A Rendezvous to Die For (30 page)

Sanders was silent for several
seconds. He raised a bushy eyebrow and rocked in his high-backed
office chair. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you, Cassandra? A
little unorthodox, but you’ve turned up some interesting tidbits of
information.”

“
What kind of trouble am I in
with Shaw?” I slumped in my chair and hid my face in a propped up
hand, too worried to watch his reaction.

“
No criminal charges that I can
ascertain,” Sanders said. “Possibly a trespassing charge, but
that’s nothing to worry about. I imagine Shaw is quite mystified as
to why you were at the farmhouse, but, in reality, he has no proof
you were there. Only Strothers’ say-so. It all depends upon what
line Strothers fed him when handing over your shirt. He probably
suspects it has something to do with his investigations of the three
murders, and he’ll try to get it out of you. I’d expect a serious
grilling, but we can handle that. And, although this isn’t really
legal advice . . . I’d try to find a red shirt that is either much
too big or too small for you. One you haven’t worn in quite a long
time perhaps. And with a different label, of course, so that it is
totally unlike the one in Shaw’s possession.”

The chirping of my cell phone
jolted me out of my reverie as I drove back home, following my
appointment with Sanders. I was stewing over my guilt for not telling
him about my real break-in adventure the night before. It was Jack,
not exactly the person I wanted to have a conversation with. ”Hello,
Jack. What’s up?”

“
Cass, we’re trying to find
Virgil and I’m looking for information.” He sounded breathless,
his voice coming in small bursts. “Is there anything you can think
of that will help us? Anything at all?”

“
Why the urgency in finding
Virgil?”

“
Guy Strothers was out at the
stables again, asking questions. He talked to one of the employees
here who blabbed everything he knew about Virgil. I’m concerned
he’ll do something to him. He seems to really have it in for the
guy. We’ve gotta find him and warn him of trouble.”

Warning bells went off. Could I
trust Jack? Was he stringing me along with another set-up scheme? If
he were telling the truth and Virgil were in some sort of danger from
an enraged Strothers, would my guilt be magnified if I ignored his
safety for my own? “Okay, Jack . . . I guess I can give you a
little info, but I’m not sure it’ll help much. I know where
Virgil’s daughter lived, before she was killed.”

“
Kathleen’s been dead for
more than a year, Cass.”

“
I know, but I happen to know
that her apartment has been rented by her father all this time.”

“
How do you know that?”

“
Don’t ask me how, Jack. I
just know it.” I gave him the apartment address.

“
I’ll call Steve, a guy I
ride with in the Mounted Patrol. He’s working as a part-time deputy
and owes me a favor.” Thankfully Jack hung up and didn’t quiz me
about my recent activities.

As soon as I entered my kitchen,
upon reaching home, I saw that the landline phone was blinking.
Someone had left another message. I was from Anna. I dialed her right
away.

“
Cassandra,
we’ve found the guy!” she said, as soon as we had connected.

“
I needed some good news,” I
said wearily. “I had a session with your brother this morning and I
have another interrogation by Deputy Shaw this afternoon. Tell me
about the moccasin maker.”

“
He’s an Ojibwe Indian,”
she said. “He grew up on the rez and goes by the name Standing
Heart. When I called him, he was packing up to attend a Rendezvous
near Pipestone.”

“
But Frank Kyopa told me the
boots were not made by anyone from the reservation.”

“
Frank or no Frank, we’ve got
our man,” Anna said firmly. “I think I’ll drive down there and
meet him face to face. Hopefully, he can tell who purchased the boots
from him. Any chance you can come along?”

“
I can’t. I’ve got a couple
appointments set in stone. Are you sure you want to do this? It could
turn out to be a wild goose chase.”

“
I’m going to go, no matter
what. I’ve wanted to see some clothing samples from a seamstress
who lives near there anyway. I’ll kill two birds with one stone.
I’ll take the pictures you gave me to confirm the boots. You take
care, dear, and I’ll call you as soon as I get any information.”

Later, driving through town on my
way to the police station, I passed Kathleen’s apartment house. In
front of the building, I wasn’t surprised to see a posted sign:
Apartment for Rent.
I
memorized the telephone number, drove around the corner, and pulled
over to the curb. I punched the number into my cell phone. “Eighth
Street Apartments, this is Myrtle speaking.”

“
Could you tell me which
apartment is for rent in your building, please?”

“
Certainly. It’s number 206.
A lovely apartment. Very clean. Two bedrooms. Are you interested in
seeing it?”

“
When will it be available?”

“
In two weeks.”

“
Thanks for the information.
I’ll call you back.” I sat for some time, simply staring out the
windshield. Obviously, Kathleen’s father was taking the next step
in his life. I felt guilty for my part in pushing him into making the
decision to move on. I had invaded his privacy. It was probably for
the best, though.

Lawton Sanders met me at the
entrance to the police station. “Follow my lead, Cassandra,” he
said. “As much as possible, limit your answers to yes or no. No
details. Remember, he has no proof you were even on the farmhouse
property. Let’s play it by ear.”

Fortunately, Sanders advice
served me well. I was so noncommittal about every reply to every
question that Shaw gave up. I was back in my Jeep with forty-five
minutes, no worse for wear.

Jack heard from Steve later in
the afternoon and called me back.
“Your information might
have helped,” he told me. “Steve was in town, so he stopped by
the apartment building. Talked to a Myrtle there.”

“
Yes, Myrtle’s the manager.”

“
She said Virgil always came by
about the same time every month and paid the apartment rent in cash.
She never knew where he lived.”

“
Great. Sounds like another
dead end.”

“
He did get a little snippet of
information though.” Jack cleared his throat. “Myrtle said
whenever he was there, she sometimes noticed a vehicle with an
out-of-state license number on it parked at the curb. She asked
someone in the office about it and that person said she thought it
was a Wisconsin plate.”

“
Kathleen’s friend told me
Mr. DeWitt lived in Wisconsin, so that would make perfect sense. It
would explain why we don’t ever see him around town. He must drive
here from Madison, pay the rent and the board for Kathleen’s horse
Midnight, and then drive back home. It doesn’t, however, explain
his secrecy . . . unless he’s trying to stay away from Strothers. I
think I told you about the lawsuit over a property dispute. Strothers
lost a ton of money and has felt a great animosity toward Virgil ever
since.”

My fears for Virgil outweighed my
reluctance to spend any more time with Jack. I’d stay alert and
keep my mouth shut concerning anything about my own investigations.
“I think we should go to Ned Oberon’s farm and ask him where
Strothers is,” I said. “If he finds Virgil first, God only knows
what he’ll do to him. I’d never forgive myself, if I could have
helped him. The poor man is still grieving the loss of his only
child.”

“
I’ll finish my chores with
the horses and pick you up.”

On
the way to Oberon’s farm, we strategized as to how we should
approach Ned. “Let’s hope he’s not armed,” Jack said,
accelerating to a scary seventy-five mph. I tried to ignore the
speedometer by peering blankly out my side window. “If he pulls a
weapon, we’re out of there. If we can get him to talk to us, we’ll
play our next move by ear.”

“
Excellent plan,” I said,
rolling my eyes.

“
You got a better one?” Jack
didn’t let up on the accelerator as we squealed around a forty
mile-per-hour curve. Actually, it was as good a plan as I’d had in
most of my capers. I held onto the door handle as we sped down the
road. Finally, Jack pulled into the farm driveway and I relived the
night I had photographed Strothers’ truck in the farmyard. I
drummed my fingers on the armrest to expel my rising apprehension.

The first thing I noticed was a
pickup in the yard. We got out of Jack’s truck and walked briskly
up to the kitchen door. The sound of a TV laugh track filtered
through the door to the porch. Jack knocked, then knocked louder. The
TV sound stopped and footsteps marched towards us. Ned opened the
door wide, but as soon as he saw it was us, he immediately moved to
close it. Fortunately, Jack was quick enough to wedge his boot
between the door and its frame. He pushed the door open and grabbed
Ned by the collar.

“
I didn’t mean any harm to
you, ma’am. Honest,” he said to me. His rheumy eyes pleaded at me
behind their thick glasses. “I quit workin’ for him when I
couldn’t do what he wanted me to do anymore.” He lifted a shaky
hand to his bald head and shifted his gaze to the floor.

“
Quit working for who?” Jack
said.

“
Strothers,” he said. “I
quit workin’ for Strothers. You gonna hurt me?”

“
Not as long as you answer my
questions,” Jack said, giving him a little shake. “What did he
want you to do?”

“
He had me build him a fire
bomb. Said he wanted to use it to shoo some skunks outa his back
yard. He was lyin’ to me. He made me throw it at her house.” He
pointed at me. “That’s when I said I couldn’t work for him no
more. I needed the money he was payin’ me. Farmin’ don’t pay
much. But when it comes to somethin’ like that, well, I told him to
find someone else. I ain’t got the stomach for it.”

I tried to catch his eye, but he
kept his head down. “Did you follow me into the woods?”

“
Yah, that was me,” he said,
chin on his chest. “I wasn’t gonna hurt you none, jest keep an
eye on you.” He peered up at me. “That’s all he asked me to do.
Keep an eye on you.”

“
Know where Strothers is now?”
Jack glared at him and raised his voice.

“
No, sir. I ain’t seen him
since he come here to pick up the bottle with the stuff in it.”

“
Know anybody who might know
where he is?”

Ned shook his head.

“
Think!” Jack said, pushing
him against the kitchen counter. “Somebody we know could get hurt
real bad unless we find Strothers first.”

“
Uff da
,”
Ned said, shaking his head, visibly upset and scared. “I shouldn’t
of let myself get talked into this. Money ain’t worth it.”

“
You can redeem yourself, if
you help us find him now,” Jack said.

Ned shook him off and shuffled
wearily over to the refrigerator and pulled down a scrap of paper
held in place by a magnet. It advertised the local farm co-op.
“Here,” he said, handing it to Jack. “Might do you no good, but
she might know where he is.” The scrap of paper held a penciled
telephone number.

“
Who’s this woman you’re
talking about?” Jack asked.

“
Strothers’ answerin’
service.”

“
Ok, Ned, here’s what I want
you to do,” Jack said, waving the piece of paper in front of Ned.
“I want you to pick up the phone and call this number. Think about
what you’ll say, because when you hang up, I want to know where to
start looking for Strothers.”

Ned stroked his chin as he paced
the small kitchen. I could see the fear in his eyes. Coming to a
decision, he finally picked up the phone receiver from a black
table-model rotary-dial telephone, the likes of which I hadn’t seen
since I first lived at Mrs. A’s. It was connected to its base by a
curly cord. He dialed the number and waited. “This is Ned,” he
said, his voice cracking. “I hafta reach Guy quick-like. No, I
tried his cell phone and he don’t answer. I’ve got some
information he wants. Know how I can get a hold of him? He still in
Colton Mills?” He reached for an envelope on the counter beside the
phone. “The Village Inn. Yah, I got the numbers. You betcha.
Thanks.”

He handed the envelope to Jack.
“Looks like a Wisconsin number,” he said. “My brother Eldon
lives in Madison and I always use that area code. Guess Strothers’
ain’t in town.”

“
Poor bastard,” Jack said as
we drove back to the highway minutes later. “All he wanted to do
was make a little money and he got sucked in by Strothers. You’ve
got to give him credit for not going further than his conscience
allowed.”

“
I don’t care about Ned,” I
said. “Virgil lives in Madison. Strothers is from Chicago, so
what’s he doing in Wisconsin? If Strothers was plotting to warn me
away from an investigation of Eric’s murder by hiring Ned to fire
bomb my apartment, who knows what he’s capable of doing. Maybe
Virgil is in serious danger.”

Jack picked up his cell phone and
punched in Steve’s number. “Hey, buddy,” he said, “you’re
not answering so I’ll leave this info in your answering machine.
I’ve got a hot lead on Strothers and I think it’s important
enough to alert the authorities in Madison, Wisconsin. Virgil’s
life could be on the line.” He read Steve the Village Inn’s
telephone number. “Call me as soon as you can.”