Looking Through Darkness (15 page)

“I suppose that makes sense,” Leigh Ann answered, suspecting from McGraw's tone that her cousin had inadvertently made things worse for her. “But where are you going with this?”

“We paid the range a visit and the gunsmith at their shop provided us with some interesting information. It turns out your husband was considering the purchase of a used rifle, so he brought it in to be checked out first. The gunsmith recalled that the weapon was going to be a gift for you,” McGraw said, scowling.

“Yeah, Kurt bought me a rifle and we went shooting a few times. The last time I fired it was the summer before he died,” Leigh Ann said.

Sergeant Knight spoke, his tone almost apologetic. “Can we examine the rifle, Mrs. Vance? According to the gunsmith's records and our forensics lab, it's the same caliber as the one that killed your husband.”

“Shouldn't you have a warrant for that?”

“Yes ma'am, here it is, and it also includes your husband's laptop computer,” McGraw said, a smug smile on his face as he brought out a handful of folded paper from his pocket.

Leigh Ann's stomach sank. She realized now that she'd been set up, maybe in more ways than one. If the killer had stolen the rifle, killed Kurt, then put it back, she was about to be royally screwed. Her hands shaking, she looked at the pages of the warrant. It all looked legal. She saw the judge's signature and the description of the rifle, undoubtedly provided by the gunsmith at the club.

“Well?” Detective McGraw said. “You wanna show us, or do we have to search room by room? It'll make a mess.”

Leigh Ann shook her head. “No problem, except I sold Kurt's laptop months ago at a garage sale after erasing the hard drive. I needed to pay some bills. My rifle is here, upstairs. Follow me.”

She walked out of the office, glanced at Rachel, who was now sitting on the sofa pretending to read a magazine, and then led the two officers upstairs. Once inside her room, she pointed toward the bed. “It's under there beside Kurt's shotgun, inside the gun case, which isn't locked. It's probably covered with dust, so be ready to sneeze.”

McGraw nodded to Knight, who got down on his knees, peered underneath, then brought out the pump shotgun and a long, black plastic container. “Yeah, it's dusty,” Knight observed. “No smudges anywhere. This has been sitting here, undisturbed, for weeks, maybe months.”

“Bet your wife doesn't vacuum under the bed that much either,” Leigh Ann muttered.

Knight shrugged. “My ex-wife didn't vacuum at all.”

“Enough small talk. Open it up, Sergeant,” McGraw grumbled.

Knight opened the three suitcase-style latches and lifted the top.

“Crap,” McGraw growled.

“Dammit to hell,” Leigh Ann blurted out at almost the same time. “Somebody stole my rifle.”

“Don't think this is going to get you off the hook, Mrs. Vance,” McGraw said.

Leigh Ann didn't answer. A few minutes later, after double-checking the rest of the bedroom, they went back downstairs. She stayed perfectly still on the living room sofa as he continued hurling questions at her. Rachel, meanwhile, had gone into the office and Sergeant Knight was searching the rest of the house and the garage.

“Wherever that rifle is, I didn't take it, hide it, or use it in any crime,” she replied. “I've allowed you to search my home and garage freely. Now I'm through cooperating. Until that rifle turns up, you need to leave me alone,” she said.

Sergeant Knight walked back into the room, and looking at McGraw, shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, handing Leigh Ann the keys to the garage cabinets, which she'd freely offered.

“We're done here,” Leigh Ann said, standing. “Investigate all you want. I'm innocent. More than that, my life's in danger and I'll do whatever it takes to protect myself.”

“We'd advise you to stay out of this, ma'am,” Sergeant Knight said. “Let us do what we're trained for. If the rifle was really stolen from this house, it'll turn up eventually. We have the serial number, and once the weapon's found, ballistics will be able to determine if that was the rifle used to kill your husband.”

“And if it was, count on another visit from me,” McGraw added. “We're not done, Mrs. Vance. If you're really innocent, keep your eyes and ears open. If you learn something, give us a call.” He handed her his card.

“Count on it, detectives. Once I figure things out, I'll let you know—through my attorney.”

A few minutes later, as they were driving away, Rachel came out of the office and stood beside her. “Way to go, sis. So who's your attorney?”

“Are you kidding? I can't even afford to pay the light bill until I get my next paycheck.”

“So you were bluffing?”

“Yeah, but not about clearing my name. It's all I've got left, and by damn, Kurt's not taking that from me.”

“Change it. Go back to your maiden name—Carson.”

“No. I'm not going to try and hide from this. I'm tackling the mess head-on. Tomorrow, I'll be walking straight into the lion's den.”

 

— NINE —

Leigh Ann drove over to Total Supply right after eight the next morning, this time with the revolver in her purse, just in case. As she parked in the graveled lot in front of the large sheet-metal building, she realized that her hands were shaking. It wasn't fear—it was excitement.

She wanted answers, and for the first time in her life she was taking the proverbial bull by the horns instead of waiting for someone else to lead the way.

That was what Kurt's death had done for her—taught her to stand on her own two feet. The pretty little girl from a small town in Texas had finally grown up.

Back in high school, popularity had come as easily as breathing to her. She'd been head cheerleader and homecoming queen.

Right after graduation, filled with big dreams, she'd married the hunky high school quarterback.

Instead of the fairy-tale romance she'd hoped for, reality had pushed her dreams into the sand, sucking the life out of them. They'd struggled and put off having kids, waiting for a “right time” that had never come.

In her mid-thirties now, she still had her looks, though her innocence was long gone and trust didn't come easily to her anymore. She tried her hardest to be friendly and cheerful, but cynicism had, for the most part, replaced hope. These days, she had a tendency to assume the worst and be pleasantly surprised if circumstances proved her wrong.

As she walked into what was essentially a large warehouse with compartmented offices, she saw Wayne Hurley helping one of at least five customers visible at the moment.

Wayne and his client were standing in one of the long rows between tall metal shelves piled high with samples of their product line, everything from horseshoe nails, lubricants, irrigation valves and sprinklers, and even scale models of hay balers and irrigation pumps. She waited until Wayne completed the transaction, then caught his eye, waved, and walked over to join him.

“You're a sight for sore eyes, Leigh Ann,” Wayne said, adjusting his bolo tie and sucking in his middle-aged gut. “What brings you here this fine morning?”

“Remember when you and Pierre told me I'd get a wholesale discount whenever I needed something?”

“Of course, and that offer still stands. Whatcha need, some fencing or maybe a backyard shed?”

She gave him her best smile. All things considered, she preferred dealing with Wayne. Pierre was polite and nice enough, but they'd never hit it off. He and Kurt had been friends though, so maybe that was part of it. On the other hand, Kurt had never much cared for Wayne, often griping that Wayne wasn't hungry enough to be a good salesman. It seemed to gall Kurt that Wayne tended to give their big-ticket clients and the small, walk-in buyers equal time and service.

“I'm looking for a live trap—something large enough to catch a pesky squirrel, but not harm it.”

“You got one setting up a den under the house?” Wayne asked, stepping behind a U-shaped counter that held computer terminals and cash registers.

“No, this one is wandering into the attic, and those little sharp-toothed rascals can create all kinds of trouble, making nests in the insulation and such. Since I don't want it trapped and dying up there, I've got to catch it before I seal off any openings. Once it's in the cage, I'll release it down in the bosque.”

“I know exactly what you need,” he said, conducting a quick search on a computer. “How's this?” he said, turning the monitor so she could see the low wire cage with slanting doors at each end.

“Is it easy to use?”

“Yes indeed, and once the squirrel touches the bait, the doors slam shut and it's trapped. I've sold dozens of these over the years and I'll go over it with you when you pick it up. I can have one here early next week if we order now. Will that do?”

“Sounds fine, Wayne. How much will it run me?”

“You've never come to us for anything, so this first order is at cost: fourteen ninety-five plus tax, which includes shipping. You okay with that?”

“You bet. I really appreciate it, too,” she said with a smile. “You know, the months after Kurt passed away, things were really hard for me. I don't know if I ever properly thanked you for buying back Kurt's share of the business at such a fair price. If you guys hadn't done that, I wouldn't have been able to pay the bills and hang on to the house.”

“I'm sorry that you had such a rough time of it,” Wayne said. “It's hard to go from being a couple to being alone.”

Remembering that Wayne's marriage had ended up in a divorce several months ago, she nodded. “I'm sorry you and Cathy didn't make it. I thought you two would be together forever.”

“So did I,” Wayne said. “We had our problems, sure, but I always thought we'd work them out.”

“I know you tried a marriage counselor.”

“That was a waste of time,” he spat out. “Cathy played me.”

“I know how that feels.”

He avoided her gaze and that spoke volumes to her. Had everyone in the entire county known that Kurt was cheating on her? How could she have been so blind?

“I've been sorting through a bunch of old household junk and it turns out Kurt left me a few more surprises,” she ventured, her voice casual. “Are you still looking for files on what's-his-name … Frank something?”

“Frank Jones?” Wayne said quickly. “I'd forgotten all about him, it's been so long. What'd you find?”

“Nothing but his name, so far, but you know my cousin, Dale Carson, a former state police officer. He's with the sheriff's department now. Maybe I can ask him to look into this Jones guy for you? Would that help?”

“Don't bother, it's no big deal. If you happen to find any papers on the guy, though, let me know and I'll come get them,” he said. “But I'm curious. I was under the impression that you'd cleared out Kurt's things months ago.”

“That's what I thought. It turns out Kurt had little stashes all over the danged place.”

“Little stashes?”

“Yeah. Not long ago, we found two hundred dollars hidden in the attic. Then, when Rachel and I got ready to paint the office at home, we moved that big desk, and found another hundred taped to the underside, along with a passport. Can you believe it? He never used it, but jeez, a
passport
? Who runs off to Mexico when you've only got three hundred dollars in your pocket?”

As she talked, Leigh Ann saw that Wayne kept shooting glances at Pierre, who'd come in from the back and was now standing beside a desk not fifteen feet away.

“Hey, Wayne,” Pierre called out, “don't you think you better go check on that field fencing before the customer comes to pick it up?”

“What fencing?”

Pierre scowled. “You took the call, remember, just after we opened?”

“Oh, yeah. The field fencing. I'll handle it. Can you help Leigh Ann? She wants to order a humane squirrel trap—the one on the display. I told her she could have it at cost.”

“Sure, glad to help,” Pierre said, coming over. “Hi, Leigh Ann, sorry to interrupt. I'm glad to see you again. You know that if you ever need anything for your place, you can come to us, right?”

“That's very kind,” she said.

“Kurt left you with bills and a huge mortgage. The way I see it, you're going to need to keep that house fixed up because it's your biggest asset. If you ever need painters, plumbers, whatever, call me. I'll put you in touch with the right people, businesses that won't try to rip off a woman.”

“I really appreciate that,” she said. It wasn't like Pierre to be this nice—or patronizing. She wondered when the other shoe would drop.

“I heard you mention to Wayne that you've been finding little stashes Kurt left all around the house. Kurt was like that in his office here, too. We each had our own personal file cabinets, but he stowed away paperwork like a squirrel gathers nuts.”

She could tell he was curious about what she'd supposedly found, but was being careful not to mention Frank Jones. She wondered if that was because they'd denied any knowledge of Jones to the detective. Maybe Pierre had sent Wayne to the back because he'd heard his partner slip once already.

Instinct told her to play it cool right now. “Kurt was a pack rat, rest his soul,” she replied.

“One more thing, Leigh Ann. I know you're a proud woman, and you don't like asking anyone for help, but if you ever need a loan, or if there's any way we can help, just say so. We're here for you.”

“I really appreciate that, Pierre. Thank you.”

He looked at the monitor. “You still have the same address and phone number, correct?”

“Yes, but I'll be picking it up here, right?”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “If you need the trap sooner, I can try and put a rush on it.”