Creeps, Cache, & Corpses, page 10
Father Svoboda’s tawny eyes blinked with empathy. He placed a reassuring hand on CJ’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my son. I can sense the storm of emotions brewing deep inside.” He lightly tapped CJ’s forearm. “Let us offer assistance.”
CJ glanced at me, pleading. I extracted my notes. “We hope to incorporate this music during the memorial, if you find it appropriate,” I said.
The priest reviewed the selections. “These are perfect.”
Jane fidgeted in her seat, and her eyes locked on mine. She recited Bible chapters and verses she believed carried significance. Father Svoboda concurred, seeing the depth of feeling in her words.
“What time suits you for the service? Our schedule is open from ten, following morning Mass, until five when bell choir practice begins.”
Carlee had been watching the proceedings with eagerness. “My grandparents are due to arrive mid-morning. How about one o’clock?”
“Splendid,” replied the serene priest. “While I may not have known the young woman personally, I am prepared to deliver a holy message. However, if one of you would like to share some thoughts, it would be most fitting.”
CJ gazed off to some distant place, his eyes reflective and contemplative. “I will speak.”
“Done,” said the priest.
Father Svoboda escorted us outside and wished a blessed day. The sun had burned off the clouds, and puddles were all that remained of the snow. The tolling bell in the church tower pealed twelve times.
“Where has the time gone?” Galen said. “I’m starving.”
“You’re always hungry,” said Carlee. “I had enough at breakfast to last until supper.”
We wandered the enchanting Main Street and found a small café serving pizzas and burgers. Fifties music blared from the juke box. CJ unclenched his fists and some of the tension seemed to ease, replaced by a blooming smile as he watched his daughter. Jane typed a few words on her phone and watched for a response. After a moment, she tucked it away and joined in the mirth, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Irinia Holocek and two of the other newly pampered women from the spa paraded by the large window and came in the front door, picking up what looked like a takeout order. My thoughts drifted to Edith. Behind the smile I fixed on my face, my mind cataloged what I knew of her death. I couldn’t seem to get it out of my head. When did Edith meet her end? Why was she at the county park? What killed her? Who harbored ill intentions toward her? Did any of the suspects possess alibis?
I sometimes thought CJ could read my mind. He eyed me guardedly, so occasionally, I’d concentrate on the conversation long enough to add an appropriate comment, and he wouldn’t catch me ruminating.
I’d made a few observations. We still didn’t know why Edith and Reggie argued Friday night, if it had been a recurring discussion, or if it had been Reggie at all. The unexpected appearance of the four insolent college guys, however, had Edith visibly perturbed and she seemed equally upset with Reggie usurping the opening. She’d opened the door to Willy Zasko late on Friday during our supper, and local gossips painted him as a roué with an unusual connection to Edith. Could he have killed her? Could one of the voices I heard in the library have belonged to Willy? The conversation carried a threatening undertone and although they didn’t mention Edith, the word ‘ultimatum’ dangled in my memory.
Irinia Holocek calculated her best shot at Reggie’s affection occurred after Edith was out of the way, and she was sticking to him like sand to wet feet. Lauren held Edith responsible for her son’s illness yet praised her for providing medical coverage. Edith employed Nicki, whom I’d not yet laid eyes on. The kids had received an encrypted message or maybe it was simply a mishmash of nonsense, although it began to burn a hole in my pocket and my fingers itched to examine it more closely. And a cranky unidentified woman had tried unsuccessfully to confront Willy at the restaurant. Too many questions niggled at my brain.
“Katie?”
Those thoughts scattered like confetti and my attention whipped back to the table. “Sorry. Thinking about …” What could I be thinking about? “Pete. I haven’t heard from him, but it’s only been two days and I know he’s swamped.”
“Of course.” Jane winked. “Joining us for some retail therapy?”
An embarrassed giggle escaped. The last thing I wanted to do was shop. “Maverick is accustomed to roaming our house and yard. I need to walk him, or he’ll be climbing the walls and anyone near him.”
“Give me a call when you finish your daily constitutional, and we’ll meet up. Let’s get a move on, kids. We’ve got a lot of territory to cover. Coming, Galen?”
“This I’ve got to see,” he said, and hurried after his friends.
CJ and I retraced our path to the inn, walking through downtown, past a thriving barber shop, a furniture store advertising its huge spring sale, a bustling bakery, a decrepit photography studio, and the post office.
I sighed and he said, “You cannot leave this alone, can you?”
“No one deserves to die like that, CJ. What should we do?”
“Be careful.”
NINETEEN
The entry door on the big house opened with a squawk, and the stairs to our floor creaked, protesting our intruding footfalls.
“I believe I will use this time to collect my thoughts about Danica,” said CJ. “I want to make certain her parents know what she meant to me and how much she loved them. It will be difficult. They have never forgiven me.”
“Carlee will be here to help with that.”
A wan smile worked its way onto his lips, and he shook his head. “It will either be correct, or it will not, but thank you. You are a true friend.”
I hugged him tightly, long enough to blink away the hint of tears in my eyes. “The right words will come to you, Chantan John Bluestone.” I took a cleansing breath. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Would you mind filling the truck?” He handed over the keys. “Still a manual transmission, though,” he quipped.
“Ha, ha, very funny.” I could manage the stick shift. More or less.
I dashed to our room to pick up the dogs. The housekeeping fairy had come and gone, leaving another round of towel origami on beds made with military precision, but this time I snagged the candies. I stowed the saltwater taffy on the closet shelf to keep it away from the drooling pets and checked out the room. The windows gleamed. The carpet had vacuum tracks, and I’m sure the white-glove test would have proved fruitless. However, I’d missed Nicki again.
No amount of coaxing could raise an exhausted Renegade from her appointed spot on the carpet, but Maverick half-heartedly accompanied me downstairs, although the deliberateness in his steps indicated he might be just trying to humor me.
Drawn by the sounds of the crackling fire, I stuck my head in the living room. It really was most welcoming. Burning wood scented the air and warmed the space, but the lovely lilies appeared ready to wilt in the window niche, so I filled the watering can from the cooler and doused the pots before checking out the next room.
The library door stood ajar. I treasured libraries, brimming with the scent of paper and faint traces of ink, the varied textures of the bindings and the weight of the books in my hand, the mosaic of colored spines snugly pieced together on the shelves. I stepped inside and followed the rustle of papers around the stacks to where Reggie sat huddled over the desk, flipping pages in a three-ring binder.
Before I could rap on the bookcase nearest my knuckles and make him aware of my presence, Maverick barked. Reggie jumped in response and hastily covered the papers with his large hands.
“Sorry, Mr. Farthington.” I said, “Sit, Maverick,” and tried our new cue, “Eyes on me.” That lasted about a second. I tried to look contrite. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s Reggie, please, and I’m fine. I was concentrating so hard I didn’t hear anyone come in.” He snagged a short thick glass from the desktop and swirled the smoky-smelling amber liquid. He sniffed and took a swig. “Ah. Nectar of the gods.” Then he downed the remains and set the squat tumbler on the desk.
“It’s a birthday gift to myself. I’m an April Fool’s baby.” He glanced at the half-empty bottle of eighteen-year-old Macallan. “Would you like one?” I shook my head.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Reggie?”
He closed the binder and rested his elbow on top. “There’s nothing anyone can do now. I miss her. I came here ages ago, and she let me stay, teaching me about the hospitality business. She took care of so many details. That falls to me now, and the sheriff left our records in shambles.” He drummed his fingertips on the desktop. “I just found out you’re here for a memorial, but my aunt never mentioned that to me.”
I recounted the same story CJ shared with Edith. His eyes grew round and sad. “What a tragedy. Mr. Bluestone never saw her again?” I shook my head. “What happened to the woman who said she left … Danica, wasn’t it?” He stood and waited for me to agree. “Danica’s body at our hospital?”
“She’s in custody but that’s another story.” I shuddered at the thought of the vile woman who raised Carlee. Maverick’s nose brushed my hand, reminding me all was now well. “The service is scheduled for one o’clock tomorrow.”
Reggie stepped closer and put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry for your loss too.”
I held my breath and tried not to squirm at his forwardness. Maverick nudged between us. Reggie lowered his hands and stepped back.
He suddenly seemed anxious to return to his notes, so I wished him well and walked outside. The cool air felt good and cleared my head. Maverick and I hopped in CJ’s truck and rolled down the street with every intention of finding a gas station, but I was surprised to find us pulling into the parking lot at the county park. Well, maybe not that surprised.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed my mind. Would my curiosity take me too far one day? Maverick licked my cheek and panted enthusiastically. I dropped from the truck, but before I slammed the door, I heard a woman’s enraged voice. I left the door slightly ajar, and we followed the shrieking to a small clearing at the end of a service road.
The small woman with the ratty fur coat had finally cornered Willy Zasko and seemed unwilling to release him from her grip. She backed him into one of the cars and wrestled with him, grasping at an elbow, the lapel of his jacket, any part she could latch onto, as he attempted to shake her off.
She clutched the fabric and screamed. “You’ll never get away with it. I know your darkest secrets. You had that battle-axe all wrapped up. I want what’s coming to me, and don’t you forget it.”
He peeled back her fingers, uncurling them one by one, yanked free, and shoved her away. She brought up her fists and pounded his back. When he spun around to face her, his arm flew up.
As Willy loomed over her, Maverick barked and streaked down the slight incline. I chased my dog, calling his name. Willy looked up. When he caught sight of me, his arm dropped to his side. He narrowed his eyes. His gaze stopped me in my tracks, and I stutter-stepped. I fought to regain the balance I lost with the abrupt change in momentum. Maverick returned to my side, tail wagging, delighted by all the action. The woman turned her attention our way, and Willy took that moment to dash to his car. Gravel spit and pinged on the wheel wells as he roared away.
The woman grunted in disgust. She pulled the two sides of her coat together and followed Willy before I could make sense of anything.
Back in the truck, Maverick rested his head on my leg and blinked as I asked no one, “Who was that woman? What did she want? Why were she and Willy out here at the park?”
I shook away the rest of my questions. I had kids to attend to and a task to complete. I started the truck, cruised back to town, and found a gas station. The button needed to release the gas cap stayed hidden until a scrawny kid filling his beater at the next pump opened my driver’s door and flipped the switch. Warm under the collar and probably red-faced, I thanked him and filled not one but two tanks. I think I ground the gears only once or twice the entire trip due to the idiot who pulled out in front of us as I eased to the curb at the inn.
Ryker. He and his pals honked and laughed, burning rubber on their way to wherever.
My seething abated when my phone pinged, and multiple text messages rolled in at once. Jane asked when I’d be joining them, and I had to deliberate on my answer. Dad’s selfie sported a pouting face and a crying emoji; I returned one laughing.
But the third text made me cringe. Gray bags sagged under Pete’s unusually dull brown eyes. Dark curls hung over his forehead. Half the collar of his light blue shirt stuck up and the other half buried itself under his wrinkled white coat. And a grinning ZaZa appeared in the photo, standing next to him in the ER, making me wonder who sent the message.
Wish you were here.
The tips of her scarlet-painted, perfectly manicured nails peeked out from the end of a gauze bandage, the kind used to wrap a sprain or strain—real or imagined? My nose turned up.
ZaZa and I had a complicated past. Charles had no idea she had secretly harbored the notion he was the one and only for her until he fell in love with me. After graduating from our mathematical cryptanalyst program, I never heard from her, even after his murder. Then she applied to teach mathematics at Columbia High School. Who resigns a job with a security agency in Paris to teach high school math in west-central Minnesota? Unless she had an ulterior motive.
I sighed and repeated, “I have faith in Pete. I have faith in Pete.” It took three tries to capture Maverick’s eager face next to mine in the photo I returned with the identical message.
Wish you were HERE.
I waited for an answer, scouring the past photos in Pete’s thread, and noticed dust, in the shape of hands, on my shoulders in my selfie. I brushed it off and moved on to Jane, responding with a thumb’s up emoji, an LOL, and the photo of ZaZa. If anyone could wrench me out of these itty-bitty doldrums, it would be Jane.
Seconds later, my phone buzzed. I shouldn’t have read the screen.
TWENTY
The “Leave it,” cue in our dog training jargon meant to ignore whatever unexpected, unhealthy, or unsafe item a dog might try to pick up or eat. I’m sure it meant something entirely different when addressed to me in a text from an unidentified sender. Maybe I’d received the message in error and as I couldn’t decide on just one thing to leave, I ignored it and sought one of my phone favorites.
Jane answered on the second ring. “Hey, girlfriend? What was that pic all about?”
“You know ZaZa.” Sometimes I wished I didn’t. “I’m on my way. Where should we meet?”
“I’ll text you.” She ended the call. Her immediate follow-up text message included her location complete with a selfie highlighting the success of their short shopping foray with heaps of bags and four beaming faces. Galen looked pale; his eyes glazed.
Looks like you need help. I’ll bring CJ’s truck.
Absolutely. You can transport these bags and free up our arms for more. BTW Kimber Leigh’s calling tonight. Don’t let me forget.
What time?
IDK but I need to pay attention to my phone, so I don’t miss it. Just ignore Mlle. Sassypants!
A most unladylike guffaw escaped my lips, and I looked around to make sure no one heard me before continuing the exchange.
I can do that — good name though! I’ll be there in a few.
I pulled up next to Galen. Large and small bags in white, pink, hunter-green, blue, and black hung from his shoulders, arms, and hands. He arranged the purchases in the back seat with an exasperated exhalation.
Jane mounted the running board and mimed rolling down the window. “Carlee found just the right outfit to wear to meet her grandparents tomorrow. But she’s definitely slowing down. Would you take her back with you? Patricia is looking for a special gift and we don’t have too many shops left. Let’s meet back at the bed and breakfast in an hour. It would be nice to have a quiet evening for a change.” She gave us permission to take the packages to the inn, allowing us to skip out on the final sixty minutes of odious spending.
Galen climbed in the rear and Carlee crawled into the passenger seat. She let her head drop against the headrest as she blew out a long breath. “Whew.”
I turned to wave but Kindra, Patricia, and Jane had disappeared before we pulled away.
The gears ground, and Galen laughed. “Drive much?”
“Very funny. Did you buy anything?”
He stopped chuckling. “No, but Carlee made me try on all kinds of shirts and pants. It was awful.”
Carlee forced a hoot. “Haha.”
“I feel your pain, Galen.” It was my turn to laugh.
We parked at the bottom of the hill, and when the driver’s door screeched open, I heard muffled dog barks. CJ wanted to work on his special story of Danica, and I didn’t want them to interrupt his reminiscing, so I hurriedly snared about a third of the bags. Carlee grabbed one, and Galen scooped up the rest. We toted them through the front door and into the foyer, catching Ryker and his sidekicks tiptoeing down the steps carrying their luggage.
I let my bags slip to the rug, scrolled through a list, and hit redial. Sheriff Zasko answered with a surly, “What can I do for you now, Katie?”
“Why do we have to remain at the inn if Chesterfield and his cronies are free to leave?”
“What?” I heard a chair squeak and imagined his face suffused in red.
“Would you like a word?” Ryker and his buddies overheard my question and halted on the steps. I turned the speaker on and held my phone toward them.
The sheriff hollered, “I’m not finished with you. You knuckleheads better not be thinking about skipping town before checking with me or so help me I will send the state’s best agents to pick you up in front of your parents, your employers, your classmates, teachers, and anyone else and throw you in the slammer so fast ...” Sheriff Zasko continued with his colorful tirade.
