Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (14 page)

“Terrible, just terrible,” she said with a slight slurring of her words. “That awful D. B. has made life a misery. I can’t say I’m sorry he’s … well, gone. Mitch is certainly happier. But it hasn’t worked out the way we thought.” Her voice trailed off as a tray of miniature scones and tiny slices of cheese cake were placed on the wicker-and-glass coffee table by the caterer’s assistant.

“Why don’t I get a plate of these, and we take a stroll in Isabelle’s gardens? I’d love to show you the gazebo,” Gracie urged.

Ann Marie was perfectly fine with that idea and followed Gracie out onto the lawn. They met Cynthia Harkness, who was talking intently to several women about the local economy. Gracie steered the unsteady Ann Marie on the path toward the gazebo at the back of the yard. Ann Marie tripped along beside her in her pink sheath dress that was a tad too short and too tight. She was definitely more than a little wobbly. They took a seat in the gazebo for safety reasons. Gracie was sure the woman was going to fall flat on her face if they kept walking. Plying Ann Marie with the goodies, the conversation resumed. Maybe with some food in her stomach, they’d make it back to the house. Gracie placed the plate of sweets between them.

Without much encouragement, Ann Marie continued sharing the woes of the windmill business. D. B. wasn’t anywhere near being the Allens’ favorite person and neither was Tobias. D. B. had asked for an outrageous amount on the last lease agreement, and he didn’t even own the land. Tobias, in her opinion, was mentally defective and should be made to lease the land to New Energy. It sounded like financial ruin was just around the corner if the last wind farm, along with the government grant, weren’t forthcoming. It also appeared that Cynthia Harkness was working day and night to make sure the last wind farm happened. Gracie couldn’t help but wonder why it was so important to the congressman’s aide.

Ann Marie struggled to pull her dress toward her knees in an effort to cover a well-exposed thigh. “I’ve got to stop eating at these awful parties,” she said disgustedly. “I used to be a size 6 and now … oh, shh—shoot,” she finished awkwardly with a crooked smile. “I’ve got a run now.” A gaping hole in her pantyhose snaked into a wide run to her ankle. “I hope there’s another pair in the car. I’d better go change.”

Brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, she stood a little more steadily. After setting her glass on the seat cushion, Ann Marie made her way to the house from the octagon-shaped gazebo.

A few cars were pulling out and making their way down Crescent. Cynthia, who wore her hair closely-cropped in an almost military style, was on her cell phone again, watching Ann Marie half-stumble to the Mercedes in the driveway. Her foxlike face was pinched with concern and Gracie was quite sure she wasn’t pleased. Politics must be an unhappy career. With any luck, she’d at least get an introduction to the woman. Cynthia turned her gaze toward Gracie and seemed to look right through her as a cat does its prey. The feral eyes gave Gracie a chill, and the hair on the back of her neck rose, tingling. No doubt the woman had been an excellent sniper.

Cynthia glanced at the departing guests and turned her back to Gracie, walking toward the shade of a maple. Gracie meandered in the same direction, pretending to study the back lawn. The sharpness of the woman’s voice made her conversation distinct.

“It’s plan ‘C’ now. I can’t believe it’s all falling apart. We’ve got to get this done. I was sure when the first problem was solved, it would go like clockwork.”

Gracie kept strolling and then turned back to the house hoping that Cynthia hadn’t noticed her.

Carla came from the patio out into the sunshine, with Isabelle in tow. They were both smiling. It must be official. The redecorating and the tea were a success. Gracie took a deep breath. She needed to be on the right side of Isabelle to conclude the afternoon’s activities on a high note. Plus, after what she’d seen today, it might be a good idea to talk to Carla about her own master bedroom. The woman had a real eye for color and putting accessories together. That wasn’t always Gracie’s forte. Her bedroom needed repainting, the carpet was in terrible shape, and one wall sported floral wallpaper from the 80s. It needed help, and she was fresh out of creativity. It wouldn’t hurt to get her ideas on the upstairs too. But, after that, she needed to go home. Her fun meter had been officially pegged. Within minutes, she and Carla had made an appointment to get together on the weekend, Isabelle was properly congratulated on a beautiful dining room, and Gracie, still mulling over Ms. Harkness’ phone conversation, was seated in her RAV4 headed for home.

Saturday morning proved to be rainy. Gracie finished up last-minute pick-ups and drop-offs before walking back to the house. The light rain was just a mist, and the clouds were beginning to clear. Haley waited at the kitchen’s screen door. Gracie wiped her wet sneakers on the mat before she opened the door to receive the dog’s wiggly greeting.

Casey and Tracey were handling the rest of the exercise times and the afternoon mealtime. Gracie had almost a whole day to herself, but most likely it would be spent housecleaning and doing laundry. Checking the clock on the gas range, she realized that she had barely enough time to put on a pot of coffee before Carla arrived. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen just as a dark gray sedan pulled into the house driveway.

The decorator arrived with bangs damp against her forehead, but smiling. The gangly woman in navy blue capris and a yellow camp shirt carried an iPad in a black-and-white polka-dotted neoprene sleeve. Haley woofed and then wagged her tail furiously, anxious for attention. Carla obliged good-naturedly.

“Hey there, big dog,” she said, giving the Lab a quick head pat.

“That’s Haley. She’ll suck every ounce of attention she can get. Come on in and look at my disaster area,” Gracie said, laughing. “How about some coffee?”

“That would be great. I’ve been up since four today. Some emergency with milking equipment. When Dean gets up, I might as well too. He’s the noisiest person I know.”

Gracie smiled and nodded knowingly as she poured two mugs of coffee. “Michael was the same way. Even if he managed to slip out of the bedroom without waking me up, he’d drop something or slam a door.”

They proceeded to the bedroom, and Carla quickly took measurements, studied the windows, and pulled up a corner of dingy carpeting to take a peek underneath. She asked about colors and furniture preferences, making notes in a black leather notebook. Her long, plain face was in deep concentration as she wrote down Gracie’s preferences. After a tour of the rest of the house, they settled in on the stools at the kitchen island. Carla swiped the iPad screen and quickly brought up her CAD program. She punched in the bedroom’s dimensions and displayed samples of several paint colors and hardwood flooring. She began clicking on pieces of furniture and arranging it.

“Do you want to keep the original character of the house?” she asked, tapping the screen.

“That’s my goal. I’ve always liked the farmhouse, country look. It’s simple, homey, and you can use some great colors.”

“I like it myself. Your taste is very similar to your cousin’s. She said almost the same thing before I worked on her dining room.”

Gracie choked on the mouthful of coffee, grabbing for a napkin.

“Are you all right?” Carla asked as she pulled several fabric swatches from her bag.

Gracie wiped her mouth and tried to compose herself. “Yes,” she rasped, coughing again. “It went down the wrong way.”

Carla spread out the swatches. “Look through these and see if you find anything you like. I’m thinking restful colors, muted greens, maybe grays. We’ll need to talk proposed budget too.”

A calculator appeared from the cavernous bag and was placed on the brown granite countertop. Gracie peeled each swatch back, testing the texture of the fabric. The stack of decisions was suddenly overwhelming. Waves of second thoughts about the whole project rolled into her mind. It might be too soon to think about another change in her life. All she had hoped for were some thoughts about paint color and whether she should re-carpet or go with hardwood flooring.

“I’m not really sure I want to change all the furniture in there or even the bedding,” she said finally.

The furniture was hers and Michael’s. The old comforter had been a wedding gift.

Carla’s face fell. “Maybe we got our wires crossed. I’m sorry. I thought you …”

“No. No. It’s my fault. I thought I was ready. Maybe I am, but now I’m not sure. I’m sorry, Carla. I don’t want to waste your time.”

Gracie felt terrible. She hadn’t intended to lead a fellow businesswoman on. The whole idea was a mistake.

“You know, you might want to take a look at the bedrooms I’ve redone for Kim. Since both the girls are on their own, she had me redecorate Amanda’s and Sara’s rooms. They were in desperate need of updating. That house has so much potential.” Carla paused, as if considering her words carefully. “I hate to say this—Kim is a friend and all—but she just doesn’t have a knack for decorating. Anyway, the bedrooms might give you some ideas,” she finished. “Of course, you don’t have to make any decisions today.” She forced a smile, and Gracie knew Carla was doing her best not to look disappointed.

“That sounds like a great idea. I guess I’m still trying to get used to the single life. Just like Kim is too.”

“It must be hard,” she said sympathetically. “Dean and I have been married for 22 years and, well …” She suddenly stopped, staring at the iPad.

“Kim’s got it especially hard with D. B.’s murderer still on the loose and the police looking at her as a suspect. It just seems crazy.” Gracie finished the coffee and wrapped her hands around the cooling white mug.

“True. But maybe not. She and D. B.” Carla arched her eyebrows, her dark brown eyes full of meaning.

Gracie looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“They weren’t exactly close, if you get my drift.” Carla twisted her wedding ring uneasily.

“They were having trouble?”

“They have for years. Separate bedrooms since Duane went to college. D. B. planned to retire in the next year or two. He’d said as much to Dean. I’m not sure what that meant for their marriage. There were some rumors about D. B. and his extracurricular activities.” She looked down at her coffee cup. “I’d better not say anything more. It’s just barn gossip.” She pressed her thin lips together firmly.

“I know about that,” Gracie replied with an edge to her voice.

There had been two farmhands who had tried to start rumors about her and Jim right after Michael’s death. They’d even had the gall to call the accident “convenient.” She’d fired them on the spot after overhearing the conversation.

“I do worry about Kim.” Carla rubbed her forehead and brushed back strands of straight dark brown hair. “She’s not herself, and she doesn’t have experience with the farm business, although Dean is trying to help her. He is the manager after all
and
a partner. We have the first option to buy out D. B.’s share of the farm, but who knows if that’ll happen now. Kim seems to be a little erratic. The lawyer is trying to get her through the paperwork. It’s a really difficult time for her
and
us,” she said.

“I’m sure Kim appreciates Dean’s expertise. I was glad for Jim’s help and my attorney to sell the farm. It’s not easy at all.”

Carla nodded and took a sip of coffee. “Oh, this is cold. Do you mind?” she asked, pointing to the coffeemaker.

“Help yourself,” Gracie answered.

She leaned over to get a better view of the drawing that Carla had begun on the iPad. She liked what she saw, and the lump in the pit of her stomach didn’t seem quite as heavy. While Carla sipped at the coffee, Gracie thumbed through the swatches. There were some nice choices and a deep chocolate and burgundy print caught her eye.

“Let me look at the bedrooms you’ve done for Kim. Maybe I’ll get enough nerve to do this.”

Carla’s face brightened. “The bedroom has a lot of possibilities, and I know I can do it using the furniture you have. Let me work up something for you. A few unique accessories, a hardwood floor, an area rug, and new paint. No obligation, of course.” Her words were rushed, and Gracie could see her excitement.

“I guess…. Go for it then,” Gracie said. “A breath of fresh air is probably what I need.”

She stood at the screen door, watching Carla drive off, still chewing on what D. B. and Kim were planning when he retired. Did they really have marital problems? It all seemed a little vague. And whom would D. B. be seeing? There was Kim’s lack of an alibi. But did everyone else have one? She wished she’d asked Carla if the police had questioned Dean about his whereabouts. They must have. If Kim was under suspicion, then D. B.’s partner must be too. He sure wanted the farm badly enough from what she’d heard today.

In the distance, she saw Jim walking from the kennel toward the house. The noise of a car chugging down the road with hardly any muffler caught her attention. Gracie craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the noise polluter through the trees. Sure enough, it was Roscoe’s wreck of a car. Jim was already walking toward the noisy vehicle.

Jim spent the next half hour wiring the disintegrating muffler underneath the rusty car. Haley lay close to Jim’s feet, looking vaguely interested in the proceedings. Roscoe was given firm instructions to get it properly fixed before he got a ticket or worse, as Jim slid out from beneath the car. Nodding solemnly, Roscoe promised to have it repaired at Tice’s Garage.

He held a sheaf of papers in his hands that Haley became fixated on, sniffing and trying to ruffle the pages. Gracie snapped her fingers at the dog, telling her to stop. Her ears drooped for a second and then she began sniffing Roscoe’s shoes with greater interest.

Jim brushed off his hair and grabbed a rag from his back pocket to wipe off his hands. A smudge of dirt or oil or maybe both was on his forehead. Gracie caught his eye, pointing to her own forehead. He took the hint and managed to scrub the mark off. His expression was unreadable, but Gracie calculated he was severely annoyed.

“I do appreciate your expert assistance with my car issue. I dropped by today with my research on the Renew Earth organization. I think you’ll find it as fascinating as I did. I’ve already sent an article to my editor. I believe he’s going to assign me do an exposé on Mr. Richter’s rather, well—” He cleared his throat and continued, his chest puffed out a little. “Highly questionable organization. I’ve got it all right here,” he finished, patting the papers he held tightly against his chest.

“Well, then let’s take a look at them,” Jim said enthusiastically.

“Come on in. I’ll make some lunch,” Gracie offered. She scrambled up the steps and opened the kitchen door.

“None for me. Thank you anyway,” Roscoe apologized.

Gracie gaped at him, shocked that he’d actually refuse food.

“I have a luncheon engagement a little later,” he explained, as a blush of color rose from his neck to his forehead.

He studied the shoelaces of his black hi-top sneakers. Gracie noticed that Roscoe looked less rumpled, and his sneakers were exceptionally clean.

“Oh, no problem. Chicken salad sandwich, Jim?”

“Nope. I’m meeting Pete and Dan. We’re looking at a tractor for Pete. Now, let’s take a look at whatcha got.”

Gracie shrugged, and they went to the living room, where Roscoe sorted the papers carefully. If
The
Sentinel
’s editor wanted Roscoe to do the story, he must have found something substantial, she reasoned.

After Roscoe finished his windy synopsis of Ben Richter and his conman past, Jim and Gracie looked up at each other, both grinning broadly.

“So, our Mr. Richter is in the intimidation and litigation business,” Jim confirmed. “He’s sure no friend of the farmer. D. B. was his next litigation victim.”

“He was also a suspect in his first wife’s death,” added Gracie. “D. B. may have been more than a lawsuit victim.”

“You’re quite right. Mr. Richter says he went to the Lake Luster Grill for dinner with his current spouse in Perry after the protest. However, no one at the restaurant corroborates his story, except Mrs. Richter, of course. Also, he maintains he paid cash for dinner, so there is no financial record of them dining there,” Roscoe stated.

He pushed his glasses back into place and looked at his large watch with a too-long black strap. He scooped up the papers hurriedly, explaining and apologizing that he had to leave forthwith for his luncheon engagement.

“Well, this explains Richter’s empty threat to Toby,” Jim said, rubbing his jaw as he watched Roscoe’s car depart in a belch of exhaust. “I had Toby’s attorney leave a message for him, saying that we knew there was no threat of violence against him, and there was a witness to his visit. No response and no arrest. That speaks for itself.”

Gracie sat staring at her wedding picture on the fireplace mantle, wondering what Michael would say about it all. Then she thought of Marc and their brief romantic entanglement. And then Kim’s tearful face came to mind.

“We need to find out who killed D. B. It’s got to be connected. I wish I knew what the sheriff’s department was doing. Why haven’t they arrested Richter? He’s a big bully and a scammer. Once Roscoe’s article is published, they’ll have to do something about him,” she spouted.

Her gaze left the wedding picture, which bespoke lovely memories. Maybe Kim didn’t feel about D. B. the way she had about Michael. What kind of marriage had they had? Maybe she should call Marc and get his perspective from the law enforcement side. It would be good to hear his voice and find out how life in Arizona was going.