Russ seemed to sense her hesitancy and released her hand. “I got a call from Scott,” he said, reaching for his water glass.
“Your brother? That’s nice.”
‘Yeah. Pam had false labor, so they spent some time at the hospital out in Seattle. But she’s back home now, still waiting.
“That must be frustrating.” Jo felt the distance grow between them and knew it was her fault. She didn’t know what she could do to change it. She chatted with him about his brother’s situation, then listened as Russ told her about the people from his department who had come to see him and what they had told him about his shooter. All neutral, safe topics, and the longer it continued the worse Jo felt. But she still couldn’t bring herself to step around that wall. When it came time to leave she was almost relieved. Did Russ feel the same way? If so, he hid it well. His one-armed embrace was as warm as before, and he seemed genuinely reluctant to see her go.
It wasn’t until she pressed the elevator button that she realized he hadn’t asked about the Michicomi situation. Apparently no one in his department had thought to bring it up, talk focusing instead on how the case against his shooter was proceeding. As it should. Russ had enough to handle, including his own recovery and rehabilitation, without the stress and distraction of Jo’s problems.
She hadn’t been contacted by Sheriff Franklin or anyone in his department since Sunday. What did that mean? she wondered, as she stepped into the opening elevator. Best case scenario would be that he had moved beyond thinking of her as a suspect and was, instead, looking at someone else. That seemed highly unlikely, though. Linda’s dying words claiming Jo had poisoned her, plus her claim of having had an affair with Jo’s husband would certainly keep Jo in Franklin’s center focus. It was up to her to shift that focus, not simply away from herself but toward the true killer.
Jo’s reputation was at stake here, as much as anything else. If Franklin’s investigation stalled, with not enough evidence to charge anyone at all, she would still be under the gun, so to speak. Gossip, fueled by the lingering mystery could dog her for the rest of her life. Not a desirable prospect, by any means. Which meant she needed to get moving.
Patrick Weeks had raised several interesting, but contradictory questions. Would Bill Ewing, with his simmering anger toward Linda provide more answers? That remained to be seen.
<><><>
Jo peeked through her bedroom window the next morning and saw Harry Barnette pulling up in his Black Jeep SUV, only five minutes past the appointed time. Javonne, she thought, must have been pushing her lateness-prone husband hard. With Wednesday being the day she closed the craft shop, Jo normally allowed herself the luxury of a longer sleep, followed by a leisurely breakfast. But sleep was a more elusive thing, lately, much like the solution to Linda Weeks’s murder, two situations she was aware were not entirely coincidental. As for breakfast – she’d downed a piece of toast and sipped coffee distractedly, her thoughts on other things.
Eying the SUV, Jo realized what a bonus it might be, something she hadn’t considered until that moment. Who knew what the roads would be like in the area they were heading to? Dan Brenner, according to Carrie, had picked the location on the spur of the moment, coming up fast with the only old tobacco barn he could think of. He hadn’t had time to figure out how accessible it might still be. Or how upright. Jo crossed her fingers that they – and Bill Ewing would actually find a structure worth photographing, which hopefully would lead to more interesting developments.
Jo hurried to open her front door and wave to Harry.
“I’ll be right out,” she called, and saw him wave back. She ran to the kitchen to pull a couple of water bottles from her refrigerator, then grabbed her pocketbook .
“Looks like a nice day,” she said as she climbed into the idling SUV.
“An EX-cellent day,” Harry agreed. He shifted gear and checked behind him before pulling away from the curb. An Orioles baseball cap perched on his bald head, and he wore a gray sweatshirt over jeans, looking very un-dentist-like. Jo spotted multi-pocketed black bags stowed in the back which likely held his camera equipment.
“This is so great of you to go with me, Harry,” Jo said. “I hope Javonne didn’t twist your arm terribly.”
“Twist my arm!” Harry said, looking genuinely shocked. “I’ve been looking for a good excuse to go off like this and try out my new camera. And,” he grinned slyly, “maybe I’ll pick up a few tips from this Ewing fellow while we’re at it. He’s the real pro, I hear.”
“Yes, he’s good. I saw some of his work at Michicomi. He’s not much of a talker, though, so this might not be easy.”
Harry shot her a look. “He’s not much of a salesman is what you’re saying. But I guarantee you, when two guys loaded with cameras meet, there’s going to be talk.”
Jo grinned. “Great. By the way, do you know where you’re going?” She didn’t see any maps at hand.
“Jo, I grew up around here. That barn that Dan told Ewing about? I used to play there when I was a kid!”
“You did?”
“Yeah! With my cousin Delroy. His folks, my Aunt Eulie and Uncle Ralph, had a place close to there. Del and I used to go looking for garter snakes in the weeds.”
“Sounds like fun,” Jo said dryly.
“It was! I’ve been meaning to take the boys out there sometime. It does a kid good to tromp around in the wild once in a while.”
Jo smiled and pictured Javonne’s reaction to her boys bringing home snakes or dealing with ticks and other creatures of the wild.
“So, where do you want me to lead the conversation, once we get going on photography?” Harry picked up speed as he headed out of Abbotsville and onto the highway.
“The craft festival. I need to get him talking about Linda Weeks.”
“Right. So, let’s see, I go from, ‘what film speed are you using there?’ to ‘did you hate that woman enough to murder her?’” Harry burst into loud, explosive laughter that drew Jo along with him. She had spent enough time with Harry not to be startled by the sound, but she sometimes wondered how his patients, mouths stuffed with cotton and aspirator, handled having to face Harry’s whining drill coupled with his often manic-sounding laughter.
“What’s Javonne doing today?” Jo asked.
“She said something about practicing the origami you taught last night. She said it was surprisingly relaxing, even though it took a lot of concentration.”
Jo nodded. “I’m glad she likes it. Ina Mae, though, I’m not so sure about.”
“What? There’s something Ina Mae Kepner can’t handle?”
“Oh, she’ll get it, eventually, that I’m sure of. She’s just not enjoying it as much as I wish she could. She’s attacking origami like something she needs to understand fully before she can begin. Some things should be begun on trust. The understanding comes later.”
“Like pulling a sore tooth, huh? Just reach in and yank. You’ll most likely get the right one. If not, there’s plenty more to try.”
At Jo’s dismayed look Harry burst into laughter again. “A little dentist humor, Jo.” he said, punching her shoulder lightly.
Jo shook her head. “You guys must be a riot at your conventions.”
“Almost as much fun as morticians.”
“That I can believe.”
They had left the highway, and Jo watched as Harry made several turns, each time distancing them farther from strip malls and stop lights and taking them closer to forest and farmland.
“Delroy lived down that road,” Harry pointed as they whizzed by. Jo caught a glimpse of a narrow road lined with canopied trees. “He’s a chef, now, in D.C. My Aunt Eulie was a great cook. He got the gene.”
“So we must be close to the tobacco barn?”
“Uh-huh. Right around the bend here. Let’s see.” Harry slowed down, scanning the roadside carefully. “Should be right about… ah! There it is.” He swung onto a barely visible farm road whose ruts caused Jo to brace herself on the
SUV’s sides. They bounced along for a couple of hundred yards through trees that, when fully leafed in a few weeks, would eventually block out most sunlight and turn this pathway dark. Jo saw open field up ahead, and, as they moved into it, a tobacco barn.
“There she is,” Harry said. He continued on the farm road which curved to the left toward the barn. The SUV handled the rough terrain easily – easier than Jo, who continued to hold on tightly – until they pulled up close to the old barn. Harry cut his motor and the silence of the empty field and barn descended.
The quiet and emptiness made Jo worry. There was no sign of the photographer. “That turn-off wasn’t easy to see unless you knew where to look. Ewing might have trouble finding it.”
“He might have to drive up and down a few times,” Harry acknowledged, “but he’ll spot it eventually.” He opened his door. “Want to look around?”
“Sure.” Jo unbuckled and stepped out. She gazed up at the grey-sided barn as Harry pulled out his camera case. She had seen several such barns from the road as she drove through this part of Maryland, but had never examined one up close. Two stories high and rectangular shaped, it had what appeared to be a rusted tin roof still fairly intact. Clumps of vines covered much of the partially rotted, slatted sides.
“Looks like it hasn’t been in use for quite a while,” she said.
“Nope. Tobacco isn’t the money-making crop it used to be. Thank goodness. You should see the stained teeth of some of my smoker patients. Not to mention the problems that arise from the chewers.”
“I can only imagine,” said Jo, who really didn’t want to. “Can we go inside?”
“Might be able to peek in. I don’t know if I’d recommend actually going into it. Might be a few creatures setting up housekeeping in there now.”
Harry dragged a rusty-hinged door open and pointed out features to Jo, who took care not to step very far inside. “They used to hang the bundled tobacco up there,” he said, pointing to the ceiling above several open cross beams, “for curing.”
Jo sniffed and thought she could detect a lingering tobacco aroma mingled with damp earth and vegetation smells. She heard something, and pulled her head back outside. The sound of a car motor grew louder until Jo glimpsed a red vehicle through the far-off trees.
“Looks like Bill Ewing found the road,” Harry said.
CHAPTER 17
Jo and Harry watched as the red Chevy Blazer came toward them. It stopped several feet behind Harry’s Jeep. Ewing cut his motor and climbed out.
“Mornin’,” he said, hiking up his jeans. He wore a multi-pocketed, safari style khaki shirt over the jeans, and sturdy-looking boots “You the owners?”
“No,” Harry said. “Just here to take a few pictures.”
Ewing scowled. “Who for?”
Harry grinned. “Myself. Got a new camera here – a new digital SLR. I want to see what it’ll do.”
Ewing grunted. “Thought you might be competition. I’m doing a photo series on tobacco barns for Mid-Atlantic History magazine. I don’t need it getting canceled because some other rag beat us to the punch .”
“No worry there,” Harry said genially.
Ewing simply nodded. “Mind pulling your car out of the way?” He gestured farther down the rutted road and climbed back into his Blazer, assuming Harry and Jo would comply. They did, of course, both climbing into the Jeep which Harry then backed up slowly, following Ewing until he stopped at least three hundred feet from the barn.
Ewing climbed out and began unloading equipment from the back, ignoring them. Harry shrugged at Jo, then pulled his camera from its case and fiddled with it until Jo saw him glance over at Ewing. His jaw dropped.
“Whoa!” Harry cried. “Is that a Deardorff V4?”
Bill Ewing looked up from the case from which he had carefully removed a large camera, which, to Jo, looked like something out of a 1940’s or 1950’s newsreel. A tripod lay on the ground beside it. “You know Deardorff?”
“Only from what I’ve read.” Harry’s face, Jo thought, couldn’t look more impressed. She wanted to ask, “What’s a Deardorff?” but held her tongue. As Harry had predicted, suddenly the tightlipped Ewing was talking cameras, specifically his camera, which Jo assumed was the Rolls-Royce of the photography world.
Suddenly she was hearing model numbers and letters tossed around which meant nothing to her, as well as terms like lens focal length, shutter speed and aperture setting. She waited patiently, glad to have Harry warm up Ewing for her, though whether he would rapidly freeze when she took her turn remained to be seen.
Ewing glanced skyward, then picked up his gear and began heading toward the field. Harry quickly asked, “Mind if I watch?”
“Just stay to the rear.”
“Great!” Harry said, looking as joyful, Jo thought, as if Tiger Woods had just invited him to share a round of golf. As the two of them tramped off, she wondered if a comparable super-star, celebrity dentist existed who would have made Harry as excited, but suspected not. She scurried to keep from being left behind and when she managed to pull alongside Ewing, broke into Harry’s streaming camera talk to ask, “Are you finding enough tobacco barns to photograph for this magazine?”
Ewing turned toward her, answering with a brief, “Yup.”
“Mostly around here, or have you had to travel around a lot?”
“Traveled a bit.” Ewing stepped over a dip in the ground. “The barns in any one area,” he said, keeping his pace brisk, “tend to all look pretty much the same except for condition. The farther out you go, the more variety you get.” He stopped, then slid his tripod off his shoulder and began setting it up.
“Down to North Carolina?”
“Haven’t been there yet. Virginia and West Virginia. Found a few Mail Pouch barns.” Ewing worked at attaching his camera to the tripod, and Jo saw that Harry watched each little movement intently. He obviously had totally forgotten the reason they’d come here in the first place, so getting to the topic she was really interested in had fallen solely onto Jo.
“Oh, Mail Pouch!” she said. “I remember seeing those signs on barns. They were like the first billboards, weren’t they?”
“Yup.” Ewing looked through his lens, and made adjustments on his camera. “They used only the barns that could be seen from the road. Farmers got a few dollars and a free paint job out of it.”
“I don’t remember seeing any around here. Where’d you find them? Mostly in West Virginia?”
Ewing nodded, and bent down to his camera case to get something. “Found a couple south of Morgantown.”
Jo remembered Gabe Stubbins’s story of Ewing being ejected from the craft show’s Morgantown venue because of his blow-up with Linda. She ventured a turn toward that subject.
“Morgantown? Was that after Michicomi?”
Ewing shot her a sharp look. “What do you know about Michicomi?”
“I had a booth in it when it stopped here, at Hammond County.”
“You a photographer too?”
“No, jewelry.”
“Yeah?” Ewing turned back to his work, acting less than interested. But Jo thought she saw a tightening of his jaw.
“I thought I recognized you,” she said. “I stopped at your booth when I had some break time. I was very impressed with your work.”
“Yeah?” Ewing glanced back at her, not exactly smiling but a bit less grim. “Buy any?”
“No. I wish I could have, but such things just don’t fit in my budget right now.”
Ewing snorted softly. “That seemed to be the feeling of most of the Hammond County shoppers. Some of the Michicomi towns are better than others. Unfortunately, they don’t let us pick and choose which ones we want to be in, do they?”
“No, they don’t. I heard,” Jo said, picking her way carefully, “that the woman who died – Linda Something-or-other? - had managed to get invited to plenty of good festival towns.”
Ewing’s jaw clenched once more, and red patches appeared on h
is cheeks as well as the scalp beneath his light crew cut. This was obviously still a sore subject with him. She pushed harder. “I guess her product was pretty outstanding.”
“Her booth was no better than any others! Worse, in my opinion.”
“Then how --?”
“Sleeping with one of the top guys can get you plenty of favors.”
“Oh, gosh! You think she was getting special treatment?”
“I know she was. And let me tell you, lady, it’s a pretty sorry state of affairs when an organization handles things that way. Believe me, I would have been done with them altogether if I hadn’t spent years building up a reputation with the people who regularly show up at their shows. I can’t just start over with another group! But there they were, giving this two-bit newcomer preferential bookings, and putting me off with idiotic excuses!”
Ewing had begun gesticulating broadly as his temper rose, one of his flailing arms nearly knocking over his tripod-mounted camera which Harry leaped forward to steady. Putting his precious camera at such risk told Jo the extent of Ewing’s anger toward Linda and how she had affected him.
“Well, I guess your problem with Michicomi is ended,” she said.
Ewing stared, suddenly seeming to realize that the object of his anger was dead. Or had he realized what he might have been giving away about himself?
He turned back to his camera. “Tough thing to happen.”
“It was. Especially since now they’re saying it was murder.”
Harry, clearly still enthralled with Ewing’s Deardorff began to interrupt with a question about the film Ewing was using until Jo aimed a not-too-gentle kick at his ankle. Ewing, concentrating on his view of the tobacco barn didn’t seem to notice. Jo plowed on.
Paper-Thin Alibi Page 12