If Onions Could Spring Leeks

by Paige Shelton

  “That’s true. Oh, look, there’s someone.” Gram nodded toward Lynn’s house.

  A red Explorer stopped and parked, and a moment later a woman hopped out of the driver’s side and hurried up to the front door. Once she was at the door, we couldn’t see her, but I’d already gotten a good enough look.

  “She’s familiar,” Gram said.

  “Very. She works with Dr. Callahan. Her name is Ridley. She checked my vitals the day . . . the day of the barn. She seemed sad. Maybe that had something to do with Derek.”

  It would be perfectly reasonable for me to stop by the doctor’s office with some sort of medical question so soon after having been there for a bona fide emergency. Maybe I could talk to her there. No one would think there was anything strange about that, would they?

  “You really think one or more of the ex-wives were involved in the murder?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Divorce as a motive?”

  “Possibly, but there’s more. Bonnie said they ‘shouldn’t have ever married Derek.’ I don’t think any of them are upset over divorcing him as much as having married him in the first place, if that makes any sense at all.”

  Gram was silent a moment but then said, “You might be right. There might be a big, ugly, hairy secret there.”

  “Ugly, hairy secrets make the best motives for murder,” I said.

  “We going to sit here and wait for her to come back out?”

  “No.” I started the Nova and backed up and away from our hiding spot. “I’ll take you home, and then I think I’ll track down Cliff.”

  Gram was glad to go home. She’d slept better the night before—fewer and less violent nightmares. She wasn’t ready to be relieved, yet, but she and I both hoped that the sketches might prove to be a catalyst for making the bad dreams go away. Now that the images were on paper, perhaps they could leave her head and leave her alone. Despite the better rest, a nap sounded appealing. I dropped her off and went back to town to find Cliff.

  He was in his new crime lab and I suddenly understood part of why he’d been missing in action since he got back from St. Louis. He had lots of new, shiny toys to help him solve crimes.

  “Betts, come on in,” Cliff said when he saw me after he pulled his face away from a microscope. “Come and see this.”

  The room wasn’t large but it wasn’t cramped either, and it was much more decked out than I’d expected. In a way, the space reminded me of a modern version of Jake’s archive room. But instead of old and archived, the items were new and modern. A large, lighted top steel worktable took up lots of space in the middle of the room, and sturdy, metallic shelves lined the walls, some of them holding intimidating machines with buttons and displays I would never understand.

  I knew what a microscope was, of course, but the one Cliff had been looking through was bigger than the ones from high school, more heavy duty, more official.

  I put my eyes to the scope and peered in at what looked like a single item with a bunch of stringy branches. There were bumps along the item and its branches. The picture was clear but I had no idea what it was.

  “What is it?” I asked as I pulled away.

  “It’s a strand of your hair.”

  I looked in again. “I have some bad split ends.”

  Cliff laughed. “Not really. This microscope is just that good.”

  “Where did you get the hair?”

  “From the wrench that killed Derek and knocked you out.”

  “Oh,” I said. “A wrench, huh?”

  “Yes, that was the murder weapon. How’s your head?”

  “Fine. A little tender, but better.”

  I took a seat on a stool not far from the microscope. It shouldn’t have been surprising that there had been some of my hair on the same item that had killed Derek, but hearing it, knowing it was real, was unsettling. “Where’s the wrench?”

  Cliff stepped around the worktable and to a shelf on the other side of the room. He grabbed a big baggie and brought it back around.

  “It’s in here. It’s been processed—this is something I’ve not been able to say without having to send evidence to St. Louis or Springfield; I processed it.”

  “Does that make you more a crime-scene person than a policeman?” I asked.

  Cliff shrugged. “I think it makes me both. I’m a police officer, but I know a little more now about crime-scene investigation and the processes and procedures. I can’t do anything big—perhaps something that would involve heavy-duty chemicals or more advanced machinery. But I could figure out that on this wrench were a few things—your hair, Derek’s hair and blood, Roy’s fingerprints, and two other prints with unknown origins—they aren’t in any criminal database.”

  “That’s pretty cool. How will you figure out where the two mystery prints come from?”

  “The old-fashioned way. I’ll start with all the Trigger drivers and get their prints. However, the possibilities could be endless. Though not likely, it is feasible that a tourist or two even touched it. We’ll just have to keep looking for other clues or some other real evidence.”

  “About that . . . ?” My tone was a giant question mark.

  “You want to know what we’ve got, don’t you?” Cliff smiled. “I guess I’m not surprised, and I bet that your curiosity is piqued since you were involved directly.”

  I nodded.

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have much at all. We have the wrench and the mystery prints, but there’s nothing else on there that might give us anything. No possible DNA to match with anything. No witnesses. We’re still questioning lots of people, all the Trigger drivers included, and we’ve got more to ask Roy.”

  “Roy? As in, he’s a suspect?”

  “He’s more a person of interest, but we’re looking at everyone,” Cliff said.

  I realized that this case was not only personal to me, but also to Cliff since I’d been hurt. He wouldn’t leave any stone unturned. Heck, he’d probably turn them all over a few times before he gave up. I liked having him on my side, but I didn’t think Roy was a killer. “I never saw any problems between him and Derek.”

  “There might be other angles there.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Lynn—and I should not have said that. If you tell anyone I told you, I will have to arrest you.”

  “If anyone is going to arrest me, I want it to be you,” I said with a bad attempt at a flirtatious smile. “But Lynn?”

  “Lynn talked to Jim last week about her concerns over some possible safety issues with the Triggers. Jim checked out her complaints, and found nothing of substance. It appeared to Jim that Roy was upset by the way Lynn handled her concerns. He wished she would have talked to him first.”

  “I didn’t know she’d done that. Roy hid any surprise or irritation well. And that’s what Lynn does; Roy knows that.”

  “Sure he does, but it’s difficult to find objectivity when it’s about something you’re so close to, something you’ve invented. Roy’s Triggers are like his kids, maybe.”

  “I don’t believe objectivity is really ever possible, no matter what, so I get what you’re saying. However, I do have a hard time with Roy killing Derek over something he was mad at Lynn about. Lynn and Derek were . . .”

  “What?”

  “I was going to say ‘two different people’ but though that was technically true, I saw how they were often thought of as being their own little team against the rest of the world. And I’m beginning to wonder just how much time they actually did spend apart. It seems like Lynn was in the middle of all of Derek’s life, marriages included.”

  “That’s what Rachel said.”

  “Rachel? One of Derek’s wives? She works at the bank?” I remembered Teddy’s wife list.

  “That’s the one.”

  “You talked to her?”

&
nbsp; “Yes. Well, she came in and talked to us.”

  “And?”

  “I can’t really tell you all she told us, but, yes, Lynn was right in the middle of all of Derek’s marriages. Way too much in the middle.”

  “I would love some details.”

  “I know, but I also know you’d go searching for some stuff on your own if I tell you any more, so it’s for your own safety that I don’t. I might later, though, once we exhaust all of our leads.”

  “Hmm. That’s no fun.”

  “I know.”

  “Did she hint at the reason that Derek, with his sparkling personality, was able to find five women who wanted to marry him?”

  Cliff smiled and raised one eyebrow. “No, she didn’t go into that. We didn’t ask her any questions that might give us those sorts of answers. We were just more interested in the amount of time that Lynn was ‘in the middle’ of the marriages. Rachel was pretty forthcoming, but I can tell you this, she asked us specifically not to tell Lynn that she spoke with us.”

  “Did you agree?”

  “For now, yes. Jim’s a firm believer that we as a police force don’t bargain for much of anything, but he was willing to tell her he’d let her know if he felt compelled to tell Lynn.”

  I nodded, and then looked appreciatively around the room. “All right, show me what all this stuff is.”

  Cliff didn’t hurry, but he didn’t go into great detail as he described all the items and what they did. The things were interesting, but his enthusiasm was the best part. I found myself trying to imagine him as the architect that he used to be and the idea didn’t fit quite right; it was as if the edges of the pictures in my mind weren’t even. He’d found his true calling back home in Broken Rope.

  Many times I’d tried to imagine him married to his first wife and my mind only formulated a blank screen. I hadn’t known her, hadn’t ever seen a picture of her, and I hadn’t made it a point to memorize her name. Mostly I’d just pretended that Cliff had never been married. It wasn’t that I was jealous of the other woman he’d fallen in love with, it was simple and pure denial; so much better to pretend she just didn’t exist.

  After the equipment tour and when I realized he didn’t need me further interrupting his work, I left. Our farewell was brief and only a little romantic, but that was okay. I had no sense that he was concerned about my kiss with Paul, nor did he push for more information about Jerome. In fact, I sensed there was a new balance to our relationship since the incident in the cooking school. I really liked the hint of normalcy that came with the balance.

  Normalcy—not a bad plan, and something I needed to aim for more often.

  Chapter 13

  As I left the crime lab, my head—now being mostly but not entirely freed from worrying about Cliff’s potential hurt feelings—reeled with everything else.

  What had happened to Grace when we were at Lynn’s? Did Derek jump into Grace’s ghostly skin, or was it another ghost? If so, who? Why else would Grace have appeared at Lynn’s if it wasn’t Derek?

  You should have told me.

  Told me absolutely nothing, but I knew the phrase was vastly important. There was no way that Grace could have somehow been tied to Lynn, was there? I’d have to ask Jake to explore, but I would be surprised if there was a connection.

  It was an easy walk to the doctor’s office from the new crime lab and my thoughts rattled around in my head as I dodged tourists and a swarm of actors that was heading toward the other end of the street to either round up some cattle or stage a fake gunfight.

  I recognized the Explorer out front as the same one I’d seen earlier in front of Lynn’s house. Whatever Ridley had been up to, it hadn’t taken her very long. I glanced inside the front passenger window as I meandered by. Even though it was a nurse’s vehicle, I was surprised to see typical nurse items on the front passenger seat—a stethoscope, some medical tape, and some gauze. I wondered if any of the items had been used on Lynn and, if so, why. Lynn hadn’t appeared injured or ill when Gram and I had been at her house. I remembered seeing Ridley exit her car; she hadn’t carried anything with her.

  “What time’s your appointment?” the front receptionist said when I came in. There was no one else in the small waiting room and she looked perplexed by my arrival.

  “No appointment. I was here a couple days ago and I wondered if there was a nurse I could talk to about my continuing headache.”

  “Oh, actually, I think the doctor would prefer to see you himself.”

  Darnit.

  She continued. “But he’s not here at the moment. Let me talk to Ridley and I’ll have her determine if she wants to call him back in.”

  That worked. Sometimes you just get lucky.

  “Thanks.”

  The receptionist reappeared a few moments later and signaled me in through the side door. She deposited me in one of the examination rooms I hadn’t yet been in. It was a small room down a side hall, and it was decorated with cowboy wallpaper. In the rest of the world, it might have been considered a children’s examination room, but since this was Broken Rope it was probably just something that Dr. Callahan had done to keep up with the town’s theme.

  Ridley entered the room only a brief instant later. The door opened almost the second the receptionist had closed it.

  “Hi, Betts, how are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Not terrible. I’m still a little headache-y though.”

  “Dizzy?”

  “No.”

  “Any nausea?”

  “No.”

  “Funny vision?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me more about the headache. On a one-to-ten scale, how bad is it? What kind of pain—sharp or dull—and where is it located?”

  “It’s about a two is all, and it’s mostly that the knot on my head is tender to the touch. I can’t really get comfortable on my pillow.”

  “I see,” she said as she reached to the knot on my head. She touched it very gently. “Right here?”

  “Yes.”

  She stepped back. “And you’re not having any other pain?”

  “Not really.”

  “Hmm. Well, when’s the last time you took some Tylenol?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “You’d do better if you kept on a well-timed schedule of Tylenol for a few more days. You should feel as good as new very quickly.”

  She was probably wondering how I managed to fare in a kitchen, with knives and other sharp things, if I couldn’t handle a two-on-the-pain-scale headache.

  “Of course. I should have thought of that. I’m sorry. I feel kind of dumb,” I said.

  “Not at all. You should come see us any time you have any questions or problems. That’s what we’re here for. Anything else?”

  “Yeah,” I said, and then I hesitated awkwardly. “You know, I really want to thank you for taking care of me the other day. I’m sure it was very difficult considering what happened to Derek.”

  Surprise lit her eyes briefly. “It’s okay. It’s my job.”

  I slid off the examination table. “I know, but still, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Boy, I sure have heard some odd things about Derek’s mom lately,” I said, ever so un-smoothly.

  “Really? Like what?” She had her hand on the doorknob but removed it and crossed her arms in front of herself.

  “Like she was pretty meddlesome in his marriages. That had to be hard.”

  She knew the door was closed because she had never opened it, but she glanced at it nonetheless as if to confirm that it was shut tight.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said with such a quaver to her voice that she had to clear her throat when she was done.

  “Nobody can hear us, Ridley. I’m sorry if Lynn mistreated you—or any of Derek’s wives
for that matter.”

  Ridley laughed nervously and then looked at the door again. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told or what you’ve heard, but I promise whatever it is or was, it wasn’t accurate. Rumors never are,” she said.

  “So, Lynn was a good mother-in-law?”

  Ridley’s eyes became fierce. The sudden change was shocking, but I tried to hide my reaction.

  “Why do you care? Derek’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Ridley. I never meant anything by it. I was just curious about Lynn, not really Derek.”

  “Then you should probably ask Lynn about Lynn. She’s still alive.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed.

  The fire in Ridley’s eyes lessened to something more smoldering than volcanic. “I’m sorry. I’m sensitive and, of course, sad right now. I should not talk to a patient the way I just spoke to you.”

  “No problem. I’m doing fine,” I said, not completely fessing up to my transparent plot.

  Ridley looked at the floor and took a deep breath. She looked back at me a moment later, her hand now firmly back on the knob. “You’re good to go. Let us know if you have any other issues.” She left me to find my own way. I didn’t blame her.

  I sat on the examination table a few seconds more. Was there anything I could do to ease the strife I’d just created? Probably not; at least not anything that would make it better. There were many ways, however, I could make it worse. Leaving was the best option.

  As I slid off the table, my phone buzzed. Jake texted, telling me he’d found more train stations.

  I was glad for something to do that might not make someone angry at me. Since the receptionist wasn’t still out front, I managed to leave the doctor’s office without having to say anything more to anyone.

  • • •

  “Okay, though a search for ‘plain, boring train stations’ pulls up just about nothing, a simple search for ‘historical Missouri train stations’ did result in several pictures. I don’t know if the one you saw was in Missouri, but I thought I would start there, and I found a few really simple stations, one that looks lots like your description.”