Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (19 page)

Gracie’s eyes widened. “Your source at Midge’s?”

She fought back a grin, forcing her face back into a mask of seriousness.

The rumpled reporter made no reply. He folded his arms and looked properly non-committal.

“So, D. B.’s email was right.”

Gracie quickly explained Duane’s discovery on his father’s computer.

“You know, I’m going to call Kevin and just make sure of that.”

“What I don’t understand is why this Harkness chick would be visiting the Richters.” Jim rummaged through the refrigerator for another bottle of water.

“I believe I’ll try to interview Mr. Richter about my exposé,” Roscoe said enthusiastically. “I should give him the opportunity to respond before I file the entire story with the editor. I could mention this information even.”

“That may not be such a great idea,” Jim cautioned. “He’s not going to be happy about your article at all. We really don’t know what he’s up to or capable of. He’s apparently lied to the police about his alibi.”

“I agree with Jim. It could be dangerous, Roscoe. His first wife died under suspicious circumstances after all.”

After the debacle in the woods, there was no way Roscoe could do this on his own.

“As a member of the press, I want to give him an opportunity to give his side of the story. I could also inquire about his newest development behind Greerson’s Meadow.”

Roscoe’s just-rolled-out-of-bed personage took on a surprisingly noble look. He stood, squared his shoulders, and tucked his wrinkled red plaid short-sleeve shirt into the tight waistband of his worn black jeans. He was a man on a mission.

“Please let one of us know if you get the interview. You really shouldn’t go alone,” Gracie admonished him.

“Just call me. I’ll tag along as your sidekick or something.” Jim grimaced.

“I am sure there is nothing to be concerned about, but I will call if I think it necessary.”

He practically marched out of the office, while Gracie and Jim stared after him, speechless.

“I don’t like this, Gracie. I’m getting a bad feeling.” Jim brushed brownie crumbs from his jeans.

“I agree. Richter and the company he keeps are dangerous. We need to keep an eye on Roscoe. I don’t want him getting into any more trouble.”

Jim stood in the doorway with his thumbs hooked through the belt loops.

“I also don’t like that look in your eyes, Chief. You’re staying away from Hansen’s woods and Richter, right?”

“Of course,” she said innocently, her heart beating double-time in her chest.

The Renew Earth office was deathly quiet. A sign in the front window said “CLOSED” and “Call Again.” Ben Richter stuck another sheaf of documents into the shredder, while his wife boxed up office supplies and a calculator from an old metal desk.

“I told you this had gotten out of control.” Her voice indicated severe irritation. “You’ve got too many irons in the fire.” She glanced at her watch. “I wish Summer would hurry. She’s always late.”

He glared without comment at the attractive woman with whom he’d fallen in love, or, more accurately, in lust. He knew she was right, but he’d been sure he could hold it all together. Who could have known that D. B.’s widow would throw a monkey wrench into the whole deal? D. B.’s death had resolved so many things at the outset and now… Well, it was time to pack up. He could only hope that the Jemison Road project wouldn’t fall through. Everything depended on it and the check that was waiting for him at Jackson Farms. The stupid kennel woman was sticking her nose in things, and that wasn’t good. Maybe the cops had scared her off after the trespassing incident, but he couldn’t be sure. An insistent tapping at the front door made the pair freeze.

“The sign’s in the window. They’ll go away,” hissed Richter.

He tied up a black garbage bag full of document confetti and set it by the rear exit.

The tapping continued. It was joined by a muffled voice calling out, “Reporter for
The Sentinel!
”

Autumn swore angrily.

“What does
he
want?” she whined.

“I’ll find out,” Ben snarled, his eyes dark with temper. “Stay here.”

He pasted a smile on his face and strolled from the back office to the front door.

*****

The phone rang twice before Isabelle said “Hello.” Gracie broke the ice by asking for more information about Friday’s cocktail party. She listened impatiently to her cousin prattle on about the menu and the important guests. She prayed for the woman to take a breath. Gracie wedged in her first question, which she hoped sounded solicitous enough.

“How’s Kevin making out with the wind farm deal? I know it’s been difficult for him since D. B. was killed. Even Aunt Marlene mentioned it’s been a real trial. I’m sure it’s been doubly hard with the police investigation and all.”

Isabelle was silent for a moment as if considering her sincerity. She couldn’t resist the bait, however.

“Of course, it’s been difficult. If that crazy Tobias McQuinn had just sold his land to the bank, it would have been fine. Kevin will figure something out. He’s very clever at arranging things.”

“I’m glad to hear that. It’s been so stressful for everyone. Of course, if the police could find the killer …”

“If you ask me, they really don’t need to look any further than Kim. I know that sounds awful,” Isabelle said quickly, her tone surprisingly softer. “D. B. mentioned to Kevin he was selling out to try and fix things with Kim. They were having trouble, you know.” Her voice took on a conspiratorial tone.

“So I’ve heard. Kim mentioned that D. B. was supposed to have a meeting with Kevin and Mitch Allen the night he was killed. I guess the police have probably questioned him about that.”

“That awful detective, that Hotchkiss person, asked about it last week. D. B. was supposed to be here right after that stupid protest or rally. He called and said he was fixing a tire and would be about a half an hour late.”

“Do you remember what time that was?” Gracie asked with excessive sweetness.

“I told the police it was a little before eight. At least he called. Of course, he never got here.” Isabelle paused and then continued in an aggravated tone, “I don’t know why Cynthia didn’t call. Kevin and Mitch waited forever and finally she showed up. She looked a sight too when she finally got here.”

Gracie’s stomach dropped to her sneakers at the mention of Cynthia’s lateness.

“Didn’t Mitch and Cynthia leave the protest at the same time?” she probed.

“How would I know? Mitch was here right at 8:15 for the meeting, and Cynthia didn’t get here until after nine.”

“It was awfully confusing when that rock throwing contest started. People left in a big hurry.”

“I’d forgotten that you were there. We didn’t attend, of course. Much too political for us.”

Gracie wanted to pound her head against the wall. What was Isabelle talking about? They were hosting the incumbent candidate for Congress at a party, for heaven’s sake. She closed her eyes, sighed, and asked meekly what time she should arrive on Friday.

*****

It wasn’t until six o’clock when Gracie finally locked up the kennel. Haley was already out the door, trotting toward the house. No doubt the dog was anxious for her supper. She had to admit she was too. The rumbling of her stomach was constant. She was pretty sure there was nothing except a peanut butter sandwich on the menu for tonight. Maybe she’d head to Midge’s and at least get something to go.

The distinctive wheezing of the Geo coming down the road caught Haley’s attention first. She detoured to the driveway to greet the sputtering car. Gracie felt an actual sense of relief as Roscoe got out. He was obviously none the worse for wear after his encounter with Ben Richter. But maybe he hadn’t tracked him down yet. The somber look on the usually friendly face gave her pause. Maybe it hadn’t gone well. The steno pad was in Roscoe’s hand as he walked purposefully toward her. Haley was sniffing his pant legs, which didn’t seem to faze him this time.

“I have some additional information on Renew Earth. It seems that they’re actually discontinuing their business.”

“Really,” Gracie responded in surprise. “What’s the reason?”

He referred to the steno pad in his hand, flipping over a couple of pages.

“Officially, Mr. Richter states that, and I quote, ‘Deer Creek residents have created a hostile environment for those who wish to preserve the rural ecosystem. Furthermore, this hostility has forced Renew Earth to seek another location to further its campaign to save the pristine surroundings in pastoral areas of the United States.’” He paused and looked up from his scribbled notes.

Gracie rolled her eyes in disgust. “He’s really full of it, isn’t he? Did he say where he was going, by any chance?”

“No. I gather that they have things to take care of here before relocating.” Roscoe flipped the pad shut, and he tucked it under his arm.

“What did he say about the activity on Jemison Road?”

“Mr. Richter wasn’t prepared today to talk about that, but he did promise to call me for an exclusive interview,” he added with some satisfaction.

“Really,” Gracie said doubtfully. “He wasn’t upset by your article then?”

“He barely acknowledged it actually. He mentioned the freedom of the press and something about contacting my editor, if he had questions.”

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Are you sure he wasn’t just tiny bit upset?”

“Not in the least. I let him know I would file the story with the editor in the morning.” He glanced at his watch and pushed his glasses back into place. “I do apologize, but I must go. I have an appointment I must keep.”

Gracie shrugged. “Sure. No problem. I’m going to check out some distances tonight between Greerson’s Meadow and my cousin’s house.”

“Please be sure to note all of your calculations,” he called back over his shoulder as he hurried back to the waiting car.

*****

The trip odometer on the RAV4 was at zero as she sat parked in the driveway of Jackson Farms. Gracie had decided to check out every possible combination to Greerson’s Meadow. Dean, who was just leaving the office at the back of the big house, came over to talk to her. Carla waved to her as she unloaded drapery rods from the back of her car, which was next to Dean’s pickup. She waved back, watching the woman finally corral the slippery black rods and start for the office.

“Is Carla working on something for Kim?”

“No. She’s redoing the farm office right now. I think it’s time for a fresh start in there.”

Dean took off his Jackson Farms cap and then replaced it onto his thinning, short brown hair.

“That’ll probably make it easier for you.” Gracie replied. “You know, it’ll be your office and not D. B.’s.”

“It’s a place to get the work done,” he answered flatly. His dark eyes flashed with irritation. He looked at her notebook that rested on the dash, his eyes curious. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing?”

“Well, I’m clocking the distance to Greerson’s Meadow from a bunch of different places.”

“Is that right?” He was silent for a second. “Any particular reason?”

“Just trying to help Kim out with her alibi. D. B.’s phone records showed that he called the house, but Nolan thinks that she’s on shaky ground because of the short distance. I guess the police must have asked you for yours too.”

Dean’s eyes hardened, his lips pressed together in a firm line.

“Sure. I had that conversation with the investigator.”

The unwillingness in his manner to elaborate only encouraged Gracie.

“You were probably in the barn that night. I didn’t see you at the protest,” she said lightly.

“No,” he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “I was home with Carla that night. I had a touch of some nasty stomach flu. One of those 24-hour things.”

“That’s good then. At least you have an alibi. Kim is still trying to establish one.”

“I’m sure it’ll all work out for her in good time.” He looked at his watch. “I’m due down at the barn. I’d be careful if I were you, Gracie. It doesn’t pay to get too involved.”

She was surprised at his harshness. But she chalked it up to the messiness of the farm transfer. As she pulled around the driveway, she saw Dean talking to his wife before he climbed into the pickup.

Haley sat panting in the back seat, always happy to be along for the ride. Gracie’s first trip yielded a distance of 9.3 miles. She grumbled to herself. Nolan was right. Kim could have talked to D. B. at 8:30 on the house phone and then driven to the Meadow to shoot him well before 9:00. Logging her data in a notebook, she then turned the SUV around, reset the trip odometer, and drove toward Deer Creek. It was only 3.5 miles to Isabelle’s. Much closer than she’d thought. She sat in front of her cousin’s house, pondering the possibility and probability of D. B. getting into an argument with Mitch Allen, Ben Richter, or Cynthia Harkness. It wouldn’t have taken long for any of them to shoot D. B. Or maybe Richter and Harkness were in it together and met back at the Renew Earth office. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Haley draped a front leg over the seat to push her way up front.

“Hey, get back there,” Gracie scolded.

Reluctantly, the leg was withdrawn with a huff of disappointment.

“Let’s see how far it is to good ol’ Renew Earth from here,” she told the dog. Haley whined in agreement.

The Renew Earth office was situated just off Main Street on Washington Avenue. The organization was housed in a converted colonial. Renew Earth occupied offices on the first floor on the left side. The right-hand space was vacant at the moment, although rumor had it that someone was thinking about opening a tea shop. Even though it was just after seven, there was plenty of daylight left. It was Mother Nature’s reward for surviving long dark winters. After writing the short distance of 1.7 miles in the notebook, Gracie decided she’d better double-check her calculations and drove back toward Greerson’s Meadow. Even with the bumpy road conditions, it took only seven minutes to pull up in front of the field.

Someone had finally cut the alfalfa, but a large rectangle of overgrown hay remained. Tattered remnants of yellow police tape still flapped sadly in the slight evening breeze. Gracie pushed the button to lower her window, leaned her head against the headrest, and sucked in the sweet smell. The even rows of drying hay gave the field order and symmetry. Haley pressed her face through the narrow opening behind the driver’s seat to enjoy some of the fresh air. Curiosity overcame Gracie as she watched the yellow tape at the edge of the field. It would have been a cinch to sit hidden in the thick woods that flanked the edge. The murderer could have remained out of sight until D. B. was alone. Kim had said there was no hole in the tire. The police determined someone had let the air out. That meant the murderer had to have been watching for the right moment to sneak to the truck.

“Okay, girl. Let’s go check things out.”

Haley jumped effortlessly from the back seat. Gracie watched the dog run ahead. The blocky, black Lab kept her nose to the ground, her tail wagging furiously as she happily snuffled and sniffed.

A momentary nauseous feeling came over Gracie as she got closer to the bit of fluttering yellow police tape. Her steps slowed. What was she here for anyway? Mere curiosity? She wasn’t sure. But maybe the police had missed something. Just thinking about someone actually lying in wait for D. B. made her look quickly to the woods, searching for movement. She whistled for Haley, who happily loped toward her. Standing in the wide rectangle of green, she couldn’t see any impression of D. B.’s bulk in the matted down grasses. A wave of déjà vu washed over her. She’d been standing in a field almost three years ago, trying to save her own husband without success. Mentally shaking herself, Gracie forced herself to focus on the task at hand.