The Silence of the Llamas (15 page)

Ellie sighed. “We have a good business plan. It all works out on paper. But we’ve had to draw down on some savings that we’d promised not to touch. The harassment on the farm
only added to the stress and his anxiety. No wonder the poor man can’t sleep. That’s not a crime,” she added.

“I understand,” Dana said simply. “Most people experience insomnia at some point or another. I think about eighteen million are actually diagnosed and get help for it. . . . Medication, or behavior modification therapy.”

“Oh, Ben would never take pills . . . and he’s not big on therapists, either. No offense,” Ellie quickly added.

“So he gets up and works. Sounds like what I’d do,” Maggie said sympathetically.

“If he was on the computer, there’ll be a record of e-mails and online activity on the hard drive,” Dana reminded her.

“Yes, I know that. I even told him. But he was all shaken up after finding Ridley’s body out there. We both were. We weren’t thinking clearly. He wasn’t sure when he was online and when he was just going over our bookkeeping. We had no idea when Ridley was attacked, either. He didn’t want to take a chance. It was simpler if I just backed him up and said we were in bed and he never got up until the dogs woke us.”

Simpler, yes . . . but couldn’t Ben have left the house and come back while Ellie was fast asleep? Maggie quickly caught herself. She didn’t want to go there. Though she knew the police had already found that hole in his alibi.

Maggie decided to change the subject. “I’m just curious, what happened to Ridley’s dogs? Where did the police take them?”

“To a shelter, I think. I’m not sure. I felt bad about it,” Ellie admitted. “But I certainly won’t miss hearing that howling at all hours. I’ll never forget the way they sounded the night Ridley was killed.”

Maggie could only imagine. Dogs were so devoted. They must be so confused now. Waiting for him to come and take them home again.

“What about the llamas? Did you hear them that night, too?” Dana asked.

“The llamas? Do they make sounds?” This was news to Maggie. The llamas looked so solemn and wise. Above making sounds of any kind. They reminded her of the ever-silent Sphinx, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was their exotic origin and flat, bold stare.

“Oh, yes, the llamas can be pretty vocal. When they feel like it. But mostly it’s a humming sound,” Ellie explained. “There are snorts and growls, too. If they get annoyed with something. Like being sprayed down with the hose. And there’s a sound called orgling. It’s a gurgling sound males make during breeding season. They do have a cry,” she added, “when they feel threatened or sense danger and want to warn the herd.”

“I’d heard that they make noises, but I didn’t realize they were so varied. Did you hear them that night? Were they frightened of anything?” Dana asked.

Ellie shook her head. “No . . . we didn’t hear a thing. Just the dogs barking.”

Before anyone could say more, they all heard the back door open and slam. Ben called out from the mudroom, “Ellie? I’m home.”

“We’re in here, Ben,” Ellie called back. “Come and say hello to Dana and Maggie.”

While Ellie turned and watched the doorway for her
husband, Dana and Maggie exchanged a quick glance. Here was their cue to go, Maggie thought. She sensed Dana felt the same.

“Hello, everyone. Nice to see you.” Ben nodded and smiled as he walked in. He bent to give Ellie a kiss on the cheek, then stood beside her chair.

“How was the movie, as good as you remember?” Ellie asked him.

“It was great. Better than ever. Cary Grant was brilliant. I had a good laugh.”

“I know I’ve seen it, I just can’t remember the story,” Maggie mused aloud.

“Very funny. Cary Grant has these two old aunts who are killing off their boarders—out of good intentions, actually—and burying them in the basement. You should catch it if you have a chance. I’m not sure how long it will be there.” Ben put his hands in his pockets. His wide smile looked forced, Maggie thought.

He knew they’d been talking about Ridley’s murder and talking about him, too, and he felt self-conscious. It was only natural. She would feel the same under the circumstances.

“That sounds like fun. Jack and I should go. We love old movies. Well, I think we ought to hit the road, don’t you, Maggie? Even Jack will be done playing golf by now,” Dana joked.

“Yes, I do. Thank you for lunch, Ellie. You didn’t have to go to so much trouble for us. Everything was lovely. You’ll have to come to my house next time.”

Maggie felt that she needed to say the usual things expected of a luncheon guest. Even though the reason for their visit had not been the usual kind at all.

Ellie walked them to the front door and gave them each
a hug good-bye. “It was nothing. Thanks for coming. And for listening,” she added in a quieter voice. “I’ll have Ben call Jack tomorrow and get a referral,” she promised Dana.

Dana touched her shoulder a moment and nodded. “Will we see you this week at the knitting group meeting?”

“I’m going to try my best,” Ellie promised. “It’s hard to make plans right now.”

Maggie knew that meant she wanted to come but just wasn’t sure what the days ahead would bring. Fair enough. Who would have ever expected to find a dead body on her property one Saturday morning? The body of her husband’s worst enemy, no less.

After something like that happens, anyone would be wary of planning ahead.

L
ucy had beat Maggie to the shop on Monday morning. Maggie found her sitting on the porch with her dogs, one on either side. They all were panting away, as if they’d just run a marathon—Lucy included, Maggie noticed.

Leashes were tied to the rail and a portable dog bowl sat between the dogs in a small puddle. Lucy sat sipping some human water from a plastic bottle.

Maggie smiled as she walked up the path. “Did they drag you out of bed like a sled team, or is this an early knitting emergency?”

Lucy came to her feet as Maggie unlocked the door. She wore a huge fleece pullover that Maggie suspected was Matt’s and black running tights.

“New exercise routine. Living with Matt is definitely putting on relationship pounds.”

Maggie tipped her head. “You look fine to me. But isn’t that why they call them love handles?”

“I can fit into my favorite jeans and still love him. I’m going to jog into town with the dogs every day. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

“I would never say that routine looks easy. How do you keep them from stopping and sniffing every other minute? And how does Walley keep up?”

“I haven’t quite mastered the first challenge yet. Walley keeps up fine. You’d be amazed. Dogs don’t think like humans. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself or realize that anything’s wrong with him.”

The victim of a hit-and-run, Walley had been left for dead on the side of the road until a good Samaritan brought him to Matt’s clinic. The big-hearted Lab survived but lost a leg and the sight in one eye. Matt didn’t have the heart to send him to a shelter and just adopted him.

“We could all take a page from that book.” Maggie stepped into the shop, and Lucy followed.

“How did Dara’s soccer tournament go?” Maggie was tempted to tease Lucy about almost being a soccer stepmom, but she gallantly held her tongue.

“It was so cute. She plays goalie. She looks awesome with all her gear her on. Like a character in
Peanuts
. I have some pictures on my phone. I’ll show you later.”

Even more tempted to tease, Maggie forced herself to squelch the impulse. “Did her team win anything?”

“Not really. But it was one of those meets where every kid gets a little trophy just for showing up.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that approach,” Maggie said as she turned on the coffeemaker.

“I think it’s a good thing at that age. They all battle pretty
fiercely out there. You’d be surprised. Didn’t somebody say ninety percent of life is just showing up?”

“Woody Allen. And he does have a point,” Maggie conceded. More than ninety percent of her business was just showing up at the shop every day. That was for sure.

“How are Ellie and Ben? Did they talk about Justin Ridley a lot?” Lucy was sitting at the oak table, and Maggie brought her a mug of coffee. Very strong and hot, with nothing in it. Just the way her friend liked it.

“We saw Ben for a minute as we were leaving. We mainly spoke to Ellie. Which was just as well. This situation has shaken her to the core. She needed to vent about a lot of things she wouldn’t have talked about if Ben had been there.”

Maggie quickly filled Lucy in on the way Ben had been questioned by the police. She also passed on Ellie’s admission that Ben suffered from bouts of insomnia and hadn’t been asleep in bed when the dogs woke them, as they’d told the police.

“I don’t think they did the right thing, misleading the police like that. But it probably won’t matter in the long run,” Maggie added. “Ellie said he was working in his home office but not in her sight, and they were panicked and not thinking clearly after finding Ridley’s body.”

Lucy sipped her coffee. She didn’t answer right away. Maggie sensed she agreed that the Kruegers had made a mistake lying to the police in their statement. These things always have a way of coming out.

Lucy glanced at her. “What has Jack heard from his police friends? Does Detective Walsh really consider Ben a suspect? Or is he just trying to eliminate him from the possibilities?”

“Jack hasn’t heard anything yet, one way or the other. But he was going to make some calls today. I’m interested to see what the newspaper has to say. Maybe they have some information on other leads the police are following.”

Maggie had dumped a pile of mail in the middle of the table and now sifted through to find the newspaper. The
Plum Harbor Times
did not print an edition on Sunday, so the Monday issue in hand was the first to report on Ridley’s death.

“Front page, above the fold.” Maggie held up the paper a moment to show Lucy the big headline. “ ‘Local Farmer and Activist Found Dead.’ He wasn’t actually a farmer, come to think about it. But I guess that fit better than ‘landowner.’ Let’s see, what does it say . . . ?” She scanned the story quickly, peering down through her reading glasses. “ ‘The body of Justin Ridley was found by Ben Krueger early Saturday morning on the Laughing Llama Farm, a neighboring property to that of the victim . . .’ ”

“Ellie won’t like that part,” Lucy noted. “That’s what I call really bad publicity.”

“You’re right. She won’t. But it’s a fact, no getting around it. What else? We know most of this already,” Maggie noted as she scanned the page. “I won’t read it all aloud. Oh, this part is good: ‘Ridley apparently bled to death after being stabbed in the neck with a wooden spindle. A preliminary autopsy showed that the spindle struck both the trachea and an artery in the throat and the victim suffocated on his own blood.’ ”

Maggie paused and swallowed. “Gruesome.” She shook her head and took a sip of coffee. “I was wondering how a person could die from being stabbed with a spindle. I imagine Ridley was fairly fit.”

“He did look fit,” Lucy recollected, “though I only saw him from far away. I was thinking the same thing. A spindle would be painful and do some damage. But it would be unlikely to kill you.”

“Unless someone stuck it right in your heart. Or some other critical spot,” Maggie countered.

“I guess it was just a lucky shot. Or an unlucky one, depending on how you look at it,” Lucy remarked. “Maybe the person who attacked him wasn’t trying to kill him. Maybe they were just defending themselves?”

“Good point. I wonder if the police thought of that.” Maggie had put the paper down, and Lucy leaned over to get a better look.

“Look at these pictures,” Lucy said.

Maggie had hardly noticed but took a closer look now. Two photographs of Ridley were printed side by side. One appeared to have been taken recently, during a demonstration by the Friends of Farmland—Maggie could tell from the banner in the background. Ridley was standing at a podium, speaking.

Dark, deep-set eyes stared out from his angular face. He had a long nose and a droopy mustache and thin cheeks shadowed by a few days’ growth of beard. A soiled bandanna was tied around his forehead. A denim shirt and hunting vest added to his survivor-man style.

“He’s pretty much the way I pictured him. An outlaw type. Or maybe a folk singer,” Lucy decided.

“Or a folk hero,” Maggie mused. “Oh . . . look at that one, in his military uniform. So young and fresh-faced. He was very handsome back then, wasn’t he?”

“Before . . . and after, you mean,” Lucy replied. “How old was he? Does it say?”

“Let’s see . . . sixty-two. He looked older, but it’s hard to tell under that beard. It says underneath that army photo that he was drafted in 1968 and served in the military for four years. Discharged with a disability.”

“Physical . . . or psychological?”

“Doesn’t say,” Maggie replied, her eyes still on the article. “After the service, he enrolled at the University of Massachusetts Amherst and studied philosophy and political science. But he dropped out after three years, just a few credits short of earning his degree. He was married for a year and divorced.”