From Newsprint to Footprints: A River's Edge Cozy Mystery (River's Edge Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (24 page)

"Don't know. They were on it when they started talking, and I asked them not to show images of the house again. I think if I'd thrown them off the property, their visit here would have been the lead story."

"Prob'ly right." He went back to work, and more sweat poured down his face.

I took the small towel that I usually have on my belt loop, wet it with some water from my bottle, and handed it to him. "Try this."

"Thanks. Gettin' old."

I snorted it. "You're just a few years older than I am, right?"

"Yeah. Tryin' to cut back on the beer. I hear you sweat less."

I had noticed he seemed somewhat less round in front, but assumed it was from working for Syl. "It shows."

His grin was infectious, and I returned it. Stooper and I have developed a routine for working together. He says hello when he arrives, we agree about what he's going to do, and he often works on another part of the property than I do. He does the work that requires the most muscle, though I think I can do almost anything he can. It would take longer, sometimes, so I rationalize that while there are two of us at times, Syl will pay for fewer hours of work.

Sometime about six o'clock, Stooper is done for the day, says good-bye, and walks down the driveway. I have stopped offering him a ride. Sometimes we sit together on the porch to drink water, but most days not.

Just after six, Stooper was almost at the gate, when Syl pulled into the driveway. Syl put his window down, and they spoke for a moment, then Stooper started walking again. I put the rake I was using to loosen the ground for grass seed in the wheelbarrow and started toward where I knew Syl would park his truck. Since I don't usually walk over, he paused before going in the side door.

"I did my best to keep your house off TV."

"Damn. They were here again? Which ones?"

"This time from Quincy."

He sat his briefcase on the ground and leaned against his perpetually clean truck. "As long as it's not Des Moines. I actually know people in this state now, and they're mostly in Des Moines."

"We can blame the county attorney. I haven't seen the press release, but apparently he felt a need to issue something that said he isn't charging me with anything."

"Must be running again soon."

I laughed at Syl's cynicism and told him what I'd talked to the reporters about.

He frowned. "Sounds like a lot."

"Some with the camera off."
I hope
. "I asked them not to show the house or the full lot, since it would show I'm here alone. They'll be afraid of a lawsuit if I end up in your next mulch pile."

He shook his head. "I'm going to talk to that damn prosecutor. No one's been by for a couple of weeks. I don't need this."

"You could put up a no trespassing sign."

"I've thought about that. But I moved here because the Midwest is supposed to be friendly. I've seen them on some fences near livestock, but they don't seem to be commonly used."

"They aren't."
And they don't keep out murderers
.

THE PHONE IN MY apartment rang about seven o'clock that evening. Sheriff Gallagher's voice wasn't stern, but it didn't sound too friendly either. "I wouldn't go looking for the county attorney for a while if I was you. Smith is royally peeved at you."

"No plans. If I had a heads up about his damn press release, I'd have known how to handle the reporters who showed up at Syl's place." I'd picked up a copy of the press release at the paper, since I knew the courthouse would be closed by the time I finished at Syl's. It said nothing new and made it sound as if Myron Smith had investigated me personally.

"Now you know what to expect if you see him."

"I won't go looking for him. Syl Seaton wasn't keen on having reporters at his place again. Between you and me, his reaction was that good ol' Attorney Smith must be getting ready to run again."

The sheriff actually chuckled. "Not the first I've heard that." He grew serious again. "I wouldn't do anything else to encourage those Quincy TV folks. You hear anything concrete, you call me, right?"

"I have to. Ambrose will put an ankle bracelet on me and track my movements if I do anything else."

"Funny. He told me the same thing." He paused. "My wife is glad you stood up for Fred."

It registered that Gallagher had not said he was glad. "I just wish he were here to do it himself."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AT THE DINER WEDNESDAY morning, consensus was that I'd done a 'smack down' on County Attorney Smith.

"Honest, Shirley, I didn't say one insulting thing about him. I think those reporters were ticked that they drove down here for nothing." I kept my voice moderately loud because a court reporter was in a booth toward the back. She could carry that message back to Smith for me.

I was at the counter, so Shirley put her elbows on it and leaned toward me. "There's no such color as that Candi girl wears her hair."

I grinned. It felt good to talk about something trivial.

I had paid and was about to leave when Sandi and Ryan came in. They both looked tired. Sandi had told me the interim editor was having them do a lot of stories about everyday activities. It makes sense. Life along the river in southeastern Iowa is all new to him.

Sandi pointed to a booth. "Park it."

Shirley called from the other end of the diner. "Regulars?"

"Yep," Ryan said, and Sandi nodded.

"I'm done," I called.

We sat. "What's up?"

"We're supposed to, officially, talk to you about what you said to Quincy," Sandi said, using reporter verbal shorthand.

"I didn't see the whole story, just the snippet on the ten o'clock news."

"Oh, it was more than a snippet at six," Ryan said.

Sandi started to describe the earlier newscast, but I held up a hand. "Whatever they said, it'll be what, sixty percent accurate? Let me just tell you what we talked about."

I finished, and Sandi's first question was, "Was Syl mad at you?"

"He knows I didn't invite them. I asked them not to show the full property. Did they?"

"Huh," Ryan said. "I wondered why it was just flowers and mud where the mulch was."

"Syl's tired of his house being on the news. I asked the Quincy guys not to show it again, because I'm there alone a lot."

Sandi leaned against the back of the booth. "Oh, good. They'll be afraid of getting sued. I think Susie or, what's her name?"

"Candi," Ryan and I said.

"She's on a quest to find a murderer. I saw Aaron Granger at the gas station this morning. He's more than irritated at you. Said it sounds like you said they didn't do their job."

"He told you that so you'd tell me, you know."

"Probably," Ryan said. "But Seaton won't like her angle on his job."

I groaned. "What did they say?"

Sandi answered. "They talked about the contract he got. They didn't say anything bad about him, but you could tell good ol' Candi wanted people to wonder why an outsider got such a big contract."

"Nuts. I didn't tell her that. Sheriff called me last night, but he didn't mention anything about Syl's work."

"Why'd he call you?" Ryan asked.

"Mostly to warn me to keep my nose clean. He knows it's the reporters doing the needling. He just wanted to make sure I wasn't doing any more looking."

"So you told him about Ambrose's threat?" Sandi asked.

"Ambrose had already told him." I looked at Ryan. "Heard you got a promotion."

"Yeah. Dollar an hour more, too. Mr. Iowa City was impressed I found the private security cameras. Wish he'd stay."

"What's his name again?" I asked.

Sandi and Ryan spoke together. "Scott Holmes."

Shirley walked by with an order. "You want another dollar, shug?"

"Not now," Ryan said. "He doesn't care how long my hair is. Said in Iowa City a guy my age'd look weird with hair this short."

BY TWO-FORTY FIVE I was back at Syl's place. He had decided I could spend two hundred dollars for plants, and I was having a blast. I was using the barn to lay out bedding plants and seeds and had been putting them on the floor. Yesterday Stooper had brought over a badly scarred table and nailed a piece of plywood to it, so I no longer had to sit on the dirt.

The diagram of locations for various plants needed some revision. I'd crossed hydrangeas off my list because, while I like the colorful snowball plants, they need too much water. The betting around town was on a dry summer.

Because I was buying a lot of plants and because Andy had been a jerk, Jody at Farm and More was giving me twenty-five percent off. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone although, if Andy knew, it was all over town.

I reached for a small hosta plant as a shadow crossed my hand. I jumped and turned. Syl's prior visitor stood there. He still had on city clothes, a collared shirt and sports jacket, and today he sported a straw hat. Not the kind a farmer would wear, a dressy one.

"I didn't hear you drive up."

"Saw your truck again, so thought I'd come back."

He was only about two feet from me, too close for normal conversation with someone you don't know.
And someone who shows up unannounced when I'm alone
. "Syl's not here."

"Noted. He never seems to be around. You tell him I come by, right?"

I turned fully to face him. I reached for a plant so it might not be as obvious that I was moving away. "I did, but you never leave your name."

"True. Syl and I, we aren't best friends."

My tone was sharp. "Why are you here? You have to know you're making me uncomfortable."

His demeanor changed to one of a friendly neighbor. "I'm sorry." He moved back and gestured toward the barn door. "You're working miracles with this place."

I relaxed a little, but not much. "Did you want me to tell Syl your name this time?"

His stare was impassive. "Just Bill."

"Okay, Just Bill. I do need to get back to work."

He walked to the barn door and stopped. "I saw you on TV last night."

"My agent is off today."

He laughed, loudly. "I knew I liked you."

I don't like you. Not one bit.

He studied me for a couple of seconds. "If that guy who committed suicide didn't kill your old boss, who do you think did?"

"I have no idea." I wanted to tell him not to talk about Fred, to yell at him not to. Instead, I simply asked, "Did you even know either of them?"

"No. Just seemed odd that two people close to you died recently. Not sure I'd want to be your friend."

Stooper's voice came from just outside the barn. He had walked to the far side of the building. "Not sure Mel is looking for new friends."

Just Bill started, but within a second he made himself appear casual. "Too bad. She seems to be losing some."

I'd never heard Stooper yell. "You get the hell off Syl's property!"

"Gee, I'm not sure Syl would appreciate…"

Stooper took three quick strides, stopping just a few feet from the interloper. "You listen here. Get in your fancy car, and get the hell outta here."

Just Bill looked at Stooper and at me before turning to leave. "And they say river towns are friendly."

I looked at Stooper, saying nothing.

In a low tone, he said, "Be right back."

Stooper followed Just Bill and stopped when he reached the driveway. I figured he could watch Just Bill leave from there. Stooper waited until about fifteen seconds after a car engine started and then turned to walk back to the barn.

I was at the front entrance of the barn, leaning against the door jamb.

"Know him?" Stooper asked.

"He's stopped by before, twice, looking for Syl. He's never done more than get out of his car."

"Did he park far down the driveway those times? He was halfway to the road."

"He stopped near where I was working, so I didn't give it any thought. He never even told me his name until today."

Stooper's frown deepened. "That guy wanted to block you in. Where's Syl?"

"Work, I guess. You know he's rarely here until five or so. Some days I don't see him at all."

"We need to talk to Syl tonight. You got your phone?"

I nodded.

"Keep it where you can reach it easy."

Stooper turned to walk toward a large pile of brush at the back of the property, and I got back to work with the bedding plants. It was hard to concentrate on which colors to put together when Just Bill's visit was fresh in my mind. Earlier he said he knew Syl's phone number. Why did he come by without being sure Syl was home?

Just Bill couldn't live near River's Edge. If he lived nearby he would have said the town he was from, same as any normal visitor. I decided to wait until Syl came home and insist that he talk about Just Bill, including what Syl would do to keep the creepy guy away from me.

My cell buzzed. I didn't recognize the number, but knew it was Illinois. I debated not answering, but if it was the Quincy people there would be no putting them off.

"Melanie?"

"Hello, Candi."

"Oh, good. You recognize me."

Good for whom?

"Can I ask you a couple questions?"

I kept my tone even. "I'll answer them if they seem reasonable."

"You're so funny."

You haven't seen funny from me, lady
.

"Did you think Hal was either looking into something to do with Syl Seaton's business or with the insurance industry in Iowa?"

When in doubt, answer a question with a question. "Hmm. Why would you think that?"

She didn't even hesitate. "I heard word around town was that he was planning some exposé."

I laughed. "Hal never went far from southeast Iowa, very southeast Iowa. Last time he wrote something of substance about an insurance company he had to do a retraction."

"Yes, I read that when I was doing some research. That took me to Mr. Blackner, and he said he thought you were looking into stories Hal was writing."

Damn, she's good
.

"Not exactly. I offered to go through the folders on his desk and credenza, to make sure there wasn't anything in there that Fred needed to use for a story."

"Even though you were a suspect?"

I said nothing for three full seconds. "It's Sheriff Gallagher's investigation. If he told you I was, he never told me. Listen, I'm working. Gotta go."

I didn't answer when she called back four times. Let her develop her own story.

STOOPER WAITED UNTIL about six-thirty, but I was determined to talk to Syl. He got home at seven, parked his truck, and went inside. He came onto the front porch from inside, holding two bottles of water. "You okay?"

"Mostly. That man who's been here twice before came today. I asked his name and he said to tell you just 'Bill.' Can you think who that would be?"

He sat in a canvas chair next to mine, and sighed. "I can guess. What did he look like?"

"Kind of tall, maybe six feet. Dressed like you, shirts with a collar all the time. Good tan." I thought for a moment. "The first time he was here he was driving an older Lincoln."

Syl sighed, but stared at the front yard without answering. Thinking, or so I thought.

"He also said you guys weren't pals."

His eyebrows went up and he looked at me before regarding the lawn again. "You asking as reporter or friend?"

"I'm not sure I'll ever report again. Friend."
I guess I'm your friend
. I watched Syl's profile as he spoke.

"He helps people write proposals, like the one I did to get the insurance industry contract. I paid him a fee. He never mentioned he expected five percent of the contract."

"How much was it?" I wondered if Syl would tell me the amount I'd seen in the Des Moines paper.

He studied me and looked away. "Between you and me, more than six figures."

"What makes you so smart?"

He laughed and turned his chair to face me. "You always get to the nub of things."

"My put-up-with-bull-o-meter is set pretty low. Can't you go to the sheriff?"

"That's two questions. First, I rented a very small office on the east side of Des Moines, near the fairgrounds. I have two people who work with me, each about ten hours a week, to develop the implementation plan. Never good to be the smartest person in a room. Second, what the heck would I tell him? There's no paper trail, as the auditors say. It'd be Bill's word against mine."

"I find him intimidating." I described Just Bill's behavior that afternoon.

He stood and paced the porch. "I'll call him." He stopped in front of me. "You willing to work only with Stooper here for a few days? If it's not enough hours, you can bill me now and do the work later."

"Sounds as if you think he's dangerous."

"More devious. He knows he worried you, and he hopes that'll make me call him."

I looked at Syl directly. "So you didn't call before?"

"I should have. Nothing he has to say will change my mind about giving him a cut. I didn't see how a call would make a difference."