“How long ago was that?” Sherri asked. “Do you remember?”
“Of course I do. It was right when Rowena was getting ready to open up her shop. And I’ll tell you what else I remember. That girl was furious when she found out what a louse her stepfather was. Told Rowena she should have known the guy was only looking for a meal ticket.”
“No boyfriends since?” Rowena had told Liss that she and Simeon Snowe had kept their relationship quiet. Now she had to wonder if that had been more her idea than his. Five times burned would tend to make a woman shy of a sixth disaster.
“None that I know of.” Color crept into his face as he leaned across his worktable. “Asked her out myself once, but she turned me down flat.”
Sherri glanced at her watch as she left the computer repair shop. It was time to head back to Dance-Ex. If she got a move on, she could show John Doe’s picture to the women in Liss’s aerobics class before they scattered. She was considering what questions to ask Juliette Cressy and Kitty Sloan when a New Boston police cruiser pulled in at the curb in front of her and a uniformed officer emerged from the car.
Movement in the window of the barbershop caught her eye. Its unfriendly owner was watching her through the plate glass. Dollars to doughnuts, he was the one who’d called the cops.
Sherri shifted her attention back to the officer, her gaze dropping to the small nameplate pinned to his jacket. She bit back a smile. The barber had done her a favor. She was about to make the acquaintance of Pete’s old friend Mike Jennings.
The aerobics class was over, but everyone except Josie Underhill was still in the changing room when Sherri turned up. Liss introduced her friend to the others and stood aside, resigned to the inevitable, when Sherri produced the sketch of John Doe.
Hearing one woman after another say she’d never seen him before got old fast. Liss wandered out into the hallway that ran between the changing room and Juliette’s office. She didn’t intend to snoop, but the office door was open. She was just in time to see Juliette reach into the top drawer of her desk, withdraw a bulging envelope, and hand it over to Josie.
Before either one of them could look her way, Liss hustled on into the studio. Had she really seen what she thought she had? Or had Sherri’s speculations colored her perceptions?
She waited until she was buckled into the passenger seat of Sherri’s car to tell her friend about the incident. “I can’t swear to it,” she added, “but it sure looked like there was money inside that envelope.”
“Josie? Which one was she?”
“The redhead.”
“Is she friends with Kitty Sloan?”
“Friendly enough to kid each other about sex.” Liss repeated what she could remember of their exchange the first day she’d gone to aerobics class.
Sherri laughed. “That fits.” She turned the key in the ignition but made no move to pull out of their parking space. “None of the women in the class recognized John Doe, but when I showed the picture to Juliette Cressy, she stared at it for a very long time.”
“Had she seen him?”
“She said no. But then, she told you she’d never met Simeon Snowe.” Sherri set the car in motion, but she drove only as far as Madison’s.
“We have coffee at the house,” Liss said.
“But this, from what you’ve told me, is one of New Boston’s primo gathering places.” Sherri opened the car door. “If you spot Harlan Woolgar, point him out to me.”
“You’ll notice the dog first—a beautiful golden retriever.”
“Like that one?”
Only then did Liss notice that Jonas was tied to the bench in front of Madison’s. She scrambled after Sherri as her friend crossed the street. She didn’t have to guess what Sherri intended to ask Harlan Woolgar. Rowena had said he was a regular consumer of Juliette’s “private lessons.” Liss glanced through the window of the café in time to see Woolgar heading straight for them, a bag of freshly ground coffee in one hand.
“Oh, shoot! He’s already on his way out.”
Sherri reached the door a moment before it opened, the sketch of John Doe at the ready. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, blocking his way. “Could you take a look at this, please? Have you ever seen this man?”
Woolgar glanced at the paper and shook his head. “Don’t know him. Sorry.”
Sherri caught his arm in a firm grip and passed the picture off to Liss. “Why don’t you show this around inside while I have a few words with Mr. Woolgar?”
Reluctantly, Liss did as she was told. She kept an eye on Sherri through the plate-glass window and saw that her friend had convinced Woolgar to sit with her on the bench. Heads close together, they engaged in an intense conversation.
Liss made short work of her assignment. In a repeat performance of the scene at the dance studio, no one in the coffee shop recognized the artist’s rendering of John Doe. She stepped back outside in time to hear Harlan Woolgar laugh and say, “I don’t see what has you so riled up. Lots of folks know what’s going on. Nobody much cares.”
“Does her mother know?”
“Rowena? Of course not. But then, she lives on another planet. Was born on one, the way she tells it.” Still chuckling, Woolgar gave Sherri a polite nod, and he and Jonas ambled away.
Liss sank down next to Sherri. “The mind boggles. Did he actually confirm that Juliette is a prostitute?”
“He did. It gave him the opportunity to brag about his active sex life. He said, and I quote, that he sees ‘no harm in paying for services rendered.’ ”
“And why does he think you showed him John Doe’s picture?”
“I’ve no idea, unless he assumes the dead guy was also a customer. Who knows? Maybe he was.” Sherri hit the button on her key chain to unlock the car as she rose from the bench. “We’d better get going. The boys will be wondering what happened to us.”
“What are you going to do next?”
“There’s nothing I can do for the moment. I’m way out of my jurisdiction. But there are a couple of ears I intend to drop hints into. And thanks to a conversation I had with Mike Jennings this morning, I think it’s safe to say that the authorities will have a spy in the enemy camp if they want one. I may be off base to think Purvey is capable of murder—although the jury’s still out on that one—but he’s definitely guilty of dereliction of duty.”
They made the trip back to the Christmas tree farm in silence. So many puzzles, Liss thought, and so few answers. Chances were good that they’d never know what had happened to Simeon Snowe or who John Doe really was. Unless Gina’s package contained a surprise solution, they’d head home in a few hours, taking those questions with them.
Liss had completed the task Gina had set for her. Andy was better off for their visit to New Boston. But Liss hated the fact that Rowena would inevitably end up being hurt. She liked the older woman. She would be devastated to see her only child disgraced and put on trial.
When they pulled into the parking area at the farm, Liss’s thoughts were still on Rowena. She did not look up until Sherri uttered a muffled expletive.
Two state police cruisers and a state police crime-scene trailer were parked next to Dan’s truck.
On the verge of panic, Liss’s imagination supplied a dozen horrible scenarios, each more terrifying than the last one. “Dan,” she whispered.
“Relax,” Sherri said. “Dan and Pete are standing right there on the front porch. They’re both fine.”
But one of the officers was taking a body bag out of the trunk of his cruiser.
It was some time before Liss and Sherri were allowed into the house. The state police detective in charge had them wait beside the crime-scene trailer while he talked in hushed tones to another trooper. Then they were questioned, not about what was happening in the field, but about who they were and what they were doing at the Snowe farm. Finally, when they’d satisfied the officer that they had a right to be there, he ordered them to go inside and stay put.
Ten minutes later, fre
sh mugs of coffee in front of them, Liss, Sherri, Pete, and Dan were in their accustomed places around the kitchen table. Liss looked from Dan to Pete. “Busy morning?”
“You could say so. Blame it on my wife. She told me about that cockamamy theory you dreamed up and the fire marshal’s reaction to it.” There was a sheepish expression on Pete’s earnest, square-jawed face. “What can I say? Dreams of treasure buried at the center of the maze danced in my head. I couldn’t resist going out there and poking around a little.”
“Digging, you mean?”
He nodded. “The remains were pathetically easy to find. He wasn’t buried very deep.”
The insouciance Liss had been aiming for abruptly collapsed. “Better you than me,” she muttered and reached for the coffee, wishing it was something stronger.
“So,” Sherri said. “We have a second murder victim, because he certainly didn’t bury himself in that field. It’s undoubtedly Snowe, although that won’t be official for a while yet. Any guess as to cause of death?”
Pete shook his head. “The only thing I could tell was that he’d been dead for a good long while.”
Liss didn’t want to picture what that meant. Neither did she want to do the next thing on the mental list she was making, but she didn’t see that she had much choice in the matter. She retrieved her purse from the floor beside the chair and extracted her cell phone. “I’ve got to call Gina.”
Sherri opened her mouth to object, but Liss cut her off.
“Her property. Her uncle.” She thought about retreating to Snowe’s office to make the call, but it didn’t seem worth the effort.
For a change, Gina answered on the first ring. “Oh, good,” she said before Liss could get a word in. “I was just about to contact you. A friend of mine had a great idea for making the farm profitable. What do you think of turning the acreage into a campground? We could leave all those overgrown trees as they are, to provide atmosphere. Our slogan could be ‘Wilderness Camping Close to Home.’ ”
The suggestion left Liss momentarily speechless.
Abruptly, Gina shifted gears and launched into a list of things she thought needed doing in regard to opening the cut-your-own Christmas tree business on the day after Thanksgiving. “You haven’t got much time,” she added, as if Liss didn’t already know that!
“Gina, shut up and listen. They’ve found your great-uncle.”
“What?”
“I said they—”
“I heard what you said. I just don’t believe it. Wait a minute. Found him? Alive or dead?”
“Dead, of course. Buried in one of his own Christmas tree fields. Probably murdered by the same person who killed that John Doe I told you about.”
A lengthy silence ensued. Sherri made a “What?” gesture with both hands. Liss shook her head and waited for whatever Gina might say next.
“Did you get the package I sent you yet?”
Not what she’d expected. “It’s barely noon, so I doubt it.” She looked at the others, mouthed “Package?” and got a negative shake of the head from Dan. “Why? Is there something in it that—”
“I have no idea. You’ll have to go through the letters and papers yourself. I didn’t do much more than glance at any of them. Still, there could be something. What was the old buzzard up to?” she added, more to herself than to Liss. “People don’t get themselves murdered for no reason.” In a more forceful voice, Gina demanded Liss’s promise that she’d call when she knew more. Then she hung up.
“That Gina—always such a delight to work with,” Sherri said when Liss had summarized the phone conversation.
She might have said more if the state police detective hadn’t come to the door. He interviewed each of them separately, in the kitchen, sending the others into the living room to wait their turn. Liss was last. After telling her exactly nothing, except that the area beyond the Quonset hut was off-limits, he took his leave.
The moment the door closed behind him, Sherri bolted into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “I’m starving!” she announced. “It’s nearly two in the afternoon, and I haven’t had a bite to eat since breakfast.”
Liss’s stomach growled, in full agreement with the idea of food, but before she could join Sherri in foraging for sandwich makings, she heard the sound of another vehicle approaching. “What now?” she grumbled, but she brightened when she saw that it was a FedEx truck that had pulled into the parking area. She went out through the front door to meet the driver, signing for a large padded envelope.
Forgetting about lunch, she took the package directly to Snowe’s office and tore it open. The box inside was sealed with tape. She broke a fingernail removing it, but at last she had access to the contents. She cleared a space on the desk and tipped everything out onto the wooden surface.
There were letters, as Gina had said, some of them decades old, but there were also a fair number of photographs. Liss sorted rapidly, making three piles. Letters went into one. The second was for old photographs, including a tintype. Clearly those were family members, some of them ancestors Simeon and Gina shared. One of two of the women bore a strong resemblance to her old friend. In the third pile, Liss put more recent snapshots, mostly pictures of the Christmas tree farm. Among them were photos of some of Snowe’s seasonal workers, but she didn’t see anyone with John Doe’s face.
When the smell of grilled cheese grew too strong to resist, Liss picked up the stack of letters and took it and the mailer with her into the kitchen. Liss, Sherri, Dan, and Pete divided them up to read while they ate.
There was nothing helpful in any of them.
Liss was about to toss the mailer into the recycle bin when she glanced at the label. “Huh! That’s odd.”
“What is?” Sherri asked.
“Look at the time this was sent. It was after I talked to Gina. It went out even later than that, if you consider the time difference. She didn’t need us to stay because someone had to be here to collect this package. She hadn’t even mailed it yet.”
“But why lie about it?” Sherri asked. “Why was it so important that we stick around another day? Gina couldn’t have known that would give us time to find her uncle’s body. Could she?”
Chapter Twelve
Liss went back to Simeon Snowe’s office to make yet another phone call to Gina, but this time there was no answer in Chicago. She was sent straight to voice mail. She didn’t bother to leave a message. Instead, she rummaged in Snowe’s desk until she came up with a yellow legal pad.
Her habit of making lists had often proven useful. In the present case, Liss hoped that putting everything she knew into a timeline would help her get a handle on what was going on at the Christmas tree farm.
She ran into trouble right off the bat. “Seven years ago” was not exactly a specific date. Liss didn’t know any specific dates. That was part of the trouble.
Soldiering on, she wrote, “John Doe murdered and shipped out of state.”
Item two was, “Body found in New York City and traced back to Snowe farm.”
Liss left a blank next. She didn’t know what Simeon Snowe had been doing between the time the body was shipped and the day Mike Jennings had come looking for him. Had someone tipped Snowe off that the body had been found? Or did he know all along that it would inevitably be discovered?
Frustrated, Liss carried the legal pad into the kitchen. Sherri had finished washing the dishes and was wiping down the table.
Once Liss explained the problem, Sherri whipped out her cell phone. A few minutes of conversation with her contact in New York provided one answer.
“Snowe’s customer, the one who found John Doe and called the cops, phoned Snowe, too,” Sherri reported. “He wanted his money back. He was pretty upset. The police confiscated the entire shipment of trees as evidence.”
Liss wrote, “Snowe warned.”
“So he knew ahead of time that he was going to be questioned.”
“Sounds like it. Unfortunately, that proves nothing.�
�
Liss made a face. “Either he wanted to avoid the police and hid out voluntarily, which suggests that he knew something about the murder, or the killer was worried about what Snowe might tell the cops and decided to make a preemptive strike by getting rid of him, too.”
Sherri picked up the legal pad and read what little there was of the timeline. “This is good. Keep going. What else do we know?”
“Not a lot.” Liss glanced around. “Where did Dan and Pete disappear to?”
“Dan’s lying down.” She held up a hand to keep Liss from running off to check on him. “Relax. A little residual headache is normal. Let him rest. And Pete left for Moosetookalook. He has to be at work at midnight, and I suspect he wanted some time with the kids before their bedtime.”
“I didn’t even hear him leave.”
“You were in the office, right? Not surprising. It’s at the back of the house. You’d have noticed eventually, if not that Pete was missing, then that your truck was. He left our car so there would be room for the three of us when we’re ready to go home,” she added, seeing Liss’s confusion.
“You didn’t have to stay.”
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
“We might never find out what really happened, or why.”
Sherri handed her the list. “Finish it. Let’s see what we do know.”
Liss found she could add four more lines: “BOLO issued. Search delayed by freak October snowstorm. Snowe’s truck found in field. Search abandoned—no trace found of missing man.”
While she was writing, Sherri phoned Mike Jennings. “The manhunt ended eight days after Mike realized Snowe was gone,” she said when she disconnected. “And they had the use of a dog for two of those days.” Her brow furrowed as she thought over what she’d been told. “That makes it really odd that no one took a closer look at the area where we found the remains. Pete said he wasn’t buried very deep.”
Ho-Ho-Homicide (A Liss MacCrimmon Mystery Book 8) Page 19