“You could have done something about that, if it had been long enough.”
“Have him declared dead, you mean? No point in that now. It isn’t as if I can hope to inherit anything. He married me for my money.”
“I meant divorce him for desertion. Isn’t that possible? How long had he been gone when Snowe vanished?” Liss’s heart went out to Rowena. She must have thought she’d been abandoned yet again when her lover went missing.
“It had only been a couple of years back then,” Rowena said, “and I guess I kept expecting him to turn up again one day—like the proverbial bad penny.”
Mike Jennings, as promised, stopped by the Snowe farm in mid-morning. Dan took Sherri’s word for it that they had police business to discuss and made himself scarce.
“So,” Sherri asked when she and Mike were settled at the kitchen table and he had a mug of freshly brewed coffee in front of him, “what’s new?”
Jennings had the grace to look embarrassed. “I have a message for you from the higher-ups. You’re to stay strictly out of all aspects of the investigation from now on.”
“Which investigation? The one into your chief? The cold case? The arson? Or are they all connected?”
He managed a weak grin. “Sorry. I can’t tell you that. I can only assure you that John Doe’s murder is being actively reinvestigated, along with the murder of Simeon Snowe and the fire. Anything you try to do to help could jeopardize one or more of those cases. No more showing John Doe’s picture to the locals. No more asking questions about Juliette Cressy’s sideline, either.”
“So someone’s looking into that, too?”
“Someone is looking into everything you know about and a few other things besides.”
“Like what?”
Jennings shook his head and took a long swallow of coffee.
Sherri wasn’t surprised she was being told to butt out. It was standard operating procedure for the state police to take over murder cases. But this time she had a feeling there was more to it. “Are the Feds involved?”
“Sorry. Can’t tell you that, either.”
“What can you tell me? Come on, Mike. You must have some idea what’s going on.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “There might be an agent involved.”
“ATF? FBI?” There were several possibilities.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Just promise me that someone is taking a long, hard look at Wyatt Purvey. I won’t step aside if it means letting a dishonest cop continue to break the law.”
“Yes, someone is working on that, but slowly. A rush to put Purvey in jail could mess up the other investigations. Nobody’s going to be happy if that happens. Besides, there are a lot of angles to explore. Wyatt Purvey has been chief of police here for a good twenty years.”
“Or a bad twenty.”
Jennings groaned.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
He looked so miserable that Sherri took pity on him. He’d been dealing with suspicions about Purvey for a long time, unable to prove anything against his boss. At least now he’d been able to pass on what little he did know to someone who might actually do something about the situation.
“Did my questions to the chief about Juliette Cressy stir anything up?”
“Purvey’s more antsy than usual.”
“As he should be if he’s been taking kickbacks or bribes.”
Jennings wouldn’t meet her eyes. “It could be more serious than that.”
“What more?”
“Maybe embezzlement?”
Sherri gave a low whistle. “I don’t suppose they can get him for two murders and a fire while they’re at it?”
Jennings choked on his coffee. “He may be a crook, but he’s not a monster.” Still coughing, he stood. “For what it’s worth, I’m in the same boat you are. They want me to steer clear while they gather evidence. We’re both out of the loop.”
Chapter Thirteen
Liss had arranged to meet Andy in the field full of ten-year-old Christmas trees. She remembered its location from the tour Andy had given them the previous Saturday morning. It wasn’t far from the Quonset hut, an easy walk for customers, but it was also fairly close to the field that had burned and they’d have a clear view of the devastation.
She tried to look at the bright side. The wind could have spread the fire, sending their entire cash crop up in flames. And since these trees hadn’t been in danger, no firefighters had trampled the area around them. “Pray for more snow,” she said aloud, as if starting a new list.
By the time Andy joined her a few minutes later, Liss had her actual list in hand. “How are customers going to get their trees back to their cars?” she asked. “That slope below the Quonset hut isn’t terribly steep, but I wouldn’t want to carry a six- or seven-foot tree up it.”
“Tarps,” Andy said. “Bright red ones with ropes attached. You use it like a sled to bring in your tree.”
“Where do we get some?”
“Mail order. I’ll take care of it if you like.”
“It’ll have to be a rush order. As you reminded me yesterday, you open on the day after Thanksgiving—one week from today.” Some people put their trees up that early and left them up until after New Year’s Day. Liss herself opted for a shorter season, since it left less time for the cats to wreak havoc.
“I’ve been thinking about that.” All business, Andy whipped out a mail-order catalog. “We’ll need to send in more than one rush order.”
“Let’s talk about that back in the house after we’re done here. I assume we can order everything online?” When Andy nodded, Liss once again consulted her list. “What do we do about signage?”
“We could order signs, but if I make my own out of wood, they’ll be sturdier and I can reuse them. Most will say CHRISTMAS TREES, with an arrow pointing in the direction of the farm, and, in smaller letters, how many miles away it is. For the last mile or so before the turn, I thought I’d make some signs shaped like Christmas trees. They’ll give the distance, too. Then the next-to-last one will say ALMOST THERE! and finally there will be a big arrow where customers need to turn into the driveway.”
Impressed, Liss checked that item off her list. “Should we place newspaper ads? Does anyone still read newspapers, or is it all online these days?”
“My mom still reads a real newspaper. Our little biweekly. I say we do both.”
Why not? Liss thought, especially with Gina footing the bill. Based on what worked this year, Andy would have a better idea what was worth the money and what was not when she went into business for herself.
Back in Simeon Snowe’s office, they went through the catalog Andy had brought and Liss placed their order. After the younger woman left, Liss studied the items on her tree farm list and felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Each and every one had a check mark next to it.
If only she could say the same about her other lists.
While Liss was out in the field with Andy, Sherri left for a quick trip into town. Her yen for Moxie had only been an excuse the other night, but now she found she really did have a craving for the stuff.
The teenager at the cash register fit the description of the young woman who’d waited on Liss and Dan. She was popping gum at a furious rate as she rang up Sherri’s purchases.
The small purse Sherri carried was stuffed to overflowing. She had to pull out a few items to free up her wallet and pay for what she’d selected. One of the things she removed and set on the checkout counter was the sketch of John Doe.
The clerk froze, staring at it with her mouth hanging open. “Oh, wow,” she said after a moment. “It’s the perv.”
“The what?”
“Perv. You know, pervert.” She stabbed her index finger into John Doe’s face. “Who is he? I bet he kidnapped some kid, yeah?”
Sherri studied the young clerk’s face. “You’re certain you recognize him? It was a long time ago that he was in town. Seven years.”
“Brave?” Sherri fought the temptation to launch into a safety lecture. “Don’t you mean foolish? If you really thought he was up to no good—”
“Hey, my BFFs were right there.”
“Was he in a car?”
“Yeah. A big black one. Tinted windows. The whole nine yards.” Her eyes gleamed with enjoyment at being the center of attention. “And it turned out he really did have a question. He wanted to know if there was a dojo in town. I didn’t even know what a dojo was. Some kind of gym, I guess. He said he needed a workout.” Her face twisted into a grimace. “And he said that like it was something . . . you know . . . kinky. Like I said, a real perv.”
Sherri returned to the car in a thoughtful frame of mind. She wasn’t sure what to make of the young woman’s information. It was possible she’d mistaken John Doe for someone else. Then again, maybe not.
She punched in a number on her cell phone. It wasn’t as if she’d deliberately gone hunting for information after she’d been warned off. She had a duty to contact the authorities and pass on this new information. If she was lucky, they might feel inclined to let her know if the tip paid off.
The ensuing conversation went about as she’d expected. They thanked her very much and didn’t share diddly-squat . . . except for one thing. The detective she talked to let it slip that they thought John Doe had gone to a lot of extra trouble to make sure he couldn’t be identified by any of the usual methods.
What, exactly, did that mean? She pondered the question as she drove back to the Snowe farm. Probably that he was connected to organized crime. Maybe he’d burned off his fingerprints with acid. She grimaced. Then her lips twisted into a rueful smile. She wasn’t at all sure criminals really did that. It sounded like an urban legend to her.
But if John Doe was a gangster, what had drawn him to New Boston? What was there here that could possibly interest the mob? Drugs, she decided. Maybe, if a shipment of trees could be used to hide a body, it could be used to conceal other things, as well. Maybe John Doe had been trying to pressure Snowe into helping him smuggle narcotics into New York City.
Did that mean that Snowe had killed him? And that when someone higher up in the mob had found out who was responsible for John Doe’s death, he’d decided to retaliate?
“Nah,” she said aloud. Aside from sounding like a badly clichéd gangster movie, that theory wouldn’t account for burying Snowe in the maze or the haphazard attempts to keep Liss and Dan from discovering the body.
Coincidences do happen, she told herself. Sometimes accidents are just accidents.
She wished she could believe it.
Liss’s cell phone rang twice while Sherri was out on her Moxie run.
The first call was from Gina, responding to a new message Liss had left on her voice mail. She insisted she hadn’t lied about when she’d sent the package.
“I gave it to my secretary to mail and assumed that it had already been picked up from the office by the time I told you about it. You’re lucky it didn’t take two days to get there,” she added. “That’s what ‘overnight’ usually amounts to when I send something to rural Maine.”
“Kind of beside the point, Gina.” Liss gave her an update on the plans for the cut-your-own operation and then let her know, in no uncertain terms, that she and Dan were leaving New Boston later that afternoon.
Even as she carried on the phone conversation, she was in the downstairs bedroom, checking to be sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. Once again, their bags were packed. The only chores left before they headed out were turning off the furnace and draining the pipes so they wouldn’t freeze. Andy would come by later to pick up any food they left behind.
The second call was from Rowena Luckenbill.
“I remembered something after you left the shop,” she said when Liss answered. “I have some photos of Simeon, pictures I’d forgotten all about until talking to you reminded me of them.”
“What kind of photos?” Liss went to the living room window when she heard a car door slam, but it was only Sherri.
“Snapshots. Not long before he disappeared, he gave me a shoe box full of them. I was supposed to scan them for him as part of a community history project. He wasn’t all that enthusiastic about the idea, but I convinced him that he owed it to his hometown to leave a record of the growth of his tree farm business. I was doing the same for my little store and for Juliette’s studio. After he vanished. . . well, I didn’t have the heart to go through them.”
“Are there other people with Snowe in the photos?”
“I’m fairly certain there are in some of them, and I know he wrote on the back of each one—the date and so on. I don’t have the pictures here, and my memory is a little fuzzy, but . . . do you think it’s possible that man who was murdered is in one of them?”
Although she suspected that the snapshots were duplicates of the ones in Gina’s package, the possibility that John Doe might be included, with the added incentive of a name written in Simeon Snowe’s own hand to identify him, was too tempting to resist. “Where are they? Do you want me to come take a look at them?”
Dan walked into the room while she was speaking. She ignored his scowl.
“They’re in storage.” Rowena sounded relieved by the offer. “Do you think you could pick me up and drive me out to the storage lockers? I know it’s an imposition, but I don’t have a car. I live only a few blocks from the shop, so I walk to work.”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes.” Liss disconnected and turned to face Dan.
Sherri joined them, carrying a half-empty bottle of Moxie. “What’s up?” she asked.
“I need your car keys.” Liss plucked them from Sherri’s fingers and headed for the kitchen to grab her coat. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
When Liss pulled up to the curb in front of All Things Mystical, Rowena was coming out of Dance-Ex. She flashed a macramé key chain as she climbed in on the passenger side.
“Perfect timing,” she said cheerfully. “Turn right at the intersection. We have to go about five miles out of town.”
“Did you stop to tell your daughter where we’re going?” Liss asked.
“Why would . . . Oh, because I was in Dance-Ex? No, Juliette is busy with a class. I just popped in to borrow the key. It’s her storage locker, you see. I just keep a few things there.”
Liss couldn’t help wondering what Juliette had stored. Business papers, perhaps? Something that would tie Wyatt Purvey to Juliette’s off-the-books second career? A record of payments? She made a mental note to mention the possibility to Sherri when she got back to the Snowe farm.
The turn was marked by a dilapidated sign that read SELF-STORAGE. CLEAN. SECURE. The facility itself, located at the end of a dirt road and hidden from sight by a thick screen of evergreen trees, was a blight on the landscape. Ugly metal units, each fronted by an overhead door, lined both sides of a cul-de-sac. The circular drive was barely wide enough for a U-Haul or a van to pull in to be unloaded. Rowena directed Liss to number eleven.
“I don’t remember the place being so run-down,” she remarked as she eased herself out of the car, “but then, it’s been years since I’ve been here. I usually give Juliette anything I want stored, and she brings it out here to stash.”
“So, you’ll have to hunt for Snowe’s shoe box?”
“I’m afraid so, but with your help, it shouldn’t take long to find it.”
And looking for it, Liss realized, would give her an opportunity to snoop through Juliette’s possessions. Should she? What if she actually found something incriminating?
Then she’d have to call the police, and Rowena would find out how her daughter augmented her income. She would learn the truth eventually, but Liss didn’t like the idea that she might be the direct cause of Rowena’s distress.
At first the key refused to turn in the lock. After several unsuccessful tries, Rowena motioned for Liss to give it a whirl.
“Maintenance isn’t very good here,” Liss observed. “The entire door is rusty. It wouldn’t take much effort to break in, and I’m guessing there’s no burglar alarm.”
“It isn’t as if anyone has priceless antiques stored out here.”
“Haven’t you ever watched Storage Wars or its clones on television? They always find hidden treasures in abandoned lockers.”
Rowena chuckled. “You don’t think those reality shows are real, do you?”
At last the lock yielded. Liss pushed up the door. It didn’t want to stay in place, so she held it with both hands above her head while Rowena found the light switch. To Liss’s surprise, it worked.
Carefully, Liss eased the overhead door back down. It was as cold inside as out, and clammy to boot. A single fluorescent light fixture illuminated a space the size of an average one-car garage. There were no windows, so ominous shadows lurked in every corner. There were plenty of those. The entire space was filled with rows of six-foot-high stacks of clear plastic storage bins. Most of them appeared to contain file folders.
Here were Juliette’s business records, all right, but the sheer number of bins was daunting. It would take hours, if not days, to go through all of them. Knowing how unlikely it would be that she’d find anything, unless there happened to be a file box labeled BRIBES PAID TO CHIEF OF POLICE, Liss didn’t bother trying to get a closer look at the contents.
Rowena craned her neck, birdlike, for an overall view of the unit. “We’ll have to poke around, I guess.” She squeezed through a narrow opening between two stacks of storage bins and disappeared.
Liss set off in the opposite direction. A few minutes later, at the back of the unit, she came upon an old freezer chest with several cardboard boxes piled on top. Rowena’s name was printed on each of them. One also said TAX RECORDS, another OLD BANK STATEMENTS, and the third INVENTORY.
Ho-Ho-Homicide (A Liss MacCrimmon Mystery Book 8) Page 21