Murder by Gravity

by Barbara Graham

  Gentry’s eyes gleamed with joy. “This is my little beauty.”

  Tony was not an expert, but the plane did look well-cared for. “I’d like to see the passenger seat.”

  “Oh, sure.” Gentry trotted over to a ladder on wheels, a platform at the top. He unlocked the wheels and moved it over to the biplane. “Passenger seat is the one in the front.”

  Tony climbed up and looked into the two seats, one in front of the other. The single passenger seat was nothing but a bench with a seat belt. Nothing in the tiny space resembled a heater. “With the early snow it had to be freezing up there.”

  “No kidding.” Gentry shrugged. “I don’t generally take passengers anywhere in this plane if the ground temperature is not at least sixty degrees because it gets so cold in the sky and the wind chill is amazing. Even when I wear a sheepskin jacket and helmet, fur-lined gloves, and goggles in the summer, it can still sometimes be cold.” He shivered and crossing his arms over his chest, he slapped his hands on his upper arms. “I said it was crazy and we should take an enclosed airplane. Told him he’d freeze up there.”

  “But?” Tony could guess. From what he’d learned so far, Franklin really liked things to be done his way.

  “Franklin said he’d be fine wearing his heavy jacket and gloves if I’d loan him a helmet. I always do that anyway. Keeps people’s hair from flying around and the attached goggles protect the eyes.” Gentry sighed. “I do okay with my business, but it’s hard to turn down that kind of money. So I pulled on my long johns and bundled up good, and off we went.”

  Tony stared at Gentry. “He wasn’t wearing gloves when we found him.”

  Shaking his head, Gentry frowned. “I’m sure I saw them. Brown leather.” He studied his own hands as if that would jog his memory.

  Wade waited on the floor, unable to see inside. “Are there seat belts?”

  Gentry answered before Tony could. “Oh, yeah, and I insist any passenger buckle their seat belt and keep it on. I don’t make them strap down into a full harness like those charters who will take their guests on a thrill trip of loops and rolls. Not me.”

  “You don’t enjoy it?” Tony got a bit queasy at the very idea of flying upside down in an open cockpit.

  “Oh, yeah, I love it.” Standing on the second step, Gentry patted the side of the airplane. “It’s awesome fun, but I’m not listening to some screamer and definitely don’t want to deal with a weak stomach. This is not an amusement ride, and I’m not cleaning up puke.”

  Tony continued looking into the passenger seat area and decided that once an adult was buckled in, there wouldn’t be much room to shift around and no way to just fall out. The sides of the open cockpit would probably hit Tony in the middle of his upper arm, but he was big. He couldn’t suppress a smile. His tiny wife would have to sit on a metropolitan phone book to see out. Leaning over the passenger seat, he twisted around to look up. He was surprised to see the hangar’s ceiling instead of the lower surface of the wing. The upper wing had a curve in toward the single engine, leaving the passenger uncovered. If the plane flipped, a falling body wouldn’t strike the wing. He looked down again to the airplane’s floor, and a glint of silver caught his eye. “There’s something under the seat. Wade? You’re on.”

  Gentry shook his head as he climbed back to the ground. He looked angry enough to start a gasoline fire. “No way! Someone better not be dumping their trash into my plane.”

  Wade climbed the steps, pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and leaning over the side, dug around under the small bench. After a few moments, he retrieved a thermos bottle and held it up for everyone to see.

  “Oh, man, I do recognize that.” Gentry laughed. An expression of relief erased his confusion. “That man drank more coffee than anyone I’ve ever seen. He musta had cast-iron kidneys. That belongs to Cashdollar, all right. See here.” He pointed to initials FC engraved on the screw top that doubled as a cup. “Every time I’ve seen him, he’s had coffee with him.”

  “This strap was caught on a piece of metal.” Wade carried it down the steps and pulled a bag from his pocket, mumbling to himself. “Lucky I’ve got plenty of pockets.” Once the thermos was in the bag, Wade began filling out a form officially making the thermos evidence. It was easier to do it and not need it than try to fulfill the necessary chain of custody after the fact.

  Tony glanced at the thermos. The custom-tooled leather case must have cost a pretty penny. He really needed to quit trying to apply a price tag on everything they saw in this case. “That’s a fine piece of leatherwork.”

  While his deputy worked on his evidence project, Tony gave Gentry a stern look. “Anything else you can think of that we might need to know?”

  Gentry appeared to consider the question carefully before he shook his head. “Nope.”

  After placing the bagged and tagged thermos in a box and locking it in the car, Tony felt relief. For some reason, he was certain there would be evidence in the thermos that would help explain Franklin Cashdollar’s attempt to fly. Maybe drugs, maybe alcohol. There were numerous possible chemical tests they could run as part of the autopsy. His office didn’t want to pay for anything unnecessary. Searching for exotic poisons could cost a fortune and take months.

  If Gentry was telling the truth, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, Cashdollar must have committed suicide. Calvin’s questioning of suicide, Tony believed, had been not a question of belief but more a surprised reaction to learning of the man’s ordinary mortality.

  “One of you guys Sheriff Abernathy?” A female voice called from the front of the building, interrupting his thoughts.

  Tony waved.

  “Hi, I’m Jackie. I’m an evidence collection tech for the sheriff’s office.” There was a musical lilt to her voice. “My sheriff thought you might need someone to find and verify, and I quote, ‘fingerprints on the wing.’ ”

  Tony studied their new assistant. The middle-aged, chubby woman had neatly contained salt and pepper hair, and a wide grin. She looked like she was eager to examine what he assumed was an unusual location for fingerprinting.

  “Yes, our Mr. Cashdollar was not wearing gloves.” The absence of gloves disturbed Tony. The pilot had been wearing fur-lined ones. There were none in Cashdollar’s pockets or under his seat on the airplane. It was one of those instances of, “what did you expect to see and didn’t?”

  Jackie opened her case and went to work. Between her expertise and Wade’s, whose trained eyes watched her work, Tony was confident that any fingerprint on the wing, in the seating area, and even the pilot’s seat, would be picked up, analyzed, and reported in a coherent, clearly worded report.

  From the airport, he and Wade went to chat with the two Dill men, Laura Cashdollar’s sons. The more information they could learn about Franklin’s normal behavior, the more likely they could sift through facts leading to his death.

  With a little help from their GPS device, they located the Dill brothers’ shared office space in a semi-industrial building.

  Sergeant Dupont joined them in front of the vintage brick-red building. He smiled, climbing out of his vehicle. “Did you two get any sleep? I slept like a rock.”

  Tony thought their local guide did look somewhat refreshed in the morning light.

  Both Tony and Wade said they had also slept well and thanked him for his recommendation for the motel and café. “We didn’t have any trouble locating the airstrip and flight charter company.”

  “That’s good. I’m sorry I couldn’t join you earlier. I had to testify in court this morning.”

  “Business before more business.” Tony smiled. “You missed seeing some spiffy airplanes. One of your techs came and checked the airplane for fingerprints. We don’t expect anything interesting, but there’s only one way to find out.”

  Dupont nodded. “Never assume anything.”

  “Let’s just talk to both of them together and then we can separate them if there’s any reason,” Tony suggested and Wade agreed.
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  Once inside the business office, it was quickly apparent that the Dill brothers had gotten a call from Laura and were expecting visitors. Tony had learned the two Dills were in their early thirties. That was where the resemblance between the brothers ended. One was tall and thin and the other was short and stout. The taller one was blond and blue-eyed and the other was dark chocolate and had such deep brown eyes they were almost black. According to a quick computer check of their drivers’ licenses, they conveniently, at least as far as Tony was concerned, lived in townhomes next door to each other.

  The brothers each stood near one of the two large desks, both of which faced the doorway. These were not particle board, assemble it yourself, desks but rather oversized, old-fashioned, valuable antiques. Cherry wood, Tony guessed. There was only a very small desk to separate their office area from the entry and it, too, reeked of old money. A half-full cup of coffee suggested an employee, possibly a receptionist, was away for the moment. The room was larger than it initially appeared because of the exceptionally high ceiling, which was decorated with antique-embossed tin. Modern ceiling fans moved the heated air, and beautiful artworks depicting garden vegetables decorated the silk-covered walls.

  “Mom says you won’t let her plan a funeral.” Tall and blond, this one was Jesse. His patrician features were tight with disapproval but not grief. “Why not?”

  Before Tony could respond, the other Dill, Glenn, spoke, addressing his brother. “I imagine they are not through with the investigation.” He turned to Tony. “Isn’t that so, Sheriff?”

  “Exactly.” Tony appreciated his understanding. “Your stepfather’s body was recovered in a remote area, nowhere near the spot where your mother expected him to be fishing. We need to know why.”

  Jesse said, “I’m sorry for the attitude, Sheriff. Mom was distraught, and some of her unhappiness wore off on me. How can we help?” He led the way to a small sitting area in the back of the room. More antiques and silk upholstery.

  Tony understood how maternal issues worked on sons. Sometimes his own mother’s attitudes rubbed off onto him, too. “We need to clarify a few things.” Tony settled onto a chair that had looked hard but was, in fact, extremely comfortable. He opened his notebook. “Your mother explained that neither of you are in line to inherit the house.”

  The men nodded.

  “You don’t feel left out?” Tony was curious more than convinced it had anything to do with Cashdollar’s death. He just hated dangling bits of information.

  Glenn laughed. “Not at all. It’s not like either of us are direct descendants of the original family.”

  Tony’s face must have shown his confusion.

  “Look at us.” Glenn’s merriment stopped, his dark eyes turned pensive. “Jesse and me, we’re both adopted. Mom and Dad picked us out of cardboard boxes in front of the grocery store, like puppies.”

  Jesse shook his head. “Not the time for our puppy story, Glenn.” He smiled at Tony. “Actually we were available for adoption and our birth mothers found us new homes. Now, except for the bloodlines and the old house, we are Dills. Even our father was only considered a temporary resident in the family house. Family by marriage. I’m surprised our mother ever used either husband’s name. It rather spoiled her connection with the past.”

  Nodding his agreement with his brother’s statement, Glenn took over the conversation. “Luckily for everyone, Dad had plenty of his own money. It’s a necessary commodity when marriage comes with a family heirloom that is actually a huge money pit.” Glenn smiled. “Jesse and I each inherited a fair amount of cash when Dad died. Enough to keep us funded without needing to get real work, and that’s discounting the cash we put into our new business.”

  “What’s that?” For no particular reason, Tony guessed the brothers might go into real estate.

  “Dills’ Pickles.” Glenn pulled a business card and a small folded advertising/calendar from his shirt pocket and handed them to Tony. “From the moment we were adopted as kids, Jesse and I talked about our new last name and we always said with a name like Dill, we should have a pickle factory. So now we are in the pickle business. Our company is about to release the first batch. We’re taking orders already and, of course, our pickles are strictly first-class—we process cucumbers, okra, peppers, and any vegetable we can get that’s certified organic. We’re developing gourmet, healthy pickles.”

  The business sounded like a good one, but guessing he couldn’t afford their products, Tony returned to his questions. “What was your relationship with Franklin like? Did you spend much time with him?”

  Glenn shrugged. “He was okay, but then we never actually lived with him. At most, we shared a few meals, at holidays, a couple of times a year. Our dad was more fun than Franklin, but he died in an accident years ago.”

  “We were in college at the time.” Jesse stared into Tony’s eyes. “Mom was lonely, and Franklin looked good in formal wear—the military posture, you know. It was fine with us when she married Franklin.”

  “Mostly because we didn’t have to live with him,” Glenn repeated. “He was totally opposed to anything spur of the moment, even a pickup basketball game had to be on the day’s schedule or it didn’t happen. Don’t you think planning ahead for an impulse game is weird?”

  “Well, there is that.” Jesse nodded. “Franklin had a lot of rules he lived by. What happened to him?”

  Tony thought it was interesting how long it took for them to show any interest in how the deceased came to be in that condition. When he explained the flight to go fishing, the siblings nodded.

  “Sounds like Franklin. He did love to fish,” said Glenn.

  “Did either of you share his interest in the sport?”

  Glenn shook his head, and at the same time Jesse said, “I fish a little, but compared to Franklin, no. That man was hard-core. He’d spend twenty hours a day, casting, tying flies, sharpening his knife. A big knife.”

  “So, his having a charter flight to take him somewhere to fish was not out of character?”

  “No.” The brothers spoke in unison.

  Glenn said, “I thought it was weird he carried a huge knife like he did if he didn’t plan to gut something big.”

  Tony didn’t remember there being a large knife on the body, or for that matter, any knife. He glanced at Wade. His deputy was busy drawing a question mark next to the statement in his notebook.

  Thanking the men for their assistance and wishing them good luck with Dills’ Pickles, Tony, Wade, and Dupont headed for the ex-wife’s office.

  “What did you think of the knife business?” Tony looked at Wade.

  “I think it’s very interesting that there wasn’t a knife on him when he landed.” Wade rubbed the back of his neck. “Or a sheath. A knife that size ought to have a sheath.”

  “It wasn’t in the airplane.” Tony hated lines that didn’t connect. “Do you suppose he dropped it when he left the plane?”

  “Oh, man, if he did, it could be anywhere.”

  Tony wondered if his initial assessment of Franklin’s second wife, Joyce Cashdollar, was accurate, or if it had been colored by the third wife’s attitude. Physically, she could have been a sister or cousin to the much wealthier woman. It made Tony wonder if the first wife had been the same body type. He hoped he would remember to ask Carl Lee to show him a photograph of his mother.

  “We need to speak with Joyce Cashdollar. Is that you?” Tony wanted to be certain this was not someone else sitting at Joyce’s desk.

  “Yes. And you are?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Sheriff Tony Abernathy of Park County, Tennessee, and my deputy , Wade Claybough.”

  “Let me see your identification.” It was not a request.

  After he’d introduced himself and Wade, Joyce had checked his badge and identification, asked for references, and even called Carl Lee Cashdollar for a description. After all of that, she still tried to keep Wade from joining Tony when he entered her office, and almost did keep Dupont ou
t. Tony wished he could have a reason to be excluded. Tony couldn’t imagine how he’d get into her house if he needed to interview her there. A certain degree of suspicion was good as a personal safeguard—this woman was paranoid.

  “May I call you Joyce?” Tony didn’t want to just drop the bad news on her like a brick, but it might come to that. First he thought he’d do a bit of subtle inquiry.

  She stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “No. Call me Mrs. Cashdollar. I’m a married woman. I won’t have you taking liberties.”

  Having been warned by Laura, the replacement wife, he thought he’d test Joyce’s determination. “It’s my understanding that you and Franklin divorced some time ago.”

  “Absolutely not. I do not approve of divorce. He and I took vows in church. We are still married.” Joyce bared her teeth like an angry rodent. “He’ll burn in hell for his cheating ways.”

  Tony stood his ground. He thought Joyce’s personality reeked of anger, disdain, and jealousy. Why was there such an overblown reaction?

  Joyce narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you want here?”

  Feeling like there was only one way to get through the personality wall, Tony spoke softly and said, “It’s my sad duty, but I have to tell you he has died.”

  Joyce’s expression changed dramatically. The snarl disappeared, and she even produced a faint smile. “Oh, well then, I guess he’s already burning.” Joyce ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the curls. “There’s nothing to discuss then.”

  Tony did not agree. “Actually, I have several questions that only you can answer for me.” When Joyce’s face shifted from anger to satisfaction and now curiosity, she became lovelier and appeared more relaxed than she had when they arrived.

  She smiled. “What do you need to know?”

  “Were you two often in communication with each other?” Tony said. “Visits?”