Chapter Nineteen
Delores frowned at me when she opened her door to my knock. I grinned at her and her scowl deepened.
"Sit down. I'm not ready."
I sank into one of the overstuffed living room chairs and wished, as I always did when I sat there, that I had space in my living room for a chair like it.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Her voice carried easily from the bedroom.
"Positive."
She walked into the living room in her stocking feet, sneakers in hand, and sat on the sofa to put them on. She wore her usual blue jeans and flannel shirt. There was no hint of the elegance I now knew she was capable of.
"You'll never guess who called me this evening." She tied the laces on the first shoe.
"Michelle Obama?"
She flicked an annoyed look at me. "Don't be a smart ass. It was Marjorie Fuller, Sarah's mother." She worked her other foot into its shoe.
"Sarah's mother? What'd she call for?"
"She canceled Sarah's riding lessons for the next month. Took the girl to the hospital. Said she had a nervous breakdown." She finished with her shoes and stood.
"Wow." I got up from my comfortable nest. "Did I tell you someone's been leaving me threatening notes taped to my front door? I'm certain Sarah's the one behind it."
"That child needs to spend some quality time with a therapist." Delores put on her down jacket. "And move out of her mother's house."
"Remember last summer when Marjorie helped with the schooling shows? What a disaster."
"Oh lord, how could I forget. If it hadn't been for your sister inventing that convoluted point system for year-end awards, and practically tying Marjorie to that old adding machine in the office, I would have lost all my volunteers." We stepped onto her front porch and she locked the door.
"Yeah. I never had anyone grab me by the collar before and hustle me out a door. The woman's a bully. Poor Sarah."
"I'm not sure I'd waste my sympathy," Delores said, as we walked to my car. "Sarah's an adult. She can make her own decisions. Anyway, dollars to doughnuts, we won't be seeing her back here."
We drove to the Copper Creek office to pick up Miguel, where he waited after doing the night barn check, then headed to the less picturesque side of town.
The Broken Axle, a single-story, concrete-block building with few windows, was painted a shade of blue usually seen on playground equipment. Neon signs, lined up under the eaves, proclaimed the brands of beer supposedly available within. The name of the bar was hand lettered across several sheets of plywood, affixed to the roof by an intricate structure of two-by-fours. A single spotlight illuminated the sign. The mist that hung earlier in the cold night air had turned to drizzle, making the seats of the numerous motorcycles parked near the door so reflective they appeared bright blue. Two men, not quite lost in shadow halfway along one of the building's walls, stood in close conversation. A quick exchange was made, a hand to pocket, then a glance in our direction. I looked away. Drugs, probably. Maybe one of them was an undercover cop. Maybe.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets, shrank into the collar of my parka, and stepped closer to Miguel and Delores. If I'd been alone I would have turned back.
Inside the bar was as crowded with bodies as the parking lot was with motorcycles. The din of laughter and shouts that passed for conversation surged around us like the acrid smoke-thick air. A basketball game blaring from the tiny TV over the bar, and the crack of billiard balls provided the only form of music in the place. Miguel led the way, winding past pool tables and around big men who, despite their inclination to study us with unconcealed interest, were disinclined to move. Every nerve in my body vibrated in a state of red alert. I stopped looking around and kept my gaze pinned on Miguel's broad back, only a foot in front of me.
He found an empty table and rounded up three chairs I touched the table top as I sat. Ick. Sticky. An ash tray directly in front of me overflowed with reeking cigarette butts. The stench, mixed with the odor of men who made scant use of deodorant or soap, stung my eyes and coated the insides of my nostrils. I couldn't remember the last time my senses had been so assaulted.
We'd barely sat when a young woman with blonde and hot pink, spiky hair, multiple facial piercings and an empty tray on her hip, slid between two customers and stood at our table regarding us with a bored expression.
"Beer?" she asked.
I was fairly certain we'd heard the entire selection.
"Three," Miguel said.
The girl pushed her way between the customers and disappeared. Miguel scanned the crowd. "I do not see him," he said, obviously referring to our quarry. "I will take a look around. Do not go anywhere." He looked directly at me.
I didn't think he needed to worry. Delores scooted her chair closer to me and glared at the backside of a guy who bumped her. I was hemmed in by similar blue-jean and leather-clad body parts. I wasn't going anywhere -- even if I wanted to.
Several long minutes later Miguel returned and gave a slight shake of his head. The waitress following in his wake kept me from asking him any questions. She held the tray with our three beers balanced on one hand at shoulder height. I put a twenty on the table and she snagged it with the first glass she banged down.
I seized the opportunity. "I wonder if you could tell me whether a friend of ours has been in tonight?"
"Who're you lookin' for?"
"Middle-aged white guy, brown hair, overweight," Miguel said.
"No kidding? He shouldn't be too hard to single out. Only half the guys in here look like that. Take your pick." Little Miss Sarcastic snapped her chewing gum and pocketed the twenty.
"He was here last night, dropped a lot of cash buying his buddies drinks," I added.
She gave me a suspicious once over. "He do somethin' wrong? You a cop?"
"No to both," I said. "We might want to hire him. I hear he drives trucks and sometimes hauls horse trailers."
"I'll let him know you been lookin' for him -- should I happen to see him." She shouldered her way back through the crowd with her empty tray.
"Keep the change," I muttered. We wouldn't see her again. I should have realized anyone here would treat us with distrust. We had no idea what we were doing.
"I think we should leave," Delores said.
I couldn't have agreed more. What a waste of time. Miguel took a couple of swallows from his glass before he got up, but Delores and I left ours untouched.
The moment I stood a strong grip engulfed my upper arm. My heart tried to break out of my rib cage, and my lips turned to ice as the blood left my face. A Sumo wrestler of a man, wearing yards of studded black leather, held me in place with his enormous paw. A dark blue tattoo covered the back of his hand and his forearm. The subject of the artwork was indiscernible, but then again, I wasn't studying it too closely.
"You gonna drink those?" He released my arm and pointed a sausage-like finger at our abandoned beer.
"No, be my guest," I squeaked, and edged away.
"Thanks." He plucked my glass off the table. "You lookin' for Lee?" He downed half the beer in one gulp and wiped his mouth on his tattoo.
I delayed my departure. "I guess so."
"He ain't here," my new friend said, then belched. "'Scuse me."
"So I've been told," I said, disappointed with the old news.
"Was here last night." He finished off the contents of my glass and exchanged it for Delores's. "Wouldn't buy me a drink, though."
"Really?" I tried for a non-committal tone, although I think I sounded sarcastic. He didn't seem to care. Why should he? We'd just provided him with three free beers.
"Yeah. Not like you nice folks. Had plenty of dough, too. He should've bought me a beer."
He was being chatty, so I took advantage. "I don't suppose you saw him here last Saturday night, did you?"
"Saturday night …. Nah, he wasn't here then."
Damn.
"Was here in the afternoon. Came in while I was playin' pool with Ripper. Didn'
t buy me a drink then neither. Neither did that prissy lookin' guy was with him."
I blinked. Had he just said what I thought he'd said? Could I be that lucky?
"He was here with someone?" I prompted. "Do you know who?"
"Uh uh." He took another big swallow from the glass.
Damn. Of course I couldn't be that lucky. Then again, maybe Sumo Wrestler could describe the companion more clearly than "prissy." "What did Lee's friend look like?"
"Prissy. Like he didn't belong here," our clever friend said.
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he continued.
"Had a haircut, kinda blond, clean, good lookin', I guess, if you're the kinda woman who likes sissy men." He finished off Delores's beer and leered at me.
My instant recoil was not from the suggestive look. I cleared my throat. "Hey, thanks." I caught Delores's eye. She'd missed none of the conversation. Neither had Miguel. I hurriedly dug through my purse and handed my new buddy ten dollars. "What did you say your name was?"
"Didn't." He winked. "You can call me John, little mama."
Right. He probably had the same name as everyone else in this place. No matter. I'd recognize him easily if I had to find him again as a witness. Miguel stepped forward and took me by the arm, glowering at John from under heavy black eyebrows.
"Time to go home," he said, leading me away. His moustache looked particularly menacing.
"Sorry, man," John called after us over the din. "Didn't mean to move on your woman. Thanks for the drinks." He belched impressively again.
We walked to my car in silence. The earlier drizzle had become a heavy mist, wrapping its icy fingers around my wrists and neck. I shivered. I knew two men who fit the description of Lee's companion. I got in my car and glanced at Delores as I started the engine. She wore the same stony expression as when the vet has bad news. No one spoke for the few minutes it took us to get back to Copper Creek. No one needed to. We all knew. I pulled in front of Miguel's house and he patted me on the shoulder as he slid out of the back seat. He exchanged a quick look and a nod with Delores. She remained silent until we arrived at her house.
"Call the police first thing in the morning," she said. "It'll keep. I'll do it, if you prefer."
"No. It's better if I tell them."
She nodded.
I waited while she let herself into the house and turned on the lights. Then I headed home.
With my friends no longer present for support, I vibrated with barely controlled, irrational terror. Someone I knew well killed Valerie. He must know I knew. I wanted to run and hide.
Shaking as if I were hypothermic, I parked in front of my house, hurried through my front door, locked it, turned on every light, pulled all the curtains closed, and stared at the phone. No way did I want to be alone. I picked up the handset, listened to the dial tone, and hung up. It was past eleven-thirty. Uncle Henry and Aunt Vi would be in bed, asleep. I'd upset them if I called at this hour. Who could I call? Andrea? No, she was undoubtedly sound asleep. Nothing short of a fire would stir her until morning. I could call Juliet, but she probably wasn't alone. She'd simply turn around and call Uncle Henry and we'd have a repeat of last Saturday night when Paul rescued me. What would I say to him this time, anyway? "I've figured out who killed Valerie and I'm scared. Can I come stay with you?" Sounded like a sniveling child. I'd already done child-with-a-temper-tantrum this week. Besides, Uncle Henry said Paul was in Seattle through the weekend. Could I swallow my self-respect and call him? God no. I'd rather spend the night in my attic with the spiders. Besides, I had no assurance he'd be inclined to help me even if I knew how to reach him—which I didn't.
I was probably overreacting.
I was safe at home.
Pretty much.
I double checked the locks on the doors and windows, tossed my clothes in the washer, and stepped into the shower to rid myself of the smell and feel of the tavern. A loud thump sent me cowering to the corner of the tub, expecting to see the curtain ripped back and the flash of a butcher knife. The water pressure in the shower spray decreased abruptly. The washing machine. It'd shifted into the rinse cycle. Despite knowing the cause of the noise I rushed to finish rinsing, toweled off and pulled on my nightgown. With my heart still hammering against my ribs, I slid into bed.
Not five minutes passed before I got up, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and lay down again.
Don't be such a weenie, Thea. You can do this.
I turned off the lights and stared, wide eyed, into the darkness, listening for any sounds.
At four o'clock I gave up pretending I would sleep, got up, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. The water gurgled as it heated and dripped into the carafe. It was so slow—and noisy. Why had I never noticed that before? I poured Cocoa Krispies into a bowl, ate, and tried to rehearse what I would tell Detective Thurman. When the coffee was ready, I filled a large travel mug, put on my sneakers and opened my front door, intending to leave.
Parked behind my car at the curb was an older Chevy I didn't recognize. Someone was inside, in the driver's seat.
Joey.
No, not Joey. My heart wedged itself into my throat and stopped. I well knew what Mr. Parsons's hired goon looked like sitting in a car, and this wasn't him.
Get back in the house, you idiot! No, wait. You'll be trapped. He hasn't moved. Maybe he didn't notice you. If you're careful you can still get to your car and the sheriff's office.
Cautiously, I took one step, and then another. Still no movement from inside the car. If he moved, I'd run. Drawing a breath, I continued to approach my vehicle on tip toe.
Still nothing.
I crept closer, watching. Once within mad-dash distance of my own car I recognized the lurking form.
My pulse plunged to normal. Jorge sat at the wheel, sound asleep. Miguel must have sent him over.
I walked over and tapped on the window. No reaction. I tapped harder. Jorge sprang awake and looked around. I waved at him.
"Thea!" He rolled down the window.
"Go home, Jorge."
"I'm supposed to be protecting you."
"Thank you, but I'm going to the sheriff's office now." I made no comment on the quality of his protection.
"Oh, okay. I'll go home then." He yawned and dug her car keys out of his pants pocket. "I would have woke up if someone came by. I'm a very light sleeper."
"I'm sure you would have. I appreciate it," I added sincerely.
I smiled, got in my car, and started the engine. He put his car into gear only after I pulled away from the curb.
At a little after four-thirty the April sky in the Northwest is still dark. The cloud cover makes it even darker. The night officer at the Sheriff's Office made me wait while he verified my identification before letting me into the building. The entry was well lit, but there were nerve-wracking deep shadows beyond the floodlights.
"I need to talk to Detective Thurman about the murder case he's investigating," I said.
"Thurman won't be in before eight. You'll need to wait until then."
I sighed and checked my watch. I'd have a long wait in an uncomfortable chair, with no magazines for distraction. At least I had my coffee and I was safe.
"You don't need to wait here, you know," the officer said.
I brightened. "Should I wait in his office?" That would be better.
"You could go home."
"I don't want to go home."
"Are you here to confess?"
"No!" Oh my God, did cops I didn't know recognize me? Did everyone think I killed Valerie? I had to clear this up. Now. "I have information for him. I think I know who murdered Valerie Parsons."
"Oh." He looked, without enthusiasm, at the clock. "It won't kill him to get out of bed. I'll give him a call."
He disappeared, and in less than a minute the sliding window from the office opened and he put a phone on the counter where I could reach it.
"Line one," he said.
I pressed the blinking button. br />
"Good God, woman, do you know what time it is?"
"I think I know who killed Valerie Parsons." I tripped over my words, inexplicably breathless.
"That's what Hausman said. You got your attorney there?"
"No. I can't imagine why I'd need him for this."
"Suit yourself. Okay, who's our killer?"
I told him, in detail, what happened, leaving out the parts irrelevant to the case.
"So, you decided the description of haircut, clean, kind of blond and 'good looking, I guess,' told to you by a sleaze bag who mooches drinks, that someone, who was with another guy named 'Lee,' might possibly have been the killer of Valerie Parsons, and maybe hired this Lee person to go to Copper Creek Equestrian Center, take her horse, and put him in the field where we'd later find Miss Parsons's body and think her death was an accident. But this Lee guy took your horse instead because the two horses look alike -- yeah, yeah, I know, same stall location, different barn -- which is why your horse was taken. How am I doing?"
"Uh, fine."
"And who is this mystery man who whacked the victim?"
"Jonathan Woods." I'd spoken his name at last. The silence in my ear went on for so long I thought the detective hung up. "Are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm still here." Another lengthy period of silence ensued. "And what about this other evidence -- the bill of sale, the notes on your door, the witness who places you near the scene? How do those fit in?"
"They're separate issues, except for me being near the scene. That's an outright lie," I said, my confidence building.
"Have you mentioned your theory to anyone else?"
"No. I didn't say anything to Delores or Miguel either, because they were with me, heard what I heard, and I'm fairly certain they think the same thing I do."
"Well, at least no one will be filing a lawsuit for slander against you -- this morning, anyway."
"Excuse me?" Was he joking? I pressed my palm to my forehead, searching for another way to explain my evidence.
"Look, Miss Campbell." His words came out as a long sigh. "I appreciate the information, but it's highly speculative and circumstantial."
"I'm sure, but --"
"Miss Campbell," he said, cutting me off like an impatient parent. "You need to leave this to the experts. We do, after all, have a vague notion as to what we are doing."
"Well, of course you do, but --"
"Miss Campbell --"
"But --"
"Thea," he bellowed.
I winced. "I --"
"Okay, okay." He sounded exasperated. "I will take the information you've given me and have someone follow up on it. Will that do?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Now, I'm going back to bed, and I suggest you go home and do the same. Feel free to call me, during business hours, if you have any more ideas. Good night -- or morning."
I hung up feeling foolish, but only a little, and headed to the farm. As long as I was up, I might as well do stalls.
The kitchen light was on when I parked behind the house. Aunt Vi peered out the window and waved, probably recognizing my car's headlights. I tossed hay to Blackie and Duke, cleaned their stalls, then went down to the house. Aunt Vi was still busy in the kitchen. I knocked softly so as not to alarm her, and let myself in. The comforting aromas of coffee and bacon cooking greeted me. Whole wheat toast, butter, and marmalade were set out on the table. With a deep breath, the tension holding me rigid since yesterday drained away. I was famished. After washing up, I gave Aunt Vi a kiss on the cheek and poured myself coffee. She put a plate of bacon on the table and called to Uncle Henry, then returned to the stove and began cracking eggs into a pan.
"You're up early," she said.
"I couldn't sleep." I picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.
Uncle Henry padded in dressed in his robe and slippers, yawned a good morning and sat at the table.
"Why is that?" She asked.
I put bacon and toast on a plate and told them about my adventure with Andrea, then my excursion to The Broken Axle with Delores and Miguel. Aunt Vi's eyes went wide with distress as I told her of identifying Jonathan as Valerie's murderer. She made little consoling noises while stroking my arm.
"I'm glad you went to the sheriff this morning," Uncle Henry said when I concluded. The half shake of his head that he'd repeated throughout my narration told me he hadn't been too glad about my other field trip.
"Yeah, for all the good it did. They didn't believe me." I propped my elbow on the table and supported my heavy head on my hand. "I know the evidence is sketchy, but it makes sense when you consider how obsessed Jonathan has been trying to get me to marry him." I stifled a yawn. "He must have killed Valerie after he and I argued in the driveway on Saturday. He was probably thinking if he could get her to back off me I'd be grateful to him and say 'yes' when he proposed. He must have killed her accidentally, then panicked and hired this Lee person to move Nachtfeder, so it'd look like the horse's fault. But Lee got the wrong one." I took a piece of toast and buttered it, turning clues over in my mind. "We need to find Lee so we can be sure." Man, but I was sleepy. It was hard to hold on to individual thoughts as they popped into my head. I yawned. "It makes sense to me now. I'm pretty sure it does, anyway." I put my toast down uneaten. Chewing would take more energy than I had at the moment -- and small concerns from my conversation with Detective Thurman had begun to shift around like restless children. "Do you know for a while I thought Greg killed her? But he'd just come home from a business trip and walked into a tragedy. I still think he's scum, though." I shivered and stifled another yawn. "I don't ever want to see him again. I hope the Federal Trade Commission shuts him down and my clients get their money back. Serve him right."