A Valley to Die For (11 page)

“I called them all,” said Henry. “They’re horrified, of course, and I don’t think it seems real to anyone yet. Shirley said we’re to come there for dinner tomorrow night. She didn’t know when to call you and admitted she wasn’t comfortable talking to answering machines. I told her we’d be there. Is that all right? It sure won’t be TV dinners.”

“Of course I’ll come. Would you mind telling her for me? And tell her I’m glad to have the dinner to look forward to. It helps, somehow.”

“Good, I’ll call her now. Jason thought we should wait until after next weekend to plan anything more about the quarry. We won’t meet Saturday, of course, but somehow it seems getting going on this quarry thing and beating it would be the best possible memorial to JoAnne. Maybe everyone will be willing to talk about it tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, we must plan... something. It’s even more important to me now too.”

Carrie, dressed in flannel nightgown, robe, and slippers, had just been finishing the last of her Hungry HE-MAN Roast Beef Dinner when Storm and Taylor came by to tell her JoAnne’s house was sealed, and no one was to enter. If they had learned the answers to any of their questions, they didn’t say so.

Sergeant Taylor did have one piece of interesting information, which he mentioned just as the men were leaving.

It seemed that when things were important enough, even state officials got asked questions on Sunday. Don Taylor had called the head of the Environmental Commission at home in Little Rock. She reported back that JoAnne had never contacted them, nor met with any member of the commission.

Carrie was brushing her teeth some time later when it occurred to her that Henry had said JoAnne asked him to come by and help organize a meeting report that could not have existed. So, someone lied! Why?

She couldn’t seem to follow any logical reasoning about that. By the time she was ready for bed, she had discovered that challenging dark memories of the day was more than enough for her mind to handle.

She sat up in bed reading her Bible for almost an hour before turning out the light. Carrie’s last conscious thoughts that Sunday night were in the form of a silent prayer for JoAnne and her family.

And now, eating breakfast, getting dressed, and driving the familiar highway toward the tourist center, there was plenty of time to puzzle over more than one mystery.

She had already acknowledged that this was no hunting accident. Hunters wouldn’t tear a house to pieces, then take nothing of value. And, how would strangers know where the key was? There was no sign of forced entry. Unless, she thought, JoAnne’s keys were in her purse, she had it with her when she was shot, and the killer took her keys.

And where was JoAnne’s truck? Was the purse in it? Of course, if you accepted the fact that JoAnne had been killed with a handgun, and not by a hunter, then someone must have meant to shoot JoAnne, and that was beyond understanding.

No matter how many times they had asked the question, the sheriff and Sergeant Taylor couldn’t get her to recall any reason why someone would intentionally kill JoAnne.

That’s because there is no reason, thought Carrie.

But, as she turned into the parking lot at the center, she decided the most worrying question was the lie about the meeting notes. And who had lied? Henry? Or JoAnne?

Was the “crime against the land,” the quarry, part of all this somehow? She thumped the steering wheel in frustration. She, as JoAnne’s best friend, really should be able to accomplish things the sheriff’s men couldn’t.

If she did discover something of value, deduce something important, and do it by herself, then it would prove to Henry—and everyone—that she could be clever, smart, and capable, without help from anyone... a woman to be respected and reckoned with!

“JoAnne, what would you do?” she asked aloud.

Wait. There was something. And it was something only Carrie herself knew. Some time ago, JoAnne had told her about hiding a box with contents she wanted kept secret, said she had told no one else, and explained where the box was. After asking Carrie to repeat the description of the hiding place, she made her promise not to look there or tell anyone, except in dire emergency. And now...

When Carrie had tried to question JoAnne, she’d just shaken her head and refused to discuss the matter further.

Of course, what was hidden probably wouldn’t have a thing to do with her murder, but... then again...

JoAnne had harbored quite a few quirky notions, of course, and could have kept something secret that most other people would display openly—a book she was ashamed to own, for example.

Nevertheless, thinking about finding evidence of any sort, and maybe even something that would help identify JoAnne’s killer, made Carrie hope she wouldn’t have to stay at work very long.

News about JoAnne’s death was being reported on area radio stations and had arrived at the Bonny Tourist Information Center before Carrie got there. Everyone was determined to be sympathetic, but it was also obvious they could barely control their boiling curiosity, so, as simply as possible, she told them what had happened.

Talking about finding JoAnne wasn’t as painful now. It had almost become someone else’s story, since she’d already repeated it so many times for the detectives. It was a bit like the stories she used to read to Rob. They’d read his favorites so often that she sometimes paid no attention to what she was saying. Rob still talked about having to remind her to turn a page when she continued with the familiar words beyond events pictured on the pages that lay open in front of them.

The employees on duty at the center were quick to understand when she said she’d just be there for the morning, then must go home to get ready for the coming week and the arrival of JoAnne’s family. She was, she explained, executor of JoAnne’s estate, and there was lots to do.

She really wasn’t sure yet just how to go about it all. Though Amos’s law practice had brought many wills and estate closings into his business life, he hadn’t shared information about what was going on; and others had been there to help her when Amos died.

After calling department headquarters in Little Rock to explain why she was taking a few days’ emergency leave, Carrie spoke with center employees about the new special events she’d put on the winter calendar. When she went to unpack the boxes of brochures she’d brought from home, her thoughts suddenly hurtled back to Henry and Saturday night. She stopped and stood motionless, staring into the distance while a stack of brochures slid to the floor.

Startled and embarrassed, she bent to pick them up, hoping no one had noticed; but Sarah Simmons, senior tourist consultant, came over quickly, took her by the arms, turned her toward the door, and gave her a brisk pat on the behind.

“Go,” said Sarah, “take care of things for that young woman and her family. We’ll manage just fine.”

Carrie gave Sarah a hug, put on her hat and coat, and though she’d only been at work three hours, headed home.

First she’d check to be sure FatCat was all right, though the cat seemed to be getting on fine in her new quarters. True, she had yowled unhappily when Carrie made it plain last night that she was not sharing the down comforter on her bed with any cat, not even a bereaved one. The complaints had stopped when Carrie found an old down pillow with most of its stuffing gone and put it on top of the mattress in the wicker cat bed. Carrie was pleased with herself. Rules were rules, and FatCat was, after all, a very intelligent cat. She was catching on quickly to the new ground rules.

When she got home, Carrie parked her station wagon by the door to save time. She needed to go into Guilford as soon as possible to get JoAnne’s will out of her safe deposit box and take it to the attorney.

Both she and Susan had seen the will when JoAnne made it a year ago; it left a nice amount to the Self Start Project in Rough Creek that aided single mothers, and the rest went to Susan.

But first, she’d find what JoAnne had hidden. The will would have to wait that long.

No cat greeted Carrie at the front door, but almost at once FatCat came loping toward her from the bedroom. She rubbed against Carrie’s ankles, making noises that sounded like she was trying to start a muted Vespa. It was rather nice to have someone come say hello, Carrie thought as she bent to rub the cat’s back.

She headed for the bedroom to get her gardening jeans and oldest sweat shirt. The morning’s cloudiness had faded, making the snow forecast a sham. Leafless trees outside the bedroom windows barely filtered the bright sunlight falling across her bed. Carrie looked at the round indentation in the middle of her comforter, then went to the bed and put her hand in the cavity. Warm. Much warmer than the rest of the sun-lit bed.

She looked down. FatCat was gazing soulfully up at her while the black-tipped end of her tail curled slowly from left to right and back.

“We aren’t going to discuss this,” said Carrie. She looked back at the bed and its sun-lit down pouf. How wonderful it would be to curl up in the sun, just like FatCat had obviously done, to feel the softness... to forget... She sighed. “Cat, if I’m going to adopt you, you have to learn that bed is MINE. No cats, no sharing.”

FatCat watched her from the floor while she changed clothes. As she left the bedroom, Carrie picked up the cat basket with one hand and tucked its owner against her side with the other. She dropped the cat in the hallway and shut the bedroom door firmly.

“NO,” she said, wondering if this was going to work. Since the woodstove provided most of the heat in the house, she couldn’t leave the bedroom door shut very long. Well, the cat was simply going to have to learn the rules, that was all! For now, she’d leave the door shut. Maybe the message would get across. She carried the basket to a sunny spot by a window in the main room and put it down. That would have to do until she had more time to think about getting her new companion to understand house rules.

Carrie stood at the kitchen sink looking out into the woods while she ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and drank a glass of milk. Then she put on her old coat and gloves and, carrying her hat and full-length good coat, went to the car. She would change coats at JoAnne’s and go straight into town to save time. If she had her good coat on, few would realize she had gardening clothes under it.

When she pulled into JoAnne’s driveway, the house that had once seemed so friendly and welcoming stood sharply four-square and cold. For the first time, Carrie noticed that dead flowers remaining in the pots JoAnne left on the porch year-around looked dusty and broken. The bright marigolds of last summer were now represented by these shadow plants. Still, she thought, the seed heads are there. I’ll bring an envelope and collect memory seeds for my garden... and Susan’s.

Tape at the doorway reminded everyone that the house was off-limits and, shivering, Carrie was glad it was. She couldn’t face being alone in the house right now. But, no matter how she felt, she’d have to straighten the mess inside before Susan saw it.

Would Susan sell the house right away? It was hard to think of new people, but then, such a house should share its setting in the living, natural world with living people.

Curious, she looked under the third flower pot. No key. Evidently, the sheriff had taken it. Well, never mind. She had her own extra key if she needed it, and Susan did too.

She looked around carefully and listened for a moment before heading into the woods below JoAnne’s tool shed. She didn’t want anyone seeing her now. Her heart was thumping, reminding her, if her head hadn’t already done so, that this might be a very important venture.

She climbed down to the place below the tool shed where the hillside stopped its gentle slope and dropped into a sheer rock bluff. The bluff front couldn’t be seen from the house. It was only about eight yards wide, a horizontal limestone scar along the hillside caused by some wisp of geologic action that Carrie couldn’t begin to imagine.

According to JoAnne’s instructions, she’d have to get to the middle of that sheer face. The idea terrified her, but there was no other way, and if JoAnne had done it, well, she could too!

Starting from the slope at the edge of the bluff, she began to slide carefully along the vertical wall, bracing her feet on rocks and tufts of grass at the bottom of the bluff face and edging toward the small ledge and opening in the rocks that JoAnne had told her about. The only hand-holds now were dead weeds growing out of the bluff. It was slow going, and her feet slipped several times, sending rock showers into the valley below her.

After what seemed like a very long time, she got to the ledge. It was at least a foot above her head, and, no matter how she stretched, she couldn’t reach over it.

Carrie wanted to wail in frustration. But, of course, JoAnne had been several inches taller than she was. What on earth was she going to do now?

What she did was rest against the trunk of a tree growing close to the bluff face and consider possibilities. Henry was certainly tall enough, but JoAnne had made her promise to tell no one about this. And, would Henry be the one to tell anyway? Thinking about Henry and JoAnne, she was suddenly uneasy; she wondered once more who had lied about Henry’s invitation to help JoAnne with her meeting notes. And why? No, she mustn’t ask Henry for help.

But she was so close. She had to find a way, even if she didn’t get to town before the bank closed.

Carrie looked more carefully at the bluff face, searching for some way to climb. The rock wall was almost straight, and its surface was weathered. Small chunks of chert and limestone fell every time she moved.

Could she bring a short ladder and brace the bottom of it against the tree she was leaning on? That was it, and JoAnne had a stepladder in her tool shed! Forget the will and the lawyer for today. Carrie wanted to see what JoAnne had hidden in the crevice above her head.

She reversed her slow movements until she got to the slope and then hurried as fast as she could through the dry winter underbrush on the forest floor. She’d have to use her key to JoAnne’s house because JoAnne had kept the tool shed locked, and the key to it was on a hook by the back door. She’d just reach inside around the door frame and get the key. She probably wouldn’t even have to break the tape, so the sheriff would never know.