Let Loose (22 page)

“You smashed his trash can good,” he
added.

“It was fine,” I defended. Okay, it was
dented, but Larry didn’t know that. By the time I drove off it, the
garbage truck had been gone.

“Uh huh.” He looked over his shoulder. “That
all? I got calls to make.”

Considering he’d told me that I’d have to
call back to talk with someone from the “office,” I wondered what
kind of calls he needed to make. However, it was obvious that as
far as he was concerned our conversation was over, and since I
couldn’t think of a way to extend it, I nodded.

The door snapped shut behind him. I stepped
off the porch, pulled Kiska away from whatever intriguing scent
he’d discovered, and tugged him toward my rig.

On the way, we passed the trash truck. I
stopped. There had been two men in the truck when it pulled up, but
only one had walked toward the hut. What had happened to the other
one? He wasn’t in the truck now. Not unless he was digging around
on the floor of the cab for some reason.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the hut and
then looked around the lot a bit too. There were footprints in the
snow leading from the truck to the street. Curious, Kiska and I
followed the trail.

It led down the street, in the direction of a
pawn shop, a gas station and a dry cleaners.

Maybe the truck’s other occupant had had some
kind of dry cleaning emergency or a craving for a meat stick that
couldn’t be squashed.

I could certainly sympathize with both, but
somehow I didn’t think either was truly the case.

Kiska bumped against me, telling me he was
tired or bored or both.

I, however, was feeling energized, as if I
might finally be getting somewhere.

Looking around again to make sure the mystery
garbage man wasn’t behind a bush spying on us, I led Kiska back to
the lot where we stopped so I could assess the truck.

I wanted to look inside. Very badly. But it
was broad daylight, and for the life of me I couldn’t think of a
cover story to explain a need for climbing into a trash truck. At
least not one that any sensible human would believe.

Still... I looked around. Maybe if I was
quick.

Pulling on Kiska’s lead, I walked past the
truck as closely as I could without actually touching it. My height
worked against me. I was too short to see anything more than the
tops of the seats, which were gray and dirty.

I kept moving until we were at the back. The
bed held exactly what you would expect a trash truck to hold.
Trash.

Except... That was odd. There were the old
wire guts of a bed frame and an old fiberglass shower enclosure,
just like I’d seen in the truck when it stopped by Craig’s.

Craig’s had been days ago. Why would the bed
and shower still be in the truck?

Standing at the tailgate, I could see more...
something metal shoved into the bed. I was excited for a minute and
then I realized it was just a ramp, probably for loading large
objects like bathtubs and appliances.

Disappointed and worried that one of the
garbage men might decide it was time to make a run somewhere, I led
Kiska back to my rig.

Once again, my investigation was a bust.

I wasn’t able to talk to Betty or Rhonda
until the next day. Betty’d gone directly from Craig’s to a
Missoula sporting goods store where she’d signed posters and been
treated like a rock star.

Phyllis was bitching about it when I walked
in the shop the next morning. Well, not Betty’s treatment, but how
Phyllis thought it had gone to her head.

“She said she’d be in before lunch. Since
when do employees get to set their own hours?”

I glanced at the shopping bags sitting just
inside my office door.

“You forget something here yesterday?” I
asked.

She leaned to the side to peer into my
office. “Jones Brothers had a sale. I got four new pairs of pumps
and some walking shoes.”

Phyllis was the only woman in Helena I knew
who might actually get use out of four pairs of pumps. Four pairs
of boots? Sure, but pumps?

“Too bad you had to get there late, what with
you watching the shop for me yesterday,” I added.

She waved her hand. “No worries. We were
slow. I closed down for a while.”

Completely missing the hypocrisy of her
statement, she wandered to the front where an older woman was
looking at Vaseline glass.

Knowing I’d never change Phyllis, I gave up
and went to get a latte from Cuppa Joe’s. Then, hoping Rhonda could
fill me in on the trip to Craig’s, I walked into Spirit Books.

I was shocked to see Ethel standing in line
holding three books and a box of local huckleberry candy.

She held up both. “Next time, I’ll be
ready.”

Rhonda was busy ringing up a woman with a
foot of romance novels tucked under each arm. I widened my eyes at
her so she’d know I was shocked to see Ethel and then sidled up
next to my octogenarian friend.

“Ready for what?”

“Your boyfriend’s next visit.”

I flushed, but she reached out to pat my arm.
Her fingers were cool, but her touch was still reassuring.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t blame him either.
Can’t hardly ignore finding a murder weapon.”

I swallowed. “Was it?”

Rhonda finished with the woman with the
romances, and Ethel took a step forward, moving her cane and then
her feet. I thought about offering to hold her books, but Ethel was
far from helpless and I was afraid the offer would appear
condescending or comical, at least to the independent
do-gooder.

Unaware of my internal debate, Ethel answered
my question. “Looks that way.”

“But they released you.”

She peered at me like a disapproving school
marm.

“I mean... in my experience—”

“I’m special. Can’t be expecting someone as
fragile and feeble as me to stay in that cold cell. I could turn up
dead and then what would they do?” Her eyes sparkled.

“Oh.” There didn’t seem to be much more to
say.

“Besides, I have things to do.”

I smiled in a comforting way, or what I
thought was a comforting way. “You’ve been through a lot I’m sure.
Some time at home with books will do you good.”

Ethel didn’t seem comforted. She frowned.
“Someone’s trying to frame me for murder. You think I’m going to
take that by going home and licking my wounds?”

“Uh, no.”

She smiled. “No worries. People make
mistakes. The girls and I will handle it. No one’s a lost cause.
I’m just killing time until Carol gets done with an appointment.
Then we’re off.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t shake the image of Carol and
Ethel avenging wrongs like a senior version of
Thelma and
Louise
.

We had worked our way up to the front. Ethel
handed Rhonda her books and candy and made small talk about the
weather and the newest additions to Rhonda’s selection... a line of
lotions made by women who’d escaped abusive husbands.

“I’ll have to tell Susan you are carrying
them. She’ll be thrilled.”

In other words, aside from her comments to
me, Ethel acted like everything was 100% normal in her world.

I watched her leave, more than a little
dumbfounded.

“She seems well,” Rhonda commented, tilting
her head in a way that told me she was surprised too.

“She does.” I frowned. “Do you think you she
knows something we and the police don’t?”

Rhonda picked up two empty paper bags that I
assumed a customer had brought in filled with books. “Almost
certainly.”

“What do you think she meant about no one
being a lost cause?”

“Is that what she said?”

“Yes, and that people make mistakes.”

“Maybe she was talking about herself.”

“But she said she was framed.”

“Well, that’s what we decided too, isn’t
it?”

“Yes, but...” Ethel’s comments and what I’d
believed before stepping into Rhonda’s shop tangled together,
leaving me lost... again. “But I didn’t get the feeling she was
talking about herself.”

Rhonda looked up from her gathering of bags.
“You don’t think she knows who did it and is going to confront them
do you?”

That hadn’t occurred to me. “She wouldn’t do
that. That would be crazy.” Right?

Rhonda and I stared at each other. Then we
both dashed toward the door.

Ethel was already at the end of the block
getting into a car.

We yelled and ran again, but it was no
use.

Ethel was gone.

o0o

After our conversation with Ethel, Rhonda and
I returned to her shop.

“What did she buy?” I asked. “Aside from the
candy?”

“Books.”

I’d already known that.

Rhonda frowned. “One was needlework patterns.
Another was that parachute book.”

I raised my brows.

“It’s old. It’s about finding your true
calling or something like that.”

“And the third?”

“Cookbook.”

The answer was obvious. Ethel was considering
a career change into either cooking or needlework and she had a
sweet tooth too.

They said it was never too late to make a
change.

I pushed a stack of manga out of my way and
sat down on the shelf that ran along the front window. “We should
probably ask Ethel and the rest of them where they were the night
Craig’s snowmobile was stolen.”

Rhonda placed her elbows on the counter and
leaned forward. Her long hair brushed the countertop. “And when Red
was killed.”

That too. I sighed. “What about Craig? Did he
say what he did after the fund-raiser? Did he go out of town or
something? Ask Red to stop by and check his house?” That would, of
course, have fit into our theory way too neatly, but it was worth
throwing out.

“No. In fact, according to Craig, Red was
still at the fund-raiser when he left.”

“Did he maybe see Red that night? Maybe at
his house?”

She shook her head. “Not that he
mentioned.”

“What about the snowmobiles? When did he
realize they were missing?”

“It must have been that night or the next
day. Otherwise he wouldn’t have known when they had been
stolen.”

I hadn’t seen any police on my road that day,
but then Craig lived between my home and town, and his house was a
bit off the road. Unless the police had been hanging out by the
mailbox as I was driving to or from the shop, I probably wouldn’t
have seen them.

“What about the box? Did you learn anything
about it?” I asked.

Rhonda glanced at the purple goddess clock
that hung behind the counter. “Betty should be back. Why don’t we
let her tell you? And she or Phyllis might be able to get us phone
numbers for Ethel’s friends too.”

Betty was busy with a customer when we got to
Dusty Deals, so Rhonda and I tried calling both Ethel and Carol. We
didn’t have big plans for what we wanted to say, but neither of us
liked the idea of the two older women trying to hunt down whoever
had framed Ethel either.

Some things really should be left to
professionals.

Neither answered any of the numbers we had
for them, and even Carol’s husband seemed to be AWOL.

When Betty got done with the customer, she
joined in. We sat on my loveseat like a group of tween girls, cell
phones in hand, calling each member of Ethel’s gang. Unfortunately,
we had no luck with any of them. Either everyone had decided now
was a good time to take a trip to Florida, or we were being
avoided.

At a stalemate, I asked Betty about
Craig.

She pointed a gloved finger at a rusted,
dented kerosene car lamp.

I touched it with my toe. It fell on its side
and the glass lens rolled across the floor.

A Model T would have had a pair of the side
lights and they would have looked a lot better than this one.

Betty didn’t seem to care. “You owe me
$100.”

“A hundred? But it’s—” I caught a glimpse of
Betty’s narrowed eyes and nodded. I also caught a glimpse of
something else. “What’s that?” I asked pointing at another object
wrapped in paper sitting on the floor near where the lamp had
been.

Betty pounced on the item. “That’s for my
troubles.” She pulled back the paper to reveal a small art deco
clock. I reached out to touch the glass. She pulled the collectible
back.

After another round of this, I sighed and
plopped down on the loveseat. I gestured to the lamp. “So, he had
some Model T stuff. Did you ask him about a toolbox?”

Betty was too busy stroking her clock to
answer. Rhonda jumped in. “We did. At first he didn’t seem to know
what we were talking about, but then after Betty described it, he
said he’d had something that sounded like one, but it had gotten
lost. He thought maybe he’d forgotten to bring it up from the end
of his drive after he got back from his last auction. I guess he
unloads the junk down there and just hauls the good stuff to his
house.”

Both of my brows went up. “The junk?” From
what I’d seen, all Craig had was junk, but then I’d missed the
clock. I looked at it again. Betty, seeing my longing, turned the
face so it was pressed protectively against the green glass beads
of her dress.

“That’s what he said. He thought he probably
took it out of his truck to get to something bigger and forgot to
pick it back up. And then someone stole it.” She looked at me.

Yeah, I was the somebody, but... “What
auction? There hasn’t been an outdoor auction in months.” And the
indoor ones didn’t tend to sell the rusty metal crap that Craig
seemed to crave, or that he would have been pulling out of his
truck to leave by the road for garbage collection.

“Plus, it was in a garbage can,” I added.

Rhonda shrugged. “I don’t know. It was the
most we could get out of him without coming out and saying that
you’d found it in a trashcan near his driveway.”

“Okay, thanks.” At least I knew Craig wasn’t
denying that he’d had the box at some point. What I didn’t know was
what had been inside it, who had broken into my house to get to
what was inside it and oh, yeah, much of anything else of real
use.