Meadowlark (14 page)

"Yuck!"

She grinned and relaxed. Candy shop proprietors probably
suffer from health nuts the way bookstore owners suffer from
self-appointed censors.

"You'd be surprised at the parents who drag kids in here,
and then won't let them buy candy with real sugar in it. I mean, why
not take the poor little devils to a granola store?" She laughed
heartily. Bonnie and I smiled.

"Hugo?" I prompted.

"You say he was killed?"

"Not long after he left here. The sacks of your taffy were still
in his pockets."

She made a sad clucking noise. "It's a crazy world."

"Do you remember what time he came in?"

"You don't ask for much." Her mouth compressed in the
effort to remember. She shook her head. "Early, I think, but I can't
say exactly. We open at ten, so it was after that. Business was slow. I
was in and out, making a big batch of fudge."

"Well, thanks anyway. I'll tell the deputy in charge to call
you." I got out a notepad and started to write Dale's phone number
down for her.

"You could ask his friends what time they was in town."

"What did you say?"

She blinked at my tone. "His friends. They was waiting
outside for him--by the kite shop."

I felt a moment of pure exhilaration followed by panic.
"Friends. What did they look like?"

She shook her head. "It was raining, see, and the window
was a little steamy. I just saw these blurs hanging out by the kite
shop, and when he left they left, too. I figured he was going to share
all that taffy with his friends."

I drew a breath. "How many of them were there?"

"Two," she said without hesitation. "One tall, one
shorter."

"How much shorter?"

The candy maker's mouth tightened. "Look, I got a bunch of
taffy pulling back there. I'm sorry your friend got killed, but that's all
I can tell you."

I thanked her profusely, took her card, and gave her Dale's
number.

Bonnie said in a small voice, "May I buy some
pralines?"

The woman made the transaction in silence, handing Bonnie
a small white paper bag and her change. "Thank you and come
again."

Bonnie promised she would.

The woman turned to me. "I wouldn't swear it in court, mind
you, but I think it was a man and a woman."

"The people waiting for Hugo?"

She nodded.

I thanked her, and we left.

She had thrown me for a loop--two loops. I had been
assuming Hugo was alone. When I took in the fact that he wasn't, I
had leapt to the conclusion that the waiting pair were Jason Thirkell
and Bill Johnson. Jason and Bill had admitted they spent the day in
Seaside. What man and what woman?

The question kept me quiet all the way to Astoria.

As I drove onto the long drawbridge across the slough on
the west side of Astoria, I noticed that the mudflats were exposed.
Low tide. Way above us in the distance, the bridge over the Columbia
showed pale green against darkening clouds. The wind had picked
up.

Bonnie was nibbling a praline.

"Is it good?"

"Yum. Want one?"

"Not without coffee."

The Toyota chugged onto the main drag, and I turned left for
the bridge. The ramp coiled up and up, high over the ship channel
then swooped down to a long straight stretch. On either side at
mid-river, the wind pushed small combers at the exposed mudflats. The
bridge is nearly five miles long.

The speed limit on the straight was fifty-five, as for any
two-lane highway, but the wind was ripping across the water, throwing
spray onto the windshield, so I went slower. I turned on the wipers
and gripped the wheel. The car shuddered with every gust, and half a
dozen sassy seagulls, beaks into the northwest wind, were pacing us
at eye-level. In gales, the State Police close the bridge because waves
wash over the roadbed.

The Sunday Hugo was killed the wind had blown a steady
twenty-five knots from the south with gusts of fifty. Surely even
Hugo would not have ridden a bicycle across the bridge in that kind
of weather. How had he got to Seaside? Who had given him a
ride?

I posed the question for Bonnie as we finally negotiated the
raised section of the bridge over the Washington channel. "I suppose
it was too far for him to ride his bike."

"The distance wouldn't have bothered Hugo, but I think the
wind would have."

"Maybe he took a bus." That was the logical answer.

"Or maybe his murderer drove him."

"Or murderers."

I settled in behind a slow-moving camper. "The woman did
say there were two people waiting for him,"

"Who?"

I shook my head. "Nobody but the two boys said anything
about going to Seaside that day, and they denied seeing Hugo."

"A man and a woman," Bonnie reminded me.

"Possibly a man and a woman--or a man and a slight boy.
She wasn't sure. Probably Jason and Bill. Bill isn't very big."

That was idle speculation, of course. I indulged in it because
I had a bad conscience. The candy woman was Dale's witness. I had
found her for him, but I should have left the questioning to him. I
tried to remember whether I had said anything likely to distort her
recollections. Bonnie didn't think so. That was some comfort.

So were the pralines. When we got back to the bookstore,
Bonnie made a pot of coffee, and I ate one. It was excellent.

Jay and Tom were in the kitchen when we got home, Tom
full of his ghastly European plans. He whisked Bonnie off before I
could blurt out that I didn't want them to go.

"What's for dinner?"

"It's either beef stew or beef soup. We'll find out." Jay gave
me a long, considering look. "Why don't you sit down and tell me the
day's misadventures?"

"That's not fair!" Misadventures indeed. I came more or less
clean.

Jay bawled me out. He also called Dale--and got through.
When Jay hung up he said Dale was coming to the house.

The beef soup was nice--lots of veggies from Tom's garden. I
was finishing the dishes when Dale appeared at the back door. I
gathered he was taking my information seriously. I gave him the
candy wrappers and the woman's business card. He drank a cup of
coffee, but he didn't say much, except that everybody at the farm,
including the interns, was lying to him. I thought that was probably
true.

When Dale left, he told us he was going to interview the
candy maker the next day. Maybe she'd remember something about
Hugo's "friends." I had barely showered after my run the next
morning when Bianca called. She was still adamant that the
workshop would go on, so I didn't bother to tell her about Seaside.
She said Trish wanted to hold a memorial service and invite Hugo's
friends and fellow workers.

"When?"

"Friday. At the farm."

I sighed. "I suppose the police won't release the body."

"No. And Trish needs closure. She's due in ten days."

That made sense, unfortunately. "Can I help?"

She gave me a list of people to contact, mostly gardeners. I
had been so much in the habit of thinking of Hugo as a loner, it
hadn't occurred to me that other people in the community would
also have known him. I told her I'd do the calling, took down the time
of the service, and hung up on a subdued note.

That was the day Mary Sadat disappeared.

Bonnie and I drove in to the bookstore to work on a window
display. Bonnie was full of her plans for Paris and insisted on telling
me all about them. So far I had kept my chagrin to myself. I bit the
insides of my cheeks and exercised self-control.

The display, featuring kites of all kinds including a
handsome Chinese number, was going up fast, so I decided to take a
break and call the people whose names Bianca had given me. I was
halfway through the list when Jay rang up.

"What's with the busy signal?"

I explained.

"Well, okay," he grumbled. "Listen, Dale just called me. They
think that dark-haired intern, Mary Sadat, is missing. She didn't show
up for a work-session this morning. You know what this
means?"

"Among other things, that the Dean will be camped in your
office all afternoon."

He groaned. "You got it."

"Shall I drive to the farm and see if I can find out what's
happening?"

"If you have time. I tried calling Bianca a couple of times
without getting through."

"Okay," I said. "After lunch."

I finished the funeral calls, and Bonnie finished the display
window. We went out for deli sandwiches. When she heard of my
mission at the farm, Bonnie said she'd call Tom to take her home.
That was kind. They were, she said, planning a side trip to northern
Italy. That was less kind.

There were no cop cars in the parking area by the
Meadowlark car barn, so I gathered that Dale hadn't sent for the
Search and Rescue people. I knocked on the mudroom door and
went in. When I entered the kitchen, Marianne dropped a ladle.

"I didn't mean to startle you," I said. "I did knock."

"It's okay. I'm just jumpy." She rinsed the ladle off at the
sink. "You heard about Mary?"

"I heard she didn't show up this morning."

"No." Marianne went back to her kettle. Something smelled
of garlic and onions.

"What does Bianca think happened?"

Marianne sighed. "God knows, but she's frantic. They're out
at the greenhouses."

"Tell me how to find them, and I'll get out of your hair."

She started to give me directions, but Mike came in from
their wing of the house, so she sent him with me. Mike was a shy
young man, and I'd never really talked to him. We trudged past the
car barn in silence. As we came to the machine sheds, he burst out,
"D'you think somebody hurt Mary?"

Hurt was a euphemism for killed. I said gently, "I don't
know, Mike. I hope not."

"She's so little." His voice was anguished.

I stole a glance at him. His face was suffused with
emotion.

"Tell me about Mary. She was quiet the day I met the
interns. I felt I didn't get to know her at all."

He mumbled something. Another glance showed he was
near tears, so I didn't press him. I thought about shy people. They do
a lot of the world's work.

"Dad doesn't like her," he burst out.

That was my impression, too. I could think of nothing
comforting to say.

We walked along a path springy with bark dust. I supposed
it kept out the mud. I could see the greenhouses, ultra-modern metal
and vinyl constructions, in the near distance.

"I wanted to go out with her." Mike sounded half-ashamed.
"But her folks are strict with her. And anyway she said she liked
older guys." He glanced at me. "She's not a lesbian, you know."

I was startled. "I didn't think she was."

"Dad says Angie's hot for her."

I kept my mouth shut. I was not about to criticize Del
Wallace to his son, but I did wonder about the depth of Del's malice
toward Mary. What had he called her? Sadsack Sadat? Mary was
from the Middle East. Her parents ran a place called the Phoenician,
and I suspected they were fairly recent immigrants. That might be a
clue to Del's attitude. He was a born Know-Nothing.

Partly to lighten the mood, I said, "I'm surprised you like
Mary. I thought all the guys would go for Carol Bascombe."

Mike cleared his throat. "Carol's kind of cute, but she's a real
airhead."

Either that or she gave a good airhead imitation.

Up close the greenhouses seemed built on a larger scale
than the distant prospect had led me to believe. In spite of myself I
was impressed. Oriented east/west for maximum light, they loomed
well over my head, with odd vents and extrusions marring their
smooth lines. The greenhouses were big enough to get lost in--or
hide in. A tall stack of wooden flats leaned against the nearer of
them.

"Was this where Hugo's bike was hidden?"

Mike hunched his shoulders against a wind gust. "Yeah. I
guess so. I mean there aren't any other stacks of crates."

I could see why the bicycle wasn't found immediately. The
stack was as high as my head and quite close to the north wall of the
greenhouse. If the bike had been shoved back into the crevice, it
would have been hard to see. I walked to the door and started to
open it.

"They're in the other house, Mrs. Dodge."

I followed him around the corner of the first greenhouse to
the entrance to the second. The two greenhouses were offset so one
did not shade the other. As we approached, I could hear voices--a
male rumble and sharp female response.

Mike stopped on the step. "They're arguing."

I said, "Well, thanks for showing me the way out, Mike. I'll
see you later."

"Okay. Bye." He loped off toward the house, looking relieved
not to have to go in.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open without
knocking. A strong herbal odor, not unpleasant, weighted the warm
air. I shut the door with care.

"...and you were the last one to see her, Del," Bianca was
saying.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Del's voice rose.

They were standing with Angie about halfway down the
long walkway between two rows of seedlings in long flats.

"She was working for you yesterday afternoon."

"What if she was?"

"Damnit, Del, I just want to know when she left and whether
you said anything to her to drive her away."

At that point, Angie's head came up, and she spotted me. She
waved, and the others turned.

"Oh, Lark," Bianca said. "Have you heard..."

The floor was concrete covered with some kind of outdoor
matting, dark brown. I unzipped my jacket and walked toward them.
"Jay called me."

"And you knew I'd need you." Bianca gave me a melancholy
smile. "How thoughtful of you."

The other two stared at me as if I were an intruder, an
unwelcome one. I didn't blame them. However, Bianca's assumption
meant I didn't have to explain my presence.