3 Loosey Goosey

by Rae Davies

  And I believed that Ben didn’t use or sell drugs.

  So far as poison, he wasn’t the type to poison anything, even the ugliest, stinkiest of rats. And even if he wasn’t all “let every living creature live,” there was Pauline. He wouldn’t keep anything like that in his small trailer where she might find it.

  Which left only a couple of solutions. Either George had lied to me, and the police hadn’t found anything in the trailer after all, or someone had put something into Ben’s trailer to frame him.

  Chapter 19

  I turned on my computer and slid the flash drive that I’d gotten from Marcy into the USB port.

  I was caught between having too many possible murderers and not enough.

  Carl Mack, Richard Danes, Leslie Danes, and Hope all had possible reasons to want Tiffany dead. As did all goose-loving or animal-protecting protesters in the world. And maybe other wives too.

  Richard Danes seemed nice enough, but he was not my idea of a chick magnet. My guess was that if Tiffany was having an affair with him, it said more about her than the cattle rancher. Well, aside from the fact that he was, despite his “nice” exterior, a two-timing scumbag.

  I scanned Daniel’s notes, but turned up nothing new. Then I started on my own notes and list of suspects. After a moment, I added Xander, Eric Handle, and a few blank lines for the other members of HA! whom I had seen, but not been officially introduced to.

  Then I tapped my pen against the notebook and tried not to scream in frustration. I needed more information.

  According to Ben, our mother thought she knew who the killer was.

  Obviously, though, that couldn’t be true. She was 2,000 miles away. How could she possibly be closer to figuring this out than I was?

  My gaze drifted to my computer. FriendTime.

  I flipped it on and, for the first time in my life, tried to channel my mother.

  I started with her profile, but if she’d been corresponding with anyone there about Tiffany or Ben, she wasn’t doing it publicly. Actually, now that I scanned her wall, I realized her activity wasn’t all that frequent. Which made me wonder if she’d put me on some kind of screening mode.

  I turned to share my suspicions with Kiska, only to remember that I’d left him at home. Even more annoyed, I went back to the computer.

  Okay, so I wasn’t going to learn anything from her page. That, I guess, would have been too easy. Where else to look?

  Tiffany’s page for her restaurant revealed nothing new, but then I realized if she had a business page, she had to have a personal profile too. Feeling oh-so-proud of myself, I did a search. Sure enough. There she was, looking young and healthy and not at all like a husband-stealing goose-liver-eating murder victim.

  I clicked on her image and her wall came up with... nothing. Damn people who kept everything private.

  I scrolled down a bit, wondering where to go from here. And there she was: Hope of the no last name, listed as a “friend.”

  Except Hope wasn’t listed as Hope. She was listed as Kathy, and when I clicked through to her page, I seemed to be looking at a completely different person’s life.

  This “Kathy” “liked” over 300 restaurants, 50 food supply companies, and a number of trade organizations involved in food, fur, or some other type of business that used animals in some way. It wasn’t often you meet someone who liked rodeo, fur coats, and pig’s feet.

  But apparently I had.

  Then there were her “friends.” They ranged from cowboys, including Richard Danes, scientists, and chefs, like Tiffany.

  Kathy aka Hope got around on FriendTime even more than my mother did.

  After wasting much time clicking around, looking for some other bit of useful information, I returned to Tiffany’s page to check her friends for other leads.

  Richard Danes showed on her friend page. Leslie Danes did not. At first this “friendship” seemed a bit bold, but then I realized that as Tiffany’s landlord, Danes had a perfect cover for at least a casual relationship with the chef.

  I scrolled down some more, noting that Tiffany, like my mother, had many more friends than I did.

  At least Tiffany was younger, and arguably hipper, than me. My mother? Well, she certainly wasn’t younger.

  As I was mulling this over and settling into a nice funk, my gaze moved over another familiar face—Eric Handle.

  The fact that he was listed among Tiffany’s friends surprised me. I knew that Hope had said they had started HA! together, but I’d also, based on the fact that Tiffany had become the purveyor of goose liver, assumed that they no longer had that much in common and most certainly wouldn’t still be “friends.”

  Of course, as my mother’s 2,300 friends showed, friendship on FriendTime was something totally different than friendship in the real world, where I almost certainly had more ties than my mother. Not, of course, that I was counting or that it mattered one whit.

  But now knowing that three of the people on my list had very likely had some connection with the dead chef via FriendTime, I wished more than ever that the site didn’t allow its users to set posts to private.

  Seriously, wasn’t a lack of privacy what the Internet was all about?

  Grumbling a bit to myself, since my usual furry sounding board was home snoozing on his bed, I searched through the rest of Tiffany’s friends, looking for any other familiar faces.

  No Carl. No Pauline. I was about to call my task done when I saw the one familiar face I least expected to see: my mother.

  I had her on the phone within the minute.

  “You’re FriendTime friends with Tiffany the chef,” I blurted out as soon as she’d said hello.

  “Am I? I lose count.”

  Lose count. “Aren’t you worried about how that might look for Ben?” Nothing like a little guilt to bring her back to reality.

  “That his mother is popular?”

  “No, that his mother has a relationship with the victim and that adds a tie to him.”

  “A bigger tie than that his sister found her body?”

  We both fell silent. I was busy mumbling under my breath and plotting my next comeback. I don’t know what my mother was doing.

  After a moment, she sighed. “Besides, Pauline has posted all over Tiffany’s page. Have you seen that?”

  “Yes.” I wasn’t quite ready to let my mumbling and plotting go.

  “Not that it matters. I have everything figured out. I’m just waiting to hear back from a friend of mine in Culbertson

  “Culbertson?”

  “Yes...” I could hear her warming up, ready to knock my socks off with her genius FriendTime-powered investigation.

  She sucked in a breath and then... “Tiffany was having an affair with a married man. His wife knew everything. He thought that she was tucked away at some spa, but instead she drove to Helena, did in her rival and drove back to the spa, which is half an hour from Culbertson.”

  She paused then, giving me time to voice my marvel.

  “You mean Leslie Danes?”

  “Yes, that’s her name.” I could tell my mother was disappointed that I’d known who she was referring to.

  “It’s a seven-hour drive.”

  “She could have done it.”

  Not, as I’d already determined, in time to murder Tiffany.

  “Well, I’ll know soon enough. I have a friend who just checked into the same spa. She’ll let me know.”

  Okay, Nancy Drew. I felt guilty as soon as I had the thought. She was trying to help, and her lead was no more farfetched than any of mine. In fact, it had been mine. I’d just deserted it a little more quickly.

  “Yes, well, that sounds good. I’m following up on some other things.”

  “That’s nice, honey. I’m glad you’ve decided to help your brother.”

  I could almost feel her hand patting mine. I growled, but in a resigned, this-is-my-life kind of way.

  “You just let me know if I can help you any too.”

  I ra
n my tongue over my teeth, resisting the urge to say that I was the expert here, that I was the one who had solved two murders and reported on at least one before that.

  But then, that had been her argument when she told me I should investigate the murder.

  Feeling more and more like I’d been played somehow, I held my tongue.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  I grunted out a laugh. “Not unless you know how to hack into some FriendTime accounts to see what people have been saying in private.”

  “Oh. That’s a good idea. Who were you thinking of?”

  I stared at the phone, startled. Was my mother offering to break some kind of rule, if not law, for me? My mother, who wouldn’t even let me cross the road outside a crosswalk?

  Wondering if a talk show host type was going to jump out of a corner and tell me I was the latest victim of some new reality TV show revolving around pranking one’s kid, I stuttered out the names.

  No talk show host appeared, and my mother didn’t falter. “Got them. Now they all have profiles? You’ve checked?” She was strangely all business.

  “Uh, yes. In fact, you’re friends with one of them.”

  “Oh, Kathy. She doesn’t post much.”

  Perhaps not as herself, but she posted plenty as Pauline. I didn’t, however, reveal that to my mother. Giving her information felt like leading the witness.

  I heard clicking, like a keyboard.

  “I’ll get on this right now. Just make sure you leave your phone on and charged.”

  With that less-than-subtle order, she hung up.

  o0o

  Lunchtime had come and gone, and I was hungry and tired and generally spent from my conversation with my mother. I decided to call it a day and head home so I could rest up for the cattle drive the next day.

  I opened my home’s door to a total aw moment.

  Kiska was passed out on his bed, and Pauline was passed out on Kiska. Realizing this was exactly the kind of thing people with more friends than me shared on FriendTime, I hurried to get my camera before either of them could move. I’d snapped off four good shots that I was sure would score me at least twenty new friends when it occurred to me that when I left, the goose had been securely shut in my laundry room.

  I froze in place. My heart beating loudly in my chest, I turned and looked for any other signs that someone had broken into my house while I was gone.

  Nary a dust bunny seemed disturbed.

  Kiska opened one eye and stared at me. Pauline fluttered one wing and ignored me.

  She was way too relaxed. Kiska might have lain still while someone burgled my house, but Pauline? No way. Which meant... what?

  A few quick steps took me to my laundry room door, the one I had left closed. It was most certainly open now. Thinking the latch must have been defective, I reached for the knob. My hand met dented, misshapen metal.

  Dented misshapen metal that had, by my best guess, been squeezed by two powerful malamute jaws. While said malamute was urged on by one trouble-making, dominant goose.

  I spun to stare the two delinquents down.

  Pauline sniffed, and Kiska closed his eye.

  Obviously, my disapproval was tearing them both apart.

  My attempt at guilt a total bust, I decided to pursue my thought that someone must have put whatever the police found into Ben’s trailer while he was stranded in Helena.

  There hadn’t been a lot of campers at the campground early in the week, but there had been some, and I was sure the police towing Ben’s trailer had created some talk. Enough that anyone who knew anything would have shared it freely.

  Maybe one of them would be willing to share with me.

  I harnessed up Kiska and Pauline, since they seemed so attached now, and drove until the campground was a tenth of a mile or so away. Then, goose tucked under my arm and malamute in the lead, I went cross country until we reached the rails-to-trails path that led right through the middle of the campground.

  We’d walked less than a hundred yards down the trail when we encountered our first camper. He was an older man, dressed in jeans and a yellow canvas coat.

  “Quite a pair you have there,” he called.

  Pauline shook her tail, putting me on alert, but Kiska’s dance of happy greeting seemed to cut short any thoughts of attack she might have had.

  While the man bent to run his hands over Kiska’s neck, roughing up his fur in a playful way, I kept an eye on the goose.

  “You camping?” he asked.

  “No, just walking. I don’t live far from here.”

  He complimented me on my choice of neighborhood, chatted about the weather, and shared his general joy of sleeping under the lodge pole pines.

  “Do you have a trailer?” I asked, trying to work my way into asking about the Egg and anyone who might have been snooping around it.

  “Tent. Trailers can’t go where a tent can.”

  Similar arguments could be made about a mule and a Mercedes, but personally, I’d pick the Mercedes. Still, I smiled and kept my opinion to myself.

  “Are things quiet now? I was here the other day, and there were a lot of police around.”

  “One of those protesters got his trailer towed.”

  I ran my fingers through Kiska’s fur. “Do you know why?”

  “They say he killed someone.” The man squinted. “I saw you that day. You were chasing that goose, weren’t you?” He laughed, and, not wanting to blow my shot at more information, I laughed along.

  When he was done laughing, he squinted at me again. “There was a guy with you. Is he the one they arrested? He looked like someone I’d seen coming out of that trailer.”

  I hesitated, but quickly decided honesty was my best bet. “He’s my brother,” I confided. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened.”

  He ran his hand over his chin. “Rough, having family locked up.”

  I got the feeling from how he watched me that he’d experienced the family in jail thing more than once, or that he’d been the family in jail. I pulled Kiska closer.

  He stroked his chin. “I don’t know that it will tell you much, but I saw the police arrive. They went through all the motions, knocking on the doors. Then, when there was no answer, they just went in.”

  “It wasn’t locked?” Not that this told me much. Ben was terrible about such things.

  “Not that I saw. Two went in, but they weren’t in there for long at all. Maybe two minutes, and the tall guy, not in uniform, came right back out. He went to his car and talked on his radio. Fifteen minutes later, there were three more cars here. The tall guy carried something out in a bag, and one of the cars drove off with it. Then there was more talking on radios, and not long after that you, your brother, and the goose showed up.” He looked at Kiska. “I don’t remember seeing this guy.”

  My hand tightened on Kiska’s leash. “He stayed in my rig.”

  My new friend laughed again. “Seeing the trouble the goose gave you, probably not a bad idea.” He glanced at Pauline who was rooting around in the dirt. “She seems calm today.”

  Not interested in discussing Pauline’s mood swings, I turned the conversation back to the confiscation of the Egg. “Did you hear anything they said?”

  He gave me a sideways glance. “Not myself, but my friend was in his tent right next to one of the squad cars.”

  I had struck gold. I edged forward.

  “He was describing something to someone... flowers.”

  “Flowers?”

  “Yeah. Sounded like some kind of flower from what my friend said. We couldn’t figure out why they’d have such an interest in a bunch of flowers. Then when we heard it was all tied to that chef who died, we figured somebody had sent her flowers, and they thought whoever did, killed her too. A love affair gone wrong.”

  Tiffany might have had a love affair go wrong, but if she did, it wasn’t with my brother.

  I asked a few more questions, like if he’d seen anyone besides B
en and the police near the Egg, but the man had only arrived the day of Ben’s arrest and didn’t think anyone else had been in the campground either.

  “Most people leave their tents to hold a spot and don’t come back until the weekend,” he explained.

  I nodded, thanked him, and made a bit more small talk before turning goose and dog back toward our ride.

  Flowers did point to a romantic relationship. Not that I’d ever received any in any of my relationships, with the exception of a yellow carnation wrist corsage junior year that clashed horribly with my purple prom dress.

  Had Ben lied to me about knowing Tiffany? I didn’t think so.

  And maybe the flowers weren’t important at all.

  Just because an officer radioed someone about them didn’t mean they were important to the case. They could have checked on any number of items, and the flowers were all the eavesdropper had heard discussed.

  Which meant they had to have found something else too.

  I glanced over my shoulder, back toward the campground, but it was getting late and my casual walk story was busted. If I wanted to learn more from people at the campground, I would have to be direct, and I didn’t have the energy for that now.

  Back at my house, Kiska and Pauline plopped down on Kiska’s bed while I got the phone and called the jail. Ben, unfortunately, wasn’t taking any calls. Or, to put it more accurately, wasn’t allowed any calls.

  I tried Gregor. He was out too, but his assistant, his third in our short relationship, took down my name and promised to have the attorney call me as soon as he could.

  Which, knowing Gregor, wouldn’t be until he needed something from me, like another check.

  I fell asleep on my couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering exactly how I was going to put the mass of seemingly unconnected bits of information into something that saved my brother from life in prison or worse.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning was the cattle drive. I got up bright and early and dressed in my best cowgirl couture: jeans, boots, and baseball cap.

  A cowboy hat just felt too poser for me. Besides, I didn’t own one, and I was too cheap to buy one just for one little horse ride into town.