“I had a pound of bacon in the freezer. He ate the whole thing! And look at this.” The man opened a kitchen cabinet full of jars and bottles with a few conspicuous openings. “He took my black pepper and chili powder. I just bought those at Costco!”
Jumbo-sized containers of seasonings seemed like an off choice for a man on the lam, but maybe Ronnie hated bland food. Frank produced an evidence bag and put the soup can into it. The lab could dust it for prints. It would probably take days, given how backed up those guys always were. No matter. The test would simply be verification of what Frank was already certain of: Ronnie had been hiding out here, after hiking over the Verona Range. He must’ve made it here the first night after his escape. The entire time the state troopers and their dogs had been combing the forest in the rain, Ronnie had been relaxing in comfort. But why this house?
“You say you’ve owned this place for fifteen years? You must know some of the locals, eh?”
“My neighbors along the pond here. And I’m friendly with Marge, who owns the diner. And Rollie over at the hardware store. He always helps me out when something breaks. There’s a lot of upkeep with these cottages, you know.”
Frank’s ears pricked up. “Has Rollie ever recommended any carpenters or handymen when you’ve needed some work done?”
“Sure. He’s tapped into a network of good workers. There was a plumber who installed a new toilet for me and another fella who hung a new back door.” The man pointed toward a short hallway. “Now I’m going to have to get him back ‘cause that’s how the thief got in. Broke the window in the door and reached in to open the lock.”
Frank examined the damage. “You remember the name of the guy who did the work?”
“Ron. Ron Somebody. I have his name and number in my desk. I’ll get it.”
The man handed Frank a Post-It note with Ronnie Gatrell’s name and number printed on it.
“How long ago did he work for you?” Frank asked.
“Maybe two years ago. I was going to call him in the spring to rebuild the steps to the back porch. He’s the escaped prisoner? He seemed like a great guy to me.”
“You’re going to need a new handyman. Ronnie’s going to be in jail for a long time if I have anything to say about it.” Frank put the note in another evidence bag.
“I wonder why Ronnie left the safety of this house when he did. I’m surprised you didn’t walk in on him. Did anyone local know you were coming up this weekend?”
“No. Why?” The homeowner’s face lit up. “Oh, you’re wondering what tipped him off? I bet it was this.” He pulled out his cellphone. “I have a remote control on the thermostat. I can turn it on with a phone call. That way, the house is warm when I get here. I had just gotten the system when Ronnie was working here. I showed it to him.”
“When did you call?”
“Around six this morning before I took off. I didn’t want to forget.”
Frank sighed. Ronnie had had six hours to make it to his next hideout.
Frank called the state police to get the dogs over to Mallard Pond. He wondered if it would do much good—how long did a man’s scent stay viable in damp weather like this?—but he had to make the effort. Once they arrived, he headed to the hardware store to talk to Rollie Fister. If Rollie was recommending Gatrell’s services to people with vacation homes, then Gatrell had a ready-made list of familiar homes where he could crash. If Frank got that list, sooner or later the police would intercept Ronnie Gatrell.
On the way there he considered his strategy. What side of the Ronnie divide would Rollie Fister be on? On one hand, he lived near the covered bridge and wouldn’t want a new development of houses spoiling his view. On the other, the new houses would bring new customers for his store. And Rollie was a local leader of the Republican Party. Would that mean he was anti-government regulation? Or pro-law enforcement?
All these permutations made Frank’s head spin.
He strolled into Venable’s Hardware as if he wanted nothing more than some new drill bits. Rollie Fister and his team of clerks were all busy with customers. Frank strolled the aisles, perusing the jam-packed shelves and inhaling the pleasant smell of freshly cut wood and turpentine and citronella that enveloped the store regardless of the season. Eventually, Rollie’s customer left with two gallons of paint, and Frank waved the store manager over to the electrical aisle.
“How’s the remodeling project going?” Rollie asked. “Need something for your new lighting system?”
“Dimmer switch. My contractor has so many lights installed in the kitchen, the CIA could conduct an interrogation in there.”
Rollie cackled and plucked a package from the crowded shelf. “Not the cheapest, but the best.”
Frank accepted the switch. “Kind of like the contractor you recommended for my project. He’s been doing a great job. Tell me, who do you recommend for smaller, cheaper projects?”
“Oh, I have a few boys willing to do handyman type jobs.”
“Is Ronnie Gatrell one of them?”
“What are you getting at, Frank?”
“I want a list of the vacation homeowners that you recommended Ronnie Gatrell to. “
Rollie threw up his hands. “I don’t keep files of things like that. Someone asks me for advice, I give them some names.”
“When Ronnie had a project, he bought his supplies here, right? Who has he worked for recently?”
Rollie cocked his head. “Why did you ask about vacation homeowners? Have you spotted Ronnie in an empty house?”
Frank swore to himself and clamped his mouth shut. Rollie was such a busybody he could ferret out gossip in the most straightforward statement. Frank didn’t want to tell the man about the break-in on Mallard Pond. The news would circulate soon enough, but he wanted the investigation to be a few hours ahead of it.
Rollie stuffed his hands in his back pockets and shifted his weight from foot to foot.
Frank waited.
“Aw, geez, Frank. You’re puttin’ me in an awful bind. I mean, if it was a real criminal you were after, of course I’d help, but ol’ Ronnie…well, geez, I hate to rat him out.”
Since no one in town except he and Earl seemed to think Ronnie was dangerous, Frank abandoned that line of reasoning. “Look, Rollie. These homeowners are your customers. They’re not going to be too happy when Ronnie breaks into their houses and they find out you did nothing to stop him.”
“How is it my fault?” Rollie’s chin jutted out. “I didn’t force anyone to hire Ronnie.”
Frank raised an imaginary newspaper. “I can see the headline in the Mountain Herald: ‘String of Break-Ins Tied to Hardware Store Recommendations’ And what if he breaks into an occupied home? ‘Gatrell Terrorizes Customers of Venable’s Hardware’.”
“Now that’s not fair! You wouldn’t tell the newspaper a tale like that.”
Frank shrugged. “If Greg Faraday calls me to comment on the break-ins, I gotta tell him how I’m investigating and not getting any cooperation. Otherwise, it’ll be my ass he fries in the headlines. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
They faced each other in silence.
Rollie pivoted with a harrumph. “Oh, all right. I’ll tell you the names I know. But who’s to say those are the only houses he’d go to? There could be lots of others. Ronnie does all kinds of handyman jobs just to keep body and soul together. And he knows these woods like the back of his hand. Every hunting cabin, every fishing shack. He could be anywhere.”
“He could. But I have to start somewhere. So talk.”
Chapter 13
Frank looped back out to the cottage Ronnie had broken into to see if the troopers had had any luck with the search dogs. The K-9 van sat in front of the cottage, but Frank heard nothing other than sound of tress rustling in the breeze. Not promising. When the dogs were excited by a scent, you could hear them baying half a mile away.
Meyerson appeared on the porch with a scowl on his face. Another trooper emerged from the house behi
nd him, followed by a bored looking German shepherd.
“No joy?” Frank enquired.
The dog flopped on the porch and licked its front paw.
“The dogs had his scent in the house, but they lost it immediately after he descended the porch steps,” the K-9 officer said. “It’s like Ronnie vaporized.”
“He must be gone even longer than we thought,” Meyerson said. Then he squinted at Frank. “Where have you been?”
Frank handed him the list of vacation homes he’d procured. “Ronnie knows the habits of these homeowners. This might be where he’ll head next.”
Meyerson glanced at the list. “Possibly. Seems more likely he’d try to get out of the High Peaks. Should be looking to steal a vehicle.”
Frank had grown used to Meyerson dismissing any idea he presented, so he didn’t bother to argue. He’d look into the other vacation homes on his own. If he turned up nothing, Meyerson would be none the wiser. And if he captured Ronnie…. Frank allowed himself a brief fantasy of Meyerson’s outrage. The dog handler brought him back to reality.
The officer crouched next to his canine partner. “Something is throwing the dogs off.”
The dog at his feet sneezed, then stood up and shook its head from side to side.
“What’s the matter, Juno?” The handler stroked the dog’s head. “Did you swallow something you don’t like?”
Frank contemplated the unhappy dog. “Black pepper? Chili powder? Would that confuse the dogs?”
“Yeah…definitely.”
“Ronnie is smarter than we give him credit for.” Frank told them about the stolen spices. “He didn’t find a gun here, but he still managed to find tools he could use to protect himself. And he’s got enough to keep us off his trail when he stops again.”
Another trooper emerged from a small utility shed at the edge of the next property. “C’mere and look at this.”
Frank and Meyerson trotted down to the shed.
Frank gasped as he gazed into the dim interior. A striped figure slumped in the corner.
Once his eyes adjusted, he understood what occupied the shed. Ronnie had stuffed his jail uniform with peat moss from a ripped open bale and turned a bucket into the dummy’s head. Words dribbled out of its markered mouth: “Catch me if you can.”
When Frank rounded the last corner before home, his heart swelled with relief. For once, his front yard didn’t look like a sales lot for used pick-up trucks. All the workmen had departed for the day. He could enjoy Penny’s company in peace and not have to answer a million questions about tile grout and placement of electrical outlets.
But when he entered the house, he could hear Penny talking to someone.
“Penny?”
“Upstairs,” she called. Then the low murmur of conversation continued. Why would a guest be in their bedroom? Must be on the phone.
A huge sheet of plastic sealed off the kitchen—they’d been sanding in there today. The fridge had been temporarily relocated to the living room. Frank opened it, searching for a beer and a snack.
Mustard. Black olives. Raspberry jam. Three eggs.
He climbed the stairs, following the sound of Penny’s voice.
“Toilet paper…toothpaste…hand lotion…mouthwash…”
He entered the bathroom and found Penny with her phone in front of her mouth. She pressed a button and turned to him. “We have to go to Hannaford’s. I’m dictating a shopping list.”
Frank leaned against the doorframe. “Not tonight. Can’t it wait ‘til the weekend?”
“We said that last weekend and never went. Our cupboards are bare.”
“So we’ll eat at the Trail’s End.”
Penny shook her head. “No toilet paper, no tissue, no paper towels. That constitutes a crisis. We’re driving to Lake Placid. I’m making a comprehensive list so we don’t forget anything.”
Grocery shopping in the Adirondacks presented a logistical challenge to people who’d spent their younger days in the city and the suburbs. Even after years in the North Country, neither of them had developed the essential stockpiling skills needed for rural life. They persisted in believing they could pop out and get anything they needed, even after so many disappointing forays to The Store and the Stop’N’ Buy in fruitless search of guacamole or oregano or soy sauce or contact lens solution.
“Can we eat at the Mexican place next to Hannaford’s?” Frank begged.
“After we shop.” Penny turned on her dictation app. “Shampoo…dental floss…”
“Beer!” Frank shouted.
For a full big-box store shopping experience—Costco, Walmart, Target, Macy’s—you had to drive all the way to Plattsburgh, but Hannaford’s, the big supermarket anchoring a strip mall on the far side of Lake Placid, had a wide selection of everyday necessities and a few gourmet treats as well. Frank and Penny pushed two carts through the aisles. The shopping excursion held Frank’s interest when they were picking out cheese, and salsa, and cake, and even breakfast cereal, but now that they were in the center of the store, Frank grew restless. “You get the cleaning products. I’ll go over to paper goods. We’ll finish sooner if we divide and conquer.”
“Okay. Don’t forget garbage bags. Meet me in Produce when you’re done.”
Frank stacked the cart with huge bundles of toilet paper and tissue. Unless they both came down with pneumonia and dysentery, they should be supplied for months. He steered his overloaded freighter to the last aisle in the store. Get the fruits and veggies Penny insisted upon and head out for a cold beer and some enchiladas. From a distance he could see his wife pawing through a bin of broccoli—as if the heads weren’t all equally distasteful—then she dropped a big green bouquet and approached a man whose back was turned.
Frank stared around the paper towels. Who was that? Penny embraced him, and the man turned in profile.
Edwin!
Frank stopped wheeling the cart. Of all people to run into here. Frank didn’t want a repeat performance of the wrenching scene in his office. Could he hide out in Toiletries until Edwin left?
Too late. Penny caught sight of him and waved him forward. Frank steeled himself for the encounter.
Edwin’s eyes lit up when he saw Frank approaching. He held his right hand out. “I want to apologize for my outburst the other day.”
“Edwin, please…I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Relieved, Frank clasped his friend’s hand. “I never should have waded into Olivia’s foster care situation. I should have let the social workers take care of it. I never wanted you and Lucy to get hurt.”
Penny tugged on Frank’s sleeve to hush him. “Edwin has good news, dear. Tell him, Edwin.”
“Our lawyer thinks we have a good chance of retaining custody because Anita never made any effort to stay in touch with Olivia while she was in prison. That can be considered abandonment.” Edwin gripped a bunch of carrots in his hands. “Olivia’s future rests on proving abandonment. There’s a hearing in Family Court the day after tomorrow.
“Has Olivia ever asked to write Anita a letter or asked to visit her in jail?” Penny asked.
Edwin kneaded the bag of carrots in his hands. “The first year she was with us, she used to ask about her mother. Ask to draw pictures for her. We would help her address the letters. She’d put them in the mail, and then the next day she’d start checking the mailbox for a reply. It never came. Heartbreaking! I ask you, what kind of mother wouldn’t answer her own child’s letters?” Edwin hurled the carrots into his cart. “So when Olivia would ask if she could visit, we would say the prison didn’t allow it. Eventually she stopped asking, stopped writing. We thought that was best. Why dredge up the pain?”
Other shoppers sidled around them, trying to get access to the asparagus or the peppers. The sensible approach would be to finish shopping and find a place to sit down and talk. But Frank wasn’t feeling sensible. He wanted to know everything, right here, right now. He shoved his cart in front of the kale—surely no one wanted that—and conti
nued to question Edwin.
“So Olivia reached out to her mother and you and Lucy allowed her to do that—”
“Encouraged her,” Edwin corrected.
“And Anita never, ever responded?” Penny said. “That’s gotta be a big strike against her. But, did she know where Olivia was? I mean, do they tell prisoners what’s going on with their kids?”
“Anita had a court-appointed lawyer and some kind of counselor in prison." Edwin fussed with a potted plant he had placed in the child seat of his cart, pinching off a spent bloom. “They were supposed to keep her informed.”
Supposed to. Prisoners had all kinds of rights that were routinely ignored. Frank knew how the criminal justice system worked. Anita might be able to claim information had been withheld from her. Still, Essex County wasn’t The Bronx. Kids didn’t disappear into the system, never to be seen again. If Anita had really wanted to get in touch, she could have written “Olivia Veech, Trout Run, NY” on an envelope and the letter would’ve been delivered.
Edwin shredded the petals off the dead flower. “What’s killing Lucy and me right now is that we could have petitioned to have Anita’s parental rights terminated two years ago and we could’ve legally adopted Olivia and none of this would be happening.”
Frank and Penny exchanged a glance. This was news!
“You decided against it?” Penny asked gently.
“We were afraid to risk it.” Edwin grabbed a bag of onions from the bin beside him and tossed them on top of the carrots. “Lucy’s whole relationship with Olivia has been a push and pull as Olivia tries to figure out where her loyalties lie. It’s been easier for me. Olivia never knew her father. I’m not sure anyone even knew who he was. So when she came to us, it was much easier for her to accept me as a father figure. But Olivia feels guilty about her love for Lucy.”
“Weren’t you all going to a family therapist for a while?” Penny asked.
False Cast: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Series Book 5) Page 7