“Okay, okay. I’ll be there soon.” He was getting sick of hearing Lance this and Lance that. Next thing he knew, Lance would be walking on water.
* * *
Lance owned the old Nelson place, a 360-acre dairy farm twenty miles west of town. Oscar Nelson had died in the tornado that hit Turners Bend the previous spring. The farm was auctioned off and no one came close to Lance’s bid. The locals called him a city slicker and speculated the only thing he knew about organic farming was what he read on the Internet. There was a betting pool at the Bend guessing how long he would last. Nevertheless, it hadn’t stopped all the naysayers from showing up for the barn dance.
When Chip approached the farm, the pasture was full of pickups and the barn was ablaze with lights. There were strings of lights hanging from all the trees surrounding the farmhouse. The yard was scattered with grinning Jack O’ Lanterns with candles glowing through their grotesque features. Ghosts and bats swung from tree branches. He could hear fiddle music and laughter from inside the barn.
Lucinda came out to greet him. She was wearing a short swing skirt and a western-style shirt. The shirt, with its top three buttons undone, looked two sizes too small, and Lucinda’s ample bosoms were bursting forth like a pair of ripe melons. Real deal, not fake, he thought. To complete the outfit she was wearing tooled, red leather cowboy boots and a white cowboy hat.
“It’s about time you got here. Lance has been looking for you. This is just so exciting. I’ve never had so much fun. Lance contacted the Central Iowa Square Dance Association and managed to get the Barn Owl Band and Hoot Jamison, the best caller in the area. Lance is going to teach me how to do-si-do and allemande right. Isn’t he adorable?”
“Who are you kidding, Lucinda? What’s with all this gushing sweetness? Where is the broad who can peel paper off the walls with her caustic remarks? I miss her.”
“Lance has changed all that. I’m a new woman. I’m in love.”
Chip groaned and mocked Lucinda’s voice. “Lance, Lance, Lance.”
She ignored him, took his arm and hauled him into the barn. “Come on, don’t be such a jerk.”
Chip had to admit to himself that the barn was pretty amazing. It had been transformed into the set of an old Broadway musical, maybe Oklahoma or State Fair. It definitely had a 1950s feel. Bales of hay were arranged for sitting. A long table brimming with food ran along one side. Jane was behind the table serving slabs of ribs dripping with barbecue sauce and crispy fried chicken.
“What’s that wonderful smell?”
“Oh, it’s the mulling spices from the hot cider. Or you could have cold beer, the kegs are over there in the tubs of ice,” Lucinda said.
“What are all those kids doing over there?” Chip pointed to a group of children kneeling around a huge sawed-off barrel in one of the empty cattle stalls.
“They’re bobbing for apples. Each child who gets an apple can bring it to the prize booth for a Halloween treat bag.”
“I remember doing that once as a kid. It freaked out my mother, who was always cautious about communal germs.” He watched the children dressed in homemade costumes reminiscent of the era … hobos, gypsies, cowboys and clowns. He recognized a Lone Ranger and a Little Orphan Annie. The Andrews twins were Raggedy Ann and Andy. Jessica Andrews seemed pleased with her appearance, but her brother, Justin, less so. Probably a little too cutesy for his taste.
The Barn Owl Band fiddlers were warming up, and Hoot Jamison was testing the microphone. “One, two, three, testing. Folks, we’ll be ready for the first dance in about five minutes, so find your partners.”
“I better find Lance. He promised the first dance to me,” said Lucinda.
“Guess, I’ll just mosey over to the food table and grab me some grub.”
Lucinda laughed and punched him in the arm. “Now you’re getting into the spirit of the party.” Chip watched her as she wiggled her hips seductively through the crowd.
Jane smiled at him from behind the buffet table. Her face was glowing and her blue eyes sparkled. He hadn’t seen her look so happy in months. If Lance Williams was the source of that happiness, he feared he would just have to saddle up and ride out of town into the sunset and die in the desert.
“The plates are at that end, down by the salads,” Jane said.
Chip followed Jane’s directions. He helped himself to cole slaw and potato salad and chose strawberry jello from the gem-colored array of jello salads. He took a foil-wrapped baked potato, a scoop of green bean casserole and sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top. He chose a corn muffin from the basket of breads and moved down to where Jane was serving the meat.
“Ribs or chicken or both?” she asked.
“What the heck, both.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Chip. After such a difficult year here in Turners Bend, this is just what the town needed. Lance has really knocked himself out with this affair. He’ll be the new town hero.”
“Do you mean replacing me?”
“Oh, you’re still our only celebrity … well, our only author. I hope you’ll dance with me later.” She smiled coyly.
Is she flirting with me? Could this be another “Chip gets lucky” night? Her manner cheered Chip considerably. Maybe he was still number one with Jane. He found a vacant hay bale where he sat and ate his dinner. The dancing had begun and Lucinda and Lance were just finishing dancing to a rousing “Turkey in the Straw.” Lucinda threw her arms around him, and Lance lifted her feet off the ground in a big bear hug.
Chief Fredrickson sat down next to him and sipped from a big plastic cup of beer. He licked the suds from around his lips and gazed out at the dancers. “Got another mystery in the mail today. You might want to come by the station and have a look tomorrow.”
“Did Jim come up with anything on that form?”
“Turned out to be a generic form used by most of the milk processing companies. Guess the best we can say is that the sender is either a dairy farmer or works for one of the companies. Not much help, is it?”
“What arrived today?”
“Don’t think this is the time or place to talk about it. I’ll show you tomorrow. I better join Flora and push her around the dance floor or I’ll never hear the end of it. Look at her, isn’t she a sight?”
Flora was indeed a vision … dressed in a traditional square dance dress, complete with puffed sleeves and a full skirt over layers of crinoline. Chip was surprised to see she was a graceful dancer, despite her considerable girth. He was reminded of the dancing hippos in Disney’s Fantasia.
Chip first danced with Jane, then Lucinda and later with Flora and Bernice. He and Sharon promenaded to “Buffalo Girl.” He was always going right when everyone else was going left and up when everyone else was going down.
Despite his initial reluctance and clumsiness, he was enjoying himself. The gaiety in the room was contagious, and his spirit was buoyed by the music and movement.
“How are things with the mother-in-law situation, Sharon?”
“Lordy, if you hear she’s been bumped off, you’ll know I was the perp. This morning she fixed Robert’s eggs ‘the way Sonny likes them,’ like I can’t scramble a damn egg right. Don’t get me started on her, Chip.”
After a few more dances Chip counted the donations and was very pleased at the amount of money donated for the Bijou renovation. Fifteen thousand dollars was beyond his expectations. A generous contribution by one anonymous donor added significantly to the total. He strongly suspected that donor was Iver, who in the past had given surprising amounts to the town.
Chip purposely avoided Lance until about midnight, when Lance sought him out. “Are you having a good time, Chip?”
Chip decided to suck it up and be cordial. “Great event, Lance. Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time, and we took in a bundle for the theater.”
“How much?”
“Just over fifteen thousand.”
Lance whistled. “Not bad, huh? But I can’t take all the credit. Lucin
da and Jane helped a lot. They’re bringing out the desserts and coffee now, so I better get over there and help my fair ladies.”
Chip took a breath, got up his nerve and asked the question that had been plaguing him for days. “Is one of them the ladylove you told me about?”
“Sure is,” Lance said over his shoulder as he smiled and strolled toward the buffet table. Chip watched as he put one arm around Lucinda and the other around Jane.
Just when Chip was pretty sure Lucinda was Lance’s target, doubt raised its ugly head again. Could it be Jane instead?
He consoled himself with a piece of carrot cake, a slice of cherry pie and a cup of hot coffee, then went back for a handful of chocolate chip cookies. He was stuffing his face and stuffing his feelings. He had fun, but still felt like such a loser, especially in contrast to the suave Lance. He wanted to escape unnoticed, go home, and stew in his own self-doubt.
He slipped out the door and returned home to his household of faithful pets. He stayed up until 2:00 a.m. writing another chapter of Mind Games.
Chapter Eighteen
Mind Games
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Early August
The Hunter closed his laptop. The Ghost Rider tracking device he installed on Jo’s car showed she was still away from home, but he felt a need to be in her world again.
He quickly crept along the hedges in the alleyway until he reached her home, thankful that Jo kept late hours while the rest of her neighborhood slept. The street was quiet, with only a television screen glowing a bright blue through the curtains of an insomniac’s house. The Hunter sank into the shadows until they swallowed him whole.
His ears strained for sounds of late-night dog walkers or other nocturnal activity. He heard the distant thrum of the traffic on Interstate 35W running parallel to the neighborhood and the deep-throated bark of the St. Bernard that lived four houses down. He waited until the dog had settled back down for the night. Finally satisfied that he had not raised any suspicions from the neighbors, he crouched down by the fence surrounding Agent Schwann’s house and quickly pushed aside the boards he had loosened earlier in the week.
The Hunter climbed into her yard, feeling a slight tug on his shirt sleeve where it caught on a nail. He reached up to loosen the fabric and once he had climbed through, he pulled the boards back into place.
The night air was sticky and he felt a trickle of sweat down his back. The fluttering grew in his belly. Normally, he was content to watch her on his computer screen. The video cameras he had installed around her house were top-notch.
But it wasn’t enough now. Tonight he decided he needed to see her, in the flesh.
He stood on the edge of the yard, where he had an unobstructed view outside her bedroom window. Jo’s house was a1920s, two-story white stucco, with the corners edged in stone. From this side of the house, he had a clear view into the den and the first floor master bedroom.
The agent had security lights, of course, which flicked on with any movement in the yard. However, earlier in the week, the Hunter had lured a wandering dog onto the property with the toss of a hamburger into the yard, and he was able to identify what areas stayed in the shadows.
The Hunter settled in, waiting for her to come home. He pulled the bottle of ibuprofen out of his pocket and shook three pills into his palm. Wincing, he swallowed them dry. He hated to admit it, but the headaches were starting up again. Not as bad as before, but getting there. They’re just stress-related. Nothing more. They will disappear when Jo is mine.
When he saw the headlights of a car, his heart sped up as he thought about Jo. But when he peeked around the corner toward the front of the house, he saw a green and white taxi idled at the curb. A tall, well-dressed man stepped out with a suitcase. He reached into the open front window of the car and talked to the driver, reaching in his pocket for his wallet.
As the taxi pulled away, the man turned toward Jo’s house. In the light of the street lamp, the Hunter had his first good look at the passenger. His breath caught in his throat. The man was Dr. John Goodman.
* * *
John directed the cab driver to the last turn toward Jo’s house. He loved this old neighborhood. It felt like coming home, in more ways than one.
Still, he had to stop his leg from jangling every time he thought about what being here again meant. He hadn’t called because he knew she would only try to talk him out of coming. I’m still not quite sure what this is. Did he want to uproot and live a life here, with her? All he knew for sure was the last few weeks without her had been miserable.
He looked down and was surprised to see he still clutched his boarding pass. John smiled when he thought of Sally, his office manager, since she was the one who was responsible for him being here. She had stormed into his office that morning and announced, “John, you look terrible. You’ve bitten my head off twice this morning and it’s not even nine. If you don’t get your head out of your ass and tell that special agent of yours you’ve screwed up royally and beg her forgiveness, I’m going to quit. So take this ticket and get your butt to the airport. Your flight leaves at five.” She slapped the boarding pass on his desk and left abruptly.
Leave it to Sally to cut through all the bullshit. Of course, he knew Sally would never quit. She had been with him from the beginning and was the only one besides Jo who ever called him out on his behavior. At sixty-five years old, she was well past the age when she felt the need to coddle anyone. And besides, Sally was right. He was being an idiot as far as Jo was concerned.
So here he was, in Minneapolis, worried that Jo might just slam the door in his face.
Finally, the cab pulled up in front of Jo’s house. His hand shook just a bit as he handed the cab fare to the driver and grabbed his overnight bag off the seat. Rolling his eyes at his clumsy behavior, he thought of the hundreds of brain surgeries he had performed without a tremor, and here he was trembling because he was about to see Jo again. His heart pounded when he looked up at the door to her house. Grabbing the door handle, he took a deep breath and stepped out on to the curb. Here we go.
It was a dark, cloudy evening and the vee of yellow light from the light fixture above Jo’s front door guided him like a beacon. Climbing the steps, he fought to slow down his galloping heartbeat. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then pushed the doorbell, anticipating the look on Jo’s face when she opened the door.
When he had waited for what seemed an eternity, he pushed the bell once more, this time peeking into the sidelight beside the door. He was startled to see a small shadow at his shin level just on the other side of the glass. Crouching down, he could hear the plaintive mewling of a kitten, and he saw its eyes glowing. “Well, well, well. Looks like Jo picked up a boarder since I was here last.”
His fingers closed around the key in his front jeans pocket. Jo had given it to him the last time he’d been here, because she had to go to work before his flight back to Baltimore. At least that’s what she had told him, but he felt it meant so much more, that she would trust him with a key to her world.
The key slipped from his sweaty hand, and he cursed to himself as he bent over to retrieve it. He unlocked the front door and flicked on the light switch. Immediately, the cat wound its way in and out of his legs. He set his suitcase down and scooped up the kitten. It purred contentedly as he stroked its soft fur. John chuckled and said, “Well, at least one family member thinks I belong here. Let’s hope your roommate agrees.”
He put the cat on the floor and looked around. Everything in the room reminded him of Jo and he felt happy he’d come. In spite of the nervousness he felt about whether or not he’d be welcome after their last conversation, being here, in Jo’s house, felt absolutely right.
John turned around at a noise and saw the kitten gnawing on the white and black luggage claim ticket on the handle of his suitcase. Crouching down, he gently pulled the tag away from her and removed it from the bag. “That can’t be good for you to chew on. Let’s go find you
some food, instead.”
He tossed the luggage tag into the wastepaper basket next to Jo’s desk in the den and then strode into the kitchen, the kitten on his heels. After locating the cans of cat food in her pantry, he filled the kitten’s food dish.
John leaned against the counter, watching the little creature lap up her food. He looked at his watch, tempted to call Jo. She’s probably still on duty, but surely she’ll be home soon. He was exhausted from a full day at work, the race to the airport and the long flight here.
He moved back into the den. Stretching out on the couch, his six-foot-four frame spilling over the edges, he thought about what he’d say to Jo when she got home. Would she be glad to see him? Shocked? Or just flat out pissed?
An unsettling thought hit him. What if Jo isn’t simply working late but out on a date? They had said their goodbyes, after all. And it had been two weeks. Maybe Jo was ready to move on. Suddenly, John felt foolish for charging in here.
Deep in thought, he almost missed the light rap on the front door. He was startled out of his musings and jumped up to answer the door. Jo wouldn’t knock at her own house, unless she was startled to see lights on in her house. Who else would be here at this time of the night? He called out, “Who is it?”
* * *
When Jo arrived home, she kicked off her shoes at the door. Cleo came running and greeted her with a happy meow. Jo reached down and stroked her ears, “Good evening, sweet girl. I’ll bet you’re hungry. Sorry I’m so late.”
She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a can of cat food from the pantry. She flipped open the top and spooned the contents into the cat’s dish. Cleo neatly sniffed at the bowl and then turned her back on it. Jo shook her head, “Well, aren’t we getting finicky? I thought you’d scarf it down, after all this time.” She shrugged her shoulders, “It’s there if you change your mind. I’m taking a long bath and then you are on your own.”
Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder Page 10