Creeps, Cache, & Corpses, page 16
Sheriff Zasko barked, “What’s Hidatsa?”
Gray skimmed his phone, grabbed the pages and his stubby pencil, and began his own translations. “We’ll get right on it. Thanks.”
I backed out of the room and into a solid body.
“Sorry,” I said, squirming under the hands on my shoulders, holding me in place. I turned into Reggie and slithered out of his grasp.
He snorted. “No problem. I’m heading in there myself.” He saluted, walked into the dining room carting another file, and closed the doors.
I returned to the parlor and while I watched Kindra beat Patricia in a serious game of chess, Jane put a hand on my collar. Some of my tension leeched out through her touch, that is until she switched to adjusting the cut of my shirt. Ever the fashionista, she tried her best to help me overhaul my casual wardrobe and rehabilitate my careless dress. The hands on the clock moved like molasses.
When Reggie rapped on the doorjamb, CJ opened his eyes. He excused himself and walked out of earshot. Reggie handed him a plastic sleeve of fluorescent green spheres.
“What’s that about?” Galen wondered aloud.
After shaking hands, Reggie left through the front door, pulling it closed behind him.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say CJ was trying very hard to look carefree and he wasn’t very good at it. He spilled the contents of the tube into his hand and juggled the tennis balls in the air. Drawn by the unexpected and amazing skill, like butterflies flitting to vibrant blossoms, the kids rose quickly and joined him in the foyer. “It is time to take the dogs out to play. Carlee, you need color. Your grandparents will arrive shortly, and we want you to look your very best. We also want Renegade and Maverick to impress them so we must try to wear them out.”
We headed toward the front but were detoured by CJ pointing to the kitchen door and the rear exit. “There is more privacy in back.”
The nearest neighbor was more than a block away. Jane turned my way and scrunched her eyebrows into a question. I had no comeback, and we followed the pack into the yard.
The doggie yips and the kids’ squeals of delight mixed with hearty guffaws reminded me of a birthday party. Dogs careening all over the yard to fetch the tennis balls elevated the mood and ate up some of the wait time until one toss crossed to the side yard.
Carlee chased Maverick. CJ, who rarely raised his voice, slammed the joyful mood to the ground with a loud, “Stop.” Either Carlee didn’t hear him, or as many teenagers are wont, she ignored him.
CJ stumbled forward and dropped his cane. He called again and tripped, tumbling to the ground. Galen rushed to help, but CJ clawed at the sod and whispered, “Stop her.”
Galen and I rounded the side of the house and rushed head long into the pandemonium. Ryker and his cronies had exited the car they’d parked behind a cruiser with bright flashing lights, shouting questions at Reggie. “What’s happening now? Don’t you think it’s time we get a refund? This is not the vacay we were promised. We should have stayed where we were.”
On the porch, Lauren rocked a sobbing Davy. “It’ll be fine, Davy-boy. You’ll see.”
Maverick bounded to and fro along the path in front of Carlee, teasing, but she ignored him and stood transfixed, watching the sheriff march a handcuffed dark-haired woman toward the rear door of his vehicle. Mesmerized, Carlee trailed them to the bottom of the hill.
“Nicki, after all she did for you, how could you?” Reggie snarled before he turned and saw the crowd filling his yard. He waved his hands, insisting we disperse. “Go back.”
Striding from the house, Irinia emulated the handcuffed woman’s walk, holding her head up, and throwing back her shoulders. She even wore a similar blue plaid wool jacket. With her demeanor and dark hair coloring, they could be sisters. “It’s about time,” she said.
The sheriff turned to me and called, “Thanks for your help, Ms. Wilk. Your code decryption helped us prove Willy’s murder was made to look like suicide. The retractable cable was a ruse.”
Overwhelmed and probably not fully recovered, Carlee fell to her knees, and Galen beat me to her side. “What are you doing to Nicki?” she said.
CJ had limped from the back yard, leaning heavily on his cane. Seeing his daughter’s crumpled form, he cried out, and I could hear the anguish in his voice. “Carlee.”
The woman Carlee called Nicki had turned her head when she’d heard her name. Recognition dawned in her eyes, and they looked so much like Carlee’s. She stepped away from the car, but Sheriff Zasko thwarted her forward momentum with his hold on the cuffs at her wrist. I watched as her resolve disintegrated. Her shoulders drooped. A husky voice unused to making sounds croaked, “Chantan.”
THIRTY
CJ dropped to Carlee’s side and took her hand. His eyes followed her gaze to the woman she called Nicki. He froze in place. The world stopped for the two of them.
“No,” CJ whispered as the sheriff ducked her head and tucked her into the vehicle. Carlee curled up and sobbed in CJ’s arms. Questions filled his face as he turned his tormented eyes to me. “Katie, what did you do?”
The lights pulsed and the siren blared. All eyes watched Sheriff Zasko speed away with his charge.
Reggie marched to CJ and stood over him. Steaming, his voice erupted. “Why do you think I told you to keep the kids in the back yard? They didn’t need to see this.”
Galen lifted Carlee from the ground. CJ ignored the outstretched hand and slowly raised himself. He towered over Reggie and narrowed his eyes. “You knew who she was.”
Reggie recoiled and said, “Of course, but I never thought she’d killed them.” He stomped to the rear of the house.
CJ turned and moved silently up the hill. Carlee watched him, and then called out, “Dad?”
His shoulders slumped for a moment, then he threw back his head, plodded onto the porch and in through the front door.
Deputy Gray stepped next to me, jostling the carton in his arms. “It’s a good thing Edith kept everything so well organized. The key from that box fit the cabinet in the library and her records are meticulous. That woman …” He nodded to the space vacated by the cruiser. “She had the strongest reasons to want Edith dead. And the sheriff was right. Willy didn’t commit suicide. Love and money, two of the oldest and strongest motives on the books.”
“What do you mean? Who is she?” I asked, not really wanting to verify what I thought I already knew.
“Her name is Danica Bluestone. You didn’t know?” My head moved slowly side to side. “The language dictionary aided in translating some of the pages of a journal, and we were able to decrypt more of the encoded messages. She’s been here for—”
“Seventeen years.”
He repositioned the box. “Danica worked for the Farthingtons all that time. According to the notes we found, at first she appreciated Edith’s support and assistance, but recently, she was feeling more and more like an indentured servant with no way out. She was taking a shot at emancipation and expressed her frustration to Willy Zasko, but it wasn’t going well. The sheriff believes she finally blew. The journals would have taken a long time to decode without your help.”
“But I didn’t do anything.” What else could go wrong?
A battered black truck ground to a halt behind Ryker’s car. I recognized the tall, gaunt balding man, wearing thick wire rimmed glasses and a glower, as he exited and slammed the door. I’d had a fleeting glimpse of him once before when CJ and I searched for Carlee. Could it have been five months already since their reunion? His long black trench coat whipped behind him, reminding me of an undertaker laboring against the wind. His face darkened as he took in the tattered remains of our group, telegraphing the message that this was the last place he wanted to be. Carlee’s grandfather opened the passenger door and lifted his hand to a petite woman, helping her to slide gracefully to the ground.
Her silver eyes flashed up the hill, and with her gentle smile, Davy’s wailing became whimpers. Ryker and his entourage stopped their noisy pestering and beat a hasty retreat inside. A mercurial white streak in her long black plait reflected the sun. The braid fell over her shoulder as she cocked her head in response to the excited, yipping dogs. They sat and dropped flat to the ground. Another dog whisperer, I thought.
Irinia failed in her attempt to make herself invisible and avoid the woman’s examination; with her dark hair and vivid blue coat, Irinia could have been a relative. The woman panned the yard and when her warm eyes found Carlee, she lifted her arms. Recognizing the resemblance, Carlee rushed to her, keening, “Grandmother.”
Galen stepped next to me. “What happened, Ms. Wilk?”
“The woman Sheriff Zasko arrested …”
“He arrested Nicki,” he said. “I don’t get it. She’s the one who chiseled the wood carvings of Maverick and Renegade. She’s been so nice to us.”
“I think Carlee has just met her grandmother.” I spoke painstakingly. “Carlee is going to need your support. I believe Nicki is CJ’s wife …” Galen sucked in a breath. “… and Carlee’s mother.”
Galen jerked back. “How can that be? She’s dead.”
“I think she’s been here the whole time, but I have no idea why or how.”
“What do we do now?”
I didn’t have a clue. But for CJ to find his wife after seventeen years just to have her torn from him again was too cruel. What proof could the sheriff have found? And how had I contributed to the investigation? Why would Danica have killed either Edith Farthington or Willy Zasko?
I heard rumblings of dissatisfaction and turned toward the grouching voice emanating from a sour faced Kimber Leigh, tramping on the sidewalk.
“What are you gawking at?” she snarled at the older gentleman. “Where’s Reginald?” No one answered. “He’d better not be ignoring me, or he’ll be sorry. This could be all mine.” She fanned her arm to encompass the hill and continued down the sidewalk.
The older man’s façade never altered. He glared at her as if he could wish her away with enough intent. When that didn’t succeed, he hiked up to me. “Do you know where Chantan John Bluestone is?”
The front door banged open, and CJ returned with a pack over his shoulder, his felt hat on his head, his keys dangling from his hand, and determination cemented on his face. He strode purposefully down the hill, pausing only to whistle. Renegade bounded to his side.
“Dad?” Carlee sniffed.
He raised his head and continued to his truck. “Stay with your grandparents, Carlee.”
“Chantan?” the woman said softly. She reached out her free hand.
He stopped again. Without turning his head, he said, “Kahula, I failed her.”
Her brow creased. She maintained her calming touch on Carlee and said, “Tell me.”
He turned his haunted eyes to Carlee. “I am sorry.”
The older man marched across the yard, growling, “Sorry? That’s all you have to say? How dare you … you took her from us. I’ve been wanting to do this for years.” He swung his arm with everything he had. His fist landed in CJ’s huge palm.
I could barely discern the intake of breath as CJ forced the man’s hand down to his side. He stood as still as a statue and fixed his gaze straight ahead. Renegade glanced back and forth, confused by CJ’s stoicism and Kahula’s perplexity, and anxious to take on the new adversary writhing to free his hand from CJ’s iron grip.
“Paul, please.” Kahula looked from her husband to CJ. “What is it? You must tell us.”
CJ’s eyes glittered. With a determined look on his face, he released his grip, continued on the path to his truck. The door screeched, and Renegade hopped inside. The truck roared to life and hurtled toward town.
“My dear, what just happened?” Kahula asked.
Carlee shook her head. “I don’t know.” Kahula drew her closer and held her tight.
“If what we’ve discovered in the journals is true, if it checks out, you’ll hear nothing but praise from the sheriff.” Deputy Gray panned the sky, observing the dark clouds swirling together again. “You’d best get inside. A spring storm can be a doozy.”
“May I see the pages?” I asked.
“I don’t know. That sensitive evidence is still part of our active investigation. Maybe if you come to the station and talk to the sheriff, you might be allowed a peek. But don’t get your hopes up.”
The sky opened up and we scurried inside to escape the pellets of icy rain.
I wish I’d never asked what else could go wrong.
THIRTY-ONE
Paul, Kahula, Carlee, and Galen huddled in the corner beside the grandfather clock. Galen kept his eyes on Carlee. “Sheriff Zasko arrested Nicki, but her real name is Danica Bluestone.”
Kahula raised her chin. Paul shook his head. Carlee gasped. “My mom?” She pressed her tear-streaked face into Galen’s chest and her shoulders heaved. Kahula gazed at me with a worried expression as she led them into the parlor.
Patricia and Kindra dropped onto the steps leading upstairs. They signed their entire conversation and I understood none of it. Lauren snugged Davy onto her hip and whispered something to Jane who nodded. Lauren tiptoed to the kitchen.
On the other end of the foyer, Ryker cracked a can of beer, and the hiss circled the room uninterrupted. He swallowed long and hard. “Ahh. That’s better.”
“Jane,” I whispered. “I think CJ followed the sheriff. I’ve got to find him and see what I can do.”
She fished her keys out of her pocket before I finished my request and dangled them from her pinkie. “We’ll hold down the home front.” Maverick sat at her right side. “See. Even your pup understands the need for emergency behavior.”
I looked into his bottomless, calming brown eyes and scratched behind his ear. “Take care of them,” I whispered.
Jane leaned close. “I’ll make sure Patricia and Kindra talk to their mom. We’ll be responsible for Carlee and Galen, and Maverick will keep the slime at bay.” Her eyes trailed the four sleazy men retreating to the dining room.
“Thanks. I don’t know how yet, but I have to help.” I grabbed my coat and pack and darted out the door.
My GPS instructions took me to the police station instead of the sheriff’s department. While I contemplated where to head next, I caught sight of CJ’s truck parked next to a cruiser similar to the one Sheriff Zasko had used when arresting Danica. I parked Jane’s Edge and slid from the driver’s seat. My phone pinged.
Again with the Leave it. Someone’s creativity was sorely lacking. I didn’t have a clue what I should leave so I dismissed the message for study later.
The commercial building did not have an approachable feeling with its shallow brick steps and heavy industrial glass doors. I took three quick breaths, marched up to the entry, and pressed the security buzzer. Upon admittance to a sterile entryway, I pressed another intercom button and asked to see Sheriff Zasko.
“Hold on,” came the disembodied voice. Seconds later, a signal droned, and I yanked open the access. I followed the one-way path to Deputy Gray, waiting in the hall, arms crossed, lips forming a grim line.
“You didn’t think I’d come, did you?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t.” He dropped his arms to his sides. “Follow me,” he said, resignedly.
We joined Sheriff Zasko, CJ, and two police officers in a small conference room. The palpable discord in the room ignited when Gray conducted me in.
“Grand Central Station,” harped an exasperated gray-haired man in a crisp blue uniform. “Who’re you letting in now?” He threw a pen across the table. “You can’t just go bringing in all these civilians.”
“Officer,” Sheriff Zasko paced and said, “One of the goals of our sheriff’s department is transparency. We’ll figure it out. This is Katie Wilk. She unraveled the convoluted mess in the notes among Edith Farthington’s papers.”
Perfect timing for my opening. “Sheriff, may I look at the pages again?”
Sheriff Zasko said, “No,” at the same time the woman in blue said, “Great idea. Maybe then we can determine where our money would be best spent. My house, my rules.” The staring contest ended in a loss for Sheriff Zasko; he looked away and nodded, begrudgingly.
“Rebecca Connelly,” the mahogany-haired woman with bright eyes said. She reached out her hand. “Sorry we have to meet under such grave circumstances.
“Chief, I don’t think—” the other officer began, and he stilled under her glare—a formidable opponent.
“You never do, Ed.” She turned her nutbrown eyes to me. “If it hadn’t been for your astute observation, the words would have remained gibberish, the translation never would have happened, and the murderer would have gone undetected.” Unchallenged by anyone in the room, she continued. “You absolutely can look at everything. Maybe you’ll stumble upon something else, and we’ll be able to answer the question, ‘why murder?’ more expeditiously. Gray, bring the cartons in here, please. We can examine the contents. Together.”
CJ radiated intensity, and I couldn’t look his way; I was certain I’d contributed to his heartache. I didn’t know what I could do to make it right, but I had to try.
Gray and Ed returned, carting cardboard boxes with Farthington/Zasko written in wide black marker on the open flaps.
“According to Edith’s notes, seventeen years ago Danica landed in the hospital parking lot—comatose, bloody, and septic. She contracted a severe infection, and almost died.”
CJ inhaled sharply but stayed rooted in place. Gray positioned the box on the table, observing CJ out of the corner of his eye.
Ed dumped the contents of one carton. Four exquisitely carved puzzle boxes tumbled onto the table, and he stacked them next to a leather case rolled around some tools and tied with a narrow leather strip. He opened his palm toward the boxes. “Have at it,” he said dismissively.
