Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) (18 page)

She leaned toward me. “Faye, don’t be that much of an idiot ever again, okay? No matter what’s going on, I’d much rather know than be left in the dark.” She turned aside, and I saw tears in her eyes. “I should have been here.”

“Don’t start that,” I ordered. “That’s what Dale said, and it’s just silly. Things happen. You and I talked about this, remember?”

Barb sighed. “I know. Just promise me you won’t keep things from me ever again.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.” I paused. “There’s more to tell. Dale and I went up to Bois Blanc Island and searched Farrell’s lot.”

“What?”

I told her about our decision to visit the island, seeing the boat named
Mr. A.I.
, and about meeting the scruffy man on the beach.

“Sharky.” Barb told me about Pansy’s call saying she’d seen him drive by the house on Saturday.

“If he was here, it wasn’t Sharky who hit me.”

“No, but whoever did might have given Sharky the grenade launcher to hide up on Bois Blanc.”

“We didn’t find it on the lot, but it could have been on the boat.”

“And we have no idea where the boat is.”

We went over everything again but got no further. In the end, we sat sipping our tea and wiping away cookie crumbs. Finally I said, “I should start figuring out what to make the girls for lunch.”

“You don’t need to walk in the door and start cooking,” Barb said firmly. “I’ll order pizza.”

While she was on the phone Retta bustled in, full of news about her morning. Dale came inside, got two more cookies, and made himself scarce, since her chirpy voice and constant movement puts his nerves on edge. The three of us sat down at the kitchen table, and Retta told us what she’d learned about Ben McAdams and his friends.

Barb was furious at such thinking. “Women are ruining the country? Do they know—?”

“We know, Barbara,” Retta interrupted before she could begin a lecture on the contributions of the female sex to society. “We aren’t going to debate them, but if they’re planning something involving that nasty weapon, we have to stop them.”

“I wish we knew where that thing is.” Barb glanced around the room as if it might be behind the refrigerator or under the sink.

“At least one of those men must live within the city limits,” I said. “Rory will have jurisdiction.”

“I looked it up on my phone,” Retta said. “Both Stone and Farrell live in the city limits.”

“Ben’s remote location is probably why the weapon was stored at the farm.”

“Do you think they’ll give up now that he’s dead?” I asked.

“No.” Barb was typing search terms into her iPad. “They’re probably refiguring things as we speak.”

“How are we going to find out what they’re planning?”

Barb leaned back in her chair, pinching her lower lip. “We know there’s a boat involved. Maybe we should concentrate on that.”

“Barbara Ann, Michigan is almost surrounded by water.” Retta’s tone was disgusted. “The fact that they have a boat tells us
nada
.”

Barb’s face twitched with irritation. “This is what we do, Retta. We gather scraps of information, put them together in different ways, and see what fits. If they plan to use Farrell’s boat for something, we need to know when and why.”

The office phone rang, and Barb rose quickly. “I’ll get it. You rest.” Despite her concern, I followed her down the hallway to listen. Not to be left out, Retta tagged along.

“Yes, Gabe.” … “Good to hear your voice, too.” She rolled her eyes at Gabe’s exaggerated politeness. As she listened, though, her expression turned dark.

“No, Mrs. Stilson didn’t tell us you were helping with our case, but she’s here now. I’ll put you on speaker so we can all hear what you have to say.”

The pizza guy had just pulled up out front. Retta’s face flushed, but she covered it by going to the door, taking three large boxes from the sandy-haired kid, and setting them on a side table, all without looking at either of us.

Barb pressed a key, and Gabe’s nasal voice came through. “Well, I remembered something the guy at the store said that might be important. He got the call I told Mrs. Stilson about, so I was about to leave then I saw this really cool physical activity monitor he’s got in there. They keep track of everything, but Mindy says—”

“Gabe, you had something to tell us about Mr. Farrell.”

“Yeah, right. I stopped to look at the monitor—It’s really cool--and I heard him say, “I’ll take care of that. It’ll be harder with two, but we can do it. No more calls. Meet me on the dock at one.”

Barb glanced at Retta and me. We both shrugged. The information seemed to confirm the boat was involved, but it might be nothing more than a fishing trip.

“Thanks, Gabe. I’ll pass the information on to Chief Neuencamp.”

“Okay.” After a pause he said, “If you’re going after these guys, I can come along. I been practicing with my knife, and I’m getting pretty good at hitting a target.”

“You are not to carry any kind of weapon while working for us, Gabe, especially since you’re still on probation.”

“It’s just a jackknife,” he said. “Legal, but if I throw it—”

Barb rolled her eyes again. “There will be no knife-throwing. All we’re going to do is tell the chief what we know. The authorities will handle it from here.”

When she hung up, Barb left her hand on the receiver as if holding onto something would keep her from flying into a rage. “Retta, you sent Gabe to interview a suspect?”

She blushed again, but being Retta, defended herself. “Who was I supposed to get to do it? Rory? Dale? I knew a guy like Farrell would say more to a man than he ever would to one of us.”

With a sigh that said she couldn’t win, Barb tried to explain. “These aren’t games, Retta. Farrell might be part of a group with plans to kill people. Gabe is nobody’s idea of an undercover operative. Who knows what Farrell might do to protect himself?”

Retta waved the argument away as if swatting at a fly. “A guy buying new ear buds isn’t going to trip Farrell’s radar. And like I said, it isn’t like Lars is around to help.”

Lars Johannsen, Retta’s FBI boyfriend, lives in New Mexico. Gabe is about as far from Lars in appearance and brainpower as any two men can get, but she had a point. Gabe had apparently been successful in getting Farrell to share his views.

I knew I should support Barb, but I felt my body temperature start to rise. Nothing brings on a hot flash faster than an argument. “Gabe’s not equipped for undercover work, Retta. We want to give him work, but we don’t let him investigate.”

“You exposed him to danger,” Barb said harshly, “without consulting Faye or me first.”

“He got the information, didn’t he?” Retta’s voice vibrated with the bratty tone that irritates Barb no end. “That proves he can handle himself. And I paid him myself, so it didn’t have anything to do with the Smarty-pants Detective Agency.”

She emphasized the last few words, underscoring her dislike for the name we gave our business. Several times she has proposed her choice, the Sleuth Sisters. Every time, Barb shoots her down.

“The Smart Detective Agency is made up of your sisters.” Barb also emphasized the name, underscoring its permanence. “You don’t think it might reflect on us?”

“I don’t see how.” If she doesn’t want to acknowledge something, Retta simply ignores it. “How could they possibly know we sent Gabe into their store?”

“You sent him,” Barb said. “We didn’t. But think about it. If your little charade at the church didn’t fool Dee, someone else might have recognized you too. What if one of those women tells Farrell you were asking about Ben? What if she knows Margaretta Stilson is my sister, or Faye’s sister—”

“That’s a lot of ifs, Barbara.” Retta took up the pizza boxes she’d set on the table.

“And another thing,” Barb said. “Stop decorating my office for me. I like it plain!”

Looking around, Retta gave one of her ladylike sniffs. “I’m sure it suits you perfectly, Barbara Ann. Now let’s call the girls in to eat before their lunch gets cold.” She stalked off to the kitchen, leaving Barb fuming with frustration.

“I’ll talk to her later,” I said. “You’d better update Rory.”

Giving them a little cooling-off time was the best I could do. Retta and Barb stop listening to each other early on in any disagreement. It was up to me to get Retta to promise to leave Gabe out of her undercover enterprises and beg her to consult us before beginning the next one.

At the same time, I’d make Barb admit that Retta had gained valuable information. Colt Farrell and the guy I’d seen on the beach at Bois Blanc, probably Sharky, were looking more and more like McAdam’s partners in some scheme. The fact that it involved a grenade launcher made it imperative we find out more.

As for Retta redecorating Barb’s office, I’d leave that one alone. My opinion was squarely in the middle, but I wasn’t about to voice it to either Ms. Plain-and-Simple or Mrs. Spice-it-up.

Entering the kitchen a few minutes later Barb said, “Rory’s not answering. I’ll try again in half an hour.”

Retta had set paper plates and napkins on the patio table at the side of the house, and she was busily serving up slices. By tacit consent, the argument was relegated to the past. Our parents had insisted mealtimes be peaceful, and we continued that way, despite any disagreements we might have before or after.

I called to Iris to fetch Dale and her sisters. Daisy came in first with Buddy at her heels. Dale came next, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. Iris went to look for Pansy and Styx, and everyone present was served by the time she returned, holding the dogs’ leash. “I found him fastened to a fencepost down the street,” she said, her face pale. “But I can’t find Pansy anywhere.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Barb

Iris led me to the spot where she’d found Styx, but there was no sign of Pansy. Had they kidnapped her? Had she been told some lie that made her go voluntarily? I fought to banish images rising in my mind: Pansy in Sharky’s hands. Pansy terrified. Pansy sobbing in fear. Pansy dead.

Events of the last few days replayed in my mind. Pansy’s stoic acceptance of all she’d faced. Her insightful observations of the adults around her and their motivations. Her sense of humor, a little sarcastic, like mine. How do parents of kidnapped children keep from going mad?

I went all the way to Main Street, around a three-block section, and back home. I asked everyone I met if they’d seen a little blond girl with colored streaks in her hair. No one had.

There was no sign of Pansy in the park. She wasn’t at the Dairy Queen—not that I suspected her of running off to get ice cream. She wasn’t in any of the stores I passed, nor down the side streets. I turned toward home. My phone was there, buried somewhere in my purse. I had to call Rory, had to get help.

“Here she is! She’s back!” Iris’ voice betrayed relief.

I hurried to the back porch to see Pansy coming across the yard. I ran toward her, but when I got close, embarrassment overcame me and I stopped short. “We were worried.”

Her chin jutted, and I realized Pansy thought she was in trouble. “It’s all right. It’s just that when we couldn’t find you, we were afraid something had happened.”

She looked toward the street. “Something did happen, but not to me. I was walking Styx, and I saw him.”

“Who?” Retta and Faye came up behind us. I’d been about to ask whom she’d seen, but I was too interested in Pansy’s answer to grouse about Faye’s less grammatical who.

“Sharky. He was sitting across the street from your house, listening to you talk.”

“What do you mean?”

Pansy paused, collecting her thoughts. “Styx and I were coming back from our walk, and I noticed a guy sitting in this junky car in front of the blue house kitty-corner from yours.”

“The Partons,” Retta supplied, as if it mattered.

“The guy was just sitting there, staring at your house and listening to something that was playing on a laptop. I tied Styx to the fence and sneaked up behind him. When I got close, I saw it was Sharky. He was listening to you all arguing about someone named Gabe.”

“Eavesdropping,” I said.

“From across the street?” Retta was doubtful. “How could he—?”

“Electronic eavesdropping, Retta.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh!”

I returned my attention to Pansy. “Then what happened?”

She blushed. “I wasn’t careful enough. Sharky saw me and took off. I chased him as far as I could, but he got away.”

“You chased him?” I was horrified.

“You said it was important to find him!” Pansy looked at me earnestly. “You said you needed my help.”

Though Retta pressed her lips together, what she was thinking came out anyway. “I guess I’m not the only one enlisting assistance from underqualified investigators.”

“I didn’t—” I gave up halfway through the sentence. There was no way I’d convince Retta there was a difference between what I’d said to Pansy and what she’d asked Gabe to do.

When I finally reached Rory, I only gave him a little bit of a hard time about holding out on me. Admitting Faye can be persuasive, I let him off the hook. “Some important things have happened since we last met,” I told him. With uncharacteristic honesty I added, “And I’d like to see you.”

“That’s good to hear, Barb,” he said, his tone low. “Let’s start with dinner, and we’ll go from there.”

We’d become less shy about meeting in public. Anyone in Allport who took an interest in our private lives knew we were an item. At first I’d fretted about people saying our agency was too close to the local cops, but Rory argued people will say what they say. “Grownups ignore gossip and get on with their lives,” he insisted. I replied that he obviously hadn’t grown up with a mother who asked, “What will people think?” at least once a day.

Telling myself Rory’s view was better than Mom’s, I tried to ignore the whispers behind my back, the speculations about why I never married, and the surprise that I was having a love affair at fifty-three. It wasn’t easy, but I was trying.

Rory waited for me outside the restaurant where we first met, our sentimental favorite. The waitress seated us in a corner and asked what we wanted, though she could probably have ordered for him. Rory likes the whitefish, fried, with fries and coleslaw on the side. The man’s trim appearance defies logic.