Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) (23 page)

“We appreciate that, Pastor. Please call if you remember anything more.”

I called Barb to pass on Cronk’s information, but she didn’t answer. Knowing Rory was with her, I phoned him. He sounded tense, and I guessed they were in the middle of something. “Sorry to bother you, but I knew you’d want to hear this.” I related Cronk’s information, ending with, “You might talk to him yourself. I probably didn’t ask the right things.”

“You did fine, Faye,” Rory replied. “You’re the type people open up to.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, every cashier in every discount store in the world opens up to me: ‘I haven’t had a break in seven hours,’ ‘My son just called to tell me his girlfriend is pregnant’ ‘My back is killing me.’” I got back to my purpose. “Will you pass the information on to Barb?”

“I will,” he said, “but she’s with Sheriff Brill right now. We found Sharky’s body in your cabin, they’re discussing how she guessed where to look.”

“Sharky’s body?” I asked, horrified. “What happened to him?”

“It looks like suicide.”

“Looks like?”

I could almost see his shrug. “He was shot through the head, but I try not to jump to conclusions.”

“What does Barb think?”

“We haven’t had a chance to talk about it. Brill thinks Stark killed himself when the plot to assassinate Madame Bahn fell apart.”

His phrasing caught my attention. “What do you think?”

Rory sighed. “I’d be a lot more relaxed if we’d found the grenade launcher in the cabin with Stark’s body.”

“Maybe he hid it.”

“They’ve got men with metal detectors looking all over the farm. If it’s here, they’ll find it.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Retta

The girls and I helped with cleanup after Madame Bahn’s speech, stacking chairs and picking up litter. On the way home we stopped at the grocery store for a few items. I got a kick out of seeing them choose what to buy. Iris read every label before deciding, Pansy wanted to try it all, and Daisy liked anything that came in a brightly-colored package. It was almost 3:00 when we reached home. As we unloaded my cloth shopping bags, Faye called to say she intended to head to Mackinac Island to pick up a horse.

“Who’s going with you?”

“Cramer said he’d leave work early. Bill and Carla are away until tomorrow night, but there’s a guy who’ll help Cramer and me get the horse across the Straits and into Chet’s trailer.”

“You and Cramer are going to bring a two thousand pound animal all that way by yourselves?”

“Sure.” She tried to sound brave, but I knew she must be scared half to death. Cramer knew even less than Faye did about horses. What kind of helper would he be?

“Faye Darlene,” I told her, “here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to call that man back and tell him you’ll come for the horse tomorrow. Have Cramer take the whole day off. I’ll follow you up there in case something goes wrong.”

“What about the girls?”

“They can come along. I’ll bet they’ve never been there, so while you’re making arrangements, I can show them the sights.”

Faye didn’t argue. It’s one of the things I like most about her.

An hour later, Barbara Ann called with a different kind of news. “Sharky is dead?” I repeated when she told me.

“Apparently he killed himself. From what people say, he was pretty unstable.”

“When the plan to kill Madame Bahn failed, he gave up?”

“Faye seems to think that’s likely.”

Of course she’d called Faye first.

“What do you think about Faye taking on another horse?”

“I think if she doesn’t do what she’s always wanted to do at her age, she’s likely never going to get to do it.”

“So the fact she plans to bring a sick horse all this way with just Cramer for help makes sense to you?”

“Cramer’s more capable than you think,” Barbara replied. “He’s just not one to jump up and take control.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” I outlined my idea for a trip. “Someone should be there in case the truck breaks down or something.”

“Why? Because Faye doesn’t have a cell phone and doesn’t know how to call for help?”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic, Barbara. I’m going for moral support.” An idea struck. “You should come along. We can show the girls the island, maybe have tea on the porch of the Grand Hotel. Wouldn’t that be a treat for them?”

“I can’t remember the last time I was on Mackinac Island.”

“It’s very educational,” I said, guessing that would sway her. “All that history. And Pansy will love the horses.”

“I suppose we could make a day of it. The girls certainly deserve some fun, and so do we after this last week.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Barb

Retta probably thought she was really clever to have talked me into a trip to Mackinac Island, but I meant what I said about all of us deserving a break. Faye, Retta, and I had been through a lot in the last few days. The Isley girls’ lives would never be the same. A day on the island is like a little escape from the world. It couldn’t restore their former happiness, but it couldn’t hurt.

What I needed at the moment was a Correction Event. I felt the urge to set something right, and I’d happened on an error very close to home that would be simple and satisfying to fix. At the corner of my block, a local artist had put up a sign to indicate she had handmade goods for sale. I’d heard she was quite talented, but sadly, she wasn’t grammatically aware. Her sign advertised ART’S & CRAFT’S, as if her arts and crafts owned something.

I’d seen the sign on my morning walk, noting its white background. The mistakes could be easily corrected with two small squares of white duct tape. I’d stop, ostensibly with some minor irritation like a pebble in my shoe. If no one was looking, I’d slap the tape over the offending apostrophes and be on my way.

There’s a saying that in theory, a practice should be easy, but in practice it seldom is. I should have waited until the next morning, but with the trip to Mackinac scheduled, I knew I wouldn’t have time to get my walk in. The day after the trip was a possibility, but I was eager to see those apostrophes gone. I should have waited. The chances of discovery are much less at 6:00 a.m.

At first it was as easy as I’d imagined. I took off my shoe, leaning on the sign as if for support. The squares of duct tape were inside my shirt, and I quickly peeled one then the other off, covering the offending apostrophes. To a casual observer it appeared I had to move my hand to keep my balance, and that was perfect.

What wasn’t perfect was the voice I heard when I put my shoe back on. “What did you just do?”

Retta had stopped her car in the middle of the street, and her expression betrayed surprise and a glint of humor. I berated myself. If I’d done this on my walk, she’d never have caught me. Retta seldom leaves her bed before 8:00 a.m.

I shushed her, approaching the car so we could speak in low tones. “Nothing,” I said, but she didn’t believe me for a second.

“You changed that sign, didn’t you, Barbara Ann?”

I sighed, resigning myself to what was coming. “It was incorrect.”

Conclusions were reached behind her eyes. “You’re the one who’s been fixing spelling errors around town. People have noticed.”

I looked around nervously. “Do we have to do this in the street?”

“No.” She was still smiling. “Let’s go into the house.”

She parked her car out front. I waited for her to get out then led the way inside, glancing nervously around to see who might be watching. “Where are the girls?”

“There’s a puppet show at the library. I came over to make sure we’re ready for the trip tomorrow.” She gestured toward the sign, humor dancing in her eyes. “And what do I find!”

She sat down at the kitchen table. I delayed, offering iced tea and some of Faye’s famous peanut butter cookies. Retta accepted both, but her sly look let me know I wouldn’t get off easily.

“I should have known it was you.” She took a dainty bite.

Honestly seemed best. “Retta, I can’t eliminate child abuse or war or corruption in our government. For decades I worked for justice, but the world is still wrong in a lot of ways.” I paused, and for once Retta didn’t comment. She merely waited for me to go on. “Grammatical mistakes are different. You find something that’s wrong; you fix it, and it’s right.”

“You do that. Not most people.” She sipped her tea. “In fact, nobody I know of—at least until now.”

I shrugged. “Errors bother me.”

She was silent for a few seconds. “Know what bothers me?”

I didn’t answer because I was going to hear it anyway.

“It bothers me to be an auxiliary investigator in my sisters’ detective agency. It bothers me to get called in only when you need my social and business contacts. I have a brain, you know.”

“Retta—”

“So here’s the deal.” She met my gaze, letting me know she was serious. “I know about your—” She stopped, unable to think of a term for what I do.

“Correction Events.”

She smiled, amused that I had a proper title for my improper actions. “—Your correction events. If I were caught at something like that, I’d laugh it off, but I know you. You don’t want anybody, not Faye and especially not Rory, to know about it, am I right?”

I nodded.

She shrugged lightly. “Well, I’m willing to keep your secret.”

A rush of gratitude hit, followed by a sense of dread. With Retta there’s always a trade-off. Being the youngest, she learned early to negotiate, and she’s ruthless about getting what she wants.

Retta raised her hand as if swearing an oath. “If I become a full member of the Smart Detective Agency, I will never tell anyone about your Correction Events.” Now her hands made quotation marks in the air. “Ever.”

There it was. How much did I want Retta excluded? How much was I willing to give up to keep my secret?

It didn’t take me long to make the decision, since there were only unfortunate options. “Agreed.”

“Great!” In a remarkably humble tone for Retta she added, “I promise I’ll try not to take over or boss you around.”

I appreciated Retta’s admission that she might do that, even if it was a promise she could never keep. It was like me promising to join the Allport Follies and dress as a clown. “Thank you.”

“And I actually appreciate what you do.”

“You mean creeping around nights like an aging Batgirl?”

She chuckled and took another bite of cookie. “You’re not the only one who notices all those errors out there, Barbara Ann.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Faye

Cramer had the trailer hitched to his truck when I got to the farm the next morning, and soon we were driving north. “Bill called from Traverse City last night,” he told me, driving with practiced ease. “He says Carla really likes the Isley girls.”

Something in Cramer’s voice said there was more. “And?”

“Well, we got to talking about it. The farm’s what they know, and the house is certainly big enough for more than Bill and Carla, so we wondered if they could stay out there.”

“You want to take the girls in?”

“Well, not me. Bill and Carla would petition to become foster parents.” He frowned. “The girls might not want to come.”

“Oh, I think they would, but Bill and Carla don’t know them very well.”

He adjusted his side mirror slightly then rolled the window back up. “From what I’ve seen of the system, foster parents usually don’t. You take in a child, or children in this case, and you make it work if you can. Carla’s a great role model, and Bill and I could learn a lot from them about taking care of the animals.” He added, “They got a bad deal. We’d like to give them a better one.”

My heart swelled in my chest at evidence that my sons are good men. Not rich, not socially or physically impressive. Good men. That’s enough for me.

We met Doc Hopkins, the vet who’d agreed to help with the horse, at a restaurant, where we bought him breakfast. Hopkins brought to mind a banty rooster Dad once had on the farm. Small, energetic, and unlikely to defer to anyone, Hopkins greeted me and Cramer with brisk friendliness. “Bought you a horse farm, eh?” he said as we shook hands. “You don’t look crazy.”

I explained about the renters who’d left us with a mix of animals, ending with, “I’ve always wanted to keep horses, and Cramer and Bill, my other son, agreed to give it a chance.”

“Hope they’ve thought it through,” the doc said. “Animals tie a person down. If you’ve got two or three people working together, though, it might be okay.” He took off his cap, rubbed his bald head, and set it back in place. “If there’s anything I can do to help out, call. I don’t practice anymore, but that doesn’t mean I gave up caring for critters.”

“We’ll be grateful if you get this horse across the straits for us.”

“Won’t be a problem as long as she can stand up.” The waitress set a plate piled with pancakes before him, and he reached for the syrup. “What else you got on this farm?”

I listed the animals, and Hopkins lifted a brow. “Reindeer, eh? Do you plan to breed them?”

“Yes,” Cramer replied. “Pansy says they lost a couple, though. Last year one was born dead and another only lived a few days.”

“Soil around here lacks selenium,” Hopkins said. “That can cause failure to conceive and calves that don’t thrive. You need to supplement their diet with selenium salt blocks.”

Cramer took out a pen, and I handed him a scrap of paper from my purse. “Selenium,” he said, writing it down.

The two men talked as we ate, and I mostly listened. Cramer told Hopkins things he’d noticed, and the vet gave advice.

When the plates were empty, Hopkins piled his silverware and trash on his and leaned his elbows on the table. “Sounds like you had an interesting time the last few days.”

Cramer smiled, catching my eye. The vet didn’t know the half of it.

Hopkins slapped the table in a gesture of readiness. “Let’s get your horse back here and into the truck so you can start getting acquainted.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Barb

I almost changed my mind as Faye bustled around getting ready the next morning. What seemed like an adventure at first now shifted to a trial with crowds of people, cold winds off the Straits, the smell of horse manure, and Retta’s chirpy chatter. Only the thought of seeing Pansy having a good time made me stick to my decision to go.