by Joni Folger
As these disturbing thoughts swirled around in his head, a knock from the doorway snagged his attention. He looked up just as Jim Stockton sauntered into the office and plopped down in the visitor’s chair.
“Garrett Larson is here for his interview, right on time, I might add. I put him in Interview One when you’re ready for him.” Jim tilted his head and gave Jackson a questioning look. “I know that frown, son. Something’s got you worried. Spit it out.”
Jackson nodded toward the board he’d put together for the homicides of both Divia Larson and Grace Vanderhouse. Of the six clear suspects he’d had in the Larson case as recently as yesterday, only three names remained on the board.
“I was just pondering the fact that we’re running out of suspects for Divia Larson’s murder at the speed of light.” He shook his head. “We’re down by fifty percent in just twenty-four hours. And the same goes for Grace Vanderhouse.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Jim glanced at the board and pursed his lips. “We both know that Abigail DeVries didn’t kill the Larson woman, no matter what the circumstantial evidence says.”
“I agree. And Divia Larson didn’t go to her death without a struggle. She fought mightily with someone before succumbing to the poison she’d ingested, and that struggle would’ve left signs. Hell, she grabbed someone or something so hard it snapped off several of her fake nails right to the quick. And the bruising around her wrists, the scratches around her neck?” Jackson shook his head. “Miss Abby was neat as a pin when we got there. And her fingerprints weren’t found anywhere else in the room with the exception of the wine bottle and the door knob.”
“Yep, and the wine bottle had no trace of the poison,” Jim commented with a thoughtful nod. “Of course, she could’ve cleaned up after herself, washed the other glass, and then carefully set Mrs. Larson’s tainted glass on the dresser next to the bottle. But why bother with all of that only to leave fingerprints on the bottle itself?”
“That was my thought exactly. If you’re going to clean up, be thorough. And Miss Abby is nothing if not thorough.” Jackson chuckled. “If she’d killed Divia and wanted to get away with it, we wouldn’t have found one single trace to link her to the crime—she’d have made sure of that. Plus, she was at River Bend at the time of the Vanderhouse murder.”
“You and I are both of the mind that the two murders are connected.” Jim shrugged. “So, that leaves Toby Raymond or Garrett Larson.”
“Yeah. Or someone we haven’t considered yet—or even know about.” Jackson squinted at the board. “And that’s what’s got me worried. I have this gut feeling that we’re missing something. Some piece of the puzzle that we haven’t stumbled across yet.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have that same feeling.” Jim got up and stepped closer to study the board. After a moment, he tapped Grace’s photograph with a fingertip. “Here’s another thing I don’t get. I can see either Raymond or Larson committing the first murder, but Vanderhouse? Supposedly, until Friday, Raymond hadn’t even seen her since he was a boy. And as far as we know, Larson didn’t even know her nor did he have any idea of her history with his new wife and stepson. So even with opportunity, where’s the motive?”
“That’s a great question.” Jackson got up and gathered his files. “How about we go get some answers, starting with Garrett Larson?”
Down the hall in Interview One, Larson looked up from the small notebook in his hand as Jackson and Jim entered the room.
“Thanks for coming in on short notice, Mr. Larson,” Jackson said. Pulling out a chair, he sat down opposite the man and laid his files on the table between them.
Jim took the chair to Jackson’s left and turned on the recorder, stating the date, time of interview, and those in the room.
“Sir, do you understand why we’ve asked you to come in today?” Jackson asked, opening one of the files and making a show of looking through the pages before training a serious gaze on the man.
Larson nodded and looked Jackson directly in the eye. “I’m assuming it’s because you’ve checked out the statement I gave you on Friday night and now realize I was less than truthful with you.”
“That’s exactly right. Would you like to amend your statement now for the record? Because we both know you didn’t attend that conference in Austin like you said you did. I’m going to need to know where you actually were on Friday between seven and seven-thirty when your wife was murdered.”
The man closed the little notebook and fumbled around with his pen as if he was uncertain where to begin. But when he finally launched into his story—a tale of infidelity and illegitimate children—Jackson was taken by surprise. This was definitely not what he’d been expecting, an affair perhaps, but not a long-lost daughter from an indiscretion years before.
“So, to clarify for the record,” Jim said. “You were with your daughter and her family all day Friday until arriving at the Lost Pines Motel at just after eleven p.m. Is that correct?”
Larson sighed and ran a hand through his gray hair. “Yes, Deputy, that is correct.”
Jim nodded. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to need your daughter’s contact information to substantiate this new statement.”
“Understood,” the man said and gave Jim his daughter’s name and number. “I called Carrie-Ann on Sunday and explained everything. She’s awaiting your call.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me this on Friday night, Mr. Larson?” Jackson asked. “You could have simply mentioned that you were with your daughter and her family and wouldn’t have had to drag out all the rest. I understand that your wife didn’t know, but at that point it didn’t really matter anymore, did it? Why give me an alibi that you knew I’d check out and disprove?”
Larson put up a hand, a hang-dog look on his face. “I know, I know, it was stupid. But in my defense, I was in shock. You’d just told me that my wife had not only died but that she’d been murdered. It was naïve to think you wouldn’t corroborate my statement, and that it wouldn’t lead straight to my daughter and her family, anyway. I’m truly sorry if I caused you any extra work or muddled the situation in any way.”
“One other question,” Jim said. “Where were you on Sunday between three and four o’clock in the afternoon? Were you out at the festival at all that day?”
Larson shook his head. “No. In the morning I went for breakfast in town, but when I got back I didn’t leave the motel again all day. Actually, I think I was talking to my daughter on my cell in the breezeway about that time. I saw Mrs. Wilson with her laundry cart and waved. She could probably tell you what time that was for sure.”
“Thanks for clearing that up as well,” Jackson said. “The medical examiner is ready to release your wife’s remains. As soon as we’ve verified your revised statement, you can make arrangements for committal services.” He made a couple notes of his own and then closed the folder in front of him. Pulling out a business card, he handed it across the table. “If you think of anything that might have a bearing on your wife’s death or may help in any way, no matter how trivial it seems, please give me a call. I promise you, we’ll do everything we can to bring the person responsible for her death to justice.”
The older man’s eyes watered up and he cleared his throat, obviously working to get his emotions under control. “Thank you, Deputy Landry. I appreciate all your hard work on Divia’s behalf, and I know you’ll do your best.”
“This concludes the interview with Garrett Larson,” Jim stated for the record at Jackson’s nod, and then turned off the recorder.
“And then there was one,” Jackson said the minute Larson had left the room. “At this rate, Toby Raymond is going to have to walk in here and confess, or we’re out of suspects and totally screwed.”
Jim moved to the other side of the table and sat in the chair vacated by Larson. “Now don’t panic, boss. It could happen,” he said with a grin. “H
e might be so wracked with guilt that he comes in here and confesses to both homicides. Case closed … or cases closed.”
Jackson shot the other deputy a wry smile. “You’re so funny. You’re killing me here.” He rubbed his eyes and then stretched trying to work out a kink. “Seriously, though. If Raymond has a solid alibi, too, I don’t know where we go from here.”
Jim shook his head. “We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it.” He looked at his watch. “Twelve-thirty on the nose. Raymond should be here any minute.”
As if conjuring him up by words alone, Deputy Yancy stepped in at that moment to tell them that Toby Raymond had arrived.
“Well, let’s go see what he has to say,” Jim said. “We’ll keep our fingers crossed about the confessing deal.”
Jackson gathered his files, and they moved down the hall to Interview Two where Yancy had left Raymond to wait. As they entered the room and got a good look at the man, Jackson thought that perhaps Jim’s tongue-in-cheek comments about the confession might not be too far off the mark.
Raymond looked terrible. Disheveled and haggard, with dark circles under his eyes, he looked as if he’d been up all night or perhaps recovering from a binge. And the man was nervous. You could almost feel the tension in the air around him.
“Hey, Toby,” Jackson said as he sat down across from him at the table. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”
Raymond scrubbed his hands over his face and then turned his red-rimmed eyes on Jackson. “I’ve been better. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”
“Well, hopefully, this won’t take long.” Jim repeated the process with the recorder stating date, time, and participants, signifying the commencement of the interview.
“Is that really necessary?” Toby asked, eyeing the recorder.
“Yes. I’m afraid so, Toby. We need you to clear some things up for us,” Jackson responded, “for the record.”
Toby frowned and looked as though he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. “Things?” he repeated. “What things?”
“For starters, where you were Friday night,” Jim asked him.
The man looked from Jackson to Jim and back to Jackson again. “I was with you at the restaurant on Friday when Ms. DeVries called about my mother. Remember?”
Jackson nodded, but gave Toby a narrowed look. “Yeah, but, Toby, you arrived late. You never clarified where you were beforehand when I asked you earlier. Now we need to know.”
Raymond’s anxiety seemed to jump a notch, and he hemmed and hawed. “I-I went back to the room to change my clothes and then drove straight to the restaurant.”
“And what would you say if I told you that someone had seen you coming out of your mother’s room right around the time of her death?” Jackson asked.
It was yet another ruse, but bluffing had worked pretty well for him through the last few interviews. And it looked like it was going to work for him again.
Raymond’s shoulders slumped, and he leaned on the table with his face in his hands. After a moment, he took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, I should have told you straight out the minute you asked, but I was distraught, and I knew how it would look.”
“Should have told me what, Toby? Were you in your mom’s room at that time?”
Wringing his hands, the man swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. And we argued.”
“Argued about what?” Jim asked.
“About Grace.”
Jackson didn’t think it was possible, but the man’s condition seemed to deteriorate even further, and his eyes took on a distant look.
“I was ten years old when we left Georgia in the middle of the night. Mom said we had to leave because my biological father had found us, and that he was a loser with a violent nature. She was afraid of him. At least, that’s what she always said.”
He took another deep breath before continuing. “Anyway, a few months later Mom told me that both Grace and Walker Vanderhouse had been killed in a terrible accident. And she alluded to the fact that she thought my biological father might have had something to do with their deaths, that maybe it hadn’t been an accident at all.”
“But Grace wasn’t dead, was she, Toby?” Jim asked. “And you found that out at the festival. Is that what you argued with your mother about?”
Raymond nodded. “I’d heard Elise mention Grace’s name and knew there was no way it was a coincidence. I confronted Mom about it in the parking lot on Friday afternoon, but she said I must’ve misunderstood. She wouldn’t even discuss it.”
Jackson remembered witnessing that argument from a distance, remembered Elise commenting on it before they’d headed out on the bike.
“And between that confrontation and going to her room right before her death, you tracked Grace down, right?” Jackson asked. “Because Grace told us Divia came to see her, wanted to talk to her. Your mother asked Grace to come to her motel room later that evening, and though she didn’t want to, Grace complied.”
Toby nodded. “I know. But Grace wasn’t there long, and when I saw her leave, I went down to Mom’s room to have it out with her.”
The man paused and rubbed his eyes as if trying to rub away the exhaustion residing there. When he looked up at Jackson, it was with incredible sadness for what had been lost. “Walker Vanderhouse was the only father I’d ever known, Jackson. My mother cleaned out the man’s bank accounts and spirited me away in the middle of the night, for God’s sake. Grace told me what happened to her dad after we left Georgia, how Walker had just given up. I wanted to know how my mother could’ve done such terrible things. She left Grace and her father without a penny, took me away from the only real family I’d ever had. I mean, what mother does that?”
“Toby, did you kill your mother?” Jackson asked flat out in a quiet tone. “Did the argument get out of hand? Is that what happened? Did you poison her?”
“No!” Toby shouted, a horrified look crossing his gaunt face. “We argued and when I went to leave, she grabbed the front of my jacket. I shoved her away from me and stormed out. That must be when I lost the button on my jacket, but I swear she was angry and shouting nasty things at me from the doorway but very much alive when I left the room.”
Jim got up and poured a cup of water from the dispenser in the corner. When he walked back to the table with it, Toby literally grabbed it from his hand before he could set it on the table and guzzled it down like a man dying of thirst.
“Look, Jackson,” he said at length. “My mother was a piece of work, granted, but she didn’t deserve to die that way. Nobody does. I didn’t kill her, or Grace, for that matter, but I’m pretty sure I know who did.”
twenty-two
Elise made her way down to the Wine Barrel just before the noon hour and then had to wait while Madison concluded a sale for a couple of tourists. It seemed to take her forever, and Elise was chomping at the bit by the time she’d finished.
“So, where’re you girls off to for lunch?” Abigail asked when Madison pulled her purse out from under the counter and searched for her car keys.
Elise shrugged and was noncommittal. “Haven’t decided just yet, Gram. We’re going to head into town and stop whenever the urge strikes.”
“But don’t worry, Gram,” Madison began as Elise took her arm and herded her toward the door. “We won’t be too long. I’ll make certain of that,” she said over her shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah,” Elise whispered into her sister’s ear. “Keep it moving. We haven’t got all day.”
Madison jerked her arm out of Elise’s grasp the minute they were outside. “Oh my God! What’s the matter with you? I don’t need you tugging on me like I was some kind of wayward child, you know.”
Elise rolled her eyes as she climbed into the passenger side of Madison’s economical hybrid compact. “I thought you wanted to get out there and back with no dallying. You
were the one bitching about it earlier.”
“No, I wasn’t.” Madison started the car and backed out of her space. “I was merely pointing out—quite correctly I might add—that you have no business snooping around another one of Jackson’s crime scenes.”
“Uh, since you’ve agreed to go with me, don’t you mean we have no business snooping around? Besides, this is different,” Elise argued, rubbing her forehead where her headache was beginning to return. “Lost Pines is a very public place, so what trouble can we possibly get into? Plus, it won’t be long before Jax releases the room, anyway. Then the Wilsons will have it cleaned and rented again in the blink of an eye. I just want a quick peak before they do.”
“But why do you want to go in there?” Madison asked with a tiny shudder. “I think it’s just plain creepy.”
Elise shook her head and glanced out the side window at the acres of grapevine rows they were passing. Hadn’t she asked herself that very question several times over the last day or so? She still didn’t have a decent answer. She only knew she needed to see it for some intangible reason that she couldn’t seem to shake.
“I don’t know, Maddy,” she said after a moment. “Something has been nagging at me for the last few days, and I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Well, this trip had better take care of that nagging, big sister, because I’m only doing this once.”
They pulled into the parking lot at Lost Pines Motel twenty minutes later, and Madison parked directly in front of the room where Divia had been poisoned.
Elise turned to her sister before opening the car door. “Now listen, we need to get the key from Harriet, so let me do the talking. It’ll have to be handled very carefully.”
“Whatever, Secret Agent Girl,” Madison muttered as they both climbed from the vehicle and headed over to the motel office.