. He sounded happy. Jake was a free spirit—he always liked the beginning of a new adventure.”

  But not the end. “Was he experiencing any problems with the students?” Frank asked

  “No—he knew what to expect from them.”

  “Did he mention a new woman in his life?”

  Kathy Reiger snorted. “There was always a woman in Jake’s life. I didn’t bother to keep track. Why are you asking me these things?"

  Frank hesitated. “There’s a remote possibility that your brother’s death was not entirely accidental.”

  “How could a bear attack not be an accident?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine. Look, we’re probably wrong, but if you could clarify a few things about your brother’s life, it would help.’’ When she didn’t protest, Frank forged ahead. "How did he happen to get this job at the North Country Academy?”

  “Well, he got romantically involved with another teacher at his last job, and it didn’t work out. So when MacArthur Payne called, he decided to make a fresh start.” That confirmed what Payne had said. “And he knew Payne from this previous job?”

  “Not the one he just left, the one before that. Jake used to work at the Langley Wilderness School—that’s why I was surprised—”

  Frank could hear a car horn honking repeatedly in the background. “Surprised about what?”

  “Look, I can’t talk anymore now—my carpool is leaving. But you can read all about it. The Langley Wilderness School was all over the papers out here last year.” She hung up.

  It didn’t take Earl long to search the Internet for the news articles Reiger’s sister mentioned. He handed Frank the printouts and stood reading over his shoulder.

  “God—one of their students died of heat prostration and dehydration on a fifteen-mile hike in the desert. Couldn’t they tell the poor kid needed water?”

  “Does it mention Jake Reiger’s name anywhere? Was he the one leading the hike?” Earl asked.

  Frank shook his head and reached for the next article in the pile, headlined “Langley School to Close Amid Controversy.”

  “Battling charges of egregious safety violations, the Langley Wilderness School defended its controversial disciplinary practices,” Frank read the lead. “Egregious—know what that means?”

  Earl looked as if he were in the final round of Jeopardy!. "Uhm, like outstandingly bad?”

  “You’re getting to be a regular Webster,” Frank said as he continued to scan the article. “Whoa, here we go,” he read aloud: “ ‘In an effort to avoid an investigation by the state department of education, the co-owners of the Langley Wilderness School have closed their operation and sold the property. “In the current climate of finger-pointing and assigning blame, we feel we cannot get a fair hearing,” said one of the partners, MacArthur Payne.’ ”

  “So Payne ran one of these schools out in Utah and had to close it because some kid died,” Earl said. “No wonder he’s so sensitive about bad press. Now the same thing is happening here.”

  “Yes, but a teacher died here. And no one’s saying it was because of lax safety standards.”

  “Yeah, but these rumors are worse. They’re saying it was murder.”

  “Chief Bennett? I need your help.”

  Frank's bedside clock read 2:20. The voice coming through his phone was hoarse and breathless but sounded familiar.

  “Who is this?”

  “Can you get out to the North Country Academy right away? Don’t use the siren.” The voice spoke softly but urgently. He couldn’t be sure if it was a man or a woman.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I can’t talk. You’ll see when you get here.”

  Chapter 17

  The floor and walls of the white-tiled room were smeared with streaks of brilliant red blood. It seemed to be everywhere, yet the heavy metallic scent of it was not in the air, as it was at crime scenes where the victim had bled massively. There were no pools of it on the floor. Except for the blood, the room was entirely empty.
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br />   Frank had arrived to find the front gate wide open, people with flashlights combing the grounds, and MacArthur Payne in a state of wide-eyed panic. No one that he encountered would acknowledge having placed the call. At first Payne had seemed alarmed to see Frank there, but he’d suddenly changed tack, grabbed him by the arm, and led him wordlessly to this room on the second floor of the main building where they now stood.

  “What happened?” Frank asked him.

  “We’re not sure. Ray Stulke found it like this at midnight. We’ve been searching ever since.”

  “Searching for who?” Frank asked, but even as the words left his mouth, he anticipated the answer.

  “Heather LeBron.”

  “This is the isolation room, isn’t it?”

  "Yes, how did you—”

  “She obviously attempted suicide,” Frank said. “She’s bleeding heavily; how hard could it be to follow her trail?” But when Frank looked out into the hall, there was no trail of blood leading from the room.

  “I think ... I’m afraid ... it’s more complicated than that,” Payne said. “Two other people are unaccounted for as well—Lorrie Betz, one of our Pathfinders, and Justin Levine, a student, are also missing.”

  Frank turned on his heel and headed toward the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Payne asked.

  “To call the state police.”

  “No! No! I only want your help—if the state police come, the media will be right behind.”

  “You think this is just a little image problem that can be swept under the rug? Open your eyes, man! A crime has been committed here.” Frank continued toward the stairs, with Payne trailing after him.

  “But—”

  Frank stopped and put his hand on Payne’s shoulder. He spoke slowly and patiently, in the tone doctors use to explain a particularly unpleasant procedure they’re about to perform. “This entire school is to be considered a crime scene. You will round up every student and employee and put them all together in the gymnasium. When the state police get here, we’ll start interviewing them.”