A Valley to Die For (16 page)

Before anyone could answer, a car roared into the yard. They sat in silence, looking at each other. Footsteps sounded on the porch floor, then someone began knocking.

“If the quarry owner is arrested fer murder,” Roger said as he got to his feet, “then it’ll stop things in a hurry, won’t it? We may find out something about JoAnne’s murder, as well as about whatever it was she’d dug up. But we don’t want the sheriff to cut us off. Mostly now, we want to be free to find out as much as we kin about things. We should tell whatever we know that might help the sheriff find JoAnne’s killer, but let’s not be in any big hurry to say anythin’ about our other plans. Sheriff ‘n his people care nothin’ about the quarry, one way or another anyhow. So, is it okay with everyone that we kinda work on our own?”

They were all nodding their heads as he reached to open the door.

Chapter XII

When Roger opened the door, Carrie heard a familiar voice say, “Mr. Booth? Sorry to interrupt your party.”

That man should be on radio or television, she thought. What a voice!

The voice went on. “I’m Detective Sergeant Don Taylor of the Spavinaw County Sheriff’s Office. I guess you know we’re investigating the murder of JoAnne Harrington. I’d like to talk to you, and maybe some of the folks inside, if you don’t mind. I saw the cars from the road. May I come in?”

“Sure, just come on in out of the cold,” Roger said as he stepped back. “I’ll be glad to talk with you. As fer the other folks, well, they’re our company, just here fer supper, so you’ll need to ask if they want to talk to you here. That’s their say, not mine.”

Taylor entered the room, hat in hand. Jason and Henry rose to shake hands as Roger continued, “This here’s my wife, Shirley, and Jason Stack. Mr. Stack lives a mile north of the highway on the east side of Walden Road. I think you know Mrs. McCrite and Mr. King? Let’s pull up another chair by the fire. Would you like some coffee?”

Shirley left to get coffee without waiting for Taylor’s reply, and Roger pulled one of the kitchen chairs into the semi-circle around the fireplace as Jason and Henry scooted their chairs sideways to make room.

As soon as Taylor was seated, Shirley handed him a filled coffee cup, then put cream and sugar and a plate of cookies on the table beside him.

Carrie watched the sergeant with interest as he took two cookies, then blushed and said, “Thanks. I haven’t had supper so this looks mighty good.”

“Oh, my,” Shirley said, “I can fix you a plate. We have plenty left over.”

“No, thanks, ma’am.”

Taylor’s wistful look said he hated rejecting the offer. Probably, Callie thought, eating on the job in front of witnesses... or suspects... is considered unprofessional. How could he ask us questions with his mouth full?

For the first time, she felt sorry for the man and wondered if he had a wife and, perhaps, children. She’d already noticed he didn’t wear a wedding ring.

Taylor ate one cookie in two bites, swallowed some coffee, then set the cup and second cookie aside.

“Mr. Booth, Mrs. Booth—can you remember seeing any cars or trucks on the road out there, especially on Saturday morning, or even Friday night?”

Roger considered. “Well, I didn’t pay any special attention. There’s been a little more action since the quarry folks bought that farm at the end of the valley, and of course it’s huntin’ season. We get some traffic, mostly on weekends, fer that. I’m afraid I can’t recall anything special though. Just trucks. That’s what we see this time of year, hunters’ trucks.”

“Do you recall seeing Ms. Harrington’s grey truck, maybe early Saturday?”

Carrie looked around the circle. Everyone was paying close attention. They’ve found JoAnne’s truck, she thought.

Shirley shook her head, and Roger said, “Nope. Shirley and I worked together in the milkin’ barn from about six o’clock until time to clean up and go to Carrie’s. We didn’t pay any mind to who was drivin’ on the road.”

“You didn’t hear any vehicles?”

“Just heard cows and milkin’ machinery,” Roger said, as Shirley nodded in agreement.

Taylor looked at the rest of them in turn. “Any one of you remember seeing her truck, or noticing other cars or trucks coming or going on Walden Road? I know Mrs. McCrite and Mr. King both live down in the woods far enough so they wouldn’t see cars on the road—if they were at home. Mr. Stack, is your house the brown one on the east side? If so, you can see the road from your windows. See anything at all that you remember?”

“Our kitchen’s in the back,” Jason said. “My wife is away helping our daughter, and from about seven until time to leave for the meeting at Carrie’s, I sat in the kitchen alone, reading and getting together an outline for the meeting. I did go out in the yard once for more firewood. Someone drove by quite fast then, come to think of it, but I didn’t really look at them. I remember wondering who it might be, since it hadn’t been daylight long and I didn’t think a hunter would be leaving yet. I was sure it wasn’t one of us.” He swept his arm around the circle.

“What time would that have been?”

“Oh, 7:30 or so. I didn’t look at the clock.”

“Truck or car?”

“My impression now is that it was a truck. A car would have sounded different, and we don’t see many outsiders on the road in cars. Mag and Jack Bruner live at the beginning of the road, and at least one of them would probably have been out checking on their chickens. Have you asked them if they saw something?”

“Yes. Jack Bruner was at his chicken houses, but doesn’t remember seeing or hearing anything,” said Taylor.

He stopped to eat his second cookie, and Carrie noticed that he glanced down at the plate of cookies by his elbow with something that could only be described as longing.

Shirley had seen his glance too, and she lifted her eyes to Carrie’s and smiled.

“Well, now,” Taylor said, “I do have some more questions for you individually, and I think they should be asked privately. Mr. and Mrs. Booth, would it be imposing too much if I asked if you have a room where I could talk with each of the folks here? It sure would save time. I’ll need to talk with all of you eventually, and now might be easier, though I’m sorry to break in on your party.”

“You can have the front bedroom,” Shirley said. “We use it for an office now.”

“That’s fine. I appreciate your help. Will you show me that room then?” He turned to Carrie. “I’d like to talk with you first, Mrs. McCrite. Some things have come up since we spoke last.”

Shirley disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, to finish cleaning up, Carrie supposed, and Roger led the way down the hall to the first room. There was a twin bed pushed against one wall, but the rest of the room did look just like an office, with a big oak desk and metal filing cabinets. Taylor pulled a chair up at one side of the desk for Carrie to sit in. He took the desk chair for himself, removed a pen and pad of paper from his pocket, laid them on the desk, and leaned forward, folding his hands on the desktop as he looked at her.

Carrie’s heart began thumping. What was he going to ask? What would she say... what would the others say? Would their answers sound reasonable? Would Henry’s?

Before Taylor could begin, Shirley pushed the door open and came to the desk, putting a plate of food and a glass of milk in front of the astonished man. She took a napkin and silverware from her apron pocket, laid them down, then left, winking at Carrie as she passed.

Don Taylor looked at the food, then at Carrie, and blushed. He looks like he has no idea what to do, she thought. Finally, he picked up the fork, speared a piece of meat and put it in his mouth, following with a carrot, a bite of potato, and a swallow of milk.

Carrie wasn’t sure whether to talk or not, but since she couldn’t think of anything to say, she sat in silence and stared at Taylor’s reflection in the window behind his head. She decided the man couldn’t be much older than Rob. Well, at least seeing him eat lessened her own nervousness even as it increased his.

She wondered what Harrison Storm would do if he came in right now, and she almost giggled, whether from nerves or humor, she really couldn’t have said. Then she thought about Shirley’s wink and felt better.

Taylor pushed the plate aside, took another swallow of milk, wiped his mouth with the napkin, and looked at her.

“When did you last see Ms. Harrington’s truck?”

She considered. “Wednesday. I picked her up after I got off work and we drove into Guilford for supper. Her truck was parked next to the house then, like maybe she planned to go someplace later. I didn’t see her Thursday. That’s when she was supposed to drive to Little Rock.”

“And Friday?”

“We talked on the phone Friday evening, that’s all.”

“What time did you talk on Friday?”

She didn’t remind him he’d asked her these same questions Sunday afternoon. “Around eight.”

“Did she seem different in any way then? Notice anything unusual?”

“Oh, yes. She was excited.” Carrie spoke slowly, remembering the conversation. “We’re all doing research, trying to find some way to stop the stone quarry that’s planning to destroy the valley. You know about that, and about JoAnne’s plans to go to Little Rock. I assumed she was excited because she had good news about what she learned there. She was going to tell me, I think, until her cat dumped something over and she had to hang up. But before she did, she said she’d have a surprise for us at Saturday’s meeting. Of course, you’ve found out she never went to Little Rock. Now we can only guess what her good news was.”

“Any ideas at all? You think her news was about the quarry?”

“Yes, I do, and I haven’t the faintest idea what it was. Maybe she talked to the quarry owner himself. Perhaps you should ask him.”

“Yes, Charles Stoker. We haven’t located him yet.”

Taylor changed the subject. “Have you talked with Mr. King about his relationship with Ms. Harrington?”

She looked at her lap. “Not much.” She wondered if Taylor thought she was jealous.

“Did you tell him we’d found his fingerprints in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Did he offer an explanation?”

“Turns out they were old friends, but you’ll have to find out about that from him.”

He looked at her for a moment, and in the silence Carrie heard a noise, then realized she was tapping her index finger on the arm of her chair. She stopped, hoping he hadn’t heard the tapping.

Taylor, relaxed now, took another bite of food, chewed, and swallowed. Then he leaned back in his chair and asked, “Have you had further thoughts about why anyone would have a reason to kill Ms. Harrington?”

“No, that is, unless it had something to do with what she discovered about the quarry—something that might stop it—and the owner or someone found out, and... ”

“Hmmmm, yes. Tell me, are there plans for a funeral for her? I think the funeral home in Guilford called us.”

“A memorial service only. Saturday. Her niece, Susan Burke-Williams, with her husband and son, will be here.”

“The body has been sent to Little Rock for autopsy. If it’s a memorial service, I don’t suppose that will matter.”

For just an instant, Carrie wanted to protest, “To us, JoAnne is more than just a body!” but instead she said, speaking quietly and looking at her lap, “I guess it won’t matter, but Susan would be the one to say. She’s coming Wednesday. She’ll be staying at my house, since we can’t use her aunt’s house.” She looked up at Taylor again. “Do you know when you’ll be through there?”

“Should be by noon tomorrow. If your lawyer approves, you can have it after that. Sorry, it’s a mess.”

There was a pause.

“I’ve been thinking,” Carrie said, “that you’ve found JoAnne’s truck.”

“We have.”

“And?”

“It was in the barn on the abandoned farm. Someone drove it into the half of the building that’s still standing.”

Carrie decided it couldn’t hurt to ask detective-like questions. “Any evidence in the truck?”

Taylor looked at her sharply, and she thought he might not answer, but after a moment he said, “It’s quite obvious that Ms. Harrington was sitting in her truck when she was shot, then was removed from the cab and hidden in the camper shell, probably until early Sunday morning when she was moved to the hillside.”

“Blood in the truck cab?” She was trying to be detached, to prove he couldn’t shock her, and to push away the thought that it was JoAnne’s blood they were talking about.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think someone would go to the trouble of moving her?”

“We don’t know.” He looked at her. “Do you?”

Carrie ignored the question. She hoped he thought she was simply an old woman with a morbid curiosity.

“Fingerprints?” she asked.

“Yes, mostly inside. Ms. Harrington’s, and yours, of course. There are one or two unidentified prints. We’ve sent to Kansas City for the niece’s prints. I assume she’s been in the truck?”

“Yes, and I’ve been in it with JoAnne lots of times. She and I were together a lot.” Carrie stared at her reflection and Taylor’s in the night-mirrored window behind him.

“Mrs. McCrite, you’re sure you neither heard nor saw anything at any time over the weekend that seemed unusual, other than the Saturday morning shots, that is?”

She hesitated, then said, “Quite sure.”

He rose. “Thank you, then. I’ll talk to Mr. King next. Will you ask him to come in, please?”

Carrie didn’t know what to say to Jason, Shirley, and Roger after Henry left the room. Then, remembering Taylor hadn’t said she couldn’t repeat information he’d given her, she told them about the conversation concerning the quarry and the finding of JoAnne’s truck, and she said they were looking for Charles Stoker, the quarry owner.

“Think I’ll ask Sergeant Taylor if he’ll tell me what town Stoker lives in,” Jason said. “It might help us. I’m glad they’re checking up on the man, and it’s good you could mention our suspicions about him without any fanfare, Carrie.”

Henry was gone a long time. Conversation in the room had slowed to small talk by the time he returned. She looked carefully at his face, wondering if Taylor had asked him about his relationship with JoAnne, and what the answer had been. What was Taylor really thinking about Henry... about all of them?