by Sharon Pape
“True, but James wasn’t there to pay a social call. If Russ overheard him correctly, he went there to threaten Matthew.”
***
Rory called James early the next morning, hoping to catch him before he left for work. He seemed annoyed to hear from her again, but he agreed to stop by her office on his lunch break the next day. Then he rushed her off the phone, claiming he was late for an appointment. After clicking off the call, Rory remained at the kitchen table, stirring her coffee and watching it swirl around the cup. She had no plan mapped out for the day, but she needed to come up with one. When she took stock of what they knew and what questions were still unanswered, Luke was right up at the top of the list. His nonchalance about not having an alibi had been niggling at her ever since they’d first interviewed him. Did he truly not care? Or was he without a verifiable alibi because he was the killer? No, Luke was far from stupid. If he’d planned to murder someone, he would have done whatever it took to insure his freedom after the fact. There was definitely more to his story than they knew, but she doubted that speaking to him again would be productive. Following him, on the other hand, just might be. And even if it didn’t help her solve the murder case, perhaps it would provide her with some clues about the sabotage.
When she laid out her plan for Zeke, he grudgingly agreed that it could prove worthwhile.
“I get the feeling you’re not a hundred percent behind me on this,” she said, arching an eyebrow in his direction.
“Well, you’re talkin’ a lot of hours to keep him under surveillance, with no certainty of learnin’ anythin’. Don’t get me wrong here, I understand we could also catch us a big break from the effort. But I won’t be able to ride shotgun most of the time. I need to conserve energy for the times you . . . I mean we . . . ,” he said, stumbling over his words. “I mean for the times having a partner might be a real benefit.”
Rory had to choke back a giggle. Even though the marshal was trying hard not to step on her emancipated toes, his fundamental beliefs about the roles of men and women clearly hadn’t changed.
“I see your point,” she said soberly, letting him off the hook. “But if you think about it, you always seem to sense when I need assistance.” As well as plenty of times when I don’t, she added to herself.
“I’m not real comfortable leavin’ it to chance.”
“Life is all about chance,” she said. “There’s no way to control everything.” She could give him some instances from his own life, but that would only lead him to a dark place and solve nothing.
Zeke ran her words around in his head for a minute. “I suppose,that’s true,” he said, but he sounded far from happy about it.
Rory went through the sheaf of papers Gil had given her to find Luke’s work schedule. He worked Wednesday through Sunday, eight a.m. to four p.m., but Gil had noted that his schedule was subject to change based on the needs of the business. Fine, she’d begin by tailing him in the evenings when his time was generally his own. If he was involved in anything nefarious, it was most likely to be then.
***
Rory was blow-drying her hair when the doorbell rang. She only knew of two people who would consider dropping by so early in the morning without calling first: Eloise and her aunt Helene. Unless she’d scheduled a business appointment and forgotten? Since the answer was standing on her front porch, she tied her bathrobe securely around her waist and headed for the stairs. It occurred to her that Hobo wasn’t barking, which usually meant that he knew and approved of the visitor. But there’d been a few times lately that he’d slept right through the doorbell. Rory had improvised a few simple tests to check his hearing, but she hadn’t found anything wrong with it. She was left with the conclusion that the dog felt completely safe and secure when she was at home. In other words, she’d become his watchdog. Before she knew it, she’d be eating from his doggie bowl while he dined in style at the table.
When she reached the front door, she found him whirling in place like a fur-bearing dervish. His nose had clearly told him who was outside, and his reaction told her it was friend, not foe. But considering her present attire and wet hair, she checked the peephole for additional information. An anxious Olga and a grim Eloise filled her view. Grim Eloise always made her nervous. What type of news was she there to impart today? And just how much would it rock Rory’s world? At that moment, Olga shifted her weight, and Rory caught a glimpse of her aunt Helene standing behind them. This really did not bode well. She flirted briefly with the notion of running back upstairs and hiding under the covers, but sadly enough, reason beat back insanity, and she turned the key in the lock.
Her guests filed in one after the other, Olga issuing her standard apology, Eloise asking what flavor ice cream she had on hand and Helene all smiles and sociability. Rory’s own unique version of the Three Stooges.
“I was at the doughnut shop getting coffee and I decided to buy some doughnuts and invite myself for breakfast,” Helene said, holding up a box. “I couldn’t decide which kind to take, so I wound up with a dozen. Isn’t it wonderful how things work out? I have enough here for everyone.”
“Let me introduce you all,” Rory said, after hugging her aunt.
Helene was already on her way to the kitchen. “No need—we took care of the formalities while we were waiting outside.” Since Olga and Eloise were following her, Rory trailed after them. Helene set her coffee container and the doughnuts on the table and threw her coat over the back of a chair before taking a seat.
Olga made sure her charge was settled before plopping into her own chair. She seemed transfixed by the doughnut box and the promise of what it contained. Eloise didn’t even glance in its direction. Apparently her obsession for ice cream didn’t extend to all sweets. Rory offered to make coffee or tea for them, but they both declined. She rummaged in the pantry, finally coming away with paper plates and napkins, which she set in front of her three guests, along with glasses and a container of orange juice in case the doughnuts made them thirsty. She opened the box of doughnuts and passed it first to Olga, who dithered a bit before selecting a jelly doughnut covered in confectioner’s sugar. Eloise glanced in the box and shook her head before handing it on to Helene, who took a dense, chocolate-cake one. Rory went for her usual custard-filled doughnut with chocolate icing. But when she set it on her plate, she found she didn’t have much of an appetite. She was too busy waiting for trouble.
“I have to speak to you.” Eloise said impatiently.
“Okay, we’ll go into the living room,” Rory said, thinking they might as well get it over with. She helped her elderly neighbor up from the chair, answering Helene’s questioning look with a “just-humoring-the-old-lady” wink. Olga, who knew the ropes, reached for another doughnut.
Once they were alone, Eloise got right to it. “You have to ask your mother for the Bible,” she blurted out, not bothering to sit down.
“What Bible? What are you talking about?” Rory didn’t recall ever seeing a Bible lying around the house.
“The old one in the attic of course.” Eloise sounded peeved, as if Rory was playing stupid just to irritate her.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about it?”
“No. I always tell you exactly what I’m told.”
Rory tried another angle. “Who gave you this message?”
“The woman holding the photograph.”
“The daughter of the woman you described to me?”
“Yes. I’d like my ice cream now.” Rory was about to escort her back to the kitchen when the table lamp blinked. Less than a second later, Zeke appeared. He was standing on the other side of the couch decked out in what had become his cold weather go-to—chinos and a light sweater. He was dressed for company, namely Helene, the only one in the house who’d never met him. Rory inadvertently groaned out loud.
“I’m always pleased as punch to see you too,” he said gruffly, “but
if you don’t mind, I’m actually here to talk to Eloise.”
“Anything you want to say to her, you can say to me too,” Rory replied politely, standing her ground.
“Fine,” he said, turning to Eloise. “Mind your own business and stay out of ours.” His voice was low and tight, as if he was talking with his teeth clenched. “If you don’t, I promise you’re going to regret it.”
“Oh no, big scary ghost,” Eloise said, with her playful, little-girl laugh. Grim Eloise had left the building. “I’m going to have ice cream—Rory says she has vanilla fudge. Want some?”
The marshal didn’t say a word, but he glared at Rory as if she was the puppeteer who controlled the two faces of Eloise.
“Marshal Drummond!” Olga’s delighted squeal gave Rory a start. She’d been facing Zeke and hadn’t heard the aide come to the living-room doorway. Helene was there too, eyes as wide with surprise as Rory had ever seen them.
“Nice to see you, Ms. Olga,” Zeke said, sending some old western charm in her direction. Having apparently lost her ability to move or speak, Olga just beamed back at him.
Helene had to squeeze past her to enter the room. “It’s like a flash-mob party thing,” she said, having her usual trouble with the current jargon. “I didn’t even hear the doorbell.”
“That’s probably because he knocked,” Rory said.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Helene asked, heading in the marshal’s direction as if she intended to correct the oversight herself. Rory tried to think of a way to keep her from reaching him, but the only option that came to mind was tackling her. And how was she ever going to explain that?
“Glad to meet you,” Zeke said as Helene drew closer. He did his no-hat-head bob, which had helped him avoid handshakes in the past, but it didn’t keep Helene at bay. Rory felt like she was in a dream where she kept running but got nowhere, unable to escape the axe murderer or save a loved one from tragedy. She watched helplessly, dreading the moment when her aunt touched the marshal and realized he wasn’t made of flesh and bone.
At the last moment, Zeke withdrew an imaginary paper from his imaginary pants pocket and promptly dropped it. He bent to retrieve it just as Helene was about to extend her hand. Talk about good timing. He made a big show of fumbling and dropping the paper a few more times, chuckling at his own clumsiness.
“I’m Rory’s aunt Helene,” she said brightly, giving up on the handshake, to Rory’s relief.
“Zeke Drummond,” he said, holding the paper in both hands as if it was a shield, a barrier to keep others from getting too close.
“Did I hear Olga call you marshal?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m a federal marshal.”
Helene looked duly impressed. “I bet you have some great stories to tell. Come sit in the kitchen; we have doughnuts.” Her brow furrowed. “Or is it only police who like doughnuts?”
Zeke smiled. “I like them fine, but I’m afraid I don’t have the time today.”
Or the ability to eat, Rory thought. “The marshal just stopped by to give me some information for one of my cases.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Helene said. “Maybe next time?”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
No way, Rory wanted to shout. In fact, the sooner he left, the better. “Now why don’t you all go back to the kitchen and have another doughnut so Zeke and I can discuss the confidential material he brought me.” It was as good an excuse as any, to get them to vacate the room so he could perform his “now you see me, now you don’t” routine. Helene led the retreat, but Olga seemed rooted to the spot, clearly crestfallen about having to leave the marshal.
“What about my ice cream?” Eloise whined, sounding like she was a foot stomp away from a full-blown tantrum. Olga was forced into action. With an unmistakable sigh of frustration, she bundled her charge off to the kitchen.
“The ice cream is in the freezer,” Rory called after them.
Chapter 27
“The marshal is a good-looking man,” Helene said, putting the juice glasses in the sink.
Rory was carrying the container back to the refrigerator. “Zeke?” she said, stopping in her tracks.
“Yes, don’t look at me like that. I know he’s older than you are, but he can’t be that much older.”
Rory laughed. “I’ve just never thought of him that way. He’s a friend, that’s all.” She knew plenty of people would have accepted her answer and moved on, but she should have realized that her aunt wasn’t one of them. Helene leaned back against the sink, arms folded across her chest, waiting for the truth. But Rory knew there was a good chance she wouldn’t like the truth if she did hear it. As open-minded as Helene always seemed to be, believing in ghosts required a vastly different sort of open mind. Rory knew from experience. Accepting the existence of ghosts meant rethinking the possibility that other paranormal phenomena might also be real, and that was a daunting prospect.
“You don’t know Zeke like I do,” she said, stowing the juice in the refrigerator. “He can be as stubborn as a mule. And don’t even get me started on his views regarding women. He could make a peace-loving feminist homicidal.”
Helene shook her head. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Besides, if you’re looking for Mr. Perfect, I can save you the trouble, honey. He doesn’t exist.”
“I don’t want a man who’s perfect,” Rory responded. “If he was, he’d never be able to put up with me.”
“Listen, I’m not trying to give you a hard time,” Helene said, putting her hand on Rory’s arm. “And above all, I want you to find the right person. But if Aaron’s got competition, maybe he should know about it. He’s a great guy. In fact if I were only a few decades younger . . .”
So that’s where this was going. “Don’t worry,” Rory said, “Aaron doesn’t have any competition. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to marry the guy either,” she added quickly. “We’re barely off the starting blocks.” She locked eyes with her aunt. “So don’t you give him any false expectations.”
Helene seemed taken aback. “Who, me?”
***
Rory planned to be at Harper Farms before the end of Luke’s workday. She would have loved to stop for an extra-large coffee with a shot of espresso, since she had no idea how late she’d be out. But she’d learned an uncomfortable lesson early on in her career as a PI. A successful stakeout or tailing of a suspect required an empty bladder. So she bought caffeine pills instead of coffee, along with an assortment of snacks to munch on. She’d borrowed her mother’s nondescript gray sedan, which looked like half the other cars on the road. It was perfect for the job. The red convertible she’d inherited from her uncle Mac would have been far too easy to spot. One day she’d have to give it up and buy a more practical vehicle for her line of work, but she wasn’t ready to part with it yet.
She arrived at Harper Farms at three thirty. There were only a handful of cars in the parking lot. With winter around the corner, no one was buying outdoor plants or fertilizer to green up their hibernating lawns. The folks who were there had mostly come to purchase produce or items from the deli and bakery counters.
Early on in her investigation, Rory had asked Gil for a list of the vehicles his managers and family members drove. When she pulled into the lot, she had no trouble spotting Luke’s black Lexus SUV parked in the last row. It was standard business practice for employees to leave the good spots for the customers. Rory tucked the gray sedan between two other cars in the second row, where she could keep a discreet eye on the Lexus from her rear-view mirror.
By the time Luke appeared, she’d been waiting for nearly an hour, and her toes were getting numb, in spite of the two pair of socks she had on in her fur-lined boots. She’d worried that letting the engine run might draw his attention, especially once the cars on either side of her left. Now she was one of only two cars in the customer section of the lot. It was a
good thing they were just weeks away from the shortest day of the year. With any luck, darkness would keep Luke from noticing that the same gray sedan was parked there every day when he left work.
Rory didn’t start her engine until the Lexus passed her. She watched it turn right out of the lot before putting her car in gear. Although the descent of night helped hide her from Luke, it also made following him at a safe distance more difficult.
Since it was the end of the workday for most of the office buildings along the Route 110 corridor, all the additional vehicles had slowed traffic to a crawl. Rory was three cars back from Luke, but she realized she was going to have to get closer or risk losing him at one of the many traffic lights. With a few lane changes, she managed to work her way around the intervening cars until there was only one car between them. As far as she knew, he had no reason to suspect he was being followed. She should be okay for now.
Luke’s first stop was at a sporting-goods store. He spent fifteen minutes inside and came out with a large shopping bag. Next was a dry cleaner, where he carried in an armful of clothing, then on to a gas station. Rory waited at the curb on a side street. She was getting bored and hungry. If her mind wandered, she could easily miss seeing him leave. She dug into the goody bag she’d brought along and nibbled on almonds and dark-chocolate-covered raisins while keeping her eyes glued on the Lexus.
Over the next hour she lost track of all the places Luke stopped, but he seemed to be on a trajectory that would ultimately bring him to his town house. He pulled into a small strip mall and disappeared into a pizza joint. By the time he emerged, carrying one of the large square boxes, Rory was salivating like Pavlov’s dogs. She followed him until he turned into his driveway. Then she drove on by, in case he was checking to see if she was tailing him. A few right turns brought her back to the pizza place, where she ordered a slice with mushrooms to go. Technically she shouldn’t have left his street, but her pizza craving had convinced her that he wasn’t going anywhere until he ate his dinner.