She was on her way to the kitchen phone when it rang, startling her into momentary immobility.
It was Cate. “Brad told me you were at the cabin. What’s up? He sounded worried.”
“He’s being irrational,” Robin said, using their code for “We had a fight and when I’ve calmed down, I’ll admit we were both wrong.”
“Men!” Cate said, their code for “Tell me whatever you want to and I’ll take your side and still like Brad when it’s all over.”
“I don’t want to talk about Brad at the moment. I need to think this through by myself.”
“Okay.” Cate took that to mean a change of topic and launched into the reason she’d called. “I took a look at the photo you dropped off. You were right. It was one of my bracelets that I sold at the Uptown Art Fair last summer.”
Robin sucked in her breath. “Do you remember who bought it?”
“I checked my records. I sold six of a similar style that weekend. My notes say the guy who bought that one paid in cash.”
“A guy?”
“If memory serves me correctly.”
“What did he look like?”
“That’s the part I can’t remember.” She snorted. “Well, one of the many, actually. Maybe if I think about something else, it’ll come back to me.”
“Okay, here’s something to think about,” Robin offered. “George came to check on me last night.”
“I thought he was in jail.”
“Nope, they never arrested him. Cate, I swear the man is harmless, but it was a peculiar little visit.”
“He’s a peculiar little man,” she said icily.
“Granted, but the thing with the bracelet—I’m sure he found it just like he said, by the side of the road. That’s what he does. It makes sense.”
“Hmmm.”
“But listen, Cate, there’s more.”
“I knew it.”
“Not about George. It’s a photo he was looking at.” She told Cate about the reclining figure and the twin spots of light at the edge of the woods. “I just have to believe it was Melissa Dunn, and, please don’t laugh at me, but I think someone was watching her—someone wearing glasses.”
But Cate didn’t laugh. “George wears glasses,” she said simply.
Robin couldn’t think of a response.
“Are you there?”
“Hold on a sec. I thought I heard something.” Robin put the phone down and walked into the living room, her heart pounding audibly as she scattered the prints on the table. Her mouth went dry. After a quick scan of the room, she grabbed the phone. “It’s gone, Cate. The picture I was telling you about.”
16
Cate could hear Erik downstairs, the television turned up loud enough to be heard over the treadmill. Usually, she found the noise aggravating, but today it felt reassuring and in stark contrast to Robin’s solitary life at the cabin. Her big orange tabby, Oscar, purred next to her on the mission-style couch, as if he’d never lived on the streets where he’d frozen his ears to rounded nubbins. Carlton, an aging black lab, and Mitsy, a patchwork dog that looked like she’d been built by an ill-advised committee, were curled together on the cool tile of the adjacent foyer. Grover, sprawled at her feet, snored loudly.
On the phone, Robin was telling her that, as far as she could determine, that creep George had come into her cabin and stolen a photo that almost certainly implicated him in a murder. Cate was in no frame of mind to argue about his alleged harmlessness. Speaking calmly but with authority into the phone, she told Robin, “I want you to grab your purse and your keys and get the hell out of there.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Cate made an exasperated face at the phone. “Ridiculous? What’s ridiculous is you staying there after what you just told me. Robin, listen to me, you have to come home.”
“I can’t do that.”
God, she could be so stubborn! She isn’t ready to talk to her husband, so she runs away from home—right into the hands of a murderer. “Fine,” she said, trying to stay calm. “If that’s the way you’re going to be, I’m leaving right now.”
“No! I’m fine, really.”
“I’m leaving. Meet me at the truck stop. You know the one.” Cate hung up the phone before Robin could protest further.
Robin knew the one, but didn’t appreciate that Cate was leaving her no choice. She began punching buttons on the phone, but stopped, knowing Cate would not answer. As she put the receiver back, she realized that, outwitted and just plain pissed though she was, she supposed she was comforted that Cate was on her way.
When Cate told Erik her plans, he stopped the treadmill and mopped sweat off his face with a hand towel. He was only slightly losing the battle with middle-age spread, but was diligent in his exercise. His olive complexion was almost unmarred by age, except for the crow’s feet around his eyes, which were now squinting at Cate in consternation. “If you really believe she’s in trouble, why don’t you call the authorities? In fact, why hasn’t she called the authorities?”
“She’d never do that. She’s working on personal empowerment.”
Erik rolled his brown eyes. “Is this a real threat or not?”
Cate slid her amulet back and forth on the chain. “Who knows?”
“You’re upset enough to go check on her.”
“The deputy already thinks we’re all suffering from menopausal madness or middle-aged boredom or some such crap.”
When he rubbed his chin, it sounded like sandpaper. “Well, honey, sometimes you do let your imagination run away with you.”
Cate glowered at him.
Erik shook his head and laughed. “You’re really something, you two. Fine, jump on your white horse and save the damsel in distress. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Here comes my white horse now,” she said, as Grover galumphed after her.
Cate pulled up under the awning of the truck stop, relieved to see Robin sitting at a table, waving back at her.
“Good Lord!” Robin breathed when she saw that the entire passenger’s side of the Land Rover was filled with dog.
Leaving the car windows, now translucent with nose prints and slobber, partially open, Cate patted Grover’s massive head and told him to be a good dog. Inside, she shed her heavy fringed sweater and slid into the seat across from Robin. “Are you pissed at me?” she asked.
“Glirked.”
Cate looked over the top of her glasses, one eyebrow raised in question.
“Half glad, half irked,” came the answer.
Cate laughed.
Looking as if she’d slept poorly, if at all, Robin said, “Honestly, Cate, having you come up here, well, it all seems a little silly at the moment.”
Cate cocked her head. “You did the right thing, trusting your gut.”
“My gut is telling me I’m overreacting.” Robin laughed. “It’s your gut that’s spooking me.”
Unamused, Cate pressed her case. “Why take the risk? If I’m wrong, then I’m the one who’ll feel foolish, but if you’re wrong, well, damn it, there’s such a thing as being embarrassed to death.” Cate put a hand up to stop any dissent. “You have two options,” Cate continued. “Either you follow me back to the Cities or I follow you back to the cabin.”
“With the mighty Wonderdog for protection?”
They glanced out to see Grover, drool flying as he snapped at real or imagined bugs. Cate looked at him with the fatuous expression of a new mother.
Robin grimaced. “The thing is, I don’t feel great at home, either. Brad’s been pulling away from me.”
“But you’re the one who left yesterday, right?”
Not always receptive to Cate’s directness, she pictured telling her to go home and leave her in peace. At the thought, her eyes welled with tears.
“Okay,” Cate said folding her arms. “I’ll shut up and listen.”
She took a few breaths before saying, “Brad doesn’t even touch me anymore. I think he sees me as damage
d goods.” She blotted the corners of her eyes with a napkin.
Cate nodded, remembering six years ago when her own marriage had been threatened. “Okay.” She drummed her fingers on the table, choosing her words. “I have to say I don’t understand why an otherwise intelligent, loving husband can’t see how he’s hurting you.”
Robin blew her nose. “Maybe we shouldn’t assume the loving part.”
The waitress came to the table.
“The cheeseburger and malt special? Mocha?” Cate asked, wiggling her eyebrows at Robin, who nodded, glad not to have to make a decision.
By the time their lunch arrived, Robin had filled Cate in, as accurately as possible, on her last discussion with Brad.
Cate said, “at least Brad shows passion when he fights—shows he cares.”
“If that’s the only way he can show passion, I don’t need it.” Angry tears sprang to her eyes. “He treats me like a leper.”
Cate recoiled in mock horror. “He’d better not be mistreating leopards!”
Robin wasn’t ready to be kidded out of her funk.
“Okay, seriously, has this been mostly since your surgery?”
Robin shook her head. “He’s always been consumed with his work, coming home tired, getting up early to visit patients before office hours. But, yeah, it’s been worse since then.”
“Do you think he’s afraid he’ll hurt you?”
Robin looked away. “I don’t know. There’s just this coldness. The other night I fixed his favorite dinner, bought flowers and wine and lit candles, and I don’t think he looked at me once. I might as well not have even been there. It’s almost like he expects me to die, and showing affection would be … well, a poor investment.”
Cate swallowed hard. “That just doesn’t sound like the Brad I know.”
Cate followed Robin in her Land Rover, mentally berating Brad during the thirty-minute drive.
Once released, Grover flung himself out the door and watered flowers and bushes all along the fieldstone path leading to the cabin.
Robin and Cate sat on the back porch while Grover paced and sniffed, his toenails clicking in and out of the kitchen.
Robin looked into the distance. “The way I see it, I could spend the rest of my life trying to figure out why Brad is the way he is, but at some point the why doesn’t matter. If he can’t be my friend when I most need him, then what’s the point?”
Then, before Cate could answer, Robin hastened to abort the conversation by saying, “Let’s not waste any more time on him. The next move is his.”
Slowly Cate nodded. “Change of subject?”
“Please.”
“Can we talk about Curious George? I really think we should do something. How do you feel about calling the sheriff?”
The sheriff showed up less than an hour later—alone, they were glad to see. Grover jumped up with his paws on Harley’s shoulders. “I’m glad to see you, too, little fella,” the man said, “but around me you’re gonna stand on all fours.”
The dog dropped to the floor, awaiting his next order.
Cate stood, open-mouthed.
Harley stroked the dog’s silky ears. “So.” He turned to the women. “You think George Wellman stole an incriminating photo. Can you make another one?”
“Sure, but the negatives are back in Minneapolis,” Robin explained.
“Can you describe it?”
Robin sighed, shutting her eyes to see the photo in her mind. “I was focused on the deer below,” Robin began, “but just behind and above them, I inadvertently also captured that natural ledge on the other side of the creek. And Melissa was lying on it.”
“Melissa?” Harley tilted his head.
Cate chewed on her lower lip as she and Robin exchanged a look. “The woman you think drowned,” Cate answered.
“How do you know her name? We just had it confirmed and nothing’s been made public.”
Robin puffed up her cheeks and blew the air out. “Just call it women’s intuition. You still think she drowned?”
Way to go, Cate thought. Put him on the defensive.
“As a matter of fact, the official report from the M.E. is inconclusive, so we’re also entertaining the notion that she was dead before she hit the water. What do you say we go outside? Maybe you can point out to me what you’re describing.”
Grover barked and flew at the screen door. The others followed him out, and as Robin pointed out various elements of the absent photo, Harley asked, “What time of day was this?”
“Mid-afternoon. Two or three o’clock.”
He consulted his watch. “Tell you what …”
Several minutes later, they were all in position, Robin on the cabin side of the creek, crouching as she had when she took the picture, Harley at the edge of the woods on the opposite side of the creek. Cate lay on her back on the rocky outcropping, looking like some femme fatale on a fainting couch with one arm shielding her eyes from the sun, the other, with her own large bracelet showing, dangling down. When Robin saw the bright spots of Harley’s glasses, she gave him a thumbs up, lifted her camera and clicked away until she was startled by a commotion behind her, a crashing sound accompanied by barking and a man’s voice, yelling “No! Go away. Get.”
She whipped her head around at the noise. Hesitating before she took off in that direction, she turned to see Harley and Cate crashing down the stony path to the bridge. Knowing they were coming to her aid, Robin was emboldened to investigate.
On the pine needles between her and the cabin lay a man. Dancing over him, Grover nudged him with his head and pawed at his arms. His friendly woofing clearly meant he was just playing.
“Grover, get over here,” Robin ordered.
Grover wagged his tail.
“Get him off me!” George yelled.
Robin tugged on Grover’s collar, to no avail.
Cate, panting from her run, appeared behind Robin. Making no move to help, she folded her arms and watched as George struggled to free himself.
“Stop,” said Harley, arriving on the scene, and the dog stopped.
“Sit,” he commanded, and Grover came to sit at Harley’s side.
Cate looked at the sheriff with awed respect.
Scrambling to his feet, George wiped his shirttail across his face, then stooped to retrieve his glasses from the ground, wiping them on the same shirttail before putting them on.
Harley hoisted his pants up. “What were you doing on Mrs. Bentley’s property, George?”
George took off his glasses again and adjusted the frames and the bows, once more wiping them on his dirty shirt. “I heard a car come up here and thought I’d make sure she was all right.” He avoided looking at the three pairs of eyes fixed on him. “Besides, I live here.” He gestured to the woods.
Harley absent-mindedly stroked Grover’s ears.
“If she’s alone, I check on any strange car coming up the drive,” George explained.
Harley grunted. “So I assume you came to check when this one arrived.” He jerked a thumb at Cate.
“Nope.” George returned his glasses to his face and looked squarely at the sheriff, his self-confidence returning. “I know their cars by now. I could tell it was Mrs. B. and Mrs. Wolf was following her.” His smile faltered almost immediately as he anticipated the response.
“I would’ve thought you’d recognize my car by now, George. It’s the only one that has the word ‘Sheriff’ painted on it. Both sides.” He let George squirm a while before dismissing him. “Well, I’m sure these ladies appreciate your concern, but I’ve got things under control, so you can get back to whatever you were doing.”
They watched George slink off in the direction of his trailer. Harley turned to Robin. “How long will you be here this time?”
She shrugged. “Not sure. A couple days, at least.”
Nodding to Cate, he asked, “You too?”
“No, I have to get back tomorrow,” she answered with a sigh.
“Is the dog s
taying?” he asked.
The dog nuzzled against his hand.
“Yes,” Cate said emphatically.
Harley tapped the brim of his hat. “Okay, then. I’ll make a swing through here tomorrow, but if George Wellman bothers you, you call me, okay?”
Before dinner, Cate and Robin walked Grover back to the creek, looping around the property and returning by way of the road. No matter what subject came up, talk kept returning to speculations about Melissa and her mother, about George and the photo.
“What do you make of Grover’s reaction to George?” Robin ducked under a low-hanging branch. “He certainly doesn’t seem to have an aversion to him.”
“Hmmph,” Cate said, “There’s no accounting for taste.”
“No, really. Doesn’t that comfort you at all?”
“We’re talking about Grover here. He likes everybody.”
Suddenly the dog shot ahead, disappeared in the tall grasses and resurfaced on the other side of the ditch.
Robin’s breathing quickened when she recognized the spot. “What’s he doing? Isn’t that the place—?”
“Yes, but where’s the tree, the one with the paint on it?”
Nose to the ground, Grover moved in a circle around a tree stump. His tail, no longer waving, was rigid.
Robin frowned at the accumulation of sawdust and wood chips. “Do you think he can still smell Molly Pat?”
Cate shook her head. “He’s not being territorial. That’s anxiety.” She strode in his direction.
Grover whined and Cate knelt to pet him while Robin scanned the woods for more newly sawn trunks. She saw none.
There was nothing to do but go back to the cabin, where they made goat-cheese-and-roasted-vegetable sandwiches and played cribbage. They won a game apiece and Robin won the rubber, breaking the tie.
The next morning Robin woke reluctantly from a dream in which Brad was kissing her feet, probing the spaces between her toes with his tongue. She let her eyes open a crack, and saw Grover grinning at her, pink tongue lolling. She jerked her feet back and squawked. As she leaped out of bed, she could swear the dog was laughing at her.
Murder at Spirit Falls Page 14