What the River Knows (9 page)

“Not really, just following up on people who may have known her and where she went after high school.” He didn’t want to reveal anything. “Did I hear Mac say you were working with old presses?”

“Yeah, I bought the old
Monitor
building, including all the equipment. I plan to put out a small free paper, plus print some small jobs for folks around town. Something to keep me busy.” Al leaned back in his chair. “You got some time before your next appointment?”

Scott hesitated. Al knew enough about investigation to know that he would have left the restaurant after lunch unless he had a reason to stay around. Yet, everyone seemed to like Al; maybe he could be a source of information. “Yeah, I’ve got an hour or so.” He would meet Dean after his shift ended at the factory.

“Why don’t we go over to my office then?”

“Okay.” He could follow up the computer search later. Al might provide further information.

Debbie brought their lunch checks. They both paid her with ten-dollar bills, telling her, “No change.”

“Debbie’s nice,” Scott said as the door closed on the restaurant.

“Yeah.” Al led the way diagonally across the street. “Her sister married the oldest Ronson boy a couple of years ago, and within a year, the other two sisters moved here and opened the restaurant.” He paused at the curb. “No one in Homedale crosses at the crosswalks.” He walked into the empty street. “Cause there ain’t none.” They reached the other side without encountering a car. “Listen to me; I sound like a native.”

“Not quite. I can still hear the east coast in your vowels.”

“When we first moved here, we tried walking for Sarah’s health.” His voice shook a little over her name. “Took forever to get three blocks, because people kept stopping us to ask if we needed a ride, and then hung out to chat for a few minutes.”

“That’s Homedale.” There were advantages to living somewhere that news traveled by osmosis, and everyone knew intimate details of each other’s lives. And there were disadvantages.

Al took a few seconds to unlock the door of the old newspaper office. He pushed the heavy door inward to reveal a dark interior, with the original oak railings separating the customer service area from the massive presses. “I thought I wanted to get the old presses rolling again, maybe do some artsy printing.” He opened the “gate” in the railing to stand before the first of the machines. “But after tinkering some, I don’t think I have the skills.” He perched on a stool beside it. “Nor do I want to work that hard.”

Scott stepped forward, touching the iron side of the beast. “What’s wrong with it?” When his dad still farmed the family’s original homestead, Scott had assisted with keeping their ancient equipment running.

Al glanced at him. “It won’t go. Sounds like it’s jammed up somewhere.” He pressed the switch. The machine groaned, started to cycle, and then stopped to groan some more.

Scott listened and looked over the press from several angles. “I think this cylinder is in backwards.” He pointed to the part he meant.

Al shrugged. “Could be. They didn’t come with instructions.”

“Shut it off and I’ll see if I can switch it.” Thirty minutes later, his hands black with oil and ink, Scott hit the switch again, and the press clattered continuously, but didn’t groan or stop. He had also shared the general outline of his childhood and his father’s death with Al, and learned more about Al’s career. Al must have been a good reporter to draw that much information from him. Not even Bates knew that much.

“Hot damn, can I put you on retainer?” Al handed him a towel, and then led him to the restroom at the back of the shop.

Scott washed his hands, splashing some of the cool water on his face, as the building wasn’t air conditioned. He dried his hands and pulled out his business card. “You can give me a call if it seizes up again.” He hung the towel back up. “Or if you hear any word in town about Delia’s past.”

Al cocked his head to the side. “You think people would tell a stranger anything?”

“They like you, I could tell from the restaurant.” He tightened his tie. “And marrying a hometown girl makes you one of us. But one they have to explain everything to.”

Chapter 15

Seated in the department car on the sand road that served as a street in front of Dean’s house and working on the laptop, Scott found three promising addresses for Delia’s former professors and grad students by the time he heard tires on the gravel of Dean’s driveway. He glanced at the time on the computer. Three thirty-seven. Dean got off work at three, and the plant was only eight blocks from his house. It wasn’t like he could have been caught in rush-hour traffic. Homedale only had rush-minute at its worst. Dean stepped from the four-wheel drive pickup with a “big gulp” cup in his hand. “Hey, Scott.” He came abreast of the city car.

“Hey, Dean.” Scott nodded at the cup. “You always go by the co-op on your way home?”

“When it’s this hot, I do.” He took a long pull from the straw. “Although sometimes on Fridays, I go to Buddy’s instead.” He tugged the International Harvester hat from his head and ran his fingers through his damp hair. His hairline was higher than in high school. “Come on inside where it’s cooler.”

“Sure.” Scott followed him inside a nice manufactured home built, Scott suspected, at the plant in the city.

Hanging his hat on a peg, Dean crossed the living room to a well-worn recliner. Just before he dropped into it, he looked up at Scott. “Would you like something to drink?”

Scott shook his head and took a seat on the couch that matched the recliner. “Had a big glass of tea before I pulled in here.”

“Okay.” Dean settled into the recliner and leaned back. “Damn, I’m tired.” He stretched. “Summer is the worst, no air-conditioning in the shop.”

“I can imagine. I did six years in uniform, wearing a ballistics vest.” It had only been last summer that he was still on patrol. “Like living inside a roasting pan in an oven.”

Dean laughed. “Sounds miserable.”

“Pretty much.” He waited, and Dean filled the silence.

“So, have you got any leads on Margaret’s murder?” Other than taking another long draw from the cup, Dean hadn’t moved since leaning back in the recliner.

“Not really. I was hoping you could help me.”

“What can I do?” He turned his head toward Scott, still resting it on the recliner. He truly looked as tired as he said he was.

“Do you remember who she used to hang with?”

Shaking his head, Dean looked up at the ceiling. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I never paid her much attention. You know, captain of the football team is above the geeks and all that. Plus Janice pretty much took up all of my spare time and attention. And then some.” He paused to smile as if he had dredged up a pleasant memory. “After the cheerleader incident, I noticed her if she crossed my path, and the fag, too, but otherwise, she was as memorable to me as the desks and lockers.”

Scott believed him; he was pretty self-centered in high school. Had he been a better athlete or scholar, he probably would have been even more so. “Do you remember anything about the boy she was friends with?”

“Don’t even remember his name. We always just called him ‘the fag.’” He laced his fingers behind his head. “Another thing I’m not so proud of. I still don’t like fags, but I got to be friends with a couple guys on the track team at K-State, before I found out they were gay. By the time I found out, we were too good of friends to stop. Once they came out to me, we had some talks, and I understood that poor kid had enough problems without me and my buddies making his life hell.”

“His name was Kyle,” Scott said softly. “Kyle Dane.”

“He still here?”

“I heard his family moved away the year before he graduated.”

“Hope he got treated better wherever he moved to.”

“Me, too.” Once he knew what was going on when the group of football players attacked the boy, he should have intervened before Delia did, but by that time, his habit of staying anonymous had become second nature. “You were on day shift Tuesday, right?”

“Yup, same as today. If I remember right, Tuesday was even hotter than today.” He rubbed his eyes.

“What time did you get home?”

“About the same as today, though I stayed at the co-op a little longer and had some ice cream to cool off before I came on home.” He glanced at the clock on the wall across from his chair. “Kids come home from the pool about four, so I can ramrod them to finish their chores and start supper before Jan gets home.”

As if on cue, laughter and shrieks sounded just before the back door opened and a herd of children clattered into the living room. “Hey, Dad, can Shane and Michael stay for supper?”

Dean grinned, though his voice sounded stern. “You know the drill, kids. They have to call their folks and ask and then your mom or I have to confirm that they said yes.”

The tallest boy, a childish version of his father, glanced at Scott, then turned his attention back to his father. “OK. Their parents aren’t home till 5:30. Can they stay and then call and ask?” The rest of the children eyed Scott.

Dean sighed. “Sure. As long as you all go out and make sure the bucket calves and the dogs have water. And check the garden for ripe tomatoes and cucumbers.”

“Sure.” The whole herd traipsed back out the door through which they had entered.

Dean laughed and faced Scott. “I’ll have to double check and send them back out at least three times before they get it done.” He shrugged. “But what else do you do?”

“Sounds like a thankless job you love.”

“It is.” Dean looked down at his hands. “They are a lot of work, never a day off from parenting, but I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.” He laughed again. “Well, maybe I’d trade a long weekend of it for a weekend in Vegas, but you know what I mean.”

Scott wondered if he’d ever get the chance to try the experience. “Yeah.” He reminded himself of his reason for coming. “So the kids were here by four on Tuesday night?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered and then stopped. “Wait, was it Tuesday or Wednesday? There was one day this week that they went out to Jan’s sister’s farm and ‘helped’ bale hay and played in the pond there.” He stared off into space, mumbling as he tried to align his days. “Today’s Friday, and yesterday, they were home by the time I got here, but Wednesday was peaceful, and I got a nap in before Jan got home, so it must have been Wednesday that they went to Sally’s. Tuesday, that was the night we had a 4-H meeting, so they had to hustle with chores, we went to the meeting and then to Buster’s for burgers. Monday was threatening rain and lightning, so they were home by the time I got here.”

“Who did Jan’s sister marry?” Jan’s sisters, both older and younger, were all cheerleaders, and thus beyond his reach, so he hadn’t paid much attention to them in high school.

“Dan Rayburn.” Dean grinned. “I’ll give you the number so you can check with her.”

“I guess I’m not so subtle.”

“Not as subtle as you used to be on the offensive line.”

Chapter 16

Scott left Homedale with a sense of escape. Dean’s sister-in-law confirmed that the kids had “helped” with the hay on Wednesday night. He had interviewed Dean’s boss, learning that Dean’s alibi was a good one; the boss worked beside him on the shift and could account for no more missing time than a few minutes in the bathroom. The only way Dean could have made it to the city, kidnapped and killed Delia, dumped her body and been back in two hours would have been if he had perfected time travel. And Dean’s major at K-State had been ag science, not physics. His gut had told him that Dean wasn’t guilty even before he rolled into Homedale, but he needed to be thorough.

One thing still puzzled him, though, and that was Kyle’s life since Homedale. No one seemed to know where his family moved when they left, so that would take some legwork. He was mulling over how to begin the trace when his phone buzzed to alert him to an incoming text. He glanced up the highway; no visible oncoming traffic and no one in front of him. He risked grabbing the phone to glance at the message. From Rica, it simply asked, “When will you be home?”

That sounded innocent enough. He remembered the quick shop a couple miles ahead. He could use a bathroom break and another iced tea. He pulled into the parking lot and texted back. “4 or 5, can make earlier if needed.” Slipping the phone back in his pocket, he entered the store and took care of his business. The phone buzzed again as he stepped outside.

“I’ll have dinner ready at 5:30. OK?”

He let his breath out in relief. Hopefully, the recent winter of their relationship had given way to spring. “Wonderful. Need anything on the way home?” He could at least offer to be helpful.

“Not now. Let u know.”

He began to whistle a tune he didn’t even know as he pulled onto the highway. Back at the station, he turned in the car and jogged up the stairs to his office to write up a quick report on his interviews today and make some notes for follow-up on Saturday. He found a note from Bates on his desk: “Funeral tomorrow at eleven. Meet here at ten-thirty. We interview Moran at three.”

Good, he had a hunch Moran would provide some interesting conversation. He finished the reports on today’s interviews in record time. Then, because even he couldn’t read his notes when they got cold, he typed up the miscellaneous notes he had made. They didn’t seem to lead anywhere now, but might provide a start to a different direction on the investigation later. Then he jotted down some potential questions for Moran.

Finally, he plugged “Kyle Dane” into the national sexual predator database. Sometimes men with confused sexuality act out in inappropriate ways, and Kyle might have gone that direction, though Scott doubted it. The boy was too gentle in high school, but enough beatings like he got then could have changed him.

He opened another window on the computer; with so many entries, the sexual predator database search would take a while to run. In this, he tried a white pages search for Kyle’s name. Only two records came up, and further checking revealed that one was over sixty-five and the other was deceased. Finally, the sexual predator search flashed “finished.” Kyle’s name had not come up.