Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (18 page)

Jim seemed in better spirits. He’d brought sweet rolls from Midge’s and had sort of apologized in his own way. He wasn’t a wordy sort of guy. Jim was much happier doing something physical than standing around gabbing.

He was whistling “Jimmy Crack Corn” to the dogs as he hosed down runs. They howled and barked like a backup group. It was quite a serenade.

Things were getting back to normal, Gracie decided as she settled in to run the accounts payable. She was dying to tell him about Dean’s ultimatum to Kim, but wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about anything related to the “investigation.” While the checks slid off the laser printer, she got another cup of coffee and decided she could approach it from the business advice angle.

Marian stuck her head into the office to let her know that the dog food delivery truck had arrived. Gracie was glad for the excuse to go out into the warm June day. A pleasant breeze blew from the west, bringing the scent of fresh cut hay. In the distance, she could hear a tractor chugging.

She greeted the feed store driver, who merely grunted his “hello.” Harry, who was short and squarely built, with thick salt-and-pepper hair, thrust a clipboard at her. He was perpetually in a hurry and irritated about something. Gracie knew from experience that it was best never to start a conversation about politics or the price of gas. She checked the stacks of kibble and was pleased to find they’d finally gotten it all right this time. She signed off on the delivery and took her copy.

Jim appeared from the kennel and stood by the storage building as Harry backed the truck to the door. The squeaky truck brakes complained until Jim gave him the high sign to stop. Harry jumped down from the driver’s seat, and the two unloaded the stacks of bags.

Gracie walked slowly back to the kennel with her face turned toward the sun. It was too bad she never tanned very well. Sunshine usually meant more freckles and sunburn. Haley came trotting from the open door of the reception area. She gleefully smelled the bags of dog food piled up in the storage barn and then joined Gracie. The black Lab managed to place her head under her mistress’ hand to get petted.

“It’s all about more attention, isn’t it, Haley?” Gracie laughed, complying with the dog’s demands.

Haley looked up innocently, brown eyes full of satisfaction.

“Hey! Where’s your collar?”

Gracie searched the ground for the red rolled leather collar that was Haley’s only accessory.

“I’ll bet you lost it in the field. How come I didn’t notice?”

After looking through the office and around the kennel with no luck, she grabbed a wide red nylon web collar from the rack in the reception area. She buckled it onto the dog’s thick neck.

“There. This will have to do for now. At least you’re not naked anymore. I’ll have to find your extra tags though.”

Haley couldn’t have cared less, snuggling into her office bed for an afternoon snooze. The dog stretched out on her side. Her tail thumped twice on the floor before her eyes closed.

Marian entered the office and grabbed a diet soda from the small refrigerator in the corner. Gracie glanced up from the computer screen.

“Have a seat, Marian. You need a break.” Gracie motioned to Jim’s ratty recliner.

The husky woman smiled, sank into the chair, and popped the top of the soda can.

“It’s been pretty hectic today,” she said gratefully and took a quick swig from the can.

Gracie agreed. The grooming schedule was full almost every day for the next two weeks, and Marian had agreed to put in an extra half day each week to catch up. They chatted about Cheryl’s newest family addition—another foster dog from the county shelter. As if on cue, Cheryl entered the office and helped herself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“How’s your foster dog settling in?” Gracie asked.

“Easy as pie. I’m really tempted to keep this little girl,” Cheryl bubbled as if talking about a new baby.

“What is she? A mixed breed?”

“No. Not this time. Lizzy is AKC. A Pembroke corgi. Just the sweetest thing. Her owner passed away—an elderly lady who lived by herself. No one in the family could take her.”

Since Cheryl had received her obedience training certification, she’d been helping the county shelter train a never-ending stream of foster dogs. Cheryl was the kennel’s innovator—always a new idea on the horizon. The training facility was now booked four evenings a week by the search-and-rescue team and the local kennel club, thanks to Cheryl. Her puppy class sold out in two days and she was already planning the next.

“I’m glad you rescued her,” Marian said, rising from the chair. “Well, I’d better get back at it. One more appointment and I’ll be on my way home.”

“How many dogs have you had since March?” Gracie asked Cheryl.

“Wow! Good question. Probably seven would be my guess. Elvis, the beagle I had right before Lizzy, was a corker. He’d sneak past you and be out the door before you knew it. He also liked to jump up on the table to lick plates, if you turned your back. Finished off a crockpot of stew one night.”

“Did he get a permanent home?”

“Yup. A family outside of Silver Springs took him. They have a big fenced yard and three boys. Elvis never had it so good.” She took another sip from the water bottle. “Have you heard how the police are doing finding D. B.’s killer?”

“Not a thing. But Ben Richter ought to be on their radar,” Gracie griped.

Cheryl’s eyes widened. “Ben Richter, the Renew Earth guy?”

“That’s the one. Why?”

“I’d forgotten about this until now. It’s been a little busy. But I saw something kinda weird at their office. I was out looking for Elvis the night D. B. was killed. He’d slipped his collar and took off on me. I found him near the Renew Earth office.”

Gracie was instantly on the edge of the chair.

“Really? Was there anything going on there?”

“I’m not sure, but there was a big black SUV parked next to the little car that guy drives. It was in the parking area behind the building. Elvis had tipped over a garbage can and was helping himself. While I was picking up what he’d dumped on the ground, a leggy, really serious looking woman came out the back door.”

“You didn’t recognize her?”

“No. I don’t think so. It was almost dark. She didn’t look very happy to see me back there. Little Elvis started to howl, and she took off in the SUV. I think it had a special plate on it.”

“Like a vanity plate?”

“No,” she paused. “I think it was a government plate. A U.S. government plate.”

Gracie’s heart was pounding. “Do you remember what time it was?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“Actually I do. That dog made me miss the first few minutes of a Tom Selleck movie that started at nine.” She frowned with her hands on her hips. “It took me about 10 minutes or so to walk back home, so it must have been right around 9 o’clock.” Cheryl glanced at her watch. “I’d better get everyone fed. It’s almost quitting time.”

Gracie sat pondering why Cynthia Harkness would visit the Richters, when Jim and Roscoe appeared in the doorway.

“What’s up, guys?” she asked, while Jim pulled a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator.

Roscoe stood hesitantly in the doorway, as if he wasn’t sure it was safe to enter. She could well understand his hesitation. She felt like a first-class loser. She’d deserted him in the woods without a second thought. The trespassing ticket was no less than what she deserved, but that was still her secret.

“Grab a chair,” Jim said, waving the water bottles in his left hand.

Gracie cleared a pile of mail from one of the brown plastic molded chairs. Roscoe silently took a seat next to Gracie’s desk. Jim plunked a bottle down next to him and twisted the cap off his own, gulping down half its contents.

“Against my better judgment,” Jim began, looking at Gracie and then at Roscoe, “I’ll see this ‘investigation’ of ours through. I started the whole thing with Toby, so I’m the one who got you all involved.” He grabbed a plastic chair and sat down on the other end of the desk. “But no one takes any more chances,” he finished, his voice decisive.

Gracie, mentally breathing a sigh of relief, went to open the small cupboard next to the refrigerator.

“I’m glad to hear that because I have some new information that may help Kim.”

She smiled, pulling out a plate of brownies. Roscoe’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed two before the plate made it to the desk.

“I also have some information. Perhaps we should take some time to review all of it,” he added, and then shoved most of a brownie into his mouth.

Jim grinned and adjusted his Yankees cap. He helped himself to a large fudgy square, while Gracie resumed her seat.

“Let me tell you first what Kim told me last night,” she said.

She unloaded Dean’s ultimatum about an immediate sale of Kim’s share of the farm to Dean. His reasoning was that the farm couldn’t risk any more of her emotional decisions. He’d work out his own settlement with Renew Earth, and Kim wouldn’t have to deal with it. She was free to choose whatever plan suited her fancy, but the farm had to be out of her hands. Whichever she chose, it meant cash in her pocket, but it also meant she needed to move. The residence was part of the farm property.

“Does he have the money?” Jim asked.             

“He says he does.”

“Well, it would make things easier for Kim and definitely for Dean,” Jim said.

“Except for her moving out of the house she’s lived in for the last 20 years,” Gracie responded. “She really doesn’t know where to go. Whether to rent or buy.”

“Isabelle can fix her up with something. You have to admit Kim’s not handling things—”

“I wouldn’t either if I was a suspect in my husband’s murder, and my son was in trouble for a UFO hoax.”

Roscoe’s face fell. “A hoax? What do you mean?” His voice was high and nasally.

Gracie and Jim looked at each other in astonishment; his outburst neatly derailed their argument. The realization hit them both at about the same time: They hadn’t told him about Duane.

Jim spoke first. “Sorry, Roscoe. I guess we forgot to mention that… uh… well, Duane Jackson and some friends set up the whole UFO thing.” He hurriedly explained the rest of the story to the devastated reporter, who looked like his life was over.

“I can’t believe it. I was so sure,” Roscoe murmured. He went over to the window and stood gazing toward the field.

“It was just a prank, Roscoe. That’s why I wanted to go up there. Except I thought it was Richter.” She snapped her fingers and groaned. “It had to be him.”

“What are you talking about?” Jim quizzed her.

“The UFO thing. Duane said he hadn’t been up there since the night before his father was killed. Richter must have found the equipment. He set up that little raid,” she finished tartly.

Roscoe stood looking at her with an owl-like expression. “Is there some significance?”

“Well, I don’t know, but I’ll bet it’s possible he found it the night of the murder. You know, as in he was hiding out in there until D. B. was alone.” Her eyes shone with satisfaction.

“I guess it’s possible, but that old house is back a ways,” Jim countered. “You can’t watch what’s going on in the Meadow from there.”

Gracie felt momentarily deflated. That was true, but it was a great hideout and great place to stash a shotgun. Maybe another trip up there was in order.

“You’re not thinking about going back up there, Chief?” Jim’s face was stern, his voice steady and even.

She shook her head. “No. I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

She couldn’t risk getting another citation for trespassing. It wouldn’t be good to run into Richter up there either.

Jim looked skeptical. Reaching for the last brownie, he asked, “Any luck with an alibi for Kim?”

“No. She was home by herself. But maybe a couple of other people don’t have such hot alibis either.”

Gracie leaned back in her chair and commenced to fill them in on Cheryl’s recent revelation.

“Why would this Harkness chick be seeing the Richters? I thought they were mortal enemies?” Jim asked.

“I’m thinking Ms. Sniper and Mr. Litigation had opportunity to be up there. They certainly weren’t on the best terms with D. B.”

“It would be a pretty tight timeframe to get from Greerson’s and into town,” Jim remarked thoughtfully. “I’m not sure it’s possible. We don’t know what time they left. I’m not sure I remember when
we
left.”

“I can Google it and ascertain it immediately,” Roscoe offered, looking longingly at Gracie’s monitor.

“I don’t trust those maps, Roscoe. It’s better to actually drive it and find out,” Jim said, finishing off another brownie.

“I agree,” Gracie said. “Didn’t you say that the Richters told the police they were at a restaurant for dinner that night after the protest?”

“That’s correct. If they had a meeting with Ms. Harkness, that would explain why they couldn’t prove they were in Perry. My source at Midge’s reports that Mr. Allen and Ms. Harkness both said they had a meeting with a Kevin Trexler after the incident.”