Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) (21 page)

"I'll help in any way I can, Uncle Stone," Andy volunteered. Then he turned toward
me and noticed the look of sheer terror on my face. "Don't worry, Lexie. We'll find
her."

"Detective Glick?" I said into the phone.

"Yes?"

"This is Lexie Starr."

"Lexie Starr, freelance writer?"

"Yes."

"Can I help you?" I noticed he didn't sound overly thrilled.

"Well, yes... uh, I was wondering if you had made any new progress on the Eliza Pitt
case?"

"Nothing more than what I'm sure you saw on television. Anything beyond that would
be classified information I'd be unable to share with you."

"Why do you dislike me so much, detective?"

"I don't dislike you, Ms. Starr. I don't even know you. I take my position seriously.
I can't tell everything I know—about every case I'm involved in—to everyone I meet.
That wouldn't be very professional, now would it?"

I sighed. Detective Glick was a very hard nut to crack. I was wasting my time trying
to get any information out of him.

"I guess not. Thanks anyway."

* * *

"Sheriff Crabb. May I help you?" I heard on the other end of the line.

"Yes, Sheriff Crabb, this is Lexie Starr. We met about a week ago. I'm the lady writing
the novel about the Eliza Pitt case. Do you remember me?"

"Well, I declare," he answered. "Of course I remember you. I surely do. One doesn't
often get to meet a honest-to-goodness gen-u-wine author like yourself."

"Thanks," I said, amused by his effusiveness. I felt a twinge of guilt for deceiving
him and getting him excited about a book and movie that would never materialize. "I
enjoyed meeting you too. The reason I'm calling you this morning is to see if you've
made any new discoveries in the Pitt case."

"Yes, ma'am, I'm happy to report we've made some progress in that case lately. Your
friend, Detective Glick, made an interesting discovery a few days ago. Found the actual
site where the lady was killed. Apparently she was later moved to the site where that
hiker kid found her. You may have seen the news report on this."

"Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. Could you show me the site the detective discovered
where Eliza Pitt was actually killed?"

"Nah, wish I could, but I don't rightly know where that is yet. Sure sorry, ma'am."

Gee, this guy is a wealth of information, I thought. It appeared the sheriff was still
not entrusted with any classified information. If I couldn't get any useful info out
of him, I'd have to use him to get it another way.

"Hmmm... say, I've got an idea. My boyfriend's an officer with the Myrtle Beach, South
Carolina, police force. He's been assisting me with my research for this book I'm
writing. I know he'd be honored to help you with your investigation. Just for the
sake of the novel, you know. It'd be good experience for him to have you as a mentor.
And I hate to admit it, but Detective Glick is a bit out of sorts with me right now.
He seems to think I should base the novel and potential screenplay on him and his
involvement in this case. However, I believe it would be more exciting, and more appropriate,
to highlight you. After all, you are the authority on this murder case now."

I knew Sheriff Crabb's weakness, and I was not above exploiting it.

"That's mighty kind of you, Ms. Starr. I'm sure you know what would be best for your
book. And I suppose it'd be okay if your policeman friend—er—uh—Officer—"

"Officer Van Patten."

"Thanks. Yeah, I'd be happy to let Officer Van Patten tag along. You're right. It
could be of great benefit to him to see how I handle this case. I'm always willing
to help a fellow lawman learn the ropes." Amused, I visualized Sheriff Crabb rocking
back and forth on his heels and toes again, with one hand holding the phone and the
thumb of his other hand hooked in his belt. Despite the situation, I could barely
suppress my laughter.

"That's mighty kind of you, sheriff. To expedite matters, perhaps you could call Detective
Glick and have him meet you and Officer Van Patten there. He can take the two of you
to the actual murder site. Because of your professionalism and competency, I'm sure
you'll want to take photographs, and do your own investigative work at the murder
scene, anyway. This would be ideal timing for you too."

"True, very true. Got to cover all the bases, ma'am. That's how we professionals operate,
you know. Leave no stone unturned—that's always been my motto."

"Of course. I'm very impressed, sheriff."

"Ah, shucks, ma'am. Just doing my job. I'll set up a meeting with the Schenectady
detective, Glick. Have Officer Van Patten meet me at my office at two o'clock this
afternoon. We can follow Detective Glick out to the crime scene in my squad car."

"Yes, that'd be fine. And, Sheriff Crabb?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Perhaps you shouldn't mention my name around Detective Glick at all. He is already
jealous of your role in all of this, you know. I don't want to fan the flames and
cause any friction," I said. "It's probably best that Glick doesn't know about my
connection to Officer Van Patten. He's already upset enough about being upstaged by
you."

"I understand. I'll try to keep your name out of the conversation, Ms. Starr."

"Thanks. And I'll make sure that Officer Van Patten is at your office at two."

* * *

Stone left in his Corvette to meet Sheriff Crabb. Andy decided to paint Harriet's
back porch while we waited for his uncle to return. I paced restlessly because I couldn't
relax. Wendy was on my mind constantly, and I felt like it was my own interference
that had placed her in her current predicament, a predicament I didn't care to think
about too much. Who had my daughter and what were they doing to her? The possibilities
were too frightening to dwell on, so I tried to distract myself with other things.

I even welcomed the distraction of eating breakfast. I picked up my fork and absentmindedly
began picking at the platter of poached eggs and toast Harriet set before me. It could
have been a plate full of grub worms for all the attention I paid to the food Harriet
had prepared. The feisty old proprietor seemed to sense I needed something to do to
keep me busy until I heard from Stone.

"After ya done with ya breakfast, why don't ya go back and see old Nitwit Pitt agin?"
Harriet asked. "No sense wearing out me floors and being under me feet all day. Ya
ne'er know. Ya jest might git something useful outta the ol' nutcase."

"Hey, that's a good idea, Harriet. Thanks. I'll take her a few more books. I'm not
sure she'd be ready for more candy yet. It hasn't been that long since I gave her
ten pounds of chocolates."

"Ha! Are ya blind, girl? She had dem candies et up befer you left the parking lot,
iffing ya ask me."

I knew Harriet was exaggerating, but she did have a valid point. Wanda Pitt did not
get to be her size by eating sensibly. I'd pick up one more five-pound box of chocolates
and several Harlequins on my way to Serenity Village. It would kill a little time
and keep my mind off what might be happening to Wendy.

And who knows? Maybe Harriet was right and I would pick up some useful tidbit of information.

"Take dem pictures with ya, why don't ya?" Harriet said as I rinsed my empty platter
and set it in the sink. Stone had shown Harriet and Andy the reprints while we ate
supper at the Union Street Diner the night before.

Chapter 22

Andy gave me his cell phone and promised to call me just as soon as he'd heard from
his uncle. He encouraged me to try and relax in the meantime.

"Uncle Stone said he'd call on Harriet's number for just this very reason," Andy told
me. "He knew you wouldn't be able to sit still this morning while you waited to hear
from him. I'm restless myself. That's why I decided to paint Harriet's back porch."

"Is that the only reason, Andy?" I teased.

"Well, no. It's also because I had quite a lot of leftover white paint, and Harriet
didn't want to see it go to waste. I doubt she wanted to waste the 'elbow grease'
I was offering either."

Andy chuckled in an endearing manner that reminded me of Stone. I was surprised that
somehow, in the very depths of despair, I could still find humor in life's everyday
situations. Once again, I found myself laughing to keep from crying.

* * *

On the way to Serenity Village, I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up the care package
items for Clay's mother. I recalled her comment about celebrating a birthday this
week and had a sudden desire to try and make it special for her so it would not be
the lonely, depressing event she'd anticipated.

I found a large wicker basket and two bright, colorful silk scarves to line the bottom.
To fill the basket I bought the books and chocolates, along with a brush and comb,
several tubes of lipstick, a manicure set, two bottles of nail polish, and a selection
of lotions, shampoos, and perfumes. I'd tell Wanda she deserved to be pampered on
her birthday, and this gift was a collection of self-pampering tools. With any luck
at all she'd utilize the items and take a little more interest in her appearance.

I selected an appropriate greeting card that complemented the basket before proceeding
to the checkout counter. The clerk at the pharmacy recommended a bakery a few blocks
away. There I selected a small chocolate birthday cake, and had the top decorated
with icing spelling out "Happy Birthday, Wanda." One large candle was placed in the
center. Hopefully, Wanda had at least one friend at the center to share her cake with
and help celebrate her birthday.

There was a different young girl at the front desk of Serenity Village from the first
time I'd visited, so I informed her I was Wanda's niece, Clara Pitt, and headed down
the hallway to Wanda's room with my armload of goodies. Under the birthday basket
was a folder with the photos we'd had reprinted from Jake's negatives.

A becoming smile brightened Wanda's face when she saw the cake and basket. I realized
Wanda had probably been a very beautiful woman at one time. She could be very attractive
again, if she made an effort to take better care of herself.

"Carla! How good to see you again!"

"Hello, Wanda. It's Clara, Clara Ransfield. I thought I'd drop by to wish you a happy
birthday." I set the cake on her kitchen counter and handed her the basket.

The look on Wanda's face told me I had never given anyone a gift as appreciated as
the one I'd handed her. I was thankful that Harriet had suggested the idea of visiting
Clay's mother again.

I didn't mention to Wanda that the cake I'd bought was made of sugar-free chocolate,
with low-fat, low-calorie vanilla icing. I could see no purpose in adding to her weight
problems. The box of chocolates was also endorsed by the American Diabetes Association
and contained a sugar substitute. She was certain to notice when she opened the box,
but maybe she'd discover they were a tasty alternative to the real thing.

I chatted with Wanda about trivial matters for several minutes and watched while she
inspected all of the treats in her basket. She agreed that maybe she could benefit
from a little self-pampering and told me she was anxious to try out all the items
I'd brought for her. Wanda thanked me effusively as she fawned over each item in the
basket.

"Bringing me all these nice things was so thoughtful of you, Claire. I really appreciate
your kindness. By the way, have you seen Clayton, my son?" Wanda asked, abruptly.

I wasn't sure how she could have expected me to see him, or even where to find him,
but I welcomed the opportunity to switch the subject over to discussing Clay. I had
to remind myself that Wanda Pitt had lived in a home for the mentally ill for many
years. She might have forgotten that, to her, I was just an administrator at the Serenity
Village facility. After all, she couldn't even remember my name for five minutes.

"No, Wanda, I haven't seen your son. But I've recently visited with an old roommate
of his, named Jake Jacoby. Do you know Jake?"

"No, can't say I ever heard of him."