A Valley to Die For (24 page)

“Maybe so,” agreed Carrie, “but would someone try to scare off the whole committee through me just because, like JoAnne, I’m a woman alone? It doesn’t make sense. JoAnne’s death would have scared me if it was do-able, and I sure don’t have any information that would bother anybody.

“Haven’t I just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? I’ve tried to think about what it might have to do with me since you first suggested it last night, Henry, but I can’t figure anything out. And, couldn’t the break-in just be a burglar we scared away?”

“I don’t see it that way,” he said, “but let’s tackle other unknowns.”

“Go farther back in time,” Carrie said. “I think the first big unknown is where JoAnne was on Thursday, because she’d have to have believed she’d learned something that would stop the quarry by then, since she didn’t think it was necessary to go to Little Rock. Don’t we agree on that? But still, what was she doing on Thursday?”

“She didn’t mention Little Rock or any good news to me Thursday night,” Susan said. “We didn’t talk long. She talked fast—like she was excited—but that was normal.”

“I believe she was doing quarry research on Thursday,” Carrie said. “But what, and where?
Where was she?
And how did Charles Stoker find out what she knew, assuming she was killed to stop her from telling us. I sure wish now I’d tried to call her before I left for work Friday. I didn’t because I thought she might have been up late getting back from Little Rock.”

“And then the murderer called her Friday, and she made that note,” said Henry, thinking aloud.

“Taylor has the note,” Carrie explained to Susan. “It was on the back of the electric bill that came in Friday’s mail. She must have been on the phone when she wrote it. That’s what I would do, jot a note on the nearest paper if I didn’t expect the call and didn’t have a note pad handy.”

She paused. “Well, that’s something. She probably didn’t expect the call. Maybe she set the 6:30 meeting time herself so she could find out whatever it was before the quarry meeting at my house later.”

She continued. “The note said, ‘Head rights for minerals,’ and had three exclamation points like she was excited, but was doodling while she listened. Then, ‘Old farm, 6:30, morning.’”

“And,” Susan said, looking at Henry, “you say these head rights don’t apply here as far as anyone knows?”

“Yes.”

“Well, why that term then?”

They were silent until Carrie said, “To get her to the old farm. Most of us knew she loved mysteries. But,” she added thoughtfully, “Stoker didn’t know her that well.”

Susan said, “Who’d use the term ‘head rights’?”

“Anyone who’s studied Oklahoma history,” Carrie told her, “or someone with Indian heritage. And I just remembered, Mag Bruner is one-quarter Osage. That’s the tribe with mineral head rights in Oklahoma. Oil money, though she wasn’t in on it.”

“Mag?” Henry said. “How’d you find that out?”

“We talked about it a long time ago, when she learned I was from Oklahoma. Mag joked about moving back here to her old hunting grounds.

“Ancestors of the Osage people were in the Ozarks long before there was a United States. Caves here that were used from about 8000 to 1000 BC by people we call Bluff Dwellers were used later by the Osage, who lived all over this area. They gave up their claim to most of the Ozarks Plateau in a treaty with the United States signed in 1808. But they continued to hunt in the Ozarks for a number of years after that. That’s what Mag was joking about.”

“Goodness,” Susan said, “you know lots of history.”

“Part of my job,” Carrie explained. “You’d be surprised what tourists want to know. And besides, I’m interested because Bluff Dwellers could have lived in our caves, though no one has ever found evidence of that here.”

“We really have to look in those caves in the valley,” Susan said. “We might find something wonderful.”

“So,” Henry said, thinking aloud, “Mag knows the term head rights and could use it in a way that would sound sensible to JoAnne, though I think she would have had a hard time convincing JoAnne to meet her at such an odd time and in that place. JoAnne would wonder why they couldn’t just talk at home or go to the farm at a more reasonable hour. Or for that matter, why Mag didn’t simply give the whole committee the information.”

“But Mag could have told Stoker or someone else,” Carrie said, “and that person could have called JoAnne. I even doubt JoAnne would have known Jack’s voice on the phone if he was the one who called. JoAnne would have been surprised to see one of the Bruners in the old barn, but it wouldn’t have frightened her. She might not have known Stoker or person X, but if she was expecting to meet a stranger, then that probably wouldn’t have frightened her either. She’d think of it as just another adventure.”

“So, Stoker could know the term too,” Henry said.

“Yes, there are many ways he could learn about it. But, assuming someone used that term to lure JoAnne to the valley, we still have to figure out why. Why did they kill her? Was it to stop her from sharing what she had discovered—or what they thought she had discovered?”

“Well,” Susan said, “I could tell from my phone conversations with her that she was really obsessed with stopping the quarry, so I’m sure she’d be eager to follow up on anything that might get it stopped.

“But, though she talked about all sorts of things she was checking on, she never hinted that any one of them was more promising than another. I think I’ll write down everything I can remember that she said to me concerning the quarry. Maybe you two will see something in what she told me that I don’t.

“And, what about the piece of pottery?” continued Susan. “Could that mean something, and could Aunt JoAnne have known about it?”

“I must admit I’m anxious to get back to the creek bank and look around,” Carrie said.

“Hey,” Susan said, “do you suppose we could put Johnny in the carrier and go to the valley this afternoon—at least for a short walk to the creek bank? We don’t have to work on Aunt JoAnne’s things right away, do we? I would like to stop by her house—to be sure everything is okay, you know. But what about going to the valley after that?”

Henry, who had been silent and thoughtful through all this, said, “Since the killer only attacks one person who’s alone, a trip to the valley should be perfectly safe if we go together and stay close to each other.” He looked at Carrie. “In daylight at least.”

“I’ll never go there after dark again,” Carrie said. “And it sounds like you think all this is caused by a single person and not a group of people working together.”

“More than one person could know about it, but I believe only one person is actually doing the dirty work. Two people could have carried JoAnne to where she was found, for example. They wouldn’t have needed to drag her.”

Carrie shuddered, thinking about the man who had attacked her. She had not wanted to admit he was the one who murdered JoAnne, but she’d known he must be.

Aloud she said, “Yes, I see. But go on.”

“Someone does need to double-check that creek bank since Taylor and his men didn’t find anything. From what you say, Carrie, the pottery was nearly the color of the rocks. It might be hard to see unless you know exactly what you’re looking for.”

“Oh, drat,” Carrie said. “I forgot I was going to ask Evan about that! He does know quite a bit about Indian pottery. Some pots in his collection are rosy color, and he might know who made something like them in this area. I think I’ll call him back, tell him I was out walking and found a piece of pottery, and describe it to him.”

“While you’re doing that,” Susan said, “I’ll begin trying to recall for Henry all that Aunt JoAnne said to me about the quarry and see if it gives him any ideas.”

Carrie dialed Evan’s office number, gave her name, and asked the receptionist if she could speak with Mr. Walters.

“He’s away from the office,” the woman said. “May another broker help you, or may I have him return your call? He’s keeping in touch.”

“No, I’ll call later. My schedule is uncertain,” Carrie said, thinking that Evan hadn’t mentioned not being at work when he called. She wondered where he was. Too bad she hadn’t remembered to ask him about the pot when he was on the phone. Well, she’d just have to wait.

And, something about the pot had bothered her when she first saw it... a memory. She was trying to recall her impressions when the knocker interrupted her. She went to the door to find that the men had come to replace the broken glass. After showing them where it was, she left them to their work and returned to the kitchen.

Henry and Susan were studying the legal pad again.

“Here,” Henry said, “look this over and see if JoAnne told Susan anything that isn’t familiar to you.”

Carrie read the list carefully. There was one new thing. Susan said JoAnne had asked her Thursday night if she knew how long charcoal drawings lasted.

“Are you sure that’s what she said?” Carrie asked, “and that it had something to do with the quarry? It sounds like something to do with art.”

“Yes, I know, and it’s possible it had nothing to do with the quarry. Sometimes she did change subjects rapidly. But we’d been talking about the quarry when she asked. She didn’t explain anything more about it, though. She just dropped the subject. It was almost like she wanted to surprise me too. And that was the last time I talked with her.”

Susan stared out the window, swallowed a couple of times, then went on. “One reason I remember is because I thought, Oh, golly, she’s going to have me going to the Art Institute to find out about charcoal drawing.”

She was silent again, still looking out the window. Then she cleared her throat and turned back to face them, ignoring the wet streaks that had dripped down her cheeks.

They all bent their heads to look at the yellow pieces of paper scattered on the table.

Suddenly a baby’s cry broke the silence.

“I hope those men are through fixing the door soon,” Susan said. “I think Johnny’s ready for an excursion to the valley, and I know I am. Let’s put our hiking clothes on!”

She pushed her chair back and went to get her son.

Chapter XIX

Everything was peaceful at JoAnne’s house and in perfect order, just as Shirley and Carrie had left it.

Henry offered to hold the baby, who sat quietly on his lap, staring up with wide eyes that so closely resembled Henry’s. The three of them waited in the living room, leaving Susan to walk through the house alone.

Carrie was wondering when Susan would put the house on the market. The idea of new people living in JoAnne’s house was going to take some getting used to. In a few years, the connecting path she and JoAnne had worn through the woods would grow over, and there would be no outward sign left of the friendship that created it.

As they got back in the station wagon, Carrie suggested they stop in at Roger and Shirley’s before going on to the old farm. “We should say hello. They’d like to see you, and she did offer to keep the baby tomorrow afternoon.”

Carrie looked at her bandaged wrists. “Besides, Monday night Roger said it would be a good idea if he knew when any of us were going to the old farm, and he was sure right about that!”

When they got to the Booths’, they found Roger and Shirley in the barn tending a cow and newborn calf. Shirley washed her hands and came, arms out, to hold the baby. As she took him, she glanced quickly at Henry’s face but said nothing.

She’s noticed the resemblance, Carrie thought.

Henry and Roger began talking about the old fire road, and the three women leaned against the wooden railing, watching the new calf.

Susan said, “I wish Johnny was a bit older. He’d love this, wouldn’t he?”

Roger turned toward them and said, “Well, bring him back in a year or so. I kin always use an extra hand.”

Susan nodded as she took the baby from Shirley. “I may do just that. We’d both like to come back.”

“I’ll plan to see the little fella tomorrow afternoon then,” Shirley said. “Bring him by any time. But check in with us when you leave the valley today, too.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Carrie said.

* * *

Henry parked the wagon near the old chimney, and Carrie went to look at the disturbed piles of rock while he brought over the spade and trowel.

“I doubt there’s anything here,” she told him, “since it had been pretty thoroughly dug up when I came yesterday evening. Let’s go on to the creek.”

“This is so beautiful!” Susan said when they reached the creek bank. Johnny, enchanted by a bird that had flown from a nearby bush, chortled a delighted assent from his baby backpack.

Sun sparkled on the rock ripples in the water, watercress swayed in the current, and crawfish and minnows could be seen going about their business near the rocky bottom.

“This doesn’t look like a place of evil,” Susan said, “and how could anyone bear to destroy it? Thinking about that makes me want to cry. It looks like something that
should
be named Walden! I’ll bet Walden Creek’s name has lots to do with a man named Thoreau!”

“Nope,” Carrie said. “It has lots to do with a man named Walden. He settled in the valley before the Civil War. You and Johnny enjoy a look around, but please don’t get out of sight.”

“It doesn’t seem anyone could ever be in danger here,” Susan said as she walked out on a gravel bar. Squatting carefully so as not to tip Johnny over, she picked up a fossil rock. “Do I dare say, ‘Oh, look at this’? I suppose by now you’ve seen this sort of thing many times.”

“Yes, but I’ll never get over the ‘oh, look at this’ stage,” Carrie replied as she sat down on the creek bank and began poking about with her trowel.

Henry was shoveling carefully in the disturbed area where Carrie had picked up the piece of pottery. They didn’t talk, but there was plenty to hear: the rasp of rocks on metal, delighted exclamations from Susan, burbling sounds from both the creek and Johnny, and the continuing accompaniment of various bird calls. Occasionally one of the Booths’ dogs would bark in the distance, and once they heard a brief moo chorus from cattle in the nearest pasture.

The sun was warm on her back, and soon Carrie found she was day-dreaming of nothing in particular. Her poking in the rock piles became lazy and undirected, and when Henry came to sit on the bank beside her, she smiled at him without speaking. It’s a sunny, happy sort of afternoon, she thought, as he leaned toward her and his lips brushed her cheek.