She is buzzing back and forth, throwing shirts and sweaters and shelf trinkets across the room and onto the couch. I stick close to the far wall to stay out of the line of fire.
“I don’t get it, Gretchen. What’s going on?”
“My life is in danger, that’s what’s going on. I’m not about to let whatever happened to Marlene happen to me. By the way, you said you found out something about Marlene?”
I’ll say I found something…her corpse.
“You might want to sit down.” I try not to sound too morose. As it turns out, you can’t say that line and not sound morose.
“If I don’t sit down, will you refuse to tell me?”
“Well, no, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Okay, then. Let ‘er rip. At this point I’d find a piece of good news more shocking than anything you could tell me.”
I close my eyes and let it spill out: how and where I found Marlene, the large pair of scissors, the mass interrogation at Run For It. By the time I finish, she’s taken a seat on the couch.
“Oh, wow, Marlene’s dead,” she says to herself. Her skin begins to take on a sickly pallor.
“You were pretty close, weren’t you?” I speak as soothingly as possible. I know Gretchen wasn’t close to Marlene, but death hits us all differently, particularly when we’re young.
It takes a moment for it to register with Gretchen that I am speaking to her, but when it does she turns to me with large, bloodshot eyes. Her ginger hair is flat and oily. “No, you don’t get it. This confirms my worst fear.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m next to be murdered.”
I didn’t expect this revelation. How on earth could she know that?
“I can see you don’t believe me,” she continues. “But did you know the office where I work—where Marlene worked—was broken into last night?”
Gulp.
“I hadn’t heard that,” is my lame response. It was true enough, though. I had seen it, participated in it, but I had not heard about it.
Gretchen jumps from the couch, her animated arms taking swings at the air. “It was horrible, Lacy! I went to work like any other morning, but the window in front was all smashed in. There was glass everywhere. I was terrified.”
Terrified? You should have been there last night!
“Oh my, I didn’t know about that. I’m so sorry!”
I hate lying, but I see no way around it under the circumstances. Gretchen stares at the floor, nodding mindlessly, and I can tell she has no suspicions where I am concerned.
“I don’t think the word has gotten out, but the police know, of course. And Anderson.”
“Poor Anderson. He loses his wife and now this, and on the same day.”
“And that’s not all. He also lost his only employee.”
“You quit your job?”
“You bet I did. It isn’t worth dying for.”
I remember her off-the-wall comment about being the next to die and ask about it.
“Oh, there’s no doubt I’m in danger. Whoever broke into the office didn’t even steal anything. The computers and everything are still there. And I know he saw it because he was at my desk.”
“Your desk? Why do you say that?” It didn’t seem like there’d been enough time for the intruder to riffle Gretchen’s desk before making his way into Marlene’s office, where I’d been hiding. I wonder if there was something we’d missed.
“Look what he did to this award I won.” She holds up the base of her ‘Sew What?’ award in one hand and the needle I’d broken off in the other. “If this isn’t a message, I don’t know what is. Are you all right, Lacy? You look like you’re about to have a stroke or something.”
I become dizzy when it hits me that all the frantic activity in this little apartment is on account of my clumsiness with the award.
“Is that why you’re so scared?” I ask, though it is obvious.
“I’m not just scared, I’m freaking out. And I’m moving back in with my father. I said nothing could ever get me to do that, but I guess everything has its price.”
“You don’t get along with your father?”
“Given enough space we do okay, but I can’t stand living under his roof. Working with him is bad enough. He’s a total control freak. I suppose I am as well, but hey, it’s his genes, his fault, right?”
She manages a smile and I force one back. I feel horrible for this poor girl. Not only for her personal plight but for the fact that my own actions have led her to make some pretty significant life decisions. My mature way of handling it is to make an impulsive offer.
“Would you like to come stay with me?”
Gretchen stiffens and looks me in the eye. I can see her wheels spinning, considering the pros and cons of staying with me. If she knew I made the offer more out of guilt than altruism, I suspect her choice would be much easier. And different.
“With you? Are you serious?”
“Well, yes. I suppose so. Why not? I live alone, except for my cat. Do you like cats?” I force my lips closed at this point, lest I start babbling.
“I love cats. But I don’t want to put you out. My father isn’t the most easy-going guy, but he is old fashioned and sees it as his responsibility to take care of me. I hate living with him, but I wouldn’t feel bad about it. If I thought I was putting you out, I’d hate myself.”
“Well, you’re not putting me out at all, Gretchen. And I wouldn’t be taking care of you. You’re a grown woman. But you are in need and I’d like to think we are something like friends.”
“Of course, we are! I swear, it would only be temporary. Until they catch this madman and I can find another job. You’re sure you won’t mind?”
I’m not sure at all, but I can’t tell her that. “Not another word about it. Just get what you need and you can follow me over to my place. Oh, please excuse me.”
My ringtone blared out from inside my purse. It’s Ruby calling. I don’t want to speak to her in front of Gretchen lest something be said that she shouldn’t hear.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to step outside and return this call.”
“Go ahead.” The haze lifted from her eyes and her voice went an octave higher. “I’ll just need a few more minutes to finish up here. I’m not bringing everything, you know. I need a place to lie low until they find this maniac. I’m sure that won’t take long, right? Oh my gosh, I’m so excited we’re going to be roomies, Lacy. It’ll be like college.”
I take myself outside, feeling glad that someone is profiting from my impetuous sense of guilt. I ring up Ruby.
“There you are, Lacy,” Ruby says. She sounds as grumpy and impatient as usual, but I find it strangely comforting. “I was concerned when you didn’t answer.”
“I’m with Gretchen. I excused myself so we could talk.”
“Gretchen? I didn’t realize you two were social.”
“We’re not. But she’s going to be staying with me for a while.”
“So, you’re bypassing ‘social’ and going right to ‘domestic’?”
“It’s not exactly like that.”
“Isn’t it? You recall her name is on our suspect list?”
“Yes, but I really don’t think she’s a murderer.”
“I suppose letting her in where you sleep is one way of finding out. Perhaps we should alternate with the suspects—each will get a week in your home. When you show up dead, we’ll just check the sleeping schedule and we’ll have our killer.”
“Do you have a reason for calling, Ruby?”
“Yes, I do. I wanted to ask you not to make any plans for after work tomorrow. We need to pay a return visit to the scene of the crime.”
“The alley by Run For It?”
“That’s the dump site, dearie. We’re going to Chicken Hill.”
The prospect of going back to the woods with only a little old lady for protection doesn’t strike me as at all appealing, but I am once again prepared to trust Ruby’s judg
ment.
“I’ll swing by your place once I’m off. Do I need to bring anything?”
“Just yourself. And only yourself, please. Gretchen and any other would-be murderer you manage to court today can stay put, if it’s all the same with you.”
SEVENTEEN
Gretchen follows me home in her car, a little red bug, and we quickly get her settled into a guest bedroom. The bed has not been used in ages and the comforter is a bit musty, so I toss it in the washer while she unpacks and takes in the lay of the land. Meatball watches her from his perch atop the guest room dresser while I pound my head against my hand (in lieu of a wall) for having guilted myself into a roommate.
After a short while we gather in the living room with a tray of tea and sandwiches. Neither of us feel like a heavy dinner but we are too wired for sleep, so instead we nibble and chat. We start with life stories. Or, more to the point, life disappointments. I talk about my failed marriage and Gretchen opens up about her difficult relationship with her father and her reticence to stay working at his construction company.
I’d forgotten she quit her job today. How is she supposed to pay her own way without a job? I’m always one to lend a helping hand, but I don’t have the spare money to support another person. But I digress. After our little pity party, we get around to addressing the white elephant in the room.
I get the ball rolling by stating I didn’t like Marlene at all. This isn’t my way of being disrespectful of the dead, or of venting (well, maybe a little). It is my clumsy attempt to make Gretchen feel enough at ease to share with me her experiences with Marlene that she otherwise might not feel comfortable sharing. After all, I’m investigating a murder, and if I’m to be playing host to someone who knew the victim professionally I should take full advantage of it.
It worked. Gretchen became a fount of stories and anecdotes, each casting Marlene as a villain of varying degrees, from indifferent to outright thoughtless, from cold to vindictive. I cautiously inquire about Anderson, recalling the sighting of him with a younger redheaded woman, and monitor Gretchen’s reactions for any signs of suspicious discomfort.
There are none, but she does recount a recent event whereby she was at the office, making her way from her desk and along the hall. As she passed Marlene’s office the door swung open and a noticeably disenchanted Anderson exited. Before the door could close she caught sight of Marlene at her desk, her cheeks red and tear-streaked. Gretchen said it was about this time Marlene started avoiding her everywhere but at Run For It and runs they participated in together.
She says Marlene also became increasingly competitive, pushing herself hard to run faster and for longer stretches. Gretchen got the impression she was somehow the reason for her boss’s new obsession. Marlene was intent on not only beating her own best times, but also Gretchen’s. And Marlene picked the single toughest run—Chicken Hill—to prove her point.
“How do you know this?”
“She told me. More than once. Oh, she said it with a smile, tried to sell it to me as a friendly rivalry, but there was nothing friendly in her tone. And I have no interest in competing with her or anyone else. That’s not why I run.”
“Was she jealous of you?” I brace myself as I ask this, not sure how it will be received. I’m not getting the impression Gretchen is the mysterious ginger seen on Anderson’s arm, but I can’t rule it out based on what she’s given me thus far.
“Jealous? You mean of my speed?”
“Sure, that. Or jealous of you in other ways?”
Her eyes bob up and I perceive a slight head nod. She is about to open her mouth to answer when her cell phone screams and pulls her away from her thoughts.
“Please excuse me.” She glances at her phone screen. “It’s my dad, I guess I need to take it.”
I nod my consent and she disappears into her room where she remains for the next thirty minutes. She emerges perturbed at her father for being perturbed by her last-minute decision not to come back home. After that, the mojo of the evening had gone. We never settle back into our cozy spots in the living room, but instead retire to our respective bedrooms. In recompense for all the confusion he suffered with Gretchen coming in, Meatball finds himself plied with a second helping of treats and a copious amount of cuddles.
The next day at work is delightfully uneventful and I am surprised as the day progresses to find myself anticipating more and more the evening’s exploits with Ruby. Only a couple of hours of good daylight remain, not near enough for two people to do a proper search of Chicken Hill, but Ruby doesn’t strike me as the frivolous type. She must have a specific objective in mind. Or object, maybe. My body might be at my desk in my little front office, but my mind is off on a fantastic treasure hunt in the hills above Cedar Mill.
This morning I tossed some hiking clothes in the car to avoid having to go home to change. Gretchen is there and I don’t need her tagging along. I told her I’d already made plans with a friend for that evening, which is completely true. The knowing grin she flashed my way said she believed my ‘friend’ is of the male variety and I make no attempt to contradict the notion. Perhaps if enough people think I have an honest-to-goodness social life the universe will come around to the same way of thinking and provide me with one.
When 5 o’clock comes I take my bag of hiking clothes into the cramped office bathroom for a quick stand-and-change. I bid Caroline adieu and hightail it to Ruby’s, where she, as expected, is keeping watch for me.
Mine is the only car in the parking lot when we arrive at Chicken Hill. I am relieved by this as my mounting paranoia makes me sensitive to the fact I am a potential murder suspect returning to the scene of the crime. When Ruby and I make it up the first path and behind the cover of the tree line I feel my chest loosen and my lungs expand.
“We’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of us,” Ruby says over her shoulder.
“Should I keep my eyes open?”
“I would advise it, dear. The time to nap is not when one is traversing a wood.”
I’m still unsure if she is being literal or ironical when she responds like this, but I play along. “I mean should I be looking out for anything in particular?”
“Feel free to relax your eyes, dear. We’re headed to a particular spot in the path. The spot where I believe poor Miss Marlene disappeared herself.”
“I see. Wait—disappeared herself? Don’t you mean was made to disappear?”
Ruby slows her pace and turns my way. She touches my hand. “It’s true her killer would eventually disappear her, and very much against her will. But before that, she disappeared herself. And I believe I know where she did so.”
For a woman of a certain age who has only recently resumed good perambulating habits, Ruby keeps up a surprisingly consistent pace. Over rocky turns and up slippery slopes we pad, around sharp turns and under shadowy foliage we trek, until finally Ruby comes to a stop. We stand just ahead of a turn in the trail that is about two-thirds of the way along the one we’d taken days earlier for the run. To our left is the short railing that marks the drop off of the ‘canyon’. To our right is the woods. This is what holds Ruby’s attention. She is staring into the grass and walking slowly forward.
“Right here,” she finally says. I can’t tell what is different about this patch of green from the thousands of others we passed. Until I look closer. “People have been walking here.”
Ruby takes a deep swig of her water bottle as though to celebrate the discovery. Coming up for air, she says, “Good eyes, Lacy. But it was created by only one person, and right in the vicinity of the final big turn in the run. That’s what I was looking for.”
“Why were you looking for that?”
“We’re losing light. Follow me along the path and I’ll tell you.”
The path is faint, but there is no mistaking the depressed grass leading in a line from the dirt trail into the forest beyond. Ruby continues her explanation. “You mentioned how Marlene pledged to beat Gretchen’s time in the run. D
o you recall that?”
“Yes, and Gretchen brought it up again last night.”
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Marlene would say such a thing? She was a good enough runner, but Gretchen is better. And for beating one’s personal best, a trail run is nothing if not a series of disadvantages. Except under one circumstance.”
Having experienced firsthand how grueling a trail run is, I can’t imagine what advantage it could offer to one’s personal speed. “And under what circumstance could that be?”
Ruby giggled, pleased with herself for knowing something I don’t. “The only reason she could expect to overtake a runner like Gretchen is if she planned to cheat. And the only way she could cheat and expect not to get caught is if she cut across the woods at a particular point where there’d be few if any potential witnesses and ample opportunity to separate from the trail and run unencumbered in a straight line while Gretchen is slowed by the wide turn. That’s why it had to be in this vicinity.”
“When did you figure all this out?” I was impressed not so much that Ruby figured out Marlene cheated on her run as that she figured out where, how, and why it happened.
“Oh, in bits and pieces over the last couple of days. Last night I sat up with an overhead view of Chicken Hill—you know, those satellite images they have now are something else!—and the running statistics Stax was good enough to provide. Gretchen averaged a three-minute lead over Marlene the past several runs. Marlene would have been aware of this and sought a point in the run where she could gain on her by at least a minute. And that could only be at a roundabout.”
“But there are a number of roundabouts on Chicken Hill.”
“Yes, but this is the last of them. Any earlier there would have been too many risks, not the least of which being that Gretchen would have plenty of time to retake her lead. No, it had to be here. Ah! I believe I’ve found what I was looking for.”
Ruby stops in the middle of the slight trail we are following and motions to an almost non-existent veering-off to our right. Only because the grass is so tall here is it obvious that someone has been here.
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