A Rendezvous to Die For (25 page)

“
So much for that,” Jack
said, his first words since voicing his objection to my conjectures.
“He could be in there for the night.”

“
I’m going in,” I turned to
him, my jaw set. “Are you coming with me?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “And miss
a chance to pick you up off the floor? No, I’m in.”

Ned was sitting at the bar with
his back to us. A couple of tattooed twenty-somethings were playing
pool, noisily egging each other on and slurping Coors between turns.
A couple sat at a table, watching a baseball game playing on the TV
suspended from the ceiling. We ambled up to the bar and took a couple
stools at the opposite end from where Ned sat. He was tearing strips
off pull-tabs, trying to hit the house’s jackpot. From his
irritable expression, he wasn’t doing well. We ordered a couple of
Bud Lights and waited.

When Ned had finished going
through his stack of pull-tabs, he reached for his beer. When he
lifted the bottle to his lips, his gaze fell on the two of us. He
literally choked and began coughing, unable to catch his breath. When
he finally got control of himself, he slammed the bottle onto the
bar, threw the bartender a couple of bills, and bolted outside. The
tires of his truck spun in the gravel, as he powered out of the
parking lot.

“
I think we accomplished
something,” I said, jumping off the barstool.

“
I agree,” Jack said. “You’ve
got yourself a confirmed enemy.” He handed the bartender a $10
bill. “Keep the change,” he said. As we returned to his truck, he
added. “You must be proud of yourself.”

“
No, I think I’ve seen the
last of Ned following me. When a guy’s cover is blown, he’s
useless, isn’t he? That’s what I read in the detective novels.”

“
I hope you’re right, Cass,”
he said, sliding under the steering wheel. “I hope you’re right.”

Chapter
22

Wednesday—Week
Three

At 9:40 the next morning, I
parked in the churchyard for another funeral service. Jim Tuttle’s.
I’d have given anything not to attend and be “on display” as
one of the people who had found him hanging in the woods. Hoping to
appear as incognito as possible, I ditched my usual outfit of bright
colors for a more conservative navy pantsuit and slipped on an
oversized pair of dark sunglasses. I found my favorite spot in the
next to the last pew and settled in for another sad service.
Thankfully, most attendees paid little attention to me.

As I left the church, I
discovered my disguise hadn’t been as successful as I’d hoped. A
couple of reporters had positioned themselves outside. As I filed
past them with a group of mourners, they pushed a microphone into my
face. “Miss Cassidy, do you have any idea who killed Jim Tuttle?
Did you have anything to do with it?”

I pushed them aside and escaped
to my vehicle. Shoving the shift into gear, I had started to drive
away, when someone rapped on my window. It was Deputy Shaw. He made a
motion for me to open my car window. “I’m glad to see you were
paying your respects to Jim,” he said by way of greeting.

I waited, staring vacantly
through the windshield over my steering wheel.

“
It’s very curious . . . you
showing up at all these murder scenes,” he said, leaning casually
against my vehicle.

“
Tell me about it,” I said,
being sarcastic. I finally looked at him. “And it’s wearing me
down.”

“
Is there anything you’d like
to talk about regarding my investigation of these three murders?”
He peered at me with beady eyes. I stared back at him with clamped
lips.

He tried for a smile, but it
resulted in something more like a grimace. “My records show you
were with Jack Gardner when you discovered Tuttle’s body. Is he a
friend of yours?”

“
A sort-of friend. From the
stables.” I slipped the shift stick into gear again and started to
roll up the window.

Shaw took a step back, but held
up his hand to stop me from leaving. “Has he discussed the
connection he had with Eric Hartfield?” Despite my reluctance to
let Shaw know he’d scored a hit, my head jerked up involuntarily
and my mouth fell open. “By your reaction, I’m assuming that
either you didn’t know or you’re surprised that I know.”

Nothing … absolutely nothing
Shaw could have said would have shocked me more. Not only shocked me.
I felt like the proverbial three-legged stool that had one leg kicked
away. I was thrown completely off balance. The deputy stood with his
arms crossed over his chest, regarding me with a smug look on his
face.

“
In case you don’t know,
Gardner was the father of Eric’s sister’s child. Gardner skipped
town before she had the baby and Hartfield never forgave him for it.
Then Gardner showed up in town a year or so ago and Eric went looking
for him. Who knows what transpired between the two of them? Maybe
something that would make Gardner want to eliminate Eric. Can you
shed any light on that theory for me?”

My mind couldn’t absorb what
Shaw was saying. Jack not only knew Eric, but could have had the best
of all motives for killing him. I could feel Shaw watch my facial
reactions, as I processed the information. He leaned into the window
again. “Want to talk about it?”

I finally found my voice. “I-I
don’t know anything about it.”

“
You have my number,” he
said, flipping his notepad closed and backing away.

Numb with shock, I drove out into
the street with such care, I felt like a senior citizen who had just
received a speeding ticket. How was I was going to handle this latest
development? Why had Jack withheld such important information from
me? I needed to talk with someone I could still trust.

“
You
look like you’ve lost your best friend,” Anna said, as soon as I
entered her shop.

“
I was at Jim Tuttle’s
funeral,” I said. “I hope I never have to attend another one
under these circumstances.”

She bustled over and draped her
arm around my shoulders. “I do, too, Cass. No one should have to go
through what you’ve experienced these past two weeks. I’ve got
some news that could possibly brighten your day, though. I know more
about Strothers and Virgil Dewitt.”

“
I could definitely use some
news about Strothers.”

“
When I was flying home last
week, I sat next to a real estate developer from Chicago. She gave me
her business card. I thought since she was in that business, she’d
probably followed Strothers’ development activities. I called her.”
Anna steered me to the back of her shop and pushed me onto the
antique sofa. “She said she’d look in her files and fax me what
she found. Ten minutes ago, I got a fax from her.”

“
Anything useful?” Suddenly,
I felt hopeful of a break.

Anna cocked one perfectly plucked
eyebrow. “Something you’ll at least find interesting. It turns
out that Virgil invested in one of Strothers’ office developments
about five years ago. The project didn’t go well and Virgil sued
him for breach of contract. According to his lawsuit, materials and
workmanship were substandard. Strothers refused to accept any
liability, so it went to a civil jury trial.”

I perked up. “What happened?”

“
The court agreed with Virgil.
It cost Strothers a ton of money, especially when he was found liable
for breach of contract, among other things. One thing that didn’t
help Strothers in the trial was his temper. He actually threatened
Virgil during the trial a couple times. No surprise that he lost his
case.”

“
If he’d threaten me for an
imagined act, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d like to kill
Virgil.” A shiver went through my body and I dropped my head into
my hands.

“
I thought you’d be thrilled
to hear that news.” Anna sounded hurt.

“
I am, Anna, but I heard
something today that’s got me . . . upset.” I told her about
Jack’s relationship to Eric.

“
What can I say? I’m as
stunned as you. That’s not good news.” We were both silent for a
while. A customer entered the store and I stood to go. “Watch who
you talk to, Cassandra,” she said, pecking me on the cheek.

Although
Anna’s information was intriguing, Shaw’s had trumped it. I
steeled myself not to over-react. Jack might not have told me about
his knowing Eric, because he was embarrassed about it. He’d spent
so much time cultivating his carefree-cowboy image, he didn’t want
to wreck it. But no matter how hard I tried to keep from making a
molehill into a mountain, a little voice kept telling me, “you’re
a fool.” What else had Jack lied to me about?

To help settle my mind, I found
the books Anna had loaned me on frontier clothing. I pulled out the
enlargement I’d made of the parking lot stranger’s boots from my
digital camera and compared them to photos of boots in all the books.
No match. I remembered someone at the Rendezvous meeting saying that
many pieces of clothing were custom made. If that were the case with
the boots, how could I find out who may have made them? Marty came to
mind, but he was the last person I’d ask for help.

Maybe Willis would know. I
reached him on his cell phone and told him I needed information about
how to find a custom boot maker. “It’s about the photo I showed
you at the supper club.”

“
I’ll get a name and call you
back,” he said.

I’d no more than ended my call
to Willis than my cell phone chirped. The number on the caller ID was
unfamiliar. “Cassandra Cassidy,” I said.

“
This is Nick Parker. I’ve
been wondering how you’re doing after the incident Monday evening
at the bar.”

My heartbeat fluttered. “I’m
okay,” I said, reaching up to smooth my hair. “Thanks for your
help.”

“
All in a day’s work. Anna
told me a little about your conflict with Guy Strothers. I don’t
know him personally, but I know him by reputation. Would it be too
upsetting to talk about it?”

“
No, I guess not.”

“
How about in a couple hours?
I’d like to bring supper, if you’re going to be home.”

Supper. I had no food in the
house and I was ravenous. “Sounds good.”

“
Great. Pizza and beer?”

“
The idea of more beer gives me
a headache,” I laughed. “Make it pizza and Coke and it’s a
deal. Pepperoni.”

“
Pepperoni pizza and Coke it
is. I’ll see you at your place about 6:15.”

Well. I had just agreed to a
date. Or had I? Maybe Nick only wanted to tell me what he knew about
Strothers. He could have told Anna, who could have told me, but . . .
whatever. I could use a male presence in my life more intriguing than
Willis, Marty, and Jack. At least for one evening, if nothing more. I
went upstairs to shower and change my clothes.

Nick arrived on time. “Whew,”
he said, “I followed Anna’s directions. You are certainly out
here all by yourself.”

“
That’s the truth,” I said,
taking the pizza box from him and lifting the lid. “Mmm, smells
good enough to eat!”

“
Sausage and green pepper,”
he said. “They were out of pepperoni and that’s about as
adventurous the pizza cuisine is in Colton Mills. Hope it’s okay.”

“
It’s perfect,” I said,
heading for the kitchen. “C’mon in and follow me.”

I had already completed a furtive
examination of my dinner guest. In the dim light of the Roadhouse, I
hadn’t notice a scar that ran from Nick’s left eyebrow to the
middle of his cheekbone. It gave him a rugged look. He was taller
than I was by a few inches. And slim. His marine blue eyes danced
beneath dark eyebrows, and they exactly matched the blue stripes of
his short-sleeved shirt. I also noticed his well-developed biceps. He
didn’t get those by playing the guitar, I decided. His hair had
been unsuccessfully tamed with a hair product. Wiry curls flopped
around his ears.

Nick moved confidently to the
kitchen and deposited the six-pack of Coke on the table. I had set
the table ahead of time . . . if you call dropping a couple of forks,
plates, and napkins in the middle of the table setting it. I’d
decided against music, as it seemed too date-like. I still wasn’t
sure how to interpret his visit. I produced a platter for the pizza
and added ice to the glasses. “Take a seat,” I said. “I’m
eager to stem my appetite.”

We made small talk while we
devoured the pizza. Where we came from. How we landed in Colton
Mills. He, from a small dairy farm in Minnesota. Married young.
Divorced young. No kids. Wife ran off with a man she met at
McDonald’s. Learned guitar and singing in church. Studied
journalism at the university, worked on a newspaper in northern
Minnesota, settled in Colton Mills after realizing he didn’t like
the city. Wrote an article on EMTs. Fascinated him. Pushing forty and
wanted something new. As he talked, he moved his hand in the air, as
if he had once smoked cigarettes and all that was left was the
gesture. He grinned openly and often.

Before I knew what I was doing,
I’d told him about my experience being married to a musician and
described how I had gotten to Colton Mills. Flustered that I’d
revealed so much about myself, I switched subjects. “Tell me what
you know about Strothers.” I busied myself taking plates to the
sink.