The Treacherous Teddy (20 page)

“So why is that important?” Tina asked.

“Look down near the bottom of that sheet. Sherri Driggs is Amerriment’s executive vice president in charge of operations.”

“Are you sure it’s the same woman?”

“Here.” I handed Tina another sheet of paper. “I printed that out from the Amerriment website. It’s an old media release about the opening of the Rocky Mountain Bear Fair near Denver, back in 2006. Even though she’s fully dressed, I’m certain the woman in this photo is Sherri Driggs.”

Tina put the papers on her desk. “So she’s an executive with a theme park company. I still don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

Ash understood and gave me a worried look. “Because she told Deputy Bressler that she was here on a working vacation.”

“And I’m wondering if she came here to acquire the land for the Blue Ridge Bear Fair, or whatever it’s going to be called.”

“Here in Massanutten County?” Tina was incredulous. “I think you’re jumping to some huge conclusions. Why would anyone consider building a theme park here?”

“It’s an ideal location,” I replied. “We’re three hours from D.C. and two hours from Richmond, and there’s already an established tourist base from the national park and the lodge.”

“But they couldn’t build an amusement park there. It’s zoned as prime agricultural land.”

“For the moment. But the board of supervisors can vote to convert the land to commercial purposes . . . and need I remind you that two of our supervisors own ailing construction firms and another has a paving business?”

“All of whom would benefit from the building of the park,” Ash added.

Tina thought for a moment and then folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, it could happen. Say you’re right. Would a theme park necessarily be a bad thing?”

“Maybe not for the person raking in the profits, but you wouldn’t want to live near one.”

Ash said, “Tina, a theme park would destroy the soul of this county. This is farm country, but before you knew it we’d have a bunch of junk-food restaurants, motels, and cheap souvenir shops.”

I took up the sad litany. “Don’t forget the gridlocked traffic, or the litter. And then there’s the cherry on top: Amusement parks attract thieves. The crooks will come for the same reason that lions—no pun intended—go to the water hole. That’s were the prey is. Tourists have money, credit cards, nice cameras, and cars full of attractive loot like GPS systems and CD players.”

Tina now wore a troubled expression. “I never looked at it that way. But how can you be so certain that she’s decided on a location in Massanutten County? I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense for her to be looking for a place closer to the interstate?”

“It might, but can you think of a single reason why Sherri would have been at Ev Rawlins’s farm last night?”

“No.”

“Me either. Except—Ash noticed something very interesting this morning while we were back at the quarry.”

Ash’s eyes widened. “Oh my! The property line had been recently marked.”

“I wonder if Sherri had decided that the Rawlins farm was the perfect location for her newest glorified carnival. And factor in the fact that she took off when Ash saw her and then faked the theft of her own car, and it looks to me as if she
really
didn’t want anyone to know she was there.”

“But there hasn’t been so much as a whisper about some out-of-town company wanting to buy land around here,” said Tina.

“That’s true, but wouldn’t it make sense for Amerriment to try to acquire property secretly?”

“Before the locals got wise and jacked up the prices,” said Ash.

“Or got lynch mob-quality pissed that a respected farmer was contemplating an offer to sell his land and screw his neighbors in the process,” I said. “It would have been in Sherri
and
Ev’s best interests to keep such negotiations secret.”

“I agree, but there isn’t any evidence that Mr. Rawlins was considering selling his land,” Tina protested.

“Which means now might be an excellent time to call Kurt Rawlins back. Maybe his dad mentioned something about it.” I got up from the chair. “Here. I’ll even let you sit in your own office chair to make the call.”

Heaving a sigh, Tina sat at the desk and telephoned Kurt. We could hear only one side of the conversation, and at first it was like Tina was talking to a windstorm. Nothing she said had any effect, and the gusts got progressively stronger and stronger. But Tina persevered, and eventually Kurt calmed down a little. Yet the burger baron emphatically denied any knowledge that his father might have been considering selling his land.

Hanging up the phone, Tina said, “You probably heard him. He says his dad would never sell the farm.”

“Kurt told us himself that his dad never understood why he turned his back on the farm and went into the fast-food business. Ev might not have figured it was any of his son’s business,” Ash said.

“You’re still convinced that Sherri Driggs was there because she wanted to buy the property?” Tina asked me.

“I’m not one hundred percent certain, but it fits the facts we currently have.”

“So are you saying that Sherri Driggs killed Everett Rawlins?” Tina asked. “With a bow and arrow?”

“Yeah, that’s where things stop making sense.”

“Brad, honey, things haven’t made sense since last night when we found the body,” said Ash.

“That’s true. But consider this final confusing fact.” I picked up one of the sheets that the women thus far hadn’t seen. “Guess who was a member of the archery team at his alma mater, Cal State Northridge?”

“Jesse Hauck?” asked Ash as Tina snatched the sheet to look at it.

I nodded. “He’s listed as having taken second place at an archery competition at UC Irvine back in 2007.”

“Are you sure it’s the same guy?”

“I can’t be absolutely certain, but the Amerriment website has brief bios of the execs, and there was a tiny blip about Jesse. It said he graduated at the top of his class with a BA in business from Cal State Northridge in 2008.”

“So, if it is the same Hauck, maybe you were wrong about Driggs and she
did
lend Jesse the Saab,” said Tina.

“And run the risk of her car being seen while her boy toy offs some stubborn farmer who won’t sell his land? Sorry, Tina, that just doesn’t make any sense. More likely, she’d have sent him in his own car with the promise that she’d cover his play if anything went south.”

“And then deny knowing anything when the police came calling,” Ash added.

“Did you come up with anything at the hardware store?” Tina sounded frustrated and began to rub her forehead.

“Nothing that’s going to break the case,” I replied. “Delbert’s carries that brand of screwdriver, but we probably won’t be able to talk to the owner or cash register operator until they return from their respective lost weekends on Sunday.”

“So basically we’re still at square one,” she grumbled.

“Worse. We have five persons of interest instead of just the one we started out with,” I said with a weary laugh.

“Five?” asked Ash.

I ticked them off on my fingers. “We’ve still got Chet Lincoln, as well as Wade and Marilyn Tice, and now Sherri Driggs and Jesse Hauck.”

“Plus the possibility that none of them did it and it actually was a hunting accident.”

Tina sounded hopeless. “What’s our next move?”

I glanced at my watch. “Look, it’s after nine o’clock. It’s been a long day, our brains are fried, and everything appears grim. So, there’s only one thing left to do.”

“When all else fails, hug your teddy bear?” said Ash, quoting a popular arctophile proverb.

“Yep. Ash has the key to the church community center. Let’s go over there and set up our teddy bear displays.”

“We don’t have time,” said Tina.

Ash said, “Let’s make time. We’re in a funk and maybe the best way to recharge our mental batteries is by doing something completely different.”

“There is some truth to that,” Tina said musingly.

“Absolutely,” I said earnestly. “As hard as you’ve been working, you’re entitled to a short
fur
lough.”

Sixteen

Spending some time with the teddy bears had been a good idea. It worked as a sort of a spiritual cleansing of the palate after a long and ultimately disappointing day. I have absolutely no talent for posing stuffed animals, so I just sat on a folding chair and watched as the two women chatted and laughed and set up their mohair wares.

Meanwhile, I took a closer look at Tina’s collection of teddies. With Ash as our instructor, we’d both taken up bear making a couple of years earlier. However, Tina had far surpassed me as an artist. Her bears were fully pose-able and costumed in authentic recreations of the sort of farm clothing worn in the valley in the late nineteenth century. My favorite piece in her collection was of a furry farm wife holding a pie with tiny oven mitts.

Along about 10:30 P.M., Sergei knocked on the community center door. He’d seen the lights on inside and our cars in the parking lot and thought we might enjoy a late-night snack. This time, Tina did hold hands with Sergei, and I ate the decadent apple pie.

Tina gave Sergei a tour of her table, and then they came over to look at our bears. That’s when he picked up one of the more obscure pieces from my “Claw and Order Collection.” The bear was slightly plump, had a gray distressed wool moustache, and wore a rumpled mackintosh, a woolen scarf, and a herringbone trilby hat.

“I don’t need to see the tag to know who this is,” said Sergei as he admired the bear. “Inspector Jack Frost was my favorite British TV copper.”

He was referring to the unkempt protagonist of the long-running and popular British crime drama
A Touch of Frost
. Sir David Jason played Detective Inspector Jack Frost, and I’d labored for weeks to sculpt a face that somehow reflected the character’s doggedness and compassion. In the end, I wasn’t certain if I’d succeeded, so it made me feel good that Sergei had recognized the bear.

“Inspector Fur-ost,” I corrected him. “And I’ve got to agree with you. I hate most cop shows, but I enjoyed watching Frost. The books were excellent, too.”

“This, from a man who hates mystery novels,” said Ash.

“I hate
unrealistic
mystery novels. Talking Pomeranians and undead aerobic dance instructors don’t solve genuine murders.”

“You have my sympathies, Bradley. I feel the same way about those foolish espionage thrillers.” Sergei put the bear back on the table. “And I hope that Inspector Fur-ost finds a new home tomorrow.”

Ash yawned. “I think I need to find my home right now. It’s been a long day and I’m beat.”

We locked up the church hall and said our good-byes in the parking lot, and then Ash and I drove home. I took Kitch out into the yard while Ash went upstairs to get ready for bed. It was a clear night, and I stared up into the heavens while Kitch snuffled around, probably following the spoor of a rabbit. We’re fortunate to live in a place where there’s little light pollution, so you can still actually see the nighttime sky. In the Shawnee language,
Shenandoah
means “daughter of the stars.” The name was a mystery to me until one night when I noticed that the breathtakingly beautiful stellar river of the Milky Way seemed to be flowing directly above the South Fork of the Shenandoah River. After that, the name made perfect sense.

I took Kitch inside and went upstairs. Twenty minutes or so later, I kissed Ash good night and turned the nightstand light off. Not long after, I was awakened by the wail of an emergency vehicle’s siren traveling along Coggins Spring Road. I turned to look at the clock. The orange numerals read 1:52 A.M. I’d been asleep a little more than two hours.

Fortunately, the racket hadn’t woken up Ash. Her breathing was still deep and regular. The past thirty hours had been hectic for her, and I knew she was exhausted. I rolled back over, snuggled up next to my wife, and was vaguely aware that there was now another siren sounding in the distance as I drifted back to sleep.

I was catapulted into wakefulness for the second time when the phone rang. Looking at the clock as I grabbed the phone, I saw it was just 2:16 A.M.

Sounding more alert than I felt, I said, “This is Brad.”

“Mr. Lyon? This is the dispatch center. Hang on a second, please.” In the background I could hear all sorts of emergency radio traffic, and the dispatcher paused to answer one of the messages. Then she came back on the line. “Sheriff Barron says she needs you to meet her ASAP at Four-Forty-Three Coggins Spring Road.”

“What’s going on?” I asked dispatch as Ash put her hand on my shoulder. Meanwhile I had the unpleasant feeling that I should recognize the address.

“The hose company responded to a fire at a vacant residence and they’re pretty certain it was an arson.”

Then it hit me. “Is this that old Victorian house on the south side of the road near the intersection with the Jackson Highway?”

“I believe so.”

“Tell Sheriff Barron I’m on my way.” I hung up and slowly got out of bed.

“What is it, honey?” Ash sounded groggy.

“It sounds as if someone just torched the Victorian house we wanted to buy,” I said as I turned on the nightstand lamp.

Pushing some strands of hair from her face, Ash squinted at me. “Where we were planning to put the teddy bear shop?”

“Yeah, and isn’t it just
too
freaking interesting that Liz Ewell took it off the market less than twelve hours before it went up in flames?” I said while pulling the jeans and shirt I’d had on earlier that day from the laundry hamper. Since I was going to a fire scene, it would be foolish to put on clean clothing.

“You think she had the house burned to collect on the insurance?”

“Or Satan came for her early and accidentally went to the wrong address.”

“I’m going with you,” Ash said wearily as she sat up in bed.

I went over to her and gently pushed her by the shoulders back down onto the mattress.

“No, you’re going to stay in bed and go back to sleep.”