by Sharon Pape
“Okay,” she relented. “I guess it was kind of funny.”
“Funny? It was better than any of those sitcom things you watch on TV. First the mutt came flyin’ out of there like he had a posse hot on his tail and then . . . and then you came out a whole lot wetter.” Zeke did a good imitation of slapping his knee with delight.
“I’m glad I’m so entertaining,” she said evenly. “Would you like that update now?”
“Yes, ma’am. I surely would,” he said, trading the grin for a down-to-business face. He listened as Rory gave him a detailed recap of her talk with Ellen Harper. “So Luke’s the only family member we haven’t interviewed yet,” he said when she was finished.
“Right, and I happened to bump into him briefly the other day. Based on the few words we exchanged, I have a feeling he’ll be difficult to pin down. He acts like he’s got all of Harper Farms’ woes on his shoulders, but I think he was exaggerating for my benefit.”
“All the more reason to corral him. Why don’t you give him a call now—let’s see what he has to say.”
Rory picked up the phone from the base unit on her desk and punched in the numbers she referenced from Gil’s list. Luke answered on the first ring, as if he might have been expecting another call. He was cordial enough, but he claimed to be busy on every day she suggested. When she politely remarked that she’d leave their appointment for his father to schedule, Luke suddenly realized he was free the next morning at six.
“Six a.m.?” Zeke repeated once she was off the phone. “It’s still dark out at that hour.”
“I’m pretty sure he was just trying to discourage me, because he seemed flustered when I agreed to it. But why does the time matter to you? You live in your own version of Neverland. I’m the one who needs her beauty rest.”
“Darlin’, I believe you already have more than your fair share of that commodity. You ought to leave some for those less fortunate.”
Rory felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She didn’t blush easily, but she’d never received a compliment quite like that one before, and certainly never from the mercurial marshal.
Zeke cleared his throat as if to cover up the fact that he’d even surprised himself with his words. In the silence that followed, Hobo made a well-timed appearance in the doorway. He peeked in, clearly trying to assess the risks of joining them. Eager to diffuse the awkwardness between them, both Rory and Zeke did their best to coax him to come in. When he finally did, he headed straight to the marshal, casting Rory an unmistakable look of disdain.
***
It was dark and cold when Rory’s radio alarm jarred her awake. If a genie had appeared before her right then, she would have used up two wishes frivolously requesting a few more hours of sleep and a return to summer. But since the only paranormal oddity in her house was a ghost and not a genie, she dragged her weary butt out of bed.
Zeke didn’t join her until she’d scrambled into her car and turned the heat on.
“Sleep in?” she asked wryly.
“No point in wasting my energy hanging around the house waiting for you to get ready,” he said. He was wearing his marshal garb, which meant he had no intention of manifesting for Luke’s interview. Rory decided that was fine with her. He’d still be privy to everything that happened, so she wouldn’t have to rehash it all for him.
They’d been to Luke Harper’s home once before, to collect the sample of his hair. He lived in a townhome similar to his sister’s but at the other end of Huntington. Rory turned into the small community of attached homes a little before six. At that hour of the morning, all the residents still seemed to be tucked in their beds. Aside from the widely spaced street lamps, the only lights that glowed were the small ones immediately outside each door. Driving along the gently winding roads, she passed only one other car. The middle-aged driver was delivering newspapers, throwing spiral passes from his window onto the little porches with surprising accuracy. She wondered if he’d aspired to playing professional football in his youth.
Luke’s unit wasn’t hard to find even in the dark, since the street numbers had been strategically placed beneath the porch lights. The instant she rang his doorbell, the two big dogs Zeke had met on his earlier visit started a ruckus that probably awakened half the complex. Rory could hear Luke yelling at them to be quiet but to no apparent effect. Then she heard a door slam somewhere inside, and the barking became more muted. When he finally came to the door, he was dressed in nothing but pajama bottoms, his blonde hair sticking up on his head like a hay rick. He squinted at her as his eyes adjusted to the light.
“Hi Luke,” she said brightly, determined not to let him know just how hard it had been for her to crawl out of bed a full hour earlier. She certainly had no regrets about dragging him out of dreamland. In fact, she was willing to bet that six o’clock didn’t sound like such a great idea to him anymore. “Rory McCain—I believe this is the time you asked me to arrive?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said, with no welcome in his voice. “Come in.” He shuffled out of the way on bare feet. “I need a minute—you can sit in the family room.” He pointed to the large room at the end of the hall as he headed upstairs. A real charmer, Rory thought. At the same moment Zeke whispered, “What a charmin’ fellow.”
“Shh,” she whispered back. “Behave.”
The family room was decorated in early bachelor. The large sectional couch and two armchairs were covered in black leather and clothing. For that matter, nearly every surface in the room was draped with one kind of apparel or another. There were sweatshirts, sweaters and tee shirts as well as a pair of jeans. Socks were strewn randomly across the hardwood, looking like alien wildflowers.
One glass side table was covered with remotes, presumably for the entertainment system that spanned one entire wall. The matching table held several empty beer bottles and one glass with a brownish liquid that Rory hoped was soda. In order to have a place to sit, she was forced to move a sweater off one of the chairs. She shrugged off her jacket but kept it draped around her shoulders. Luke definitely kept the place on the cool side. Maybe that was a good thing with all the dirty clothing lying around.
The man of the house entered the room a few minutes later. He was still sockless, but he’d traded his pajamas for jeans and a wrinkled tee shirt that looked like he’d dug it out of the bottom of a drawer. Young Mr. Harper was obviously not fond of doing laundry. He dropped onto the couch the way a kid would, making the cushion groan under his weight. “How long,” he asked, pausing to yawn widely, “is this going to take?”
“I promise to be out of your way as quickly as possible,” she said, pen and pad at the ready. “Let’s start with your whereabouts the night Matthew was killed.”
“I was here watching TV. Went to bed about midnight.”
“Was anyone here with you?”
“I’m currently between girlfriends,” he said, with what was either a wink or a tic. Rory’s money was on the wink. And it came as no shock to her that Luke was without female companionship. What woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to live with this ill-mannered slob? Handsome can only get you so far.
“Interested in auditioning for that position, sweetheart?” he asked with a predatory grin.
She froze for a moment, worried the marshal would take exception to Luke’s proposal. She was pleasantly relieved when nothing in the room suddenly developed the ability to levitate or fly. Luke looked as if he was still waiting for an answer to his generous offer. She decided the best way to defuse the situation, and Zeke, would be to ignore it. “Did you have pizza or anything else delivered that night?” she inquired.
“I usually pick up dinner on the way home,” Luke grumbled, clearly not cool with the brush-off.
“Did you bump into any of your neighbors?”
He shook his head. “Why does stuff like that matter?”
“It could have corroborated your
alibi,” she said.
“I don’t need any corroboration; I didn’t kill Matthew.”
“Any lawyer will tell you that an alibi that can’t be corroborated is no alibi at all. And if the other persons of interest have solid, verifiable alibis and you don’t, then you could find yourself charged with Matthew’s murder.” Okay, maybe she was overstating things a bit, but she wanted to see if he would squirm.
“So hook me up to one of those lie detectors,” he said, fixing her with a sullen glare, “and then you’ll have your corroboration.”
“I’m afraid the results of those tests are not admissible in court.”
Luke came forward in his seat, his body gathered like a lion ready to pounce. “Oh yeah? Well in this country, you’re innocent until proven guilty.” If he’d added a childish “so there,” Rory would not have been surprised.
She leaned forward, matching him move for move. No way was he going to intimidate her. “That may be true, but unfortunately a lot of innocent people wind up in prison, or on death row anyway. Even when judges and juries try their best, they don’t always get it right.” Didn’t this guy ever read a newspaper or listen to the news?
For a second or two, his brow lowered over his eyes, and he appeared to lose his focus. Then he must have given himself a pep talk, because he settled back against the couch again with a smug grin. “Like I said—I didn’t do anything to be worried about.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she said. If he caught the sarcasm, he chose to ignore it. “Why don’t you tell me what you thought of Matthew.”
Luke shrugged. “He’s always been around, sort of like the furniture.”
“Did you resent him?”
He looked genuinely stumped. “For what?”
“I know your father was always generous to him.”
“Yeah, that’s my dad,” he said wryly. “What a guy.”
“What does that mean?”
“Uh-uh, we’re not going to play psychologist. If you have any more legitimate questions, ask them or leave.”
“All right, who do you think killed Matthew?”
“I haven’t given it any thought. The dude never mattered much to me when he was alive, and now he doesn’t matter at all. I’m not big on pretenses, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Or sociability, she thought. But as much as she disliked Luke, there was a certain in-your-face kind of honesty about him.
“How did James and Lacey feel about Matthew?”
“Why don’t you ask them?”
“Right now I’m asking you.”
“I know Matthew used to have a thing for Lacey, and it really annoyed her. That’s all I’ve got.”
Time for the bait and switch. It had done a good job of rattling his brother’s composure. “What do you think about the sabotage at Harper Farms?” she asked.
Luke didn’t miss a beat. “It’s not good for the bottom line, and it’s added to my workload—you do the math.”
“Your dad seems pretty positive Greenbrier’s behind it. Do you agree with him?”
“Sure, why not? My dad and Roger have a lot of history, most of it bad.”
“All right, that is it for now,” Rory said, returning her pen and pad to her handbag and pulling on her jacket. Luke walked her to the front door with more enthusiasm than he’d exhibited up until then. But who could blame him? She had yet to meet anyone who enjoyed a good grilling. She handed him her card before leaving. “Give me a call if you think of anyone who can support your alibi.”
“Yeah,” he said, “as soon as I pull one out of my bag of tricks.”
Rory slid into her car and turned on the engine, expecting the marshal to pop in beside her. Although she’d worried about him losing his temper with Luke, he’d been exceptionally well behaved. But maybe that was because he’d checked out early and gone home. As if in answer to her thoughts, the marshal appeared in the passenger seat. He was wearing the self-satisfied grin of the cat who’d eaten the canary along with its extended family.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” she said, pulling away from the curb, “what kept you?”
“Some unfinished business. I didn’t care much for Luke’s attitude, so I left him a little partin’ gift.”
“Can you be more specific?” She realized she was cringing in anticipation of his answer.
“I piled all the clothin’ that was scattered around the room into the fireplace. And no, I didn’t actually start a fire there,” he added, “though it was mighty temptin’.”
Rory started giggling in spite of herself. “We’ve discussed this before,” she said, trying to sound serious. “You can’t keep doing weird things to people when I’m around. One day some sharp reporter is going to connect the dots.”
“I’m aware of your thinkin’ on the subject and for the most part I agree. But a few unexplained incidents won’t go causin’ any problems. Besides, Luke deserved some comeuppance for the way he treated you. I’d be willin’ to wager that he’ll be a mite less cocky now that he’s worried about his sanity.”
“Okay, I suppose he did deserve that,” she conceded. “I’m just sorry I didn’t get to see his reaction when he discovered his clothes were bent on self-immolation.”
“There is one other thing,” Zeke added.
Oh no. “What else did you do?”
“I may have found a few thumb tacks and dropped them on the floor—pointy ends up. He really ought to be wearin’ shoes when he’s entertainin’.”
Chapter 20
It was Thanksgiving morning, and for the first time in her life, Rory wasn’t looking forward to the day. In the past it had always been a warm and cozy family time, highlighted by her mom’s delicious cooking, but this year was going to be different. Not only was it the last Thanksgiving they’d celebrate in her childhood home, but Aaron and Zeke were also going to be in attendance. Since her impromptu baking date with Aaron, she was more comfortable with the idea of him sharing the day with her family, but the marshal was, as usual, an unknowable quantity.
The second pumpkin pie came out of the oven looking every bit as fine as the first one. After Rory was dressed and ready to go, she placed it in the sturdy pie carrier she’d bought for that purpose. With increasingly distracted and aggressive drivers, it was a miracle anyone reached their destination intact these days. The least she could do for her little masterpiece was to provide it with some form of protection against the vagaries of travel.
She hooked Hobo’s leash into his collar and called out to let Zeke know she was leaving.
“You’re goin’ already?” he asked, his voice a moment ahead of his appearance. “Do you have the turkey for breakfast?”
“No, of course not. I get there early to help my mom. Helene does too. Actually I’m not sure how much help we are, but our intentions are good and we have a lot of fun together. It’s a woman thing,” she added in answer to the befuddled expression on his face. “You know, like men bonding over sports.” The comparison didn’t seem to make it any clearer to Zeke. “What did men enjoy doing together in your time?” she asked, for want of another example.
“I don’t know,” Zeke said. “Playin’ poker, drinkin’, ridin’ with a posse if there was a need. Is that what you’re gettin’ at?”
“I guess.” When you came right down to it, there wasn’t that much difference between betting on a hand of cards or on a sporting event. Or drinking hard liquor instead of beer. But when she tried to come up with the modern equivalent of riding with a posse, she was stumped. Of course teenager boys had loved cruising in their cars from the time of the first horseless carriages, but as far as she knew, they were hunting down girls, not bank robbers and gunslingers.
“So when does the shindig really get started?” Zeke asked her.
“My mom usually tells guests to be there at two.” Rory wasn’t sure what a shindig
entailed, but she hoped the marshal wasn’t expecting anything elaborate. “It’s not like there’s going to be music and dancing,” she pointed out. “We’ll spend most of the afternoon eating way too much, and when we’re sure we can’t stuff another thing in our mouths, we’ll have dessert.” Maybe if she stressed how much food figured into the celebration, Zeke would change his mind and opt to stay home.
“Then I’ll pop on over at two,” he said, shattering that hope.
***
Zeke showed up shortly after Cousin George, who’d had to check out of his hotel room at one. He let Rory know he’d arrived with a gentle tap of energy on her shoulder. Before he’d perfected that simple act, she’d had a hard time explaining to people why she was suddenly tumbling off a chair or stumbling across a room as if she’d been propelled by gale force winds.
The gentle pat was much easier on her nerves as well as her body.
Aaron was the last guest to arrive. When Rory opened the door for him, he greeted her with a chaste peck on the cheek, the kind one received from a distant relative. Although she would have liked a kiss more like the one at the end of their baking date, she was glad he was playing it low-key around her family.
She led the way into the kitchen so he could meet her mother and greet his fellow thespian. He seemed perfectly at ease making small talk with them until Arlene asked if he wouldn’t prefer hanging out with the men, who were watching football. And off he went to the family room.
A few minutes later, Arlene took the spoon away from Rory, who was stirring the gravy. “I appreciate all your help, but you should go be a hostess to your guest,” she said in her don’t-quibble tone of voice. Rory didn’t want to shine a spotlight on their relationship with her family in the audience, not to mention the marshal, who already had a lousy track record with regard to Aaron. But her mother didn’t seem to share that sentiment, and there was clearly no hope of enlisting her aunt as an ally. Helene had had a goofy-looking smile plastered on her face from the moment Aaron walked through the door. She was positively aglow with her triumphant turn as Cupid after all her years of dismal failure. Suppressing a sigh, Rory marched off to the family room, from which a round of raucous cheering had just erupted. Behind her, she heard Helene remark that someone must have hit a home run. Her aunt had always had trouble sorting out the lingo associated with each sport, and after endless efforts, they’d all given up trying to teach her. Hobo chose to stay in the kitchen, where he could guard the food and beg for the occasional sample.