2 Death at Crooked Creek

by Mary Ann Cherry

  “Do you know who inherits his land?” Grant asked.

  “I have no idea,” Benny said with a thoughtful expression. “About the only lawyer around here is Richie Christofferson. I’ll bet he knows.” Looking at Jessie, he said, “What I can’t figure out is why you keep getting the notes and little tractors, Jessie. It goes beyond odd all the way to bizarre.”

  “Me neither, but how about yourself? Why do you think you’ve been getting them, Evan?” Jessie gave him a sympathetic look.

  “I think it’s because the killer thinks I suspect who he is. But really, I don’t.” He explained the trail cam video to Grant and Jessie. “There wasn’t a good way to judge the size of the boot.”

  “The video Sheriff Fischer doesn’t want me to watch.” Jessie explained to Grant.

  He nodded and asked, “Work boot or cowboy boot?”

  “Just some kind of work boot. They should let you look at it, Jessie. You’re used to looking at faint details. Maybe you’d see something they missed.”

  Then Jessie asked, “Did Benny do any sketching, Evan? Any pencil or charcoal drawing?”

  “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

  “The notes we’ve been getting are on artists’ drawing paper.”

  “Nobody told me that,” he said angrily. “I guess all along Fischer thought I was sending them to myself. That has to be why he hadn’t shared that bit of info.” He stepped back from the cell bars and rubbed his chin. A line appeared between his brows as he puzzled over Jessie’s comment. “So, it’s an artist. I wouldn’t have thought of that. Well, I’ll be.”

  “Jessie told me about the fake text that got Benny out to the parking lot,” Grant said. “Do you have any idea who had access to your computer at the lodge? Someone smart enough to make it appear you sent her that text on the night Benny died?”

  “It could have been anyone. My computer sat on the artist registration table almost all day and into the early evening. I was using a data base on it. When I took a break, the volunteers used my computer to log folks in.”

  “Think on it, Evan, and see if you can narrow down the list of suspects.” Grant said. “We were given about fifteen minutes and I know our time is up. We have to go, but first I wanted to ask you about something regarding the Expo auction.”

  Evan looked puzzled. “The auction?”

  “I want to know who designed and sent out the ads to Canada.”

  “Well, I did.” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’ll come to that. Who chose the images for the ads?”

  “Again, I did. Max said to use any that I thought would work in the graphics—you know—whatever image would make a strong design.”

  “He never, at any time, asked you to use the Emily Carr painting that wasn’t included in the auction catalogue?”

  “No…,” Evan said hesitantly. “But I wouldn’t have used it anyhow. It just isn’t a style most people like. Kind of ugly, in fact, if you ask me.”

  Jessie and Grant exchanged amused glances.

  “Oh, no. I hope the artist isn’t a relative of yours or something.” He looked embarrassed.

  “No,” Grant assured him. “Nothing like that.”

  Jacob came through the door. “Sorry, but Sheriff Fischer said it’s time for you to wrap up the visit. Evan’s attorney has arrived and is waiting to speak with him.”

  Jessie nodded and then looked at Evan. “We’ll check in with you again soon. Hang in there. Shall I drop you by some newer books? Do you have anybody you’d like us to phone or anything?”

  “No, thanks. The Sheriff said he’d bring me some reading material. And I don’t really have close friends or nearby relatives. But it’s real nice of you to ask,” Evan murmured. Then he looked up at Grant. “Take care of Miss O’Bourne. I don’t have a clue about how she ties in with all this, but whoever is doing this…I don’t think they want to just scare her. I really think someone likes to manipulate and hurt people. She could be a target for any reason this nut can imagine.”

  They left Evan still staring after them through the bars, a worried frown on his face.

  *.*.*

  As they reached Grant’s SUV, his face was set in grim lines. When they pulled into the parking lot at the lodge twenty minutes later, his rock-hard expression hadn’t changed an iota. His scowl looked as carved in granite as Mount Rushmore.

  “You okay?” Jessie asked, studying his strong profile.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s you we need to worry about. The idea of you being in danger and not knowing where—or who—it might come from makes my temper hit the volcanic stage.” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Right now, I might feel better if I could borrow a few of Arvid’s choice Norwegian swear words.”

  Jessie’s eyes gleamed and she patted his hand. “I know what you mean. I need to take the Butter Tub for a walk. If you come along, I’ll teach you a few of Arvid’s best expressions. He’s got some that sound so crazy, they’ll calm you down in no time. Of course, I don’t know what half of them mean. And my pronunciation is so poor I might just be saying ‘your socks are an ugly purple. And did you know there’s a cow sitting in the cab of your truck?’”

  Grant gave a rueful chuckle. “I’d love to come. I don’t want to let you out of my sight, but I know my name will be synonymous with one of Arvid’s swear words at headquarters if I don’t check in with Dillon Woodcastle.”

  “Oh,” Jessie said in a disappointed tone, “I’d almost forgotten.”

  “I want to check out the David Johnson painting on Max’s wall,” He smiled at her. “I’m wondering if he—or the attorney who keeps sending work his way—has an excellent forger hiding out somewhere. But before I look at Max’s art, I’m going to deliver you to Arvid and Esther—safe and in one piece.” Then he grumbled, “Or to Russell, I suppose. If I can’t find Arvid I’ll have to turn you over to Russell. I can’t take you with me because you’re a civilian.”

  There was that blasted word again. Civilian. Jessie narrowed her eyes.

  Turn me over, huh? Just like I’m a flapjack or something. Or taking a con into custody.

  She ached to say something scathing but bit it back. Nevertheless, several crackerjack Arvidisms and a few choice colors flitted through her mind like moths around a porch-light.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Crooked Creek Lodge

  Cheri Cappello was sitting on one of the western-styled sofas in the lobby as Grant and Jessie walked in. “Hi, Jess. You barely missed Arvid. He was just looking for you.” She peered curiously at Grant.

  “Thanks, Cheri. We’ll find him.” Jessie gestured toward Grant. “This is my friend, Grant Kennedy…Grant, this is Cheri Cappello, the gal showing all the fabulous beaded warshirts in the Yellowstone Room. Her Native American reproductions are exquisite.”

  Grant gave Cheri a blazing smile and nodded. “Nice to meet you. Warshirts, huh? Certainly not a common artform. Sounds intriguing. I’ll visit the room when I can give your work my full attention.”

  “If I’m in there, I’ll give you a bit of the historical background on each piece. There’s signage, but of course it’s brief. And I can tell you more than you’ll really want to know.” She grinned and turned to Jessie. “I thought I’d better tell you that Arvid isn’t the only one looking for you. Camille was asking me earlier if I’d seen you. I think she had a question concerning an acquaintance of yours.”

  “Ah,” Jessie said, her eyes twinkling. “Yes, I need to handle that little matter. Let’s visit later, Cheri. Right now, I’m on the run.” Then she nudged Grant and gave him a wicked smile. “Weren’t you going to deliver me to Russell?”

  Grant’s face darkened. “Let me try Arvid first.” He walked a few steps away, pulled out his phone and spoke rapidly when Arvid answered. Jessie heard him say, “And she wants to take Jack for a walk. Okay…okay…uh huh. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Arvid will meet us at your room before I go speak with Woodcastle.” He nodded po
litely again to Cheri and took Jessie by the arm.

  Jessie winked at her friend, who chuckled, did an eye roll, then gave her a lash-fluttering dramatic wink in return.

  “What’s all that about?” Grant asked as they stepped into the elevator.

  “That, my dear FBI honcho, is—as our friend Arvid would say—on a need to know basis.” Her face wore a smug expression. She imitated the big Norwegian, making her voice gruff and gravelly. “Yuh. A need to know basis. I’ll tell you on the first of next month.”

  Grant looked down at her, crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his feet planted wide apart…the standard FBI tough guy stance. “Won’t spill it, huh? I believe I need to up my interrogation game.” Then he caught on. “Hey, wait a minute. That’s April Fool’s Day.”

  They stepped out of the elevator to see Arvid waiting near Jessie’s door.

  *.*.*

  “My better half is downstairs practicing again,” Arvid told Jessie after Grant left. “You’d think as much as that woman plays the piano she’d burn out on practice—go up in flames—but she doesn’t.”

  “She loves it. Esther is never happier than when she’s running her fingers over the piano keys—or writing music.” Jessie shook the cat treat bag, and a sleepy-looking orange tom slithered out from under the bed, yawning widely. She tossed him a treat and grabbed the cat harness. His eyes narrowed when he saw the harness, but before he could duck back under the bed, Jessie grabbed him. Jack squirmed and grumped as Jessie fastened the harness around his wide belly, but as soon as it was secure, he started for the door.

  “Man, that’s a big cat. Tell the truth, Jessie. Did you actually have to buy a dog harness?”

  “I most certainly did not.” When Arvid stooped to stroke Jack’s head, Jessie quickly slid the bag of salmon morsels into the pocket of her light denim jacket.

  “That harness has a blue dog bone for a company logo, in case you haven’t noticed.” Arvid smirked.

  “It does not.” Jessie punched him lightly on the arm and opened the door. Surreptitiously, she glanced down at the cat harness just to make certain he was yanking her chain.

  *.*.*

  Out on the sidewalk, Jack pulled Jessie toward the right, and she allowed him to lead her around the lodge toward the back of the building.

  “Are we walking this cat, or is he walking us?” Arvid asked.

  Jessie gave him a dirty look and brushed her hair behind her ear. “I wanted to go this way. I’m sure not taking him out near the highway.”

  Behind the lodge, the terrain sloped upward to the woods with a concrete retaining wall set into the hillside. At the edge of the wall, the ground was leveled and graveled to form a tidy employee parking lot. The sidewalk ended near a huge metal dumpster near a kitchen delivery entrance. As they got closer to the dumpster, Jack began to yowl in emphatic tones.

  At the sound of his howls, two women in white aprons came out of the delivery entrance and looked around. One of them, a broad middle-aged woman, nodded at them, then reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. The other, a slight Hispanic woman, held a bowl in her hand. She looked uncertainly at Arvid and Jessie.

  Jack sniffed the air, feline nose twitching, and his yellow eyes zeroed in on the woman holding the bowl. Then his gaze swung expectantly toward the far trees. His tail twitched.

  “Oh,” the first woman said, looking at Jack with a smile. “Well, would you look at that big boy—walking on a leash just like my Petey.” She lifted her gaze to Jessie. “Petey’s my bulldog. Actually, he’s a boxer-bulldog mix. Love of my life, that dog.” As she took a drag on her cigarette, her eyes took on an expression of contentment. “We heard your cat, and thought it was the stray we’ve been feeding. It cries at the door, poor lost little thing.”

  Arvid and Jessie made sympathetic sounds.

  “You stayin’ here? Don’t suppose you want another cat, do you?”

  Jessie laughed. “I can hardly deal with the one I have.”

  Arvid gave a brief, “Nup.” His expression, however, was one of deep concern.

  “We figure somebody staying at the lodge a few weeks ago lost the poor thing. They’re probably several states away by now.”

  “Have you taken the cat to a vet to see if its chipped? A lot of people chip their cats so that if they get lost, it’s easy to find the owner.” Jessie reached down and stroked Jack’s broad head. “I’d be devastated if I lost Jack. I tried putting a collar on him with my name and phone number, but he gets it off every time. So I had him chipped.”

  “The little bugger won’t let me touch him, but honestly, it didn’t occur to me that people would chip a cat.” She gestured to the Hispanic woman. “Maybe Luciana here can pick her up, though. I’ll suggest it.” Chattering away to the Hispanic woman in Spanish, she made hand gestures, waving the lit cigarette wildly to emphasize her words.

  The woman, Luciana, shook her head, setting her mouth in a stubborn line.

  The only words Jessie caught were ‘gato’ and ‘no’. She glanced at Arvid and realized he was following the conversation perfectly.

  “Could of introduced myself, I guess. My name is Fran,” the smoker said. Arvid and Jessie nodded and gave her their names.

  “And I guess Luciana doesn’t want to take the cat to the vet because…well…she’s afraid she’d have to pay the vet something. She and her husband, Diego, are strapped for money. He does a lot of odd jobs for the hotel, but he hasn’t found regular work. Luciana can’t take the cat home because they’d have to buy cat food. It would be more expensive than feeding him table scraps from the kitchen. And they’d have to sneak it into their apartment, since their landlord doesn’t allow pets.”

  “Plus,” Arvid said to Jessie, “She’s terrified that her grandmother-in-law might eat it.”

  Fran grinned ruefully, pointing her cigarette at Arvid. “Thought I’d leave that out. Didn’t want to offend you.”

  “Yowr.” Jack stiffened, still staring expectantly toward the trees. Jessie followed his gaze. A tabby cat stood on top of the retaining wall, looking their direction.

  “That must have been what I saw yesterday from the lodge deck. I’ll bet Jack has been watching it from the window. That’s why he’s spent so much time looking out.”

  Luciana began a high-pitched calling, and the cat jumped down and disappeared, their view of it blocked by the cars in the parking lot. The Hispanic woman waved her arm in a shooing motion at Jessie and Arvid, indicating they should step back.

  “She thinks the cat will be afraid to come and get the food if there are strangers here,” Fran explained. “But it hasn’t seemed that skittish to me.”

  Soon, from under a blue Toyota, came a bedraggled looking striped cat. It made a beeline for the bowl Luciana set down for it and began greedily wolfing the scraps, giving worried sidelong glances at Jack and the two strangers. Fran was right, however, and it didn’t seem that frightened.

  Jessie’s heart melted. “Arvid. That cat looks awful. We have to do something.”

  “Yeah,” he said resignedly, “I knew you’d say that.” He scratched his chin, thinking. “I’ll go pull the truck around. See if you can catch him—or her—and we can drive over to a local vet and see if the cat has a chip. If it doesn’t, I ‘spose Esther and I can help you find a home for it. We’d need to borrow your cat crate to get it back to Sage Bluff.” He turned and strode purposefully back the way they’d come, muttering Norwegian words under his breath. Then he turned around and came back. “Give me your room key, Jess. I’ll run upstairs, put the yellow monster in the room and grab your cat crate. Probably the best way to get it to the vet, if you can actually catch it.” He held out his hand for her key, pocketed it and scooped Jack up. The big cat hung in his arms like a bag of sand, still looking at the tabby and the bowl of food. Arvid rolled the length of his leash into a manageable wad. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks, Arvid.” She beamed at him, and he gave her a casua
l salute.

  As soon as he left, Jessie sat down on the sidewalk a bit closer to Fran and Luciana. “Ask Luciana if she can find just a few more scraps, would you please, Fran? If she can place them in a line from the bowl over to me, maybe I can convince the tabby that I’m not a cat killer.”

  “Well, okay. But our break ends in ten minutes, so we can only help you for a few minutes longer.” She fired off rapid words to the other woman, who hustled back into the lodge kitchen. In record time, Luciana came back out with another bowl of scraps and handed it to Jessie. Then she took a few globs of meat from the bowl and made a path from Jessie to the stray. Muttering in unintelligible Spanish, she gestured wildly and crossed her palms over her heart. Jessie looked inquiringly at Fran.

  “She says if you catch her to please let us know later. And she says to thank you for having a good heart. And she says this cat likes chicken. Pollo.”

  “Pollo,” Luciana said emphatically, moving her arms in a flapping chicken motion.

  “Got it,” Jessie said with a grin. “Pollo it is.”

  Fran wished Jessie good luck and told her to leave the bowls anywhere and she’d retrieve them on her next break. The women opened the door into the lodge, Luciana tossing a worried glance and a ‘gracias’ over her shoulder before they disappeared inside.

  *.*.*

  By the time Arvid returned with the carrier, the tabby cat was nestled on Jessie’s lap as though he belonged there, kneading her lap with small white paws. Jessie’s rear ached from sitting on the cold concrete and her back was stiff, but she wore a happy smile.