Hide Away, page 17
Chapter 28
Still smarting from her encounter with Zelda, Beverly was only half paying attention to Agnes as they walked into a lamp and lighting shop. After the third store they’d popped into along the downtown’s main street, they were all beginning to look the same. But Agnes was excited about picking out some last decorative touches for her wine shop, so Beverly had gone along for the ride. Or walk.
“Besides,” Agnes had explained to her. “Shopping cures everything. Depression, tummy aches, bombings.”
Agnes had agonized over whether to opt for the kitschy-country side or a more sophisticated yuppie sensibility when creating her new space. Since the small stage in the cafe section might end up hosting rockabilly one night and an open-poetry event the next, she decided to split the difference. Beverly wouldn’t have dreamed floral needlepoint wall hangings and contemporary geometric mirrors could coexist happily, but Agnes made it work.
All that was left was to find the perfect Zen water fountain to sit next to the cash register. They’d come to the right place—it might as well be called “Water Fountains R Us.” It was a gardening and patio shop, but in the middle of winter, that meant less emphasis on the gardening and more on the patio end.
Then Beverly caught sight of three figures, and she spun around to face away from them. Agnes looked at her in surprise. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“Those teens in the back. I recognize two of them as the punks who tried to rob me three months ago. The same kids who may be responsible for your shop damage.”
Agnes glanced toward the trio. “And the third one is Blaine Morland, the boy I told you about. I hate to see him hanging around those other two older teens. They’re trouble with a galaxy-sized T.”
Beverly chanced another quick peek. “One of the older boys shoplifted what looks like blasting caps.” She patted Agnes’s shoulder. “Wait here.”
“What are you going to do, dear?”
Beverly headed straight for the front counter, where two men were involved in a tense conversation. She noted the title “Manager” on one man’s nametag and directed her comments at him. “I saw those teen boys over there shoplifting some blasting caps.”
The Manager, Mr. Brand, looked at the other man and then replied to Beverly, “We’re aware of it. We have a security guard monitoring the situation until the police arrive.” The sound of the chimes on the front door alerted them to a new arrival, and Brand nodded toward the sound. “And there they are.”
A uniformed cop headed toward the young men as Beverly watched. The two older youths took one look at them and sprinted for the rear door, but a man wearing a security guard’s outfit stood in their way. The near-escape-artist duo were quickly shuffled out the back by the guard and a police officer.
Beverly went to check on Agnes, but Agnes wasn’t where she’d left her. Beverly looked around frantically and then spied the older woman in an animated discussion with the second cop who had his hand on the shoulder of Blaine Morland.
When Beverly drew closer, she could hear Agnes making a plea on Blaine’s behalf. “I tell you, Officer Naigle, this young man was not stealing anything. It’s obvious he’s just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only thing he’s guilty of is hanging around with a bad bunch.”
Officer Naigle uttered an exasperated sigh. “Look, Miss—”
“Flamm, Agnes Flamm.”
“Miss Flamm, this young man’s been in scrapes before. He’s no angel.”
“I knew his mother before she died, Officer. She loved her son very much and raised him properly. He would never do anything to hurt her memory, would you, Blaine?”
Blaine’s shoulder-length shaggy hair and bangs half-hid his eyes, but Beverly caught a look of surprise in those eyes. The officer nudged the boy toward the door, saying, “Looks like you’ve got a fan, Morland. But I still have to take you to the station. Maybe it’ll finally put the fear of God into you. Before you end up in juvie. Or Southern State Correctional Facility.”
Agnes called out after the boy as Naigle took him away, “I’m a firm believer in second chances, Blaine. As long as you’re still breathing, it’s never too late.”
Tears formed in the corners of her friend’s eyes, and Beverly said, “What’s wrong, Agnes? Why do you care about this one boy so much?”
Agnes picked up a table fountain shaped like a lion. “He reminds me of my youngest son.”
“I didn’t know you had another son.”
“Did have. Willem died while on a trip overseas with some other kids. Did some drugs, fell into a lake, and drowned.”
“So that’s where the name of your store came from, Willem’s Wine & Cheese.” Beverly put her arm around Agnes’s shoulders. “Oh, Agnes, I had no idea. And I’m so sorry.”
Agnes put down the lion fountain and patted Beverly’s hand. “It’s been decades. Seems like a lifetime ago.”
“If it helps, I think you may be right about Blaine.” Beverly wasn’t about to let Agnes know of Beverly’s social-worker pretense she’d used to talk to Blaine’s aunt.
Agnes wiped her eyes and headed for a shelf in the corner. With a triumphant, “Ta-da!” she held out an object for Beverly to see—a small stone fountain resembling a Grecian-inspired bust. And it was perfect.
While Beverly and Agnes waited for the clerk to wrap up the fountain in tissue paper and put it in a box, Agnes said, “You looked disappointed when those officers arrived. Were you expecting Adam Dutton? But I guess since he’s a detective, he doesn’t bother with petty crimes.”
“He’s working hard on the bombing. And Harlan’s case. Although they may be connected.”
“How’s the case going? I know it’s only been a week, but if Harlan is innocent—”
At Beverly’s frown, she hastened to say, “Since Harlan is innocent, that means the real murderer is still walking the streets.”
Beverly replied, “Have you ever watched a piece of pottery being hand-glazed?”
Agnes shook her head.
“Okay, have you ever pulled taffy?”
The older woman nodded.
“It’s like that. Maddeningly slow. And sticky. I don’t think I’d have the patience to be a detective.”
“We are definitely an instant-gratification society.”
“It’s not that. It’s knowing a huge injustice is hanging out there, like the Sword of Damocles. And sometimes, it stays like that. No resolution.”
“There’s always resolution, dear. If nothing else, death evens the playing field for us all. Not to be morbid, but—”
“Death pays all debts.” Beverly smiled. “Grammie used to say that.”
“She probably stole it from me.” Agnes winked at her.
§ § §
Beverly dropped Agnes off with her new purchase at the wine shop and decided to take a drive. It only took about ten minutes to the edge of town and beyond, but as she maneuvered the twisting road to her target, it seemed as if she were in a pristine forest.
At about the time she thought she’d taken a wrong turn, she came upon a cabin overlooking Beaver Pond Brook. Well, Adam had said this place wasn’t far from the Nature Preserve, so that would explain the forest feel.
She climbed out of the car and crept toward the front door. It looked exactly like Adam’s photo, save for the missing patio furniture. But what a soothing place to be, sitting in the evening, listening to the water. It was good to see the wooden bridge over the brook from the photo was still there.
After getting a tip from Gloria, the waitress at the Apple Valley Resort, Beverly learned not only where this house was but that Gloria thought it was for sale. Sure enough, a Crawford Realty sign stood next to a stately red pine tree shaped like a tin soldier, with its tall, straight lines and double trunk.
She couldn’t see much through the windows, but the empty interior looked roomy, with vaulted ceilings and a massive fireplace. An image of a soft area rug in front of the fireplace, a comfy recliner, and a glass of wine came to mind.
Beverly strolled out to the arched bridge and examined it. Looked like it could hold her weight. She walked on it gingerly at first and then headed to the middle where it was easy to see up and down both sides of the brook. It might be a cliché, but it even babbled. Listening to nature’s version of a meditation mix-tape, the near-permanent knot in her shoulders from months of tension and stress begin to relax.
She could see why Adam loved this spot. Why hadn’t Zelda? Oh, right. According to Adam, Zelda said it was too far out of town and isolated. But for Beverly, that was its number one attraction.
After spending fifteen minutes soaking up the sounds of the brook, the winds through the pines, and the calls of Bohemian Waxwing birds, she knew she should head back to town. But first, she jotted down the number of the realtor. Adam did suggest she find a permanent residence instead of the resort, right?
Chapter 29
Adam dropped Jinks off at the station to follow up on her research into other women Wallace Ryall might have attacked. Next, he headed for a place where he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome.
He stood outside the door, with his hand on the knob, debating with himself whether this was a good idea or not. When a customer behind him cleared her throat, he opened the door for her to enter and followed on in.
Prospero greeted the customer, then waved toward the back office when he saw Adam. Of course, Harlan was in. Where else could he be? The court had settled that with the restrictions on his travel, hadn’t it? Adam popped his head inside the office and had a twinge of guilt when he noticed Harlan rubbing his ankle.
Adam walked in and pointed at it. “That monitor causing a rash? I can request a new one for you if that one’s too tight.”
“Naw, it’s winter eczema. Get it all the time.” Harlan reached into his desk and pulled out a tube of hydrocortisone cream. “See?”
Adam cleared his throat. “Ah. Well. I came to take a look at those swords again, the ones from Reuben Ryall’s estate.”
Harlan hopped up, and Adam said, “You don’t have to bother showing me. That is if they’re in the same place as before.”
“I may have eczema, but I’m not a cripple. And Prospero and I did move some of the Ryall pieces around yesterday.”
Adam followed him to a wall of display cases and pointed to a free-standing sword rack. “All the swords on that right there are Ryall’s. I haven’t sold any.”
“Sword market not big right now?”
“I decided not to sell any Ryall pieces until. . .well, until after. You know.”
“You’re not legally bound to do that, Harlan.”
“Felt like the right thing to do.”
Since Adam knew Joe Brimm had dusted these weapons for prints, too, he didn’t think anything of picking up the top sword. “This is a falchion, right?”
Harlan chuckled. “Didn’t know you were an enthusiast.”
“Prospero gave me a Swords 101 lecture.” Adam turned the sword over and studied the handle. “Huh. This one doesn’t have Ryall’s monogram on it. Like the murder weapon.”
“Don’t think any of these others do, you see. Don’t know why the man would engrave only the one.”
“In the original display, the Tritonia was the fourth sword down, not the one on top.”
“So it was. Better for slicing and dicing?”
Adam gave a sharp look at Harlan, who was grinning at him. Good to know his humor was still intact. “If I were looking to frame someone for a murder, I’d want the evidence to be pretty blatant. Say, a sword with a traceable monogram on it.”
“Then said murderer would have to know such a piece existed, right? Since he didn’t go for the one on top?”
“How long were these swords on display prior to the murder?”
“A day or so. Still got some boxes with estate pieces in ‘em we’re just now getting around to.”
“There’s a good likelihood our killer was inside Ryall’s home at some point. Legally or otherwise.” Adam replaced the falchion in its holder. “Those boxes you mentioned. Where are they now?”
“In the storeroom. You wanna see ‘em?”
Adam nodded, and once again, he followed along behind Harlan, feeling like a puppy currying favor from his master. Harlan showed him about a half-dozen boxes, and Adam bent down to take a closer look. “Have you opened these yet?”
“Haven’t had a chance.” Harlan poked his head out into the store and yelled out, “Prospero, you opened any of these last Ryall boxes yet?”
Adam heard the assistant yell back, “Not yet. It’s on my list, I swear.”
“No probs, just checking.”
Harlan rejoined Adam as he stooped down and pulled a glove from his pocket that he put on. “What’s that for, Adam?”
“You say neither you nor Prospero has opened these boxes. But someone else has.”
“Why do you say that?”
Adam ran a finger along the edges. “Someone removed the tape recently. Then re-taped to make it look more-or-less like it was originally.”
“Why would somebody do that? Thieves aren’t usually that neat.”
“Looking for something. And didn’t want to draw attention to it.” Adam stood back up. “I’ll have the guys come and dust these. Is there any way of knowing what’s supposed to be in them?”
“Reuben Ryall’s estate only came with a partial packing list. Sorry to say the answer to that question is likely no.”
Adam removed the glove and stuffed it back in his pockets. He started to exit the storeroom, then stopped. “Duane Sher been in contact with you?”
“Checks in once a day. He’s a bang-up attorney, Adam.”
Adam smiled briefly. “That’s good. Glad to hear he’s doing right by you.” Adam cleared his throat. “Guess I better run. Jinks’ll drink all the coffee before I get back.”
Harlan gave Adam a knowing look. “You didn’t really come here to check on those swords, did you?”
“Turns out, it was a good idea.” Adam shifted his feet. “You’re looking well. Eating enough?”
“Prospero’s a big mother hen. Who knew? And Beverly and Agnes Flamm have dropped by a few times each.”
“Agnes?”
“She was ‘checking on my antiques,’ too. Like you. I’m fortunate to have so many people who care about my. . .antiques.”
“Well, we’re all worried about those. . .antiques.”
“I’ve been around a long time. Done just fine. Reckon I’ll go on doing just fine. So don’t you worry.”
A nice thought, but Adam wasn’t as far along in the investigation as he’d hoped to be. And the theories rolling around him were all filled with crater-sized holes. Time to head for the bar, but not to drink. He had an appointment with a giant.
§ § §
Adam made his way through the bar that was as empty as a church on Monday. But being early afternoon, this particular bar didn’t have an array of television screens like the fancier bars, with every flavor of sports broadcast from Vermont to Vladivostok.
The room in the rear of the place had barely enough room for one six-five, three-hundred-pound private eye and a narrow table that doubled as a desk. Adam squeezed himself into a corner and stayed standing. As if there’d be any place to sit down.
“Since you’re back in the private eye biz, Cray, why are you keeping the bouncer gig, too?”
“The only thing I’m bouncing is the occasional check. I did a favor for the owner of this place. So, he let me keep this little office here.”
Adam gauged the size of the room. Eight-by-eight, if you were generous. “Where do you put your clients, in a hammock strung from the ceiling?”
“Funny man. I meet them elsewhere. This shoebox is to have an address that isn’t my house.”
“Why aren’t we meeting elsewhere?”
“Wanted to see you brought down to size. For a change.”
“You still haven’t forgiven me for that case where you almost ended up in an orange jumpsuit?”
Cray shrugged. “I let by-grudges be by-grudges.” He grabbed his cellphone and snapped a photo of Adam. “You look quite miserable, all squished up in that corner. That’s a keeper.”
“When you’re finished being cute, I’d love to hear where you stand on your investigation. Those missing rare-earths shipments.”
“Why are you so suddenly interested?”
“Harlan’s case. One of the suspects is a prof. He teaches this eco-design stuff now, but I found out this morning from some online research the guy used to teach chemistry. Since he’s a regular sleazebag, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’s somehow involved in your pot of poison.”
“Seems a bit of a stretch.”
“Perhaps. Have you run across the name Vernon Atkinson or even Nyssa Atkinson?”
Cray pulled out his phone again and opened a notepad app. “How do you spell that guy’s first name? Is it short for something?”
“Might as well be. The man has a rather high opinion of his attractiveness to the fairer sex. But it’s V-E-R-N-O-N.” Adam waited for Cray to finish typing in the names. “You said those rare earths are used in wind turbines. What else?”
“Dysprosium and neodymium are the main elements. Dysprosium is known as the ‘Kryptonite’ of heavy rare earth elements.’ It’s a bitch getting it out of the ground.” Cray paused to ask, “How much you remember from your chem class?”
“Bits. Probably enough.”
“Dysprosium has two paired electrons. Helps in working with radiation, batteries, lasers, digital storage. Added to neodymium-iron-boron magnets, it’s used in hybrid and electric cars. And neodymium’s got similar uses.”
“Who hired you?”
“It’s classified.”
“Military?”
“Like I said, it’s classified.”
Adam studied his friend’s face. “Atkinson doesn’t appear to be the cloak and dagger type. Skirts and daggers, sure.”
