Hide Away, page 18
“Don’t see how any of this would tie in with Harlan’s case. But thanks for the tip on this professor guy. If I hear of anything—”
“I’ll be the last to know.”
Cray put a hand over his heart. “If it were just for you, maybe. But since it’s Harlan we’re talking about. I swear I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks, Cray.”
“Be sure and wipe your feet on the way out, will ya?” Cray grinned. “Otherwise, it’ll take the cleaning lady five minutes to clean this place. She gets cranky if it takes over three.”
Adam managed to unwedge himself from the corner and shoehorn himself out of there. The rare earths angle was likely a dead end, but a part of him wanted to nail something on Atkinson. Outside of a jealous marshal-wannabe, a vengeful brother, and some potential assaults, he was running on empty in the motive department.
When his cellphone rang, he didn’t recognize the number but answered it. It was one very agitated Agnes Flamm. He held the phone away from his ear, wincing. He wanted to tell her he didn’t have time for this, but then he remembered the property bond. He hung up with a promise to stop by the wine shop and found himself hoping one particular raven-haired beauty might be there, too.
But then his phone rang again. Sometimes, he wished he could turn the damn thing off. Half-expecting Agnes again, he was in for a surprise when he heard the familiar smooth monotone of Mr. X. “Detective Dutton, my condolences for the forced redecorating of your home. However, if you’d like the name of the decorator, I might be able to help.”
“Oh, really? We don’t have any witnesses. And the lab struck out on prints.”
“This particular gentleman, and I use the term loosely, is someone you’ve nicknamed Redbeard.”
Adam’s ears perked up. “I’m listening.”
“His real name is Darnell Warner. A rather slick operative who’s frequently in the employ—off the books, mind you—of Ivon Kozak.”
“Kozak? That’s a new one.”
“He and Reggie Forsythe are cut from the same cloth. And both NAL ‘kingpins.’ With Forsythe out of action, Kozak pretty much has a corner on the dirty dealings market in the Northeast antiques world.”
“Do you have proof this Darnell Warner was behind the bomb at my house?”
“I’m afraid that’s your department, Detective. I see the big picture. You get to tear it apart pixel by pixel.”
“Gee, thanks.” Adam wanted to follow up right away, but he’d promised Agnes. “If this pans out, I owe you one, Xenakis.”
“Oh, it will. But I’ll wait and cash in on my winnings some other time.”
Adam was also going to thank him for looking out for Beverly, but the man had hung up. He was one of the strangest informants Adam ever had. But right now, he’d take a tip from a magic elf, if it would help.
Chapter 30
Agnes placed the new Grecian-bust fountain on the wine shop’s counter. She moved it forward six inches, back four inches, then forward again. The woman was still agitated over Blaine Morland at the garden shop, and Beverly didn’t see any signs of her mood changing for the better.
With a groan, Agnes reached for her purse, grabbed a bottle of pills, and dry-swallowed one.
Beverly asked, “Headache?”
“Pep pills. Doc Wilson prescribed them for me.”
“Pep as in caffeine or pep as in—”
“Anti-depressants. Something ending in ‘ine,’ I think.”
“But you don’t seem depressed.”
“Guess those pills are doing their job.”
“They have so many side effects. Are you sure you need them?”
Agnes rubbed the pill bottle and slipped it back into her purse. “They’ve become a crutch. I never got over David’s death. He was my one true love. And then when our son died, too. . .”
Beverly patted her on the shoulder. “It’s okay. If you need them, you need them.” She looked around. “Do you have any bottled water to use in this fountain?”
Agnes directed her to the cafe area, where Beverly extracted a bottle and brought it to the counter. She followed the instructions, plugged in the fountain, and watched as the soothing sound of running water bubbled out the top, flowed over the statuary, and down into a square basin.
Agnes patted the bust’s head. “He looks very classically Greek. I think I’ll call him Dionysus.”
“The Greek god of wine?”
“Can you think of a better name?”
Beverly eyed the male statuary with its wide-open stone eyes that seemed to be staring back at her. “Dionysus will make a fine mascot.”
The chimes over the door Agnes had installed signaled a new arrival, and Beverly bit back a smile when she saw who it was. But then her jaw hung open when Agnes started in on Adam right away, haranguing him about Blaine Morland. “They hauled that boy out of there like he was a worthless piece of garbage. Police brutality, pure and simple. He hadn’t done anything wrong.”
Beverly didn’t miss the quick look in her direction from Adam before he replied, “I checked on those three boys before I came here. They’ve been tied to other thefts in town.”
“All three of them?”
“Well, the two older boys.”
“There, you see? Not the youngest one, not Blaine. He shouldn’t go to jail just for running with the wrong crowd. If each of us had to go to jail for having bad friends, we’d all be in jail.”
“If Blaine Morland doesn’t have any priors, and the store owner can’t prove he saw him shoplifting, he’ll be okay.”
“I may not be a mind reader, but I don’t feel that boy means any evil. He’s directionless, a lost boy who lost his mother. And lost little boys tend to latch on to anyone or anything who’ll give them the time of day.”
Adam walked over to the fountain and appeared to be hypnotized by the water. “If he’s innocent, then we’ll see what we can do about changing that course of his. Those older two—I wouldn’t be surprised to find they’re tied to several unsolved burglaries and break-ins. I’m glad Prospero is installing a security system for you and Harlan. An antiques store up in Crawford was vandalized two weeks ago.”
Beverly mused aloud, “Can’t help but wonder if those older two boys were behind the break-in here at Agnes’s shop.”
She realized her mistake the moment the words came out of her mouth. Agnes glared at her for letting the details slip, and Adam glared at her, too, as he asked, “What break-in here at Agnes’s shop?”
It was too late to turn back, so Beverly added, “Two days ago, Agnes found her shop in disarray. Some items were broken, others strewn about. It was a mess.”
“Anything stolen?”
“Agnes couldn’t find anything missing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this? We could have sent in a team to check for prints or other evidence.”
Agnes said soothingly, “You’re so busy with Harlan’s case, this bit of nonsense hardly seemed worth troubling you about.”
Adam stewed over that briefly, then surprised Beverly by asking, “Didn’t Harlan send over some items for your shop?”
Agnes replied, “Why, yes, he did. He didn’t have to do that, mind you. I wasn’t expecting anything in return for putting up the property bond.”
“Were any of those items among the ones broken or rifled through?”
“Now that you mention it, yes. Is that important?”
“Can you show me those items?”
Agnes waved her hand, motioning for him to follow her to the small inventory room as Beverly trailed along behind. Agnes pointed to a table where several small items lay waiting for repair.
Adam studied the broken halves of a Davenport terra cotta wine bottle cooler and the pieces of a cranberry-red Prussian-style glass decanter. “It’s likely an effort in futility, but I’d like to send someone out to try to print these pieces.”
Agnes hesitated, and Adam reassured her, “Look, if the boy is guilty, it will come out anyway. But the prints could as easily prove he wasn’t behind this particular nasty business.”
She relented, and when he asked for a list of the things Harlan had loaned her, she bounded toward the front. Adam looked at Beverly, “She seems happier all of a sudden.”
Beverly grinned. “She got a new combo fax-copier-printer she’s quite proud of.”
“Ah. Glad to christen it for her.” He picked up a black lacquer papier mâché coaster decorated with gold flowers and leaves. “Did you contribute any items to Agnes’s shop?”
“What you’re holding in your hand right there.”
“Looks expensive.”
“Good prices can be had if you know where to look.”
“You did come by it the old-fashioned way, right?”
Beverly gritted her teeth. Did he think so little of her he’d believe she’d conned somebody out of those coasters? But then, did they really know each other that well at all? Sometimes all they did was avoid, evade, and dance circles around the other.
Adam must have picked up on her mood, or her expression said it all. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Oh? How did you mean it?”
“Ever since that whole Forsythe saga, the NAL, the disguises. I don’t like the idea of you putting yourself in danger.”
She tilted her head. “You mean like pipe bombs?”
“That’s different. I do this for a living. It’s expected I’ll piss some people off.”
Agnes rejoined them and handed a paper over to Adam. “There you go.” She waited for him to glance at the list before adding, “I think I saw your ex-wife, Zelda, the other day. Going into the new fashion designer boutique in Hanover. She had on a red coat and red shoes, as I recall. With her red hair, it made her look like a walking strawberry.”
Beverly almost choked, and Adam stared down at the floor. Beverly was afraid Agnes had gone too far with her underhanded matchmaking when she saw Adam trying to suppress a smile.
“Or a red bell pepper,” Beverly added, helpfully.
Adam chimed in with “Or a candied apple.”
As much as Beverly was enjoying their little game at Zelda’s expense, her curiosity got the better of her. “Where are you off to next, Adam?”
“Thought I’d check with Braddon Hopper again. Jinks found out something interesting about that ex-girlfriend of his.”
“Since Braddon already thinks I’m your ‘consultant,’ mind if I tag along?”
She expected him to say no when he surprised her again by agreeing. On the way to the car, he asked, “So. Coffee with Zelda?”
“Oh, that. I bumped into her in the tea room at the resort. We had a nice chat.”
“A nice chat. Is that code for catfight?”
“You wish. Men go in for that sort of thing, don’t they? Kind of a turn-on?”
“This man doesn’t. Too much like my day job.”
She could tell he was pissed at her refusal to elaborate further. But she wasn’t about to tell him what Zelda had said—accused, was more like it.
She punched him lightly on the arm. “Come on. Let’s go chat with Manfred Urdangarin, also known as Braddon Hopper. Is he an excellency, baron, lord, or sire? I can’t keep all that straight.”
“Don’t worry. When in doubt, I’ll use what I do on crooks, ‘hey you.’ Works pretty well.”
“Ever tried that on Mayor Lehmann?”
He grimaced. “Don’t tempt me.”
Adam’s cell rang, and he mouthed a “sorry” to Beverly as he took the call. From her end, she heard Adam say, “Is that a fact? You got it that soon?” He listened some more and added, “Sure sounds like him. I’m heading that way. I’ll keep you posted.”
After he hung up, Beverly stared at him expectantly. “Well?”
“Jinks.”
“It must be about Harlan’s case. So what did she say? What did she get so soon?”
“Jinks checked Wallace Ryall’s DNA with samples she got from her a sex assault victim, a case she’s working. She said she might have bribed Joe Brimm to get it fast.”
“Was Wally the same guy who attacked Jinks’s victim?”
“No, the DNA wasn’t a match. Although Jane Campen, Braddon Hopper’s ex, is still pretty sure Wally was the man who attacked her one night. But she’d blocked out something until she recently went into therapy.”
“I’m all ears.”
“After Jinks tracked her down, Jane recalled seeing another man with Wally the night she was attacked, wearing longer hair and a full beard and mustache. Sound like someone we know?”
Beverly’s eyes widened. “Mister ‘you may address me as Your Excellency, Richard Symonnet.’”
“Yep. Think I’m going to have to chat with our park ranger. And soon.”
Chapter 31
Adam pulled the car in front of the alpinesque A-frame conference center and spied a familiar figure swigging a bottle of root beer. He pointed out the man to Beverly. “Isn’t that our park ranger, His Excellency, Baron Richard Symonnet?”
“Looks like the same ranger to me.”
“Let me take the lead on this one. Don’t want to spook him too soon.” Adam hopped out of the car and approached him. “Ranger Joss Warder?” Adam wasn’t about to call him “Your Excellency” to his face.
The ranger squinted at him in the late afternoon half-sun, half-haze. “Detective Dutton, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right. Last time we chatted, you said Braddon Hopper’s father had a stroke, which is why Braddon had to shelve his fencing dreams and run the family business. Do you recall the circumstances surrounding that stroke of his?”
Warder set the root beer bottle down on top of a nearby post. “It was following a car accident. Lucky he survived. Although he may not feel he’s all that lucky, since he’s paralyzed on his left side and can’t talk all that good.”
“Hit and run, wasn’t it?”
“The cowards could have stopped and helped. First few minutes are critical with strokes.”
“So I’ve heard. There’s another question I have...the first time I ran into you, you said you didn’t know Wallace Ryall well, only as part of the Society for Creative Anachronism.”
“That’s true.”
“I have a source who saw you and Ryall drinking together.”
“Some of us got together sometimes after meetings. Doesn’t mean we hung out otherwise.”
Adam nodded. “I see. During any of these bar meetings, did Wally become drunk? Perhaps aggressive?”
Warder laughed. “Sure. We all did. Shit-faced mean drunks. Who doesn’t?”
“Were you also drinking buddies with Braddon Hopper’s ex-girlfriend, Jane Campen?”
“Jane? I hardly knew her.”
“Did you ever try to get to know her better? Possibly after one of those ‘shit-faced’ bar crawls? With or without her consent?”
Warder’s face turned deep red. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying, Detective Dutton. Any more of that nonsense, and you’ll have to talk to my lawyer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have important work to do.”
As he stormed off in his truck, Adam said to Beverly, “Awfully jumpy for a man with nothing to hide.”
Beverly fished into her purse, pulled out a tissue, and gingerly picked up the root beer bottle the ranger left behind. “Will this help?”
Adam grinned at her. “If he left behind some saliva, you bet. I’ll get a rush warrant, and Jinks can use her magic bribery skills on Joe Brimm again and run the DNA stat.” Maybe Beverly did have the makings of a bona fide detective.
With the bottle secure in Adam’s car, he and Beverly headed into the center to track down Braddon Hopper. They ran into a young woman who introduced herself as the conference center’s secretary, Sharon Bogren. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Dutton, Miss Laborde. I do hope you solve Wally’s murder soon. It’s cast quite a pall over the place. Although I understand the main suspect is out on bail?”
“He is. But he’s on strict monitoring.”
She bit her lip. “This might not be a popular opinion around here. But I don’t think he did it. I’ve seen him around town. Such a kindly looking man. And always friendly.”
Adam said, “He is that.”
She smiled. “Or I’m antiques-blind. Always wanted to get into the antiques business.”
Beverly said, “I know lots of people in the biz.” She pulled out a scrap of paper from her purse, wrote down her cellphone number, and handed it over. “If you ever want some advice, give me a call.”
“Thanks. I may do that. Braddon is here today in his office. Should I tell him you’re coming?”
Adam replied, “That won’t be necessary,” and he and Beverly found Braddon in the same office at the same desk, with a cup of his “mud coffee.” It was as if the intervening three days hadn’t happened. Adam had a sudden feeling of being stuck in a time loop.
“Hello again, Braddon.”
Hopper lived up to his name and hopped up to shake Adam’s hand. “Detective Dutton. What can I do for you?”
“First off, an employee of Tossed Treasures antiques saw you there not too long ago looking at swords.”
Braddon frowned. “I have an interest, sure. When I was in the Olympics, I saw actual swordplay in Asia. More interesting than the sabre fencing I’m used to.”
“Fair enough. I also wanted to ask you about Jane Campen, your former girlfriend.”
“Jane? Haven’t seen her in months. Moved to California. Guess she’s a fan of movies and wines.” The forced smile on Braddon’s face told Adam he thought the attempt at humor was as lame as it sounded.
“The car that hit your father and didn’t stop. Do you know who was behind the wheel?”
“I thought you wanted to ask me about Jane.”
“Is it possible she was the one driving that night?”
Braddon’s fists were clenched by his sides, and he didn’t answer at first, staring out the window.
“Braddon?”
“She wasn’t driving, but she knows who was.”
“And she wouldn’t tell you?”
“She didn’t have to. I guessed.”
“It was Wallace Ryall, wasn’t it?”
“I’ll be the last to know.”
Cray put a hand over his heart. “If it were just for you, maybe. But since it’s Harlan we’re talking about. I swear I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks, Cray.”
“Be sure and wipe your feet on the way out, will ya?” Cray grinned. “Otherwise, it’ll take the cleaning lady five minutes to clean this place. She gets cranky if it takes over three.”
Adam managed to unwedge himself from the corner and shoehorn himself out of there. The rare earths angle was likely a dead end, but a part of him wanted to nail something on Atkinson. Outside of a jealous marshal-wannabe, a vengeful brother, and some potential assaults, he was running on empty in the motive department.
When his cellphone rang, he didn’t recognize the number but answered it. It was one very agitated Agnes Flamm. He held the phone away from his ear, wincing. He wanted to tell her he didn’t have time for this, but then he remembered the property bond. He hung up with a promise to stop by the wine shop and found himself hoping one particular raven-haired beauty might be there, too.
But then his phone rang again. Sometimes, he wished he could turn the damn thing off. Half-expecting Agnes again, he was in for a surprise when he heard the familiar smooth monotone of Mr. X. “Detective Dutton, my condolences for the forced redecorating of your home. However, if you’d like the name of the decorator, I might be able to help.”
“Oh, really? We don’t have any witnesses. And the lab struck out on prints.”
“This particular gentleman, and I use the term loosely, is someone you’ve nicknamed Redbeard.”
Adam’s ears perked up. “I’m listening.”
“His real name is Darnell Warner. A rather slick operative who’s frequently in the employ—off the books, mind you—of Ivon Kozak.”
“Kozak? That’s a new one.”
“He and Reggie Forsythe are cut from the same cloth. And both NAL ‘kingpins.’ With Forsythe out of action, Kozak pretty much has a corner on the dirty dealings market in the Northeast antiques world.”
“Do you have proof this Darnell Warner was behind the bomb at my house?”
“I’m afraid that’s your department, Detective. I see the big picture. You get to tear it apart pixel by pixel.”
“Gee, thanks.” Adam wanted to follow up right away, but he’d promised Agnes. “If this pans out, I owe you one, Xenakis.”
“Oh, it will. But I’ll wait and cash in on my winnings some other time.”
Adam was also going to thank him for looking out for Beverly, but the man had hung up. He was one of the strangest informants Adam ever had. But right now, he’d take a tip from a magic elf, if it would help.
Chapter 30
Agnes placed the new Grecian-bust fountain on the wine shop’s counter. She moved it forward six inches, back four inches, then forward again. The woman was still agitated over Blaine Morland at the garden shop, and Beverly didn’t see any signs of her mood changing for the better.
With a groan, Agnes reached for her purse, grabbed a bottle of pills, and dry-swallowed one.
Beverly asked, “Headache?”
“Pep pills. Doc Wilson prescribed them for me.”
“Pep as in caffeine or pep as in—”
“Anti-depressants. Something ending in ‘ine,’ I think.”
“But you don’t seem depressed.”
“Guess those pills are doing their job.”
“They have so many side effects. Are you sure you need them?”
Agnes rubbed the pill bottle and slipped it back into her purse. “They’ve become a crutch. I never got over David’s death. He was my one true love. And then when our son died, too. . .”
Beverly patted her on the shoulder. “It’s okay. If you need them, you need them.” She looked around. “Do you have any bottled water to use in this fountain?”
Agnes directed her to the cafe area, where Beverly extracted a bottle and brought it to the counter. She followed the instructions, plugged in the fountain, and watched as the soothing sound of running water bubbled out the top, flowed over the statuary, and down into a square basin.
Agnes patted the bust’s head. “He looks very classically Greek. I think I’ll call him Dionysus.”
“The Greek god of wine?”
“Can you think of a better name?”
Beverly eyed the male statuary with its wide-open stone eyes that seemed to be staring back at her. “Dionysus will make a fine mascot.”
The chimes over the door Agnes had installed signaled a new arrival, and Beverly bit back a smile when she saw who it was. But then her jaw hung open when Agnes started in on Adam right away, haranguing him about Blaine Morland. “They hauled that boy out of there like he was a worthless piece of garbage. Police brutality, pure and simple. He hadn’t done anything wrong.”
Beverly didn’t miss the quick look in her direction from Adam before he replied, “I checked on those three boys before I came here. They’ve been tied to other thefts in town.”
“All three of them?”
“Well, the two older boys.”
“There, you see? Not the youngest one, not Blaine. He shouldn’t go to jail just for running with the wrong crowd. If each of us had to go to jail for having bad friends, we’d all be in jail.”
“If Blaine Morland doesn’t have any priors, and the store owner can’t prove he saw him shoplifting, he’ll be okay.”
“I may not be a mind reader, but I don’t feel that boy means any evil. He’s directionless, a lost boy who lost his mother. And lost little boys tend to latch on to anyone or anything who’ll give them the time of day.”
Adam walked over to the fountain and appeared to be hypnotized by the water. “If he’s innocent, then we’ll see what we can do about changing that course of his. Those older two—I wouldn’t be surprised to find they’re tied to several unsolved burglaries and break-ins. I’m glad Prospero is installing a security system for you and Harlan. An antiques store up in Crawford was vandalized two weeks ago.”
Beverly mused aloud, “Can’t help but wonder if those older two boys were behind the break-in here at Agnes’s shop.”
She realized her mistake the moment the words came out of her mouth. Agnes glared at her for letting the details slip, and Adam glared at her, too, as he asked, “What break-in here at Agnes’s shop?”
It was too late to turn back, so Beverly added, “Two days ago, Agnes found her shop in disarray. Some items were broken, others strewn about. It was a mess.”
“Anything stolen?”
“Agnes couldn’t find anything missing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this? We could have sent in a team to check for prints or other evidence.”
Agnes said soothingly, “You’re so busy with Harlan’s case, this bit of nonsense hardly seemed worth troubling you about.”
Adam stewed over that briefly, then surprised Beverly by asking, “Didn’t Harlan send over some items for your shop?”
Agnes replied, “Why, yes, he did. He didn’t have to do that, mind you. I wasn’t expecting anything in return for putting up the property bond.”
“Were any of those items among the ones broken or rifled through?”
“Now that you mention it, yes. Is that important?”
“Can you show me those items?”
Agnes waved her hand, motioning for him to follow her to the small inventory room as Beverly trailed along behind. Agnes pointed to a table where several small items lay waiting for repair.
Adam studied the broken halves of a Davenport terra cotta wine bottle cooler and the pieces of a cranberry-red Prussian-style glass decanter. “It’s likely an effort in futility, but I’d like to send someone out to try to print these pieces.”
Agnes hesitated, and Adam reassured her, “Look, if the boy is guilty, it will come out anyway. But the prints could as easily prove he wasn’t behind this particular nasty business.”
She relented, and when he asked for a list of the things Harlan had loaned her, she bounded toward the front. Adam looked at Beverly, “She seems happier all of a sudden.”
Beverly grinned. “She got a new combo fax-copier-printer she’s quite proud of.”
“Ah. Glad to christen it for her.” He picked up a black lacquer papier mâché coaster decorated with gold flowers and leaves. “Did you contribute any items to Agnes’s shop?”
“What you’re holding in your hand right there.”
“Looks expensive.”
“Good prices can be had if you know where to look.”
“You did come by it the old-fashioned way, right?”
Beverly gritted her teeth. Did he think so little of her he’d believe she’d conned somebody out of those coasters? But then, did they really know each other that well at all? Sometimes all they did was avoid, evade, and dance circles around the other.
Adam must have picked up on her mood, or her expression said it all. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Oh? How did you mean it?”
“Ever since that whole Forsythe saga, the NAL, the disguises. I don’t like the idea of you putting yourself in danger.”
She tilted her head. “You mean like pipe bombs?”
“That’s different. I do this for a living. It’s expected I’ll piss some people off.”
Agnes rejoined them and handed a paper over to Adam. “There you go.” She waited for him to glance at the list before adding, “I think I saw your ex-wife, Zelda, the other day. Going into the new fashion designer boutique in Hanover. She had on a red coat and red shoes, as I recall. With her red hair, it made her look like a walking strawberry.”
Beverly almost choked, and Adam stared down at the floor. Beverly was afraid Agnes had gone too far with her underhanded matchmaking when she saw Adam trying to suppress a smile.
“Or a red bell pepper,” Beverly added, helpfully.
Adam chimed in with “Or a candied apple.”
As much as Beverly was enjoying their little game at Zelda’s expense, her curiosity got the better of her. “Where are you off to next, Adam?”
“Thought I’d check with Braddon Hopper again. Jinks found out something interesting about that ex-girlfriend of his.”
“Since Braddon already thinks I’m your ‘consultant,’ mind if I tag along?”
She expected him to say no when he surprised her again by agreeing. On the way to the car, he asked, “So. Coffee with Zelda?”
“Oh, that. I bumped into her in the tea room at the resort. We had a nice chat.”
“A nice chat. Is that code for catfight?”
“You wish. Men go in for that sort of thing, don’t they? Kind of a turn-on?”
“This man doesn’t. Too much like my day job.”
She could tell he was pissed at her refusal to elaborate further. But she wasn’t about to tell him what Zelda had said—accused, was more like it.
She punched him lightly on the arm. “Come on. Let’s go chat with Manfred Urdangarin, also known as Braddon Hopper. Is he an excellency, baron, lord, or sire? I can’t keep all that straight.”
“Don’t worry. When in doubt, I’ll use what I do on crooks, ‘hey you.’ Works pretty well.”
“Ever tried that on Mayor Lehmann?”
He grimaced. “Don’t tempt me.”
Adam’s cell rang, and he mouthed a “sorry” to Beverly as he took the call. From her end, she heard Adam say, “Is that a fact? You got it that soon?” He listened some more and added, “Sure sounds like him. I’m heading that way. I’ll keep you posted.”
After he hung up, Beverly stared at him expectantly. “Well?”
“Jinks.”
“It must be about Harlan’s case. So what did she say? What did she get so soon?”
“Jinks checked Wallace Ryall’s DNA with samples she got from her a sex assault victim, a case she’s working. She said she might have bribed Joe Brimm to get it fast.”
“Was Wally the same guy who attacked Jinks’s victim?”
“No, the DNA wasn’t a match. Although Jane Campen, Braddon Hopper’s ex, is still pretty sure Wally was the man who attacked her one night. But she’d blocked out something until she recently went into therapy.”
“I’m all ears.”
“After Jinks tracked her down, Jane recalled seeing another man with Wally the night she was attacked, wearing longer hair and a full beard and mustache. Sound like someone we know?”
Beverly’s eyes widened. “Mister ‘you may address me as Your Excellency, Richard Symonnet.’”
“Yep. Think I’m going to have to chat with our park ranger. And soon.”
Chapter 31
Adam pulled the car in front of the alpinesque A-frame conference center and spied a familiar figure swigging a bottle of root beer. He pointed out the man to Beverly. “Isn’t that our park ranger, His Excellency, Baron Richard Symonnet?”
“Looks like the same ranger to me.”
“Let me take the lead on this one. Don’t want to spook him too soon.” Adam hopped out of the car and approached him. “Ranger Joss Warder?” Adam wasn’t about to call him “Your Excellency” to his face.
The ranger squinted at him in the late afternoon half-sun, half-haze. “Detective Dutton, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right. Last time we chatted, you said Braddon Hopper’s father had a stroke, which is why Braddon had to shelve his fencing dreams and run the family business. Do you recall the circumstances surrounding that stroke of his?”
Warder set the root beer bottle down on top of a nearby post. “It was following a car accident. Lucky he survived. Although he may not feel he’s all that lucky, since he’s paralyzed on his left side and can’t talk all that good.”
“Hit and run, wasn’t it?”
“The cowards could have stopped and helped. First few minutes are critical with strokes.”
“So I’ve heard. There’s another question I have...the first time I ran into you, you said you didn’t know Wallace Ryall well, only as part of the Society for Creative Anachronism.”
“That’s true.”
“I have a source who saw you and Ryall drinking together.”
“Some of us got together sometimes after meetings. Doesn’t mean we hung out otherwise.”
Adam nodded. “I see. During any of these bar meetings, did Wally become drunk? Perhaps aggressive?”
Warder laughed. “Sure. We all did. Shit-faced mean drunks. Who doesn’t?”
“Were you also drinking buddies with Braddon Hopper’s ex-girlfriend, Jane Campen?”
“Jane? I hardly knew her.”
“Did you ever try to get to know her better? Possibly after one of those ‘shit-faced’ bar crawls? With or without her consent?”
Warder’s face turned deep red. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying, Detective Dutton. Any more of that nonsense, and you’ll have to talk to my lawyer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have important work to do.”
As he stormed off in his truck, Adam said to Beverly, “Awfully jumpy for a man with nothing to hide.”
Beverly fished into her purse, pulled out a tissue, and gingerly picked up the root beer bottle the ranger left behind. “Will this help?”
Adam grinned at her. “If he left behind some saliva, you bet. I’ll get a rush warrant, and Jinks can use her magic bribery skills on Joe Brimm again and run the DNA stat.” Maybe Beverly did have the makings of a bona fide detective.
With the bottle secure in Adam’s car, he and Beverly headed into the center to track down Braddon Hopper. They ran into a young woman who introduced herself as the conference center’s secretary, Sharon Bogren. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Dutton, Miss Laborde. I do hope you solve Wally’s murder soon. It’s cast quite a pall over the place. Although I understand the main suspect is out on bail?”
“He is. But he’s on strict monitoring.”
She bit her lip. “This might not be a popular opinion around here. But I don’t think he did it. I’ve seen him around town. Such a kindly looking man. And always friendly.”
Adam said, “He is that.”
She smiled. “Or I’m antiques-blind. Always wanted to get into the antiques business.”
Beverly said, “I know lots of people in the biz.” She pulled out a scrap of paper from her purse, wrote down her cellphone number, and handed it over. “If you ever want some advice, give me a call.”
“Thanks. I may do that. Braddon is here today in his office. Should I tell him you’re coming?”
Adam replied, “That won’t be necessary,” and he and Beverly found Braddon in the same office at the same desk, with a cup of his “mud coffee.” It was as if the intervening three days hadn’t happened. Adam had a sudden feeling of being stuck in a time loop.
“Hello again, Braddon.”
Hopper lived up to his name and hopped up to shake Adam’s hand. “Detective Dutton. What can I do for you?”
“First off, an employee of Tossed Treasures antiques saw you there not too long ago looking at swords.”
Braddon frowned. “I have an interest, sure. When I was in the Olympics, I saw actual swordplay in Asia. More interesting than the sabre fencing I’m used to.”
“Fair enough. I also wanted to ask you about Jane Campen, your former girlfriend.”
“Jane? Haven’t seen her in months. Moved to California. Guess she’s a fan of movies and wines.” The forced smile on Braddon’s face told Adam he thought the attempt at humor was as lame as it sounded.
“The car that hit your father and didn’t stop. Do you know who was behind the wheel?”
“I thought you wanted to ask me about Jane.”
“Is it possible she was the one driving that night?”
Braddon’s fists were clenched by his sides, and he didn’t answer at first, staring out the window.
“Braddon?”
“She wasn’t driving, but she knows who was.”
“And she wouldn’t tell you?”
“She didn’t have to. I guessed.”
“It was Wallace Ryall, wasn’t it?”
