Hung Out to Die (26 page)

“Let's talk about the walk you took with Uncle Fenwick,” I said. “By all accounts you came back mad. Aunt Nora said he came back mad, too, then took the clothesline from the yard, and left again. Why did you get mad at each other this time—or was it the usual rivalry?”

“Well, believe it or not he was still sore that I cut him out of the coin deal,” Daddy said.

“That's what he meant by you were supposed to share, when you were fighting at dinner?” I asked.

“That's right.” Daddy shook his head. “I can't believe he's held a grudge all these years, considering how well he's done in plumbing, at least from the looks of things. Anyway, I told him on the walk that we were working with Rachel Burkette to buy the old orphanage and that two weeks ago, she'd contacted Rich and asked him if he wanted to be a partner with May and me after his retirement. He's off the county commissioners, so it wouldn't be a conflict of interest, and with him involved in the deal, it's more likely to go through. That was your mama's idea, too.

“And from what Rachel said, he was really surprised, but then he liked the idea. He wants to talk with us next week. We're pretty excited. He's got to have a lot of money squirreled away. On our walk, I told Fenwick about it, told him I'd write him a check after this deal went through to cover more than his share of the coins. I just didn't want him to mention the coins to anyone, botch up the deal we seem to have going with Rich. But Fenwick got really upset at me, told me I'd ruined everything as usual, and then took off running. Thought the blubber-butt would have a heart attack.” Daddy stopped, looked chagrined. “Oh. Sorry.”

“And you have no idea why Uncle Fenwick got that upset?” I asked.

Daddy shook his head. “I thought he'd be glad to get the money, and then some, for the coins. As well off as he is.”

Caleb cleared his throat. “Josie's right, though. He's probably not well off from his plumbing business. It's privately held, so I don't have specific numbers, but it was easy enough to check into business listings online. He employs himself, three full-time plumbers, a few part-timers, and a secretary, and has his building in a not so great part of Masonville. Hard to see how he makes the kind of money to buy the kind of toys and jewels he and his wife apparently like to flaunt.

“On the other hand, Rich should be, well, rich. Again, I don't have specific numbers, because the firm is privately held. But I checked out his partner's address. He lives in a half-million-dollar house on multiple acres north of Masonville, and has registered several expensive automobiles and a new houseboat,” Caleb said. “I suppose it's possible that Rich decided to save all his money, but it doesn't seem to fit his personality.”

Daddy frowned. “But from what Rachel was saying, he had plenty of money to invest in FleaMart.”

Caleb shrugged. “Maybe so. Or maybe he was just curious about your plans.”

Daddy balled his hands into fists and hit his knees. “I don't understand what this has to do with finding May!”

I took a deep breath. “I have a theory that Rich Burkette killed Junior Hedberg, Fenwick was blackmailing Rich, and Rich finally snapped and killed Fenwick to end it, and somehow that was motivated by your and Mama's return.”

Both men looked at me. Caleb gave a long whistle. “Wow,” he said, wonderingly. “Were you thinking that last night, when you asked me to look into your uncle's business?”

“No,” I said. “I was just curious about Uncle Fenwick and Aunt Nora's wealth. It didn't fit his comments about hating plumbing. People usually don't get rich doing something they hate.”

“Hell, I love journalism,” said Caleb, giving me an appreciative look, “and I'll never get rich doing it. Ever thought of being a journalist?”

“No,” I said, grinning, glad he was taking my theory much more seriously than Worthy had. Of course, if I was right, Caleb would end up with a wonderful story, especially since he'd gotten me to wondering about Junior in the first place. “I love being a stain expert, although I'll never get rich doing that, either. Plus, really, Caleb, you started me thinking last night, when you brought up how odd it was that Rich and Effie live so modestly, and how you couldn't find Junior.”

“If you two lovebirds would knock off the mutual admiration,” Daddy shouted, making us jump and look at him, “maybe you could tell me how this fits my wife's apparent disappearance?”

I wanted to take exception to the description of Caleb and me as lovebirds. We were colleagues of a sort, I thought, and there was Owen, and—oh, never mind, I told myself. “Well, I'm thinking, last night at the Bar-None, Mama and Lenny—chatted.”

Daddy frowned.

“Perfectly innocent,” I said hastily. “But what if something he said made Mama come to the same conclusion? She got this look last night, like she'd suddenly realized something. Maybe something Lenny said drove her to the same conclusion about Rich and Uncle Fenwick. So what if Mama called Lenny, thinking they could confront Rich? From what I've learned and observed, Rich has a habit of subtly putting down Lenny and Effie, and Lenny adores his mother,” I said. “Both Mama and Lenny could be in danger if they've confronted Rich.” I looked at my watch. It was just after eleven in the morning. “Mama's been gone at least four hours, now.”

Daddy stood up. “Let's go to the Burkettes now!”

“Wait,” I said. “We can't just barge in. It is possible, after all, that, well—”

“That what?” Daddy said, glaring.

“That Mama just took off again,” I said, although I didn't believe it. Deep down, I wanted to believe Mrs. Arrowood—that Mama wouldn't have taken off without keeping her promise to this time come by and say good-bye. Daddy glared at me even harder. I glared back. “You two have been known to do that, you know.”

Caleb winced audibly, embarrassed, I think, to observe this particular bout of family fun.

Daddy sank back to his chair.

“We have to think, put our heads together. Something about those coins . . .” my voice trailed off. I pressed my eyes shut. What did Mama know about those coins? She'd kept them, studied them, left them behind with me. Knew, as I now did, that Daddy had found them in the septic tank on the Burkette property, that Fenwick had surprised Daddy looking at the coins, had seemed oddly disinterested although years later he was resentful Daddy hadn't shared the wealth . . .

My eyes popped open. “Oh, my Lord,” I said. “Tell me again, what did Uncle Fenwick seem like, after he came from the cistern?”

Daddy shrugged. “A little rattled. But then, as he said, he never really liked plumbing. Smells always got to him.”

I looked at Caleb and I knew he knew exactly what I was thinking. He said it for both of us. “I have a feeling we both know where old Junior Hedberg's been all these years.”

“What?” said Daddy. “Well, let's call Worthy.” He reached for the phone. I put my hand on his arm. I looked at him and then at Caleb.

“I have a—” I hesitated to call it better. “—a different idea.”

20

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” I asked.

“Josie, it was your idea,” Caleb said.

We were sitting in my van at the back of the parking lot at the Run Deer Run lodge. The lot was packed with cars and trucks. Rich Burkette's retirement party was under way, and it was a popular destination.

“I say we go in there, grab the son of a bitch by the throat, and demand he tell us where May is!” Daddy growled. We'd tried Mama's cell phone several times, and always got an out-of-service message, which, considering I knew she'd charged it overnight, had us all concerned.

“Daddy, we've already discussed why that's not going to work,” I said. “All Rich has to do is say he has no idea what you're talking about, and everyone will believe him. Then you're back in jail, and we have no idea where Mama is. Or proof that my theory—”

“Our theory,” Caleb interjected.

“Okay, that our theory is right,” I finished.

Daddy balled his gloved hands and pounded his fists on his knees. “Damn, I wish I knew exactly where that cistern was!”

Of course, we'd eliminated calling Chief Worthy and asking him to check the cistern for Junior Hedberg's remains. He would have laughed us off the phone. Even if a miracle had occurred and he took our theory seriously, law enforcement can't just go searching private property without a warrant, and our guess wasn't enough of a reason to get a warrant.

So, it seemed obvious that the simple thing to do was trespass onto the Burkette property while the Burkette clan was all at Rich's retirement party, find the cistern, open it up, and check for Junior Hedberg's remains, then call the police, and then deal later with trespassing charges.

But that's not as simple as it sounds. Daddy had never seen the cistern, just the septic tank, which would be located a distance from the cistern for obvious reasons. After twenty-seven years, he wasn't sure where the septic tank had been, so he couldn't take an educated guess about the location of the cistern based on that.

Plus, snow covered the ground, making spotting a cistern lid simply by walking the grounds around the house impossible.

Taking Daddy to the Burkette property and hoping his memory of the septic tank's location would return didn't seem like a good idea, either. After all, the trees around the property would have grown considerably in twenty-seven years.

Which led us all back to my original idea.

Kidnap Rich Burkette from his own retirement party.

Here's what I figured. If my theory was right—that Rich had killed Junior Hedberg, dumped him in the cistern, been found out by Uncle Fenwick and then blackmailed—then Rich would definitely know exactly where that cistern was. And chances were he'd left that body exactly where it was because, after all, what better place to hide a body than in an old, empty cistern?

Of course, if my theory was wrong, we'd all be liable for a lot worse charges than trespassing . . .

But I seemed to be the only one with any doubts.

“This is going to make a great story,” Caleb said.

“Yeah, if you don't get fired. How many ethics violations are you making?” I asked. My voice was shaking.

“I don't know. I'll add them up later.” He sounded excited, up for the adventure. So different than Owen, who would have tried to talk me out of this. Which suddenly seemed like a good idea . . .

“Either get going, or I'm going to go in there and—” Daddy started.

“Fine,” I said. “We're going. You know what to do?”

He nodded. I handed him the keys to my van. Caleb and I got out. Daddy moved over to the driver's side of my van.

Here was the plan. Daddy would wait in my van; after all, he hadn't been invited to the party. And we didn't want Rich to see him—or him to see Rich—anyway.

Caleb and I would go inside. Caleb would pull Rich aside, tell him he'd uncovered some interesting facts that they might want to discuss privately—outside.

As they were leaving, I would go outside, too. I'd wait for Caleb to give me the signal—a single flick of a cigarette lighter—and then from behind I'd quickly loop a scarf around Rich's mouth. Then Caleb and I would force him to my van, and Daddy would take off with all of us.

Then we'd lie and tell Rich we'd found proof in Uncle Fenwick's possessions that Rich had killed Junior years ago, but that if he'd tell us where the cistern and Mama were, we'd destroy the proof.

Of course, we planned on instead going to the cistern, checking for Junior's body, and calling the police.

Funny how plans don't always work out.

“You really do look lovely,” Caleb said. “Too bad this isn't a real date.”

I was just about to stuff a stuffed mushroom into my mouth when he said that.

“I can't look lovely. I'm too nervous,” I said, and stuffed the stuffed mushroom into my mouth.

He grinned, focusing on my chewing, which annoyed me, so I frowned, which made him grin more. The power had finally come back on at my laundromat/apartment building, and so I'd been able to shower and change into a black knit skirt, black boots, a bright green sweater, and loopy earrings. Perfect attire for a retirement party. Or a kidnapping.

I swallowed and licked my teeth. “Yum. You won't find that at Sandy's.”

“Ah. So the laundromat lady likes upscale munchies.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “You thought I wouldn't?”

“You've never turned in a column about how to get out caviar stains.”

We'd stationed ourselves in the crowded lodge by the hors d'oeuvres table. I had to admit, the fancy eats and candelabras and elegant flower arrangements of lilies and roses seemed at odds with the down-home, woodsy interior of the lodge, which was decorated in dark paneling and moose and deer heads.

Still, I didn't especially like Caleb's implication that my hometown and I weren't capable of some upscale partying. I picked up a cracker topped with black caviar, popped it into my mouth, and munched.

When I finished, I said, “Notice I didn't get a dollop on my sweater. If I had, the way to handle a caviar stain is to first realize that it's oil based. So, rinse from behind with warm water, and treat with cloudy ammonia and dishwashing liquid diluted in water. Use distilled water for fine fabrics, as distilled water won't leave a ring, but tap water can, with all the minerals in it, especially around here. Then, use a solution of one-third vinegar and two-thirds water to get rid of the black stain. Or try hydrogen peroxide—similarly diluted—depending on the fabric.”

“Well, I'm impressed,” Caleb said. “Will all that be in your column . . . due Monday?”

“I'm focusing on uses of vinegar,” I said. And then I gave in to the cough that had been building in my throat. “Actually, that was my first experience eating caviar.” I coughed again. “Salty.”