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

by S. W. Hubbard

  “We’re doing all we can to find Lorrie and the kids, Chuck. We feel they must be nearby. Without money or credit cards, she can’t have gone far. If you would be less antagonistic, she might come back willingly.”

  “Oh, so now it’s my fault that that crazy drug addict has stolen my kids!” Chuck threw some bills at a frowning Rita Sobol behind the cash register and grabbed the pack of Marlboros she offered in return. There was no denying the fact that, on paper, Chuck was the victim here—a custodial parent whose kids had been taken by the noncustodial parent. But the truth encompassed a few more shades of gray. Chuck was a jerk and a bully, Lorrie was a frightened woman who loved her kids, and the biggest danger to everyone lay in not knowing why she was on the run. Was it simply another round in their endlessly troubled custody dispute, or did it have something to do with the murder of Heather LeBron?

  “When was the last time you spoke to Lorrie, Chuck?” Frank patted the chair next to him.

  “You were there—at her great-grandmother’s birthday party.”

  “And you didn’t say anything more to her after that night that might have provoked her into taking the kids?”

  Chuck tore open his cigarettes. "There you go again—blaming me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Frank said with exaggerated courtesy. “ ‘Provoked’ was a poor choice of words. I meant, did the two of you have any further arguments that might have given Lorrie the notion to take the kids?”

  “Nothing,” Chuck said.

  “What about your mother? Did Lorrie have an encounter with her in the days between the party and the morning she took the kids?”

  “None of us heard from her after she dropped the kids off the night of Grandma Gert’s party. So far as we knew, she was planning on picking them up again on Tuesday, her regular visitation day. And then she pulls this stunt at the bus stop.”

  Frank didn’t like the sound of what he was hearing. If Chuck could be trusted—an admittedly big if—Lorrie had no personal reason to run. Which meant her disappearance had to be linked to Heather’s death.

  “Earl, we need to talk about Lorrie.”

  Earl lifted his head slowly from the paperwork he’d been completing. “What about her?”

  "She and the kids are still missing, or had you forgotten?” Frank’s vow to be understanding went out the window. If Earl was going to play at being clueless, he was going to come down on him hard.

  “I’ve been doing all I can, but I can’t find her. No one’s heard from her.”

  “So you say.”

  Earl sat up straight and thrust his chin out. “That’s not fair! I’m trying hard. I told you I'd share any information I turned up, but there hasn’t been anything yet. I can’t help that.”

  "How stupid do you think I am?” Frank’s voice rose with Earl’s show of defiance. “Lorrie doesn't have any credit cards; her bank account’s been frozen; there’s an APB out on her car. Now, you tell me how she’s surviving unless someone in your family—maybe even you—is supporting her.”

  Earl jumped out of his seat. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  Frank narrowed his eyes. Was Earl out-and-out lying? Maybe not, but he was probably being willfully blind to what his relatives were up to.

  “I gave you your chance. I’m putting the state police back on the search for Lorrie.”

  Earl had crossed the room to the office door. “Well, go ahead and see where that gets you. Nowhere!" He slammed the door behind him.

  Frank yanked it back open and yelled after him, “You’ll never get into the police academy if you’re charged with harboring a fugitive!”

  Chapter 26

  “I want to talk to you about Petrucci.” Meyerson dropped into the chair in front of Frank’s desk. “I’ve caught him in major lie.”

  The papers Frank had been reading slipped from his hand. “Really?”

  “On the night of Heather LeBron’s murder, he was not home all night with the wife and kiddies. He bought gas at the Stop’N’Buy at ten p.m.”

  Frank raised his eyebrows. The Stop’N’Buy market and gas station was at least seven miles from Petrucci’s home, and directly on the way to the North Country Academy. “What does he say about it?”

  “Said he forgot that he ran out to get gas that night.”

  “But why would he make a special trip to fill up at night when he’d be passing right by there in the morning on the way to work?”

  “Exactly. He says he did it because he’s always running late in the morning.”

  "Could be, but with the price of gas these days, he’d be burning up money making that round trip. On the other hand, if he murdered Heather, why stop and buy gas afterward and place himself right in the vicinity of the crime?”

  “Murderers are often stupid, you know that. Besides, if he didn’t have enough gas to get home, he would have no choice but to stop there. According to the receipt at the gas station, he bought seventeen gallons, and he drives an old Honda Civic. They don’t hold much—he must’ve been riding on empty.”

  Frank sat staring at his folded hands. He still had a hard time accepting Petrucci as the killer. The guy probably didn’t let his kids watch Wile E. Coyote clobber Roadrunner—could he really press the life out of a girl in the crook of his arm? But the evidence was starting to pile up against him. Grudgingly, he shared some more information with Meyerson.

  “I caught Petrucci in another lie today, too. Earl happened to mention that two summers ago, he and Paul both worked part-time for the contractor who remodeled those classrooms. Paul helped build those walls—he certainly knew about the crawl space and the little access door.”

  Frank and Meyerson’s eyes met for a long moment. Then Lew spoke.

  “I think with the evidence we have of Petrucci’s special interest in Heather, and knowing he was near the academy that night and was familiar with the layout of the classroom, we have enough to get a search warrant for his house and his bank account. I want to find out where that cash to make his back mortgage payments came from."

  “You asked him again?”

  “He and the wife refused to say. Both acted very defensive.”

  “That doesn’t mean much. Katie would act defensive if you asked her where she buys her shoes. Any word from Mexico on Glen Costello?”

  “Zilch, and I’m tired of waiting. I want to move forward with this search.”

  Frank nodded slowly. How could someone so politically correct, so adamantly nonviolent, strangle a young woman?

  “Well, see what it turns up,” Frank told Meyerson reluctantly.

  “If he has nothing to hide, he has nothing to fear.”

  Frank’s mouth twitched in an ironic smile. Ah, the favorite defense of the police state. “If you know what’s good for you, Lew, you won’t say that to Katie Petrucci when you’re tearing apart her house.”

  Frank stood in front of his closet, contemplating the meager selection of shirts that were neither flannel nor part of his khaki uniform. A white button-down was surely too formal for the dinner party at Edwin and Lucy’s. The blue was okay, but when he took it out he realized the cuffs were beginning to fray. A bold stripe caught his eye—the shirt Caroline had given him for his birthday. Why had he never worn it? Oh, it had that silly designer thing embroidered on the chest. She’d paid twenty extra dollars to ruin a perfectly nice shirt. But Edwin’s was about the only place in the Adirondacks where he could show his face in that shirt, so he might as well get some wear out of it.

  He had his right arm halfway in the sleeve when he hesitated. Would this shirt make it seem like he was trying to impress the ladies? Trying to outdo Bob? Would it make him look like some pathetic Lothario attempting to look young?

  Oh, for God’s sake—it was a shirt! A perfectly ordinary blue-and-yellow-striped shirt, that happened to have one of those doo-hickeys. He put it on and left the house without looking in the mirror.

  On the way over to the inn, he wondered about this friend of Penny’s. He didn't recall
ever seeing another young librarian at the community college. But since she’d been invited for him, she probably wasn’t young. Just a nice middle-aged lady that Penny, in her effusive way, had befriended.

  The parking area was full of cars when he arrived. He recognized Bob’s and Penny’s; he must be the last to arrive. Instinctively, he headed for the back door and entered through the kitchen without knocking, as he always did.

  Edwin was engrossed in stirring something and barely looked up. “Hey, Frank—why are you coming in through the servants’ entrance? You’re an official guest tonight. The others are in the parlor.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” Frank said, making no move to leave the safety of the kitchen.

  “You’re not late, they all just—” Edwin looked up. “Wow! Nice shirt. Is it new?"

  Frank froze. Did the damn thing still have a size label stuck to it? But a quick glance revealed nothing wrong. “No, I’ve had it for a while.”

  “Well, you look very handsome. Come on, carry these spinach and cheese puffs for me.”

  Frank followed Edwin down the hall to the parlor, where he could hear Penny, Bob, and Lucy laughing over the latest snafu in the library renovation.

  “Oh, here’s Frank,” Lucy cried, taking the plate of hors d’oeuvres from him. “Edwin has put him to work. Frank, I'd like you to meet Janice Caldwell. Janice, Frank Bennett.”

  A thin woman with very short hair rose from the chair next to the fireplace and shook his hand. He smiled and said hello, but her expression barely changed as she sat back down again. She wore navy slacks and a beige sweater. No makeup, no jewelry, no perfume. Janice looked like all she had done to prepare for this evening was scrub her face with a rough washcloth.

  Penny played flamingo to her friend’s sparrow. A bright coral sweater set off her dark hair and eyes, and an armful of bracelets jangled as she gestured, telling a story.

  “Listen to this, Frank.” Penny waved him into the chair next to her. “I’m telling them what Clyde said when he found out how much paper towel dispensers for the restrooms were going to set him back.”

  Frank sat back and watched Penny hold court over the room. Bob sat on an ottoman to her left, leaning forward as if he was afraid he might miss a word. Edwin broke into her story periodically to offer some affectionate teasing. Lucy sat back, beaming at her handiwork in arranging this event, while Janice sat in the corner with her hands folded in her lap.

  He felt bad for her—it was hard when everyone else in the group already knew one another and she knew only Penny. Frank moved closer to Janice.

  “So, Janice, you’re a librarian at the county college?

  “No.”

  “I thought Lucy said you and Penny used to work together.”

  “I teach there.”

  “Oh—what subject?”

  “Sociology." Janice continued to sit with her hands folded, staring straight ahead.

  “I’ve taken a few sociology courses along the way— I’m a cop, you know.”

  “Yes.”

  Geez, this was an uphill slog! He’d interrogated murder suspects who were chattier than Janice. Now he regretted having moved into this corner beside her. He looked longingly at the other four, who were still happily yakking it up. But he could hardly get up and move away from the woman.

  Frank tried to get back into the main conversation, but he’d lost the thread. Bob was talking about something going on at the church. “. . . just amazing the progress Matthew Portman is making in his organ lessons with Oliver. I sit in the corner and listen to them sometimes. They don’t know I’m there.”

  “Ah, you go undercover,” Penny said. “When I stopped in to listen, I couldn’t keep from applauding. Oliver gave me a very disapproving look. I thought it was okay to come in because Matthew’s brother Ernie was there.”

  “Yes, Ernie’s the exception. He often comes with Matthew,” Bob said. “It’s sweet—they’re very devoted to each other. Oliver says he used to be the same way when he was young.”

  “Well, I’ll keep my nose to the grindstone in the library and wait for Matthew to make his debut on Thanksgiving Festival Sunday," Penny said. “I’ll even make these heathens, Edwin and Lucy, come with me.” Frank’s ears perked up. Penny was planning on spending Thanksgiving in Trout Run?

  Before he could inquire, a faint tinging came from the direction of the kitchen.

  “The oven timer.” Edwin clapped his hands. "Dinner is served. Frank, show Janice into the dining room. Bob, you’ll be next to Lucy; Penny, next to me.”

  Frank rose and ushered Janice before him. It was going to be a long evening.

  Frank slipped into the back of the church on Sunday morning after all the worshippers had left. He knew Augie never locked up until after the fellowship hour, afraid he might miss a slice of Bundt cake or a pecan sandie. Frank hadn't felt up to listening to a sermon from Bob Rush, but he liked being in the sanctuary so soon after the service had ended. The faith of those who’d just occupied the pews seemed to still fill the place. Maybe some of it would rub off on him.

  Although no music rang through the church, the sanctuary was not utterly quiet. As Frank stood looking down the main aisle toward the chancel, he heard the unmistakable sound of soft crying. At the far right side of the church, he discovered a hunched figure in the back pew. At the sound of his footsteps, the head rose and Frank found himself looking into the swollen, red eyes of Katie Petrucci.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Katie.”

  He expected her to lash out at him, but instead she lowered her head onto the back of the pew in front of her and began crying with no pretense of self-control.

  Frank shifted his feet awkwardly. Nothing unnerved him more than a crying woman, especially one whose crying could, even remotely, be attributed to him. Frank was quite sure that Katie must be here in the aftermath of her house being searched, although he wouldn’t have pegged her as one to petition the Lord in times of trouble.

  Gingerly, he sat down next to her and patted her hand. “Is there anything I can do?"

  Her voice was thick and choked with tears, “Try to get my husband out of jail.”

  Jail? Meyerson had arrested Paul Petrucci? What in God’s name had the troopers turned up in the search? It must have been big if they had acted without even consulting with him. “I’m sorry, Katie. I honestly didn’t know they arrested Paul, although I did know they planned to get a search warrant.”

  She lifted her head and clawed away some strands of hair that had slipped from her ponytail. “I don’t even know what the police found, but they must have found something. Now they think he killed Heather. That can’t be true, but he acted so strange when they took him away. He didn’t deny it; he didn’t resist. Paul just told me to call this lawyer in New York that I’ve never heard of. And where are we going to get the money for that?”

  The thought of money triggered another spasm of anguish and she cried louder, flinging her head back until she began to choke on her own tears. “The money,” she said, mopping her face with her sleeve. “Where did he get that money to pay what we owed on the mortgage? He wouldn’t tell me. We should have just let them foreclose. I told him we could start over somewhere else.”

  Frank felt a pang of guilt. He was sure that in a rational mood, Katie wouldn’t be talking like this to a cop. But if she was willing to tell him more about that money, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.

  “How much money was it, Katie?”

  "Five thousand dollars. We fell six months behind on the mortgage, and we worked out a payment plan with the bank. But it seemed that every month, something came up to prevent us from paying the extra money we owed. Deirdre got sick, the car broke down, the solar panels malfunctioned, and we needed more firewood and propane. And Paul felt it was all his fault, but it wasn’t. We agreed to make the investment.”

  “What investment?”

  “In Nutri-Green. It’s a start-up company developing a highly nutritious source of vegetable
protein that can be farmed even in the most arid climates. It has the potential to end world hunger, but of course the agribusiness conglomerates want to suppress it.”

  Frank brought Katie back to the matter at hand. “So you invested more than you could afford in this company and lost your shirts?”

  "No! We thought there would be a payback by now, but with any start-up you can’t expect everything to go according to plan. We took a risk and we miscalculated. I still believe in Nutri-Green, but it looks like we won’t see a return on our investment for a while yet. Paul wanted to bail out and cut our losses, but I didn’t. I said I didn’t care if we lost the house, but Paul did. And now I’m afraid he did something crazy to get the money to keep it.”

  Like kill Heather LeBron for a lousy $5,000 bucks to keep that shack they called home? Frank couldn’t believe that of Paul Petrucci. Did his own wife think it was true?

  Katie seemed to read his mind. “He couldn’t have killed Heather. Paul won’t even kill mice. But that money didn’t just fall out of the sky; he’s keeping something from me.” Katie’s face crumpled and she let out a howl of anguish that made Frank flinch.

  "He’s been getting phone calls that he ends when I come into the room. He goes out at night with some flimsy excuse.” Katie focused her teary eyes on Frank. “I think he’s seeing another woman.”

  After making some vague assurances that he would look into Paul’s arrest, Frank slipped away from Katie and went back to the office. As soon as he reached his desk, he was on the phone to Meyerson. Not finding him at the office, he tracked him down at home.

  “What did you find at the Petruccis’ house?”

  “What makes you think we found something?” Meyerson replied in his most maddening manner.

  “Because you arrested Paul Petrucci! You didn’t have enough to arrest him before the search. What happened?”