Hide nor Hair (A Jersey Girl Cozy Mystery Book 2) (12 page)

I winced, and corrected my mistake at once. “What was the conclusion? Do the police have any theories?”

“Just one, as far as I know. They were impact injuries.”

“Impact injuries?” I asked, feigning surprise.

“From hitting the ground.”

A funny, hideous thought came to mind, and I begged God to forgive me for having it.
It wasn’t the fall that killed Hank Barber’s wife—it was the landing
.

“There’s no chance at all she could have sustained those injuries beforehand?” I asked.

Hank covered his face with both hands, muffling his reply. “Either way would be terrible, don’t you think? I mean, was she beaten unconscious and thrown from a plane? Dear God. Though I guess the other alternative is even worse. What if she was conscious when she … fell?”

I felt like a heel for questioning him, but I needed answers. “Excuse me for asking this, but were you and your wife having problems when she left?”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “She walked out on me. Of course we were having problems.”

The man’s demeanor told me he was clearly shaken. Everyone knew to look to the person closest to the victim as the prime suspect, with the husband being the very first in line. If what Hank Barber told me was true, how could he have possibly tossed his wife from a plane he was flying? Even if Leona had been unconscious at the time, just the physical act of pushing her from a plane he was piloting would have been a pretty tricky process. I supposed he could have put her in the seat, left the door ajar, and, once airborne, tilted the plane to such a degree as to have gravity take over and cause Leona to spill out.
But that theory seemed dicey. Too many things could go wrong, including Leona falling twenty feet rather than several hundred. Hank seemed too conscientious a pilot to leave something like that to chance.

A more logical case could be made for Leona and Hank fighting inside the plane, with Leona accidentally falling out during the struggle. But how much fighting could have taken place? Hank would have been busy flying the plane. Besides, he wouldn’t have deliberately shoved her out, only to have her body land in the vast field that was part of the airport property. That would have been stupid on his part, and he appeared to have more brains than to do something like that.

He didn’t seem to have it in him to kill his wife, accidentally or otherwise. I simply couldn’t picture him being involved in something so horrendous.

“I think we should change the subject,” I said. “Let’s focus on that advertorial instead.”

Hank Barber looked relieved. “Good idea. I’ll give you a rundown on the flying lessons. Drake can help out with some of it.”

I flipped my notebook to the section where I began my notes on the original article. I knew I would go back to the notes on Leona Barber’s death by the time lunch rolled around.

* * *

I thought the best person to shed some light on the particulars of Leona Barber’s death would be Ron Haver. I left the airport and drove straight to New Brunswick. The usual bottleneck going north on Route 18 had cleared by the time I reached New Street, and getting into the city was no problem. Ron’s office, located on Kirkpatrick Street, was only a short ride once I got off the highway. I pulled into an empty parking space and fed the meter. I thought I could use the old
I just happened to be in the neighborhood
excuse to lure him out for lunch when I called him to come outside and join me.

“Looks like rain,” he said. He glanced up at the sky, then at the outfit I wore. I was dressed in my standard sunnier-weather attire—yoga pants, a T-shirt, and snow white sneakers.

“I interviewed Hank Barber this morning,” I told him. “The sun was bright and shining. You must have an effect on the weather or something.”

“Yeah, Colleen. And you just happened to be in the neighborhood after interviewing Hank Barber. What a
coinkydink
!”

“I drove up here to get a pair of fall shoes. There’s a FootPrints over on George Street,” I said.

“That’s a good hike from here. Good thing you wore sneakers!”

Okay, my excuse for being in New Brunswick hadn’t been a brilliant deception, but it wasn’t bad for a spur-of-the-moment lie either. “You caught me. I’d thought maybe you’d let me pick your brain a little and have lunch with me. Your treat, of course.”

He offered a lopsided grin. “How can I refuse such a gracious offer?”

We walked down a block and entered one of the cute little restaurants the city seemed to have saturated itself with over the past few years. This particular eatery distinguished itself from the rest because the clientele consisted of mostly lawyers and investigators that stopped in for a very quick lunch and a long cold beer.

Ron led me to a table in the back of the restaurant, away from nosy colleagues. The waiter came and took our order, and we sat back to wait for our drinks to arrive.

I reached in my purse to retrieve my notebook.

“Don’t even think about taking notes, Colleen,” he warned me, anticipating my actions.

“Um, no, just looking for gum,” I said.

“Yeah. Right.”

“Fine. No notes.” I closed my pocketbook. “I’ll just ask you some questions. I guess I shouldn’t expect an answer for most of them.”

“Good thinking,” he said.

“Is there any chance at all I can see the pictures Kate took with her cell phone when we found Dizzie?”

“No, there isn’t.”

“How about this? What, exactly, were the circumstances of Leona Barber’s death?”

“Impact injuries and massive trauma.”

I smiled sweetly, needing Ron to confirm the information Hank Barber had shared with me earlier. “Trauma from what?”

“Probable impact,” he said, offering infuriatingly little information.

“She got pushed from a plane, hit the ground, and what, died from internal injuries?”

“Something like that.”

“Was anything missing of hers? You know, like jewelry or her purse or money—something?”

“We found her purse. Apparently, that went out with her. Her wallet and cell phone were found inside. Near as we could tell, the only thing missing is one of her sandals,” he said.

“That’s probably out in the field somewhere,” I told him, “unless there was a good wind when someone tossed her out of the plane. If one of those freak gusts blowing in from the ocean took it, that sandal could have landed in Cleveland.”

We paused for a moment when our drinks arrived. Ron, surprisingly, had ordered a beer. That would have been Kate’s influence. He was typically a far more conservative type. I half-expected a diet soda, maybe even milk. I had ordered my usual.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a gin and tonic in your hand except at a Little League game. Aren’t you concerned that you might have a bit of a drinking problem?” he asked.

“First, I don’t drink every day—though most days it seems like a pretty good idea to me. Second, both the gin and the tonic are good for my health.”

“How do you figure that?” he asked.

“Well, the gin is antiseptic, so it’s good for infections. And tonic water contains quinine. If I ever catch malaria, I’m way ahead of the game.”

“Uh-huh.” Ron took a long gulp of his beer. “And you’re driving home?”

“I’m eating. I’m fine with one. That’s why I only have one when I’m out.”

“How about when you’re at home?” he asked.

“Then two is my limit. Any more than that makes me fall asleep.”

The waiter brought our lunches. Ron Haver’s medium bacon cheeseburger looked drippy and scrumptious. I had the chicken Caesar salad, the gold standard of the dieting crowd.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said as I played with the romaine. “Where is Dizzie’s Tiffany bracelet?”

“I guess it’s in her jewelry case along with the rest of her trinkets.”

“Did you look for it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I can’t get a search warrant just to look through Dizzie’s jewelry box, Colleen. Even you should know that.”

“So you don’t know if it’s missing or not?”

Ron put down his burger. I had the distinct impression I was ruining his appetite. “We returned all of Dizzie’s jewelry to her husband.”

“Does that mean she was wearing jewelry when Kate and I found her dead?” I asked. “Neither of us could remember.”

“There were bracelets, her wedding band, of course, and earrings,” Ron told me.

“How about that special bracelet?”

“I don’t know. Bracelets are bracelets. She had on a bunch, and we gave them to Matthew. At this point, it doesn’t matter.”

“But this was a very special bracelet. I never saw her without it since the day she bought it. She loved that thing to death.” I thought about what I had just said. “
To death
, Ron! Maybe I should ask the Hot Air King what happened to it.”

“Oh, no you don’t! Don’t you dare screw up my investigation. Don’t make me speak to your boss.”

“Call him if you want.” Ken Rhodes was a newspaper man. He would say some soothing words to Ron Haver and then call me to make sure I had indeed called the Hot Air King about the missing piece.

“Maybe I’ll just tell your mother,” he threatened.

He had me there. I could handle Ken Rhodes. My mother was an entirely different story.

* * *

I drove straight to the
Town Crier
office after lunch. I found Ken Rhodes at his desk, on the phone, as usual. I had a pretty good idea who was on the other end.

Ken motioned for me to take a seat. I sat patiently, waiting for the conversation to end.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said before hanging up.

“Let me guess,” I said before giving him a chance to speak. “That was Ron Haver. It’s amazing that a grown man, a county homicide investigator no less, could be such a crybaby tattletale. I feel like I’m in kindergarten.”

Ken sighed. “Can’t you find another source? I mean, there must be someone else up there at the county level you can talk to about these things. Why do you have to go to Ron Haver?”

“Duh,” I said. “Because he’s dating my sister. He’s the lead investigator. I don’t know anyone else who could supply the kind of information I need for my columns. Am I in trouble?”

Ken laughed and got up from his chair. His long, muscular body was such a wonderful diversion. I could stare at it for hours and hours. I ran my fingers through my extra straight ponytail, pretending I wasn’t the least bit interested in the view. I saw no sense in giving him a big head. Ken’s ego was big enough already.

“You’re not in trouble. Hounding people for information is your job. I just can’t stand listening to him complain.”

“Good. I intend to write up a few things I found out about Leona Barber. I was also thinking about asking Matthew Oliver about Dizzie’s Tiffany bracelet.”

“Do I have to worry that someone will find you drowned in a sink, too? I know subtlety isn’t exactly your forte.”

“I’ll figure out a way to talk to him without being tacky about it. Don’t worry about it. I can be subtle,” I assured him.

“Right,” he said. “Subtle like a jackhammer.”

13

I had never met Leona Barber, but her unexpected appearance in the field adjacent to Tranquil Harbor Airport made her a very hot topic for my column—particularly in light of Dizzie Oliver’s death. Though Leona’s body had been the second to be discovered in a week in our small town, technically, she had been the first to die.

I wasn’t much of a believer in happenstance, yet something didn’t add up. I knew I would have to go out to that field and take a look around. The police had already scoured the area the day they brought out the woman’s corpse. They found her handbag and nothing more. I didn’t know what, if anything, I hoped to find, but I thought I could at least locate Leona’s missing shoe. I did know I wasn’t about to go out there alone. I picked up the phone and dialed Bevin Thompson.

“What are you doing tonight?” I asked.

“I’m up for a girls’ night out, if that’s what you have in mind,” she said.

“Sure. A girls’ night out. Wear something comfortable, really casual, and waterproof. Be ready by eight thirty.”

“That’s kind of late, isn’t it? What do I do with Dennis?”

Bevin’s son, Dennis, was my Bobby’s best friend. They liked nothing more than being together.

“My parents will watch the kids. They’ll have a great time.”

“But it’s a school night!”

“We’ll be home by ten,” I told her.

“Why do I have to wear something waterproof?” she asked.

“We’re spending some time outdoors.” I hung up before she could ask any more questions.

* * *

“Why are we here?” Bevin asked when we turned onto the access road leading to Tranquil Harbor Airport. “It’s completely deserted. They’re closed, Colleen—and it’s raining! Please don’t tell me we’re going out into that field where the cops found Leona Barber’s body.
Please
!”

“When did you become such a sissy-Mary? You’re wearing a raincoat. You’ve got your boots on. What’s the problem?” I parked the car in the lot and reached behind me to grab the flashlight I had tossed into the backseat before leaving the house. I flicked it on to double-check it. The batteries I’d found in the junk drawer in the kitchen still seemed to have plenty of juice left in them.

“This is insane. What do you hope to find out here? Didn’t the police already comb this place?”

“They only searched the field,” I told her. “I’m looking for a stray sandal.”

“I have a whole shoe rack filled with sandals at home. You can come over and take your pick.”

“Come on, Bev. When they found Leona’s body, she was missing one of her sandals. I really need to find that shoe. What if it didn’t come off when Leona took flight, so to speak? What if it’s somewhere around the terminal or in the parking lot?”

“What would it prove if we found it?” Bevin asked.

I really didn’t know what it would prove. It could have meant there had been a struggle getting her into a plane. Depending on where we found the sandal, it might indicate which plane Leona was forced into as an unwilling passenger, as well as whether she was already dead, or worse still, alive when she took her fatal plunge. Of course, it was possible the sandal meant nothing at all. Perhaps Leona had been a risk taker who took to wearing only one sandal to make a bold fashion statement, for all I knew. But the shoe needed to be found, and I was determined to do just that.