One Was a Soldier (45 page)

“Then you must have seen action. Is that the right word? Fighting, I mean.”

The pillar of smoke, before her, beneath her, around her. Blood on concrete. The screaming. The smell. “Yes,” she said.

“Well, you came through fine.” Clare almost laughed, but Evonne went on. “That’s the part I don’t understand. She was an accountant. The worst thing that should’ve happened to her was a paper cut. How did she get hurt so bad inside the only thing could cure it was a bullet?” Her voice broke. Clare held out her hands, and the older woman took them, squeezing tightly.

“I don’t know. All I can tell you is that being over there changes you. War makes you different, and you can’t go back to who you were before.”

“I feel so…” Evonne shook her head, as if trying to rattle the words free. “Angry. At her. At Wyler. At the counselor. At the army.”

“Not at BWI Opperman? They were going to send her back to Iraq with the crew.”

“You know, she never did tell me that. I didn’t find out until Wyler spoke to me.” Evonne released Clare’s hands and reached for a tissue. “I can’t believe that was what made her … she could’ve just quit. She already had a couple good offers when BWI Opperman came after her.”

“Came after her? She hadn’t already applied?”

“Nope. The owner himself asked her, is what she said. Wyler greased it, I figure.” She flipped back to the page where Tally and her new husband stood in their finery, eternally young, eternally happy. “He had his faults, but he was good to her. He always said he wouldn’t have his job with BWI Opperman if not for her.”

*   *   *

Clare’s phone rang as she was rattling down Route 137 on her way back to town. A number she didn’t recognize. Maybe Eric had uncovered something good already? “Clare here,” she answered.

“Clare Fergusson? This is Dr. Stillman’s office. We’ve scheduled your tests at the Washington County Hospital Outpatient Clinic. Are you available at one this afternoon?”

Oh, God.
Her brain whited out. How many pills had she had this morning? Did she drink last night? No, she’d come home from group and fallen asleep.

“Ma’am?”

Clare snapped to. “What?”

“Are you available?”

“Yes. Of course.” Her voice sounded scratchy in her ears. “Where is that, exactly?”

The receptionist gave her directions to the outpatient clinic. She thanked the woman automatically and let her phone drop unnoticed onto the passenger seat. She stared sightlessly through the windshield at the still-green pastures ahead, bordered with lichen-stained stone walls or sagging barbwire fences. She was over the dosage on the Dexedrine, she knew she was. She had been going to call Trip, let him know what she and Will and Eric had talked about at last night’s meeting. Now … She bit her lip. She’d have to think of what to say. Maybe she could get him to postpone the test for twenty-four hours. Which completely obviated the purpose of the test, so she’d have to have a damn good reason. Which would be what, exactly?

The phone ringing again cut off her downward-spiraling thoughts. She opened it without checking the number. “Clare Fergusson here.”

“Hey, Reverend Clare, it’s Will.”

Clare chucked her own issues into the backseat and focused on Will. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I talked to Olivia last night. After our meeting. I told her it looked like her mom might have been involved with Tally McNabb and her husband.”

Clare slowed for a truck lumbering toward her across the narrow span of Veterans Bridge. “How did she feel about that?”

“She was kind of upset. I mean, I tried to soft-pedal it and all, but there’s no nice way to say your mom could have been on the take. Anyway, she gave me permission to look in her house for anything that might tell us more.” He paused. “I mean, for you and Eric to look in the house.” His voice faded. “I don’t think the place is handicapped-accessible for me.”

“How do we get in if she’s away at college? Spare key?”

“She said you could call Roxanne Lunt, the Realtor. She’ll let you in.”

“The house is up for sale?” Her heart sank. Lord knows what had been tossed out to prepare the place to be shown.

“What’s she going to do with a house? Even if her mom had lived, Olivia probably wasn’t going to be living there anymore except for a few weeks in the summer.”

“No, I understand. It’s just…” She shook the explanation away. “I know Roxanne. I’ll call her.”
If her mom had lived.
“Will, it would have been an awkward question to ask, but were you able to get a sense of how well-off her mother left her? Was there an unexpected amount?”

“I thought of that,” Will said. “There wasn’t much. Some retirement stuff and the house. If she hadn’t gotten the scholarship, she’d be carrying a ton of student loans right now.”

“Mmm. Of course, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t payoff money. Just that it’s somewhere Olivia and the estate executor couldn’t find it.”

“Or maybe it’s like you and Eric said. Maybe she was set up to have an accident so nobody would have to pay her anything.”

*   *   *

Ellen and Olivia Bain’s house was one of a string of 1920s workingmen’s cottages along Meersham Street, small, pretty, with deep yards and spreading, now leafless, trees. Roxanne Lunt waved to Clare from a front porch decorated with corn shocks and pumpkins. Clare had offered to pick up the key from the Realtor’s office, but Roxanne turned her down. Clare sensed a sales pitch in the making. Roxanne had been showing properties on and off to Russ since he had gotten rid of his house—
the house he shared with Linda,
her brain helpfully supplied. Clare and Russ were planning on living in the rectory for the time being, but he had to invest the money from the sale of his last home soon or pay taxes on it. A fact the Realtor was well aware of.

Roxanne held out her arms as Clare mounted the porch steps. “There you are! Only four more days to go, am I right?”

“Till what?”

Roxanne stared at her. “Until the wedding?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Clare said. “Don’t remind me. I’ve got—” An MKPD squad car turning onto Meersham caught her eye. It swooped down the street, scattering dry leaves in its wake, and tucked in behind her Jeep. She knew, before he got out of the cruiser, that Russ was the driver. He always parked in a way that suggested the vehicle in front of him was about to get ticketed.

“And here comes the groom,” Roxanne caroled as Russ crossed the corner of the lawn and climbed the porch steps.

“What are you doing here?” Clare realized she could have sounded more gracious.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Good question. Roxanne called me. She said you wanted to look at a house?” The crunch of more tires against the curb made them all turn. Clare watched with a sinking heart as Eric McCrea got out of his SUV dressed in his Guard uniform for some reason. He stopped halfway around the hood of his truck, looking at the assembly on the porch.

“With … Eric? Gee, Clare, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Clare began.

Roxanne smiled brightly. “I’ll just open up and turn the lights on, shall I?” She unlocked the front door and whisked out of sight.

Russ glanced up at the flawless blue sky. “Yeah, we’d better have the lights on.”

“I’m sorry she called you,” Clare said. “You can go on patrolling or whatever.” She flapped her hand toward his squad car. “This has nothing to do with you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Why do I have the feeling that’s not entirely true?”

Eric had squared his shoulders and walked up the driveway. He climbed the porch steps like a man climbing to the guillotine. “Chief.” He cut his eyes toward Clare. “Will called. Said I should join you.”

“Will?” Russ said.

“Will Ellis.” Clare crossed her arms.

Russ frowned. “Will Ellis.” He looked at her. Then at Eric. Then back at her. His face changed. “Oh, for God’s sake. This isn’t some sort of—this isn’t about Tally McNabb, is it?”

“What if it is?” Clare knew she sounded like a five-year-old, but she couldn’t help it.

“Whose house is this?”

“It belonged to Ellen Bain,” Eric said to the floorboards.

Russ frowned. “Who?”

“Ellen Bain.” Eric lifted his head. “She was the fatal auto accident back in July. Out at the juncture of Sacandaga and the resort road?”

“I remember. What’s the connection?”

“She and Tally had the same job,” Clare said. “Keeping books for the construction crews that went overseas.”

“Tally was hired three days after Ellen Bain died,” Eric said. “Because the job was so critical, the human resources director said.”

Clare interrupted. “Her mother said she got the offer directly from the CEO.”

“However, two weeks after Tally died, they still haven’t replaced her. Despite the position being so important they were going to send her back to Iraq.”

Russ held up a hand. “It didn’t occur to you that they might have difficulty filling a position that involved living and working in a war zone?”

“Chief, you found the missing money at the resort, right? Doesn’t that argue for another person on the inside? Wyler McNabb couldn’t have been popping in and out of the Algonquin Waters all the time. He was part of the construction division.”

“A bookkeeper,” Clare said. “Somebody in a position to retrieve the cash and launder it.”

Russ shook his head. “That was Tally McNabb’s job.”

“
After
the last bookkeeper conveniently died at the end of July,” Eric said. “That money was stolen at least five months before then.”

“I’m guessing you’re the one who came up with some theory tying the two women together,” Russ said to Clare. “What is it?”

“Ellen Bain was the third partner. She helped hide the money, and she greased the way for Tally to replace her.”

“Why?” Russ said before she could continue.

“A big payoff,” she said.

“Another job,” Eric said. “She was long divorced, and her only kid was leaving for college. Nothing to keep her from moving somewhere bigger, with more opportunities.”

“Do you know the Bain woman suggested Tally McNabb for her job?” Russ sounded skeptical.

Eric rubbed the back of his neck. “No.”

“Did the HR director indicate Bain had anything to do with Tally McNabb getting the job? I mean, as opposed to her husband, who was a foreman on their overseas construction unit?”

Eric shook his head.

Clare jumped in. “Tally’s mother says Wyler credited his wife with getting him his job.”

“Uh-huh. And that fits in with your theory how?”

She opened her mouth. Shut it again. “I haven’t had time to integrate all my facts yet.”

“Did she rope you into this?” Russ asked Eric.

Two cars driving past the house slowed nearly to a crawl, their drivers rubbernecking at the Bains’ porch. Clare realized they must look like the beginning of a shaggy dog story.
A cop, a soldier, and a priest walk into a bar …
Russ must have had the same thought, because he gestured toward the door. “Inside.”

Roxanne, true to her word, had turned on every lamp and overhead in sight. The wide, wooden-floored living room and parlor were sparsely furnished, making the place look bigger than it must have when it housed mother and daughter.

The tap-tap-tap of heels announced Roxanne’s descent from the second floor. “Well! Everything all straightened out?” Her smile wobbled a bit when she saw Eric was still with them, but she rallied. “What would you like to see first?”

“Personal papers,” Eric said. “Checkbooks, tax records, bank and investment statements.”

The Realtor’s professionally groomed eyebrows went up. “I beg your pardon?”

“We have permission from Olivia Bain to look at any financial records her mother might have left behind,” Clare explained.

Roxanne turned to Russ as if seeking a translation. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m just a cop.” He frowned and turned to the other officer in the room. “Do you want to explain why you’re wearing your Guard uniform, Eric?”

Eric opened his mouth. He paused. Shook his head. “No.”

Russ glanced up at the ceiling as if seeking divine patience. He took a deep breath. “Listen. Colonel Seelye has taken custody of the money on behalf of the army.”

“You let her walk away with it?” Clare said.

“She was backed up by a platoon of MPs and a light bird from the judge advocate’s office. I didn’t have much say in the matter.”

Eric sounded outraged. “But Lyle said you thought she was—”

Russ cut Eric off. “I thought wrong.” He looked sidelong toward Clare. “I want you to note, I can admit when I’m wrong about something. Quentan Nichols was placed under arrest—”

“Oh, no!”

“—and I suspect Wyler McNabb will be in custody as soon as they can coordinate with the appropriate coalition authorities.” Russ hooked his thumbs in his gun belt, a gesture that never failed to get Clare’s back up. “The case, which was never ours to begin with, is closed. It’s all up to the lawyers’ wrangling now.”

“Well!” Roxanne’s voice was professionally upbeat. “If that’s all settled, I’d love to show you the kitchen.”

“Chief, you still have two women, both working in the same job, both dead within three months of each other.” Eric’s voice was heavy and low. “If Ellen Bain’s death wasn’t the accident we thought it was, that
will
be our case.”

Russ looked at Eric steadily. “I’m going to overlook the fact that you’re on suspension and have no business being here. For the moment. You were the investigating officer for the Bain death. Did you uncover anything that indicated her car wreck wasn’t an accident?”

“No, but—”

“She tested positive for alcohol in her autopsy, and she wasn’t wearing her seat belt.”

“She was under the limit. Barely, but under.” Eric sounded defensive. “And she was well known for not buckling up.”

Russ’s eyes unfocused slightly. “We never had the car checked for mechanical failure.”

“There wasn’t any need. The accident reconstruction backed up the witnesses’ statements.”

Russ frowned. Clare held her breath. She knew him. If there was one question to a story, one thread left dangling, he couldn’t resist. He’d go after it.