Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (11 page)

“Yes, Janis,” she chirped. “You’re so darn melodious, I’m sure you must have a new … well, friend.”

“Not hardly. I don’t need my life any more complicated than it already is,” he said and changed the subject. “Now, listen to this.” He sauntered back down the hallway to the office.

“Okay, what?” Gracie called after him.

She separated the containers on her desk, found the chicken finger salad, and located utensils. Jim opened his container, looking reverently at a Philly cheese steak sandwich. He obviously was having a special moment over the aroma that immediately filled the room. Trudy, Tracey, and Casey appeared, gratefully grabbing their lunches. They took off for the picnic table in her backyard when Gracie offered the shady spot.

“Jim and I will handle the phone and reception. Go eat.”

The twins and Trudy headed for the outside.

“All right, what were you going to say?” Gracie asked after the back door slapped shut.

“Well, while I was waiting at Midge’s, that wind farm guy, what’s his name, Allen came in with Kevin. They both looked a little sickly. I turned my back, hoping Kevin wouldn’t see me. I didn’t want to get into the land thing again. I considered thanking the windmill guy since he put up bail for Toby, but like I said, I didn’t want to end up talking to Kevin.”

“And?” Her leg was jiggling impatiently. Jim was taking the long way around the barn with this story.

“Just wait. I’m getting there,” he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. He chewed slowly and methodically just to further annoy her. He swallowed and continued. “They started talking, in the dining room, fortunately at the table closest to the counter.”

Gracie’s eyes were beginning to glaze over. “And?”

He gave her a slow smile. “All right, all right. They were obviously trying to be discreet. Then Investigator Hotchkiss comes in and walks right up to their table.”

Gracie stopped mid-bite, looking expectantly at Jim, whose blue eyes twinkled with twisted humor.

“She asks ever so politely if Mr. Allen would accompany her to Warsaw for questioning.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Not kidding, Chief. He never said a word, just got into his Mercedes and followed the sheriff’s car.” He sat back, took a huge bite of the dripping sandwich, and watched for her reaction.

“Did Kevin say anything?”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “He just looked like he was going to puke and walked out of Midge’s. Walked right on down the street, back toward the bank.”

Gracie played mindlessly with the salad, finally taking another bite.

“Did Midge have anything to say about it?”

“When doesn’t she? She said she wasn’t surprised. D. B. and this Allen guy had a very public display of animosity just a week before the murder. D. B. took a swing at him, and Mr. Allen told D. B. where he could go and how he could look forward to the trip. Happened in front of the bank, according to her.”

“Things that make you go
hmm
. I never heard anything about it at the time.”

“You don’t get out much, remember?”

She gave him the hairy eyeball while taking another bite of salad. The phone rang, interrupting her glib comeback. Gracie washed down the salad with more cola before answering, “Milky Way Kennels.”

She made reservations for two dogs for the weekend, which included baths. Before she could finish the phone call, the bell jangled up front. Jim jumped up to answer. Seconds later, a collie, making a mad dash for the reception area with Jim at the end of the leash, sped past the door. She tossed the container in the wastebasket, smiling to herself that Rocket was aptly named.

Rocket’s owner, Margie Hurlburt, stuck her head into the office with the collie straining at the leash. Margie, a short and stocky woman, was Isabelle’s competition in the real estate business. Her sharp brown eyes and dark, cropped hair were set off by her neat wheat-colored linen pants and short matching jacket. She’d just returned from a real estate seminar in Albany.

“Thanks, Gracie. He looks great. You’re doing a wonderful job. I told Jim that we’ve needed a kennel like this for a long time in D.C.”

“Thanks, Margie. Rocket’s a fun dog.” Gracie scratched the dog’s ears. “Bring him back again.”

“I will. There’s always some training deal I have to travel to. Oh, and I wanted to tell you that Kim really appreciates all the support and help you’ve given her. I’m afraid she still has a lot to go through with this terrible murder investigation. I don’t know how they can think Kim would shoot her own husband,” she snorted.

Rocket shook his head as if on cue to agree. He sat down and scratched enthusiastically before standing again.

“I don’t know either. Hopefully the sheriff’s department is smart enough to realize that.”

“They’d better. Dean and Carla told me she’s really stressed. They’re pretty worried about her right now.” Margie shook her head sorrowfully. “She’s got a lot to handle with the farm. I told her she’d be better off getting Dean to buy her out. He’s wanted to do that for years.”

“She did mention something about the partnership agreement with Dean. I think the lawsuit might be the sticking point, but I don’t know.”

“That crazy environmental guy. My Lord, he’s a pain! I’d sue the pants off that weasel myself just for aggravation. He’s made my life a misery looking for the ‘right’ property.” She made quotation signs with her hands in the air.

“The right property?”

“Whatever
that
means. He finally went with another agency. I said good riddance.” Margie looked at her watch. “Sorry, Gracie. I gotta dash. I have two houses to show to a buyer in an hour.”

Kim Jackson sat twisting a Kleenex in her hands. Nolan Schmidt looked over his drugstore reading glasses at his client, who sat rigid as a fence post in the brown leather wingback chair in front of the massive mahogany desk.

Nolan was an XXL guy, bald as a cue ball. His florid face was most likely indicative of high blood pressure and a fondness for good Scotch as the smudged shot glass behind him on the credenza attested.

He tapped a sausage-like index finger absentmindedly on his open appointment calendar, waiting for his client to answer.

Gracie sat uncomfortably next to her friend, still wondering why she’d agreed to come along for this appointment. Kim had practically begged her. She didn’t want her children advising her on anything at the moment. Gracie had steadfastly told her she’d go for moral support only—no advice. Kim had readily accepted the terms.

“I can’t prove I was at home all evening or all night. How could I, Nolan? It was just me in the house that night,” Kim said with exasperation. “I talked to him on the phone about the flat tire. He said he’d be home as soon as he’d changed it.”

“Did he say anything, anything at all about someone hanging around or staying to help him?” Nolan stopped tapping the calendar and leaned back in his oversized leather desk chair.

“No. No, I don’t think he did. I went to bed …  in my bedroom. I had a terrible headache. D. B. and I decided on separate bedrooms when Duane went to college. I suppose that’s terrible, but his snoring was awful. He got up early and it just wasn’t … .” Her voice quavered.

Nolan waved his hand understandingly. “All right, Kim. My wife kicked me out years ago for the same thing. It’s not a crime. But you do need a better alibi, or I’m afraid you’re still a good suspect. Now, think. Did you make any calls or see anyone? Anyone come in from the barn to see D. B.?”

Gracie re-crossed her legs in an effort to get comfortable. The whole situation was surreal. Kim glanced at Gracie as if she needed reassurance that her answers were the right ones. She tried to look supportive but knew her smile was weak. Nolan had told them the sheriff’s department had matched up the shot size with shells D. B. used for goose hunting. Two shells were missing from a full box in the gun cabinet D. B. kept his office. Kim didn’t have a soul who could confirm her whereabouts other than D. B. The house was far enough from the barns to keep vehicle movement at the big house hidden from those finishing up the milking that night. If she’d driven off to shoot her husband, no one would have been the wiser.

“No. I don’t remember any calls or seeing anyone. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun, Nolan. I hate them. I just hate them.” Kim’s voice was strangled. Her face was as white as a sheet. She tugged at a pearl earring anxiously as she struggled to regain control.

Nolan rubbed his bald head with a meaty hand. He sighed, staring blankly at the yellow legal pad in front of him.

“What about D. B.’s cell phone?” Gracie asked suddenly.

“What about it?” Nolan grumbled. He rummaged through a drawer and found a roll of Lifesavers. He offered the candy to the women, who shook their heads. He shrugged and popped two into his mouth.

“I was just wondering what time he called exactly. If he called the house phone, then Kim obviously had to be home. How long would it take her to drive to the Meadow if she’d left right after he called her?”

“I hadn’t thought about that, Gracie. He
did
call me on the house phone.” Kim’s plump face showed relief. “So I can prove I was at home.”

“It doesn’t take very long to get from the house to the Meadow, unfortunately,” Nolan said stoically. “Maybe 15 or 20 minutes, but it might help.” He scribbled a note on the legal pad. “The investigator still has D. B.’s phone as evidence. I’ll ask for a log of calls on that date, or we can get it from the phone company. It might give us something.” He leaned back in his chair, sticking his thumbs under wide red suspenders. “Now, what’s the deal about the mortgage on Tobias McQuinn’s land?”

Jim followed Toby through the underbrush behind the trailer toward the Meadow. The scrubby maple saplings quickly sprung back into place as they pushed through the stringy branches. Toby had found ATV tire tracks that crisscrossed several woodcutting trails he’d developed.

Toby hoofed it pretty fast through the woods with no effort, while Jim felt a stitch in his side coming on, trying to keep up. He thought he was in better shape than this. Maybe he should start running again.

“See, they’re right here,” Toby said, pointing to the set of deep tracks in the mud near one of his stacks of wood.

Jim attempted to work the cramp out, rubbing it with his hand as he bent down to examine the marks in the soft ground. The tire tracks were definitely from an ATV. He walked around the impressions to get a sense where they led. They disappeared in the spongy layers of leaves and became invisible in the compost of the woods.

“You’re right. Could be a couple of kids that were up to no good,” Jim said after closer examination, removing his baseball cap and scratching his head.

“I found more tracks over where I’m cuttin’ up that old elm.” Toby waved his arm toward the south.

The terrain dipped over a gentle slope, where Jim could see a large tree was lying, partially sawn. A small stack of firewood stood a few yards away from a pile of sawdust.

“They might be takin’ some wood, but I’m not sure. Could’ve left the ATV up here some place and walked down to break in.” He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead and wiped it on his jeans.

“I guess there are a lot of possibilities,” Jim responded. “We’d better let the sheriff know. Maybe they’ll come up and take a look.”

Toby frowned. “I don’t need no deputies up here. I can take care of it myself.”

“Now, that’s not a good idea,” Jim said. “They’re investigating the break-in, and they need to know about this. I’ll call it in. You can’t afford any more trouble right now.”

Toby spat with contempt against a large rock that jutted out of the layer of old leaves.

“I guess, but they won’t do nothin’.”

“We’ll see. I’ll call your attorney first though.”

Jim pulled out his cell phone and searched through his contacts. He left a voicemail for the public defender, then shoved the phone back into the holder on his belt. As long as he was already close to the Meadow, he wanted to see the scene of the crime. It wasn’t as close as he thought, and they trekked up the well-worn trail for at least another mile before the woods ended. Crumpled beer cans littered the edge of the trees, along with a small pile of cigarette butts.

“Looks like kids were havin’ a little party,” Toby remarked.

He kicked at the cans; water sloshed out of couple. The trash had been there through a couple of rainstorms at least.

“Maybe they’re the ones with the ATV,” Jim said, glancing around for any tracks.

Seeing none, they moved from the trees to the alfalfa, which needed chopping.

“Who’s got dibs on the feed up here?” Jim asked.

“It was D. B. Part of our deal on that mortgage. It counts as monthly payments during the summer. I guess I’d better tell Dean it needs cutting.” Toby brushed the top of the long green stalks with his hand.

The sound of a vehicle caught their attention. Jim shaded his eyes against the sun as he walked down the hill toward the road. Both men stayed in the shelter of the trees that edged the field. A black SUV came to a stop at the edge of the property. Toby swore under his breath.

“It’s that government woman again. I’m tellin’ you, she’s up to no good.”

“What government woman?” Jim squinted and saw there were two people in the SUV.

“It’s that congressman’s assistant or somethin’ like that. She yanked me aside before that rally the night D. B. got himself shot, tellin’ me I needed to do my civic duty and sell the property to D. B. I told her I wasn’t lettin’ no stinkin’ windmills up here. D. B. was gonna hafta foreclose on me before I’d let that happen.” Toby’s fist clenched and unclenched, anger etching his face. “If she trespasses on my property, I’ll git the cops up here to arrest her butt. She can’t miss those new signs down there.”

Jim put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Just take it easy, man. I’m interested to know who’s with her.”

Toby huffed and muttered something unintelligible. He backed away into the trees, keeping his dark eyes focused on the SUV. Jim continued his stroll down the hill to get a better look at the visitors, staying well into the camouflage of the trees. The long-legged woman got out of the driver’s side. She stood with her hands on her hips, looking up the steep incline of the field. Her body language was a good indication that Toby was probably right about her. She was used to being in charge. The woman turned back toward the SUV, motioning to the passenger. A man wearing a cowboy hat stepped down from the vehicle and joined her. He looked familiar. He watched the couple continue an animated conversation. It had to be the windmill CEO. He now stood with the leggy woman, gazing at the large piece of land. His hand rested on the small of her back or maybe it was a bit lower. The woman jerked away, returning to the vehicle.

*****

Gracie dashed into the kennel, frustrated that the meeting with Kim and her attorney had taken up half the morning. A deposit was waiting, and payroll was tomorrow. She also had to check on inventory. The first week of the month was her time to do any ordering. Why had she gotten herself in this fix? She wanted to be a friend to Kim, but she’d never intended to get this involved. Advice on how to avoid a murder rap, especially the murder of your husband, was not high on her list of skills.

Marian and Trudy assured her everything was under control. Casey and Tracey were scheduled to handle exercise times and feeding for the afternoon. Runs were clean, all the dogs were exercised at the moment, and Marian had just two more appointments for grooming. Gracie sighed with relief and sank into her desk chair to check the deposit. Everything was in order. She grabbed the blue canvas bank bag and stuffed it into her large tote bag. The pile of invoices that needed mailing was neatly rubber banded; she jammed those into her bag. As she dashed out the door, she promised the bemused Trudy and Marian that she’d be right back.

*****

The line at the bank was long for some reason. Only two tellers were available; everyone else must be at lunch, Gracie surmised. She caught sight of Kevin pulling a folder from one of the large black filing cabinets that lined a dark-paneled wall. Wondering who his victim was, she craned her neck to look around the large silk ficus tree next to his desk. You didn’t see the top-gun loan officer unless you were behind on your mortgage or begging for a big loan. She smothered a laugh when she saw a red-faced Ben Richter, writing furiously. He tore a check out from a black binder and threw it on the antique walnut desk. Kevin sat back comfortably in his chair with a look of satisfaction. He caught Gracie’s gaze and quickly looked back at his customer. The bearded man stood, pushing his way past a secretary carrying a load of files in her arms. She stumbled and caught the slippery folders before they escaped. The Renew Earth CEO, who evidently couldn’t have cared less, pushed through the double glass doors without looking back.

Gracie’s cell phone began ringing “Who Let the Dogs Out” just as she reached the window. Placing the bank bag on the counter for the teller with an apologetic look, she rummaged in her bag to drag the phone out. The caller was Kim. She shut the ringer off and tossed the phone back into the bag. Once she finished at the window, she stepped out on the sidewalk in the warm sun. Hitting the call back button, she couldn’t imagine what had happened so soon to warrant a call. Kim really needed to get a grip.

A young male voice answered the phone. It was Kim’s son, Duane. His voice sounded shaky as he told her the news. The sheriff’s department had returned his father’s truck right after his mother had come home from seeing the lawyer. When he and his mother examined the truck to make sure everything was intact, he’d noticed that the .20 gauge shotgun that should have been hanging on the rack in the truck was missing. His father had carried a shotgun in the truck for years. When Kim asked the deputies if they were holding the gun, they informed her they hadn’t found any gun in the truck.