Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) (6 page)

“How do you work in all this … this noise and odor?”

The tall blond wrinkled her nose with predictable disdain. Her stylish lavender-and-beige capri set and matching wedges were perfect.

Gracie was sorely tempted to “accidently” dump her Coke on her cousin, Isabelle Browne Baker, but she refrained, at least for the time being. Isabelle, a decidedly bottle blond, was the epitome of fashion, social status, and a perennial pain in Gracie’s butt. As the only daughter—check that—only
living
daughter of her mother’s late sister Shirley, Isabelle had married up and correctly by snagging Tim Baker. His family had owned the Deer Creek Community Bank since the village had incorporated in the early 1800s. Old money and the big house on Crescent Lane were hers, and she never let anyone forget it. Since becoming a widow herself in the last year, Isabelle had been making some significant changes in her life.

“It’s a kennel, Isabelle, not a spa,” Gracie retorted. “And it’s a
clean
kennel.” She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from saying more. Trudy gave her boss a quick grin and studied the schedule on the desk.

Isabelle huffed, poking through the leashes and collars that hung on a revolving rack in the reception area. She acted like she was afraid they might be infected with some horrible disease.

“First cows and now dogs! When will you outgrow this animal craze? They’re so … so dirty and messy.” She shuddered, turning to face her cousin with disapproval. Her layered chin-length cut revealed sparkling diamond studs on her ears.

“So, why
are
you here exactly? I really have an awful lot to do,” Gracie inquired with barely controlled impatience.

“Oh, I just finally had time to stop by to see how business was going. It looks like it’s … well, busy.”

“And so it is. You always were observant, Isabelle,” she answered sarcastically. “Lovely to see you … as usual. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Gracie turned to go back to the office.

“There was one more thing, Gracie. Perhaps I should speak to you in private.”

She lamented inwardly. The last thing she needed was a private talk with Isabelle, the family finagler. Trudy pretended to examine the schedule even closer and avoided looking at Gracie, for which she was grateful. Knowing Izzy, some committee probably needed one more person, or she wanted free room and board for a friend’s dog.

“All right, but I’ve got an appointment in just 15 minutes.”

An exercise session with a golden retriever wasn’t exactly a fib. A time limit should curtail Isabelle’s long-windedness though. Gracie led Isabelle back into the office, offering her the uncomfortable plastic folding chair by the desk.

After wiping the chair with a tissue, her cousin sat down carefully. She immediately launched into what Gracie determined was her real reason for descending on Milky Way Kennels. Her eyes widened in surprise when her cousin described a real estate scheme that would’ve turned Jim’s hair gray in mere seconds.

*****

Jim pulled receipts from his pockets, laying them on Gracie’s desk. She stashed them in a folder to be entered into the accounting program later. He took a bottle of water from the small refrigerator by the coffeemaker. Settling into his dilapidated green recliner, he unscrewed the bottle.

“I had a visit from Isabelle today, and I have a message for you.”

As soon as she mentioned Isabelle, he groaned, closing his eyes.

“What could she want from me?”

“You’d better get comfortable. Now that she’s a hot real estate agent and sits on the bank board, she’s on a mission to get control of Greerson’s Meadow.”

Jim straightened and stared at Gracie. “What? What interest does the bank have in the property?”

“Because the Meadow is so important to the wind farm company, which is in line for substantial government grants and some hefty financing from the bank, it is ‘imperative’—that’s Isabelle’s word—that you get a power of attorney or be appointed as conservator for Toby. She wants the property to be conveyed to the bank instead of messing around with D. B.’s estate and that mortgage he held. I was told that time is of the essence. The local economy and the future of the bank are hanging in the balance. Also straight from the queen’s lips.”

“Doesn’t she just beat all!” Jim said with some venom. “Since when is our economy solely dependent on a field?”

“Good question, Jimmy. I don’t know. Her panties are in quite a twist about this land deal. Knowing the situation with Toby and all, I have no idea why she’d even bother asking.”

“There’s something more to this whole thing than meets the eye, and it’s a little too complicated for poor old Tobias McQuinn to be a part of it,” Jim mused, rubbing his jaw. “Just another reason why I don’t think Toby killed D. B.” He jumped up suddenly from the chair. “I’m going up to see Roscoe. He’d better have something for me.”

Gracie sat cross-legged behind the heavy oak coffee table, stuffing the remains of some cold pizza in her mouth. Typing in “Renew Earth” on her iPad, she watched the search engine generate her choices. Haley lay by her side, stretched out and snoring. The search brought up a few archived newspaper articles from
The Sentinel
. Renew Earth hadn’t been around for that long. It looked like the organization had started up maybe two years ago. She guessed that was about the time the Richters moved to Deer Creek. Gracie scrolled down through the article, scanning the information for anything that looked like a red flag. Renew Earth’s mission was to preserve the beauty of planet Earth and oppose the overuse and commercialization of rural areas. Petitions, peaceful protests, and education comprised their three-pronged approach to oppose wind farms, major dairy operations, mining, and whatever other commercial business they decided might ruin or otherwise taint the pristine rural environment. They were self-appointed watchdogs and would litigate to achieve their goals. Gracie shook her head. The reports were standard fare, but the violence in Greerson’s Meadow made her skeptical. And if there was a connection to D. B.’s death, that didn’t make them a friendly environmental group at all.

She stretched her arms over her head and then leaned back against the sofa. Haley stirred and thumped her tail.

Disappointed that there didn’t seem to be anything that would help Kim win the lawsuit, Gracie closed her eyes wearily. Maybe Jim was having more luck with Roscoe.

In the moonlight, the campsite looked like something from a “B” sci-fi movie. A couple of battery-powered lanterns hung on poles outside the dome-shaped tent. They cast wobbly shadows around the campsite. The Geo was parked at an angle next to the brown tent. A pile of fast food bags wafted the odors of greasy French fries from the front passenger seat. Jim wrinkled his nose. If Roscoe wasn’t careful, he’d have a car full of critters.

A telescope stood at the ready next to two old and sagging card tables that sported an assortment of what looked like ham operator equipment. It reminded Jim of his Uncle Jerry’s garage with its radios and antennas. Two laptops sat side by side on another table, with Roscoe studying both screens intently. He looked like a mad scientist with his hair at all angles and his glasses hanging on the end of his beak-like nose.

“Hey, Roscoe. Any luck yet?” Jim queried.

“Oh, why, hello,” Roscoe answered distractedly, stepping back from the computers and pushing his glasses back up onto his face. “As a matter of fact, I’ve not yet been able to ascertain if my GPS coordinates are in error or if our visitors have indeed left the area.”

Jim raised his eyebrows and smothered a chuckle.

“I meant any luck with information that might help my cousin.”

“Oh. I see what you mean. I have done some research on the wind farm issue. Let me get my notes.” He began rifling through a pile of file folders that were under the laptops. “Ah, here it is.”

Roscoe adjusted his black-framed glasses again and pulled out several sheets of paper from a tattered manila folder.

“This wind farm company, New Energy Strategies Team, is relatively new. They began as a solar energy company five years ago and have now added wind power to their portfolio. In fact, it appears that Mr. Jackson was one of the first to lease land to them. That’s the wind farm in Strykersville.” He looked up at Jim, peering through his thick glasses.

“The company president is Mitchell Allen, who was once an executive for T & T Salt Company. He has an engineering background and …” Roscoe ran his index finger over his tongue and turned the paper over, scanning the contents of his handwritten notes. “Oh, yes. Mr. Allen’s company does seem to be in a precarious financial position. N.E.S.T. is relying heavily on government grants and bank financing to get these wind farms established.”

“N.E.S.T? Whatever,” Jim grumbled impatiently. “That doesn’t help Tobias out. I was really hoping you had something that might shed some light on who might want to kill D. B.”

Roscoe’s face fell. He shifted his feet uneasily, clutching the papers to his chest.

“I apologize if I misunderstood you, Jim. I think highly of your relative. Why, he and I had a very stimulating conversation after the rally at Greerson’s Meadow. He described in excellent detail the flight patterns of the spacecraft he observed a few nights before all the … the rather tragic events …”

Jim interrupted the extended apology. “You and Tobias met after the brawl at the Meadow?”

Roscoe’s brown eyes blinked with bewilderment. “Why, yes. He had some excellent journals of the recent spacecraft sightings. He was quite hospitable, although shaken after that unfortunate incident with the Renew Earth protesters.”

“You were with him at his trailer?”

“Yes. That’s where the journals are kept, of course.” Roscoe’s tone became slightly patronizing.

Jim’s pulse quickened as he mulled over the possibilities. “What time were you there? Do you remember?”

“Of course. I considered it an interview for my report. I can tell you exactly when I arrived and departed.” Roscoe stuffed the papers back into the folder and shoved it in the pile under the computers. Jim reached forward, steadying the laptops, which were hanging precariously on a mountain of paper. Roscoe, already preoccupied with his next task, walked quickly to his tent and disappeared inside. Making sure the laptops were balanced properly, Jim checked his watch. It was just nine o’clock. Maybe he’d have time to call Toby’s attorney if Roscoe hurried. The flap of the tent opened, and Roscoe reappeared with his iPhone and flashlight. He held the flashlight under his armpit, while his finger swiped the phone.

“Here it is,” he said, looking up as the flashlight dropped to the ground, its light flickering. Jim quickly bent down to retrieve it and looked at the phone.

“I recorded it. The conversation is officially time stamped. I began the interview at 8:35 p.m. and concluded it at 10:52 p.m. I took photos of his journal for verification and some video of Mr. McQuinn. They’re time-stamped as well. It’s all appropriately documented. Mr. McQuinn was most helpful in explaining alien abductions that evening. Did you know that he was taken as a child? Most extraordinary experience for him,” he mused, staring off into the night sky.

“Yes, Roscoe. I’m very familiar with that story. You’re sure about the times?”

“Of course. The app is absolutely accurate, as are the other functions. I wouldn’t use the phone if it wasn’t precise.” He seemed offended that the question had been asked.

“Thanks, Roscoe. Keep that phone in a safe place. It’s going to be needed.” Jim handed him back the flashlight and slapped the bewildered man on the back. “You’re a genius.”

*****

Jim punched the “End” button on his cell and leaned back on Gracie’s extremely comfortable leather sofa, putting his feet on the coffee table.

“So?” Gracie asked, anxious to hear the news.

“So, the lawyer says it’s an alibi and basically airtight. I’m going back up to tell Roscoe to hand in his phone tomorrow morning. The medical examiner put the time of death for D. B. between 8:30 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. There’s no way he was there. Roscoe took some photos of Toby that night too. Everything is documented. The lawyer had some news too.”

Gracie pulled the clip out of her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders. She took a sip from the glass of iced tea, wiping the condensation from the bottom before setting it back on the coaster on the mission-style end table. She curled up in a club chair, with Haley intently chewing on a bone on the floor next to her.

“What else is going on?”

“The shot that was used to kill D. B. was pretty big, as in triple B steel shot. It’s bigger than anything that Toby had on hand. The cops found #6 at the trailer, which is for small game. He needs to start assisting in his own defense though. For some reason, he just won’t cooperate with his attorney. I need to go talk to him again. Maybe I’ll take my mother. Then he’ll be sorry.” His eyes crinkled with humor.

Gracie laughed. “Take mine too. He’ll stand no chance then.”

Jim stood to go, tucking in his shirt, which had pulled out slightly. Gracie picked up their empty glasses and followed him to the kitchen. Haley was immediately at her heels with her bone securely clamped in her jaws. Gracie bent down to open the dishwasher, placing the glasses on the crowded top rack.

“I almost forgot to tell you in the excitement of Roscoe’s big revelation,” she said, standing. “Kim Jackson called me right before you got here with some interesting news of her own. Renew Earth made an offer to settle.”