“Which mostly I’m grateful for, because they’re kids. Not that you’d know it to hear Jess. She’s building elaborate plans based on him and I can’t entirely blame her because they’re messaging hundreds — easily hundreds — of times a day.”
“Yikes.”
“Exactly. But if I say anything logical or reasonable or try to reel her back in nearer reality, she flies off the handle at me.”
Jessica Stendahl was a good kid. Smart and funny and generally well-grounded. On the other hand, she had that hideous cocktail of hormones flowing through her that nature inflicted on teens. Usually, if the brew bubbled over, it produced sharp words between her and her younger brother, Gary Junior, with their mother the mediator, not the target.
Gary Stendahl had died in a ranching accident when Gary Junior wasn’t much beyond a toddler and Jessica not all that much older. Diana should have earned every motherhood medal in the world for the way she’d gone to work to provide for her kids to keep the ranch that was their inheritance and their heritage together, and — most of all — created a strong, stable family of the three of them.
“It’s her first major … whatever this is.”
“J.R., too. His mom told me that when they were here.” She’d been glad it was a nice girl, though she might feel differently now with the two-way message blitz.
Diana released a deep sigh. “Gary’s more overtly emotional, his feelings closer to the surface, but Jess can be harder to interpret, harder to reach… She remembers her father better and she misses him.”
Ah. We’d detoured from J.R. to someone a foot taller and a couple decades older. The sheriff of Cottonwood County. “How does she feel about Russ?”
Diana cut me a look. “About the way you’d expect. Doesn’t help that he’s law enforcement — the sheriff, for heaven’s sake. Talk about an authority figure. He’s been really good about not sticking his oar in, but sometimes it’s clear he wants to. And, no matter what, he’s not Gary. I don’t know if she can ever forgive him for that.”
DAY FIVE
MONDAY
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“I found a person in Wyoming. Here is the phone number at the University of Wyoming you want to talk to — 307-555-0176.”
Dex’s phone call caught me still asleep. But I’d learned to take notes with my eyes closed decades ago. “Is there a name, Dex?”
“Radford Hickam.”
“Dex, you are a diamond of the first order.” Perhaps with my earlier thoughts about KWMT-TV’s non-gem status rolling around and my brain still snoozing, I added, “No matter how long it took, waiting for coal to turn into diamond was worth it in your case.”
“Coal is not the source of diamonds. Diamonds are created from carbon under exacting requirements of heat and pressure.”
“But coal is carb—”
“The carbon in coal is not the carbon that formed diamonds. Furthermore, diamonds are found in vertical formations, while coal is horizontal.”
“But…” I didn’t even try to finish the I always heard/Everybody knows excuse. I didn’t like it as a journalist. Dex hated it as a scientist.
“The single largest source for diamonds we see commercially is believed to be from the formation of the Earth’s mantle, with volcanic eruptions bringing them to where diamond prospectors find them. The other sources together account for a small minority. Impacts of asteroids, plate tectonic subduction processes, and meteorites are those other sources.”
Impacts from asteroids didn’t sound like the best plan for getting diamonds, what with the downsides. That middle one made my head hurt. And meteorites, which had less severe downsides than asteroids, still had downsides, along with being unreliable.
“In addition, the diamonds from those other sources are small — nanodiamonds in the case of meteorites.”
And then there was that.
“Okay, Dex. Thanks for the contact, the lesson, and—”
He hung up.
* * * *
Radford Hickam would be teaching and in meetings all today, according to the message on his machine. I could text and he’d get back to me at his first opportunity.
I skipped that offer. For this kind of first contact, I preferred a phone call. It let me feel out the source … and be more persuasive.
I’d keep trying.
Somewhat better luck with my second effort, when I used the number Jennifer sent me for Aleek, the paramedic-in-training.
The young, female voice that answered the phone said Aleek wasn’t home. But she clearly wanted to chat. So, we did. She had to be Tamantha’s age or younger.
The thought of Tamantha triggered a question. “Did you go to the Two Rivers Camp last week?”
She did. And we were off to the races.
By the time I heard what surely must have been everything she’d learned at camp, my asking if she knew where Aleek was naturally led to her reading off his Cottonwood County Community College class schedule on the fridge.
The class that particularly caught my attention ended in about ninety minutes and was taught by O.D. Everett.
* * * *
The gap before Aleek would be out of class left a perfect chunk of time to stop at the Sherman Supermarket for a chat with Penny.
More accurately, to listen to Penny.
A couple blocks from my destination, Mike called.
“It’s not directly related to either dead body, but I thought you’d be interested in some info — well, rumor — on Russell Teague’s will.”
“How did you get anything on his will?”
“One of our reporters overheard a loose-lipped lawyer in the hospital hallway talking to his office. Did I tell you they’ve got folks at the hospital for a death watch? Business reporters rolling in from all over.”
“I wouldn’t say no to a rumor about his will.”
“I figured.” I swear I heard Mike grinning. “It’s divided in two parts. The corporate and other stuff from his maternal side is one part, and that’s what the business reporters are hot about. The Wyoming stuff is entirely separate. And, apparently, different lawyers drew up the two parts and then a coordinating lawyer made the two sides play nice. None of the lawyers were happy with Russell’s many weird touches.”
“That’s great stuff, Mike. Do you know any of the specific terms?” What a juicy story that would be for some of my connections (or their connections) and thus prime trading material.
“Not yet. Working on it. Now that I know about the will, I think I can get more out the guy I got in the Wrigley Field suite.”
“Keep at it. I’ve got to go now. I’m at the supermarket.”
His sigh held wistfulness. “You don’t have to hang up. I don’t have to be anywhere for a while and I can listen in while you talk to Penny. Nobody does it better. I might pick up pointers.”
“Like you’ll need to get things out of Penny any time soon. Besides, I have to shop first.” But I didn’t end the call as I parked and got out.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I picked up a lunch salad for me, fresh fruit for Mrs. P’s vigil, and flowers for Sally while I listened to Mike talking about reconnecting with former Bears teammates and friends in the Chicago area. I was glad for him. Truly glad.
“Okay, I’m almost to checkout. I’m taking the earbuds out and putting the phone in my pocket. Don’t talk.”
“Got it.”
“Well, hi there, Elizabeth.” To her usual greeting, Penny added, “You’re in on another mess, eh? Two this time. Murder and—”
“I didn’t—” Why did I even try? I had no hope of stemming her flow. Besides, I had nothing to be defensive about. Nothing.
“—mayhem wherever you go. Dead before he ever got there—”
So much for KWMT-TV having an exclusive on that bit of news.
“—of course. Butte’s a strange place to take him. And with the camp kids there the day before and everyone looking forward to seeing how they did the reenactment this time wi
th racing down the butte and all. Not like trying to pretend nobody saw them behind some skinny trees a few yards down the creek bed, when every soul did see. Didn’t like to say anything then but it made them seem not real bright. New place, new opportunities, I say, and so did she, and not all talk. Money where her mouth was with how hard she worked, that’s for sure. All she’d done on the camp and reenactment for months and months and months, then the Ferguson house job the month before for her. Well, with—”
“Ferguson. That name’s famili—”
Mistake. My curiosity might pivot Penny’s talk about Nadine away from the reenactment and toward her other job, preparing for estate sales, as Paige and Verona told me Saturday.
“—her. Not got the hang yet of being boss. Lucky, because she works like crazy. Handles all the details, because she’s nice, when her problems with details can look like—”
She had to be switching back and forth between Paige and Nadine. No way would I interrupt to sort it, not after my Ferguson mistake.
“—she’s not on the up and up, but it’s really just not keeping up. The business is about all she can handle. Comet’s why. Mary kept everything and when she died, Bill kept her, too. Least a while. Took some explaining to get Reverend Boone to see what it meant that Bill didn’t buy Comet, three weeks in a row.”
That struck a memory. Penny told me about that after Mary Ferguson died.
Natural causes for a woman nearing ninety. Not one of our inquiries, thank heavens. We had more than enough with two bodies and Mrs. Parens acting strange.
“That’s interesting, but—”
“Knew she wasn’t breathin’ anymore when he did that. No way he’d go home without Comet if she were. He went, too, end of June. Poor old soul, never the same after. Some get along better after they’re apart than when they’re together, but not them.”
A quick sideways look from Penny made me wonder if that last line slipped in because she was thinking of another couple who, unlike the Fergusons, got along better apart. Willa and Palmer Rennant? Just how much apartness improved their relationship? The permanent kind?
I mentally scurried to catch up with Penny, whose dispensing of news and gossip waited for no person’s cogitations.
“House went even faster. Not easy with the way she kept every last thing. Give her credit, she kept it all clean. Comet. Everywhere, everything, even though it took some of those labels right off, not to mention expiration dates, but she didn’t hold with them at all. Expiration dates conspiring to make you give up what you’d bought at a lower price and buy new at a higher price. Not to mention companies not making what she liked anymore. Supposed to turn things in, she never—”
“Palmer Rennant,” I threw in.
“—would. Never let go of anything. Kept ’em and kept on using ’em until all used up, others she was still taking and said they worked great, despite it being decades. T’ch. Probably sent her to her final sleep. She got forgetful toward the end. Even before the end, nearly killed her once. Told her — both of them — to be careful. Cures aren’t always cures when—”
“Cocaine for toothaches,” I murmured.
“—they get down—”
“Is that true?” came from my phone.
I held it against my hip while I tried to lower the volume one-fingered, without looking at it.
Neither that nor Mike’s interruption slowed Penny any.
“—to the bottom of things. Getting to the bottom of things is what’s needed, even when it’s not wanted. Wife’s the last to know, they say, and that’s the truth, even when it’s plain as plain could be, especially when she didn’t want to see it, wouldn’t see it. Pure—”
That didn’t match what other sources said about Willa, though I’d stack Penny’s reliability — if not her clarity — up against anybody. Still, didn’t hurt to check…
“Willa Rennant said Palmer dated—”
Slipping in a comment to Penny worked like an old-fashioned jukebox. No immediate response because other items were lined up ahead of it, but sometimes getting there eventually.
Trouble was, you couldn’t tell when one ended and the next began.
“—stubbornness. Eyes squeezed shut and crazy idea on top of it. Not all at once. Drop him over it, start up with him over it, the reenactment’s in the middle. Brownies caught him, but already a parent to two nice kids, why take her on? Easter parade’s not enough. Widow with three nearly grown boys — too good a head on her shoulders. It’s like teaching a man to fish. Same—”
“Which one’s Jolie Graf. Is there anything—”
“Fish?” my phone said. “You mean—”
“—principle. Took that on from the start, fought off—”
“—once you teach him, he’ll remember forever, like riding a bike?” Mike asked.
I tried for the volume again with no success.
“—efforts to put in all sorts of things that aren’t true because they thought it would be a better story. When—”
I think I might have followed the S-curve logic of that transition — going from principle to principal, which made her think of Mrs. P, which brought her back to the reenactment and the camp. Or one of them. Probably the reenactment, because of the reference to a better story.
The last of my items slid into a bag.
Penny totaled out the sale, waited for me to deal with the credit card, then handed over the receipt.
But with no one behind me, she showed no inclination to hurry me along.
“—the original’s plenty good. And as for telling stories, some don’t even bother and maybe that’s better. Because otherwise you got one side one-upping the other, building up fairytales that only those Grimm brothers could like, much less keep track of. When what they need to do is remember about fishing. What Proverbs says about teaching a man to fish—”
“Proverbs? In the Bible?” Mike asked, louder. Darn, I’d toggled the volume the wrong way.
“—because if you give a man a fish that gives him a meal, but give him a fishing pole and he can get his own meal. Though some men want—”
“There’s nothing about a fishing pole or—” came from the phone.
I took the phone out of my pocket and hit mute.
“—a lot more than a fishing pole. They want the fanciest outfit and a motorboat and the whole kit and caboodle. And they go after it—”
Mike’s interruption hadn’t derailed Penny, but it left me scrambling to piece together fragments. “Rennant? Do you know when he was last seen alive?”
“—no matter what. Good for the goose, good for the gander, in theory, that is. And the gander might not agree. Can’t say, except in here wanting Halloween candy Thursday afternoon.”
Someone else came into the checkout chute. I curbed my inclination to scream No.
“Bye, Elizabeth.”
Then Penny Czylinski did something remarkable.
She didn’t look away from me to the next person in her line. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on mine as she said, “Well, hi there, Jolie.”
With a display of discipline I didn’t know I was capable of, I did not look at the person behind me. I met Penny’s eyes to let her know I’d received her message.
Then I took my purchases and moved to a bulletin board displaying For Sale and Help Wanted notices.
Standing at an angle to the board, I skewed my eyes to the side for a view of Jolie Graf.
She could kindly be described as thin. Bones protruded from the low neckline of her tank top — not only her collarbone, but the rippled ones below it.
Her bones were tanned. Very tanned. The kind of tan that looks like the skin’s been rolled in dust.
While she’d been among a list of women from an earlier inquiry of hit-upons by a rodeo producer, I had never met her before.
But I had seen her before. Here, in Penny’s line.
Penny’s memorable greeting to her then included having not seen Jolie since she’d had work done.
&
nbsp; The fact that the work was still obvious a year later did not speak highly of the result.
I remembered the occasion, I remembered the woman, but until this moment, I had not connected the Jolie of that earlier encounter in Penny’s line with the one reported to have been dating Palmer Rennant.
I sneezed. Three times, hard and fast.
Dust.
For half a second, I wondered if Jolie Graf’s tan … But then I saw a coating of the stuff on the yellowing pieces of paper tacked to the board. Evidence the Internet had thoroughly penetrated even Cottonwood County.
Having purchased a head of lettuce and an orange, Jolie Graf passed me and I followed.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Hello, Jolie.” I approached her just outside the door. “I’m Elizabeth Margaret Dan—”
“TV? I… I can’t talk to you.”
As if I had a camera smack in her face.
“This is for background. About events in the life of Palmer Rennant.”
“No, no, no.” Her mouth appeared too wide for her jaw. No way of knowing if that was from the work she’d had done or part of her emaciated look. Was she ill?
“I understand you’re upset. That’s natural. It’s upsetting for everyone when there’s a murder like this. And when you know the victim and care about him…”
She looked frightened. Or maybe not. It was hard to read her expression.
I suggested, “We can go somewhere private to talk and—”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Couldn’t.”
“You did know Palmer Rennant, didn’t you?”
“Know him? Yes, but—”
I wasn’t letting her take back that positive answer. “That’s why it’s so important I talk with you. It might help lead to the person who killed him. I know you’d want that—”
“I don’t know anything. Nothing.”
If I could break through her resistance… I pulled out my phone with the cropped photo of the watch.
“Did you ever see Palmer Rennant wear this watch?”
Body Brace (Caught Dead in Wyoming, Book 10) Page 17