A Valley to Die For (17 page)

Henry was frowning, but that might be just because this whole situation was difficult. She hoped he’d tell her what had been said later.

Taylor spoke only briefly with the other three, and then, after thanking Shirley for the food, he said good night.

When the sound of Taylor’s car had died away, Jason looked around at the group and said, “Well, I found out Stoker lives in Ocalla. Did anyone other than Carrie learn anything that will help our cause?”

When they all shook their heads, he said he’d be in touch with each of them by phone no later than Thursday night. With that, Jason and Henry said their thank you’s and rose to leave.

Carrie went to Shirley, looked up at her, and found she had to blink her eyes quickly several times. After a moment, she said, “I’m really grateful for your help. I think we can work in the house tomorrow afternoon. How about one o’clock?” She had planned to add “thank you” but, surprised by her feelings, couldn’t say more.

This time Shirley did give her a quick hug, smiled, and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get it in shape, and it’ll be nice to work together—the two of us.”

Roger and Shirley watched from the porch until Henry and Carrie were in the car, then waved and returned to the warm house. The car started with a chug and rattle and bounced along, following Jason’s tail lights down the lane toward Walden Road.

While Henry was concentrating on driving, Carrie’s thoughts went back to Don Taylor’s questions. Surely Henry would tell her what they had talked about. They couldn’t suspect him now, if they ever had, since the presence of his fingerprints in JoAnne’s house had been explained.

When they were out on the road, she began to tell him what Taylor had asked her, almost shouting to make herself heard above the noise from the car and the road.

Then she said, “I guess he told you about JoAnne’s truck?”

“Yes, and that’s a relief. It’ll give them more to go on.”

When he didn’t offer anything further about what had been said while he was with Taylor, she asked, “You weren’t ever in JoAnne’s truck, were you?”

“No. No Henry King fingerprints there.”

“Thank goodness. What do we do next?”

“I’m glad you asked.”

“Yes? Why?”

“Because you have a tendency to make plans for folks without their okay, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Oh.” For just a moment, her lower lip moved out. Why didn’t he understand? He really should be thanking her for helping him!

After the car was up the hill and settled into its regular whir and rattle, Henry said, “I think we do exactly as we discussed after supper. I assume you’ll be busy all day tomorrow, and Jason asked me to go into Bonny with him to see what we can find out at the Court House and County Historical Society.”

“Then will you call me tomorrow evening?” she asked. “I’d like to know what you learned. I hate being unable to help. Since I’m going to be at the lawyer’s in Guilford anyway, maybe I can ask him about laws covering land use.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Why not? It wouldn’t be suspicious. I’m going to be there anyway.”

“Do you know him well?”

“No. Just met him when JoAnne signed her will.”

“I think Roger’s right. The less folks know about what we’re seeking, especially in Guilford, the better. We aren’t sure where anyone’s sympathies lie yet.”

They pulled up in front of Carrie’s porch. “Can you come in?” she asked. “I’d like to hear more about what you and Taylor discussed.”

“No, not tonight. I’m meeting Taylor at my house.”

“But, why?”

“He needs to take my gun with him. It’s the same kind that killed JoAnne. They want to make tests.”

“Uh... your gun? How did he find out you had a gun?”

“He asked, and I told him, of course! Are you going to suggest that I should have lied about that, too?” His face, seen in the dim porch light, looked as hard as his voice sounded. “Or,”—he looked out into the night—“do you think my gun killed JoAnne?”

She felt as if he’d struck her, and she couldn’t answer his question.

Just what would you say if you knew I had a copy of your daughter’s birth certificate inside this house, she was thinking, and that I also have a note saying I’m not to tell you about it? Would you say I should be honest about that? What on earth would you tell me to do about that?

And the gun? Well, he had asked her the awful question, but hadn’t provided any answers he surely must know she needed to hear.

How could he be so inconsiderate? Why didn’t he understand?

Well, if he didn’t, he didn’t. She had no way to explain her thoughts to him now.

She heard her voice saying, “Call me tomorrow evening then,” and, feeling like she’d been parachuting through a dark sky into unknown—and dangerous—territory, she went to unlock her front door.

Chapter XIII

Henry’s gun.

A .38 Police Special. Carrie had no idea what that meant, but she supposed it was a gun policemen carried, and that JoAnne had been killed with a policeman’s gun. Carrie only knew of one policeman, or ex-policeman, who might be involved in JoAnne’s death.

A little before midnight, she decided that worrying about a gun was going to keep her awake all night.

She bounced from her left side to the right, facing away from the clock. Think about something else.

The gun faded into an image of JoAnne’s dead face.
No
!

Why had she been angry at JoAnne? Why had she ever assumed JoAnne would go off without a thought for her cat or her house, leaving everything in the charge of faithful, pick-up-the-pieces Carrie?

If she managed to figure out who JoAnne’s killer was, Henry would respect that. He’d see she was a good detective... much more than a smart woman.

Honesty. Think about that. She was honest. Except when... Phooie! Well, think about...

Rob. She’d called him as soon as she got home. At least that conversation had been very satisfying. Rob had the knack of showing concern without too much anxiety. He offered to come right away if she needed him, though it was nearing the end of the semester. If she didn’t need him immediately, he would, he promised, come for Thanksgiving.

Keeping her tone casual, she had asked if he’d like to bring a friend. He’d hesitated over that one and hadn’t given a direct answer.

She wondered if her son assumed she’d be jealous of any other woman in his life. Hmpff, she’d always hoped for a daughter-in-law. Rob was thirty, but Amos had been thirty-five when he married her. There might even be a grandchild some day—a velvety baby to hold.

She thought about Susan and baby Johnny. Oh, goodness, she’d forgotten she needed to find a baby bed. She’d told Susan she’d get one. The problem was, where to borrow or rent it? She’d have to do that tomorrow, too.

She bounced back to look at the clock. Today.

Rob had offered a few ideas about what JoAnne might have discovered in the valley. Native American burial grounds or campsites were the most likely. He thought if quarry development had to be postponed while mandated anthropological or archeological studies were made, then the delay might halt the quarry completely.

“Mom, there are national laws now about protecting relics and burial grounds, such as the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. That only protects skeletal remains on Federal land, but many states have laws covering protection for significant Native American historical and religious sites on private land too. I’m not exactly sure what those are in Arkansas, though I plan to do some research on state protection laws next year. You might call the University of Arkansas and speak to someone in the anthropology or archeology department. They can help.”

She hadn’t asked Rob about a .38 Police Special. He knew nothing about guns. No matter what, she’d just call Henry in the morning and ask him about it. If only a policeman would have one... well, why hadn’t Henry explained? Why hadn’t he said, “Of course it didn’t kill JoAnne!”

* * *

Suddenly a heavy weight punched into her, and Carrie jumped, crying out. She sat up in bed and looked down at an indignant cat who, it seemed, had once more been knocked to the floor by a flailing arm.

“Yowl,” said FatCat, whose haughty posture showed just what she thought of this insufferable human behavior.

Carrie shook her head, her fright diminishing rapidly in the face of FatCat’s ludicrous glare. She looked at the clock.

Almost eight o’clock! Goodness, she had fallen asleep after all. Her appointment with the lawyer was at nine. Would she have time to call Henry and ask him about his gun? It didn’t matter. She was going to call him anyway!

After she’d put on water to heat for coffee, she picked up the phone, then put it back down. Exactly what would she say? “Tell me more about your gun” sounded ridiculous. “Why do the police think your gun might have killed JoAnne?” sounded more sensible, but he probably wouldn’t even answer that.

Drop it, she told herself. Who cares, anyway! The man obviously didn’t care enough about... didn’t want to share his information with... me.

With a twinge, she remembered that he’d asked if she thought his gun killed JoAnne, and she hadn’t answered him either. Well, so what, let him think whatever he wanted about that.

She drank her coffee, took a banana for breakfast, and after checking the woodstove went to get dressed for town.

As she was driving the seven miles to Guilford, big flakes of snow began to fall, plopping against the windshield and frosting pasture grasses and treetops. Fortunately they were melting as soon as they hit the road. The radio said temperatures were rising and no accumulation was expected. That was fine with her since she hadn’t time to put up with the problems a heavy snowfall would cause.

The business meeting with JoAnne’s lawyer took less than an hour. Evan had been right when he said she could leave the whole thing in the lawyer’s hands if she wanted to. The fact that he was the same man who’d helped JoAnne prepare the will might have had something to do with it, but he was very matter-of-fact about seeing to all the necessary legal provisions and having her confirmed as executor of the estate. He said under the circumstances he thought she could be allowed access to the house right away.

Before ten o’clock Carrie was on her way to the small Guilford grocery store. She’d promised FatCat a treat for her part in rescuing the box.

After looking at the large selection of pet toys, she decided she agreed with folks who wondered if humanity had lost its wits over cats and dogs. In the four-aisle store, half of one aisle was devoted to pet food and toys. That left three and a half aisles for, presumably, everything the store owner thought people were supposed to need. Absurd. Too often the store didn’t have what she came looking for, and she knew why. No room.

She selected a stuffed rubber mouse called “Calico Bounce Toy” (catnip-scented) and a “Kitty Bangle,” with white and pink beads and bells strung on an elastic band to be worn like a necklace. The card holding the bangle assured Carrie that now she would always know where her cat was. That wasn’t a bad idea, but were bells going to ring if the cat was asleep in the middle of Carrie’s down pouf?

Her next stop was at church. The potted plants inside the building were her responsibility, and it was time to water them. When she went into the nursery to tend the philodendron on the window sill, the row of baby beds stopped her. She looked at them thoughtfully, then went to the phone and called the nursery chairman. Ten minutes later she was on her way home with a borrowed baby bed in the back of her station wagon. So far the day was going rather well. She’d have time to clean the guest bedroom and set up the baby bed before she met Shirley at JoAnne’s.

* * *

Before the afternoon was over, Carrie had decided that if at her age she needed a role model, it would be Shirley Booth. Shirley must have known how difficult facing this cleaning task alone in her dead friend’s house would have been for Carrie, but she didn’t mention it. The woman took everything in her stride, which Carrie could not have done. Shirley’s calm presence and constant woman-talk made the necessary sorting and organizing of JoAnne’s possessions possible. Without Shirley, Carrie didn’t think she could have made it through the afternoon.

Shirley was even undaunted by the black powder left all over the house as a reminder that the detectives had tested for fingerprints. “We’ll just treat it like it was soot from the fireplace,” she said, and it was obvious she knew how to deal with that.

The two women chattered like teenagers, and when Carrie told Shirley about Evan’s recent interest in her, Shirley had an explanation immediately. “The man’s in love with you, pure and simple. He sees himself as the gallant cowboy ready to sweep the lady out of her troubles and ride off with her into the sunset. He thinks you need him now.

“Men want you to need them,” Shirley said, looking sideways at Carrie as they wiped tabletops.

Evan in love with her? That certainly hadn’t occurred to Carrie. She’d always thought Evan could only love himself, and thinking he might be in love with her made her wince.

The house was in order by four o’clock, in plenty of time for Shirley to get home and meet the milk truck. Engine trouble had kept it from coming that morning, and the driver had called and promised to be at the farm before evening milking began. Shirley needed to be there when he came, since their helper was taking the day off, and Roger would be busy tending the herd.

After Shirley left, Carrie wandered through the house, thinking about JoAnne and the complete lack of any clue to what she had learned that might stop the quarry. She sat down at the desk and decided to look at every single paper it held. She’d looked at things when she piled them back in the drawers earlier in the afternoon, but maybe some scrap of something had slipped by her.

Carrie thought about the reminder notes she often jotted on miscellaneous scraps of paper and decided JoAnne might have done the same thing. She doubted if the sheriff’s men would have noticed anything like that, especially if the note seemed insignificant.

She began a methodical search, looking at the front and back of every piece of paper and envelope in the desk. When she came to the collection of mail that had been on the desk Saturday morning, she remembered the lawyer said she was supposed to take care of JoAnne’s bills. She decided to check inside the envelopes, which had been slit open.