I was trying to recall the conversations I’d had with Angela when Jordan came out to the porch. Her eyes were pink, her cheeks damp.
“The cops want to talk to you,” she said. “I had to tell them about the pot. Am I in trouble?”
I stood up and put my hands on her shoulders. “As long as you’re truthful, you’ll be okay. You didn’t actually produce a crop. However, if you have a stash, this would be the time to dispose of it. The police are here to investigate a murder, which overshadows trivial offenses.” I gave her an encouraging smile. “For pity’s sake, don’t mouth off when they question you.”
Deputy Chief Peter Rosen might not be pleased that I was counseling a pot grower on how to avoid incriminating herself, but I felt responsible for exposing her misdemeanor. Or felony, I amended with a flicker of uneasiness.
The next two hours were excruciatingly dull. Jorgeson was occupied issuing instructions and delegating, and the detectives must have been warned to stay away from me. The paramedics wheeled the gurney across the yard. Jordan answered the same questions over and over again but held her sarcasm to a minimum. I perked up when Moses wandered inside and regarded the officers with a cheery grin.
“To whom do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asked. “Have you come for tea? Have you come for me? This calls for a drink!” No one said a word as he squatted behind the kitchen island and reappeared with a bottle of bourbon. “If we had mint, we could all have a julep! A hint of mint! Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.”
“Hold on, sir,” a uniformed officer said. “Who are you?”
Moses opened the bottle and took a swig. “I am the great-great-grandson of Colonel Moses Ambrose Hollow. I come in peace. Identify yourself, sir!”
Jorgeson came in from the terrace and looked at me. “Can you help us out here, Ms. Malloy?”
“I would prefer not to,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. I muffled a snort. “Yes, of course, Jorgeson. This is Moses Hollow, who resides at the Old Tavern. He’s the family patriarch, I suppose.”
“Moses opposes what you supposes,” the object of discussion said with a cackle. He tilted the bourbon bottle and drank greedily. Liquor dribbled down his chin and neck like droplets of amber.
Jorgeson moved to my side, and in a low voice, said, “Does he know anything that might be helpful?”
“I hate to say this, but he most likely does.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Ms. Malloy,” Jorgeson said, his face sagging. “We’re finished with the young lady, for now anyway. There’s no reason to take her to the PD. What do you suggest we do with her?”
“Let me take her to Nattie, who’ll take care of her.” I gave him a brief rundown on the valley’s residents and their residences. “Are you finished with me?”
“How can I be finished when I haven’t even begun? I fear that you and I will be in my office well into the evening. The sandwiches will be soggy and the coffee bitter. Mrs. Jorgeson will dine alone, and later retire with a book. For the time being, take the young lady to the Old Tavern and wait there. When we’re finished here, I’ll send an officer to let you know.”
“What about Pandora?” I asked.
“Detective Greer talked to her. She swore that she has no knowledge of any marijuana in this area and has never been near the crime scene. I’ll have her come to the PD to make a formal statement tomorrow, but we don’t have cause to detain her.”
“What if she takes off with her biker buddy?”
“A vehicle with two officers will be parked at the turnoff from the highway. No one is going to leave without my permission. Now if you don’t mind, Ms. Malloy, I’d like to get back to work.”
I drove Jordan to the tavern green. The Mustang had not returned, but Jordan assured me that she would stay at the mill. As I watched her walk away, Nattie came outside.
“Claire? I thought you were going home,” she said, clearly irritated. “There’s really no point in discussing your invitation to Jordan. Margaret Louise will call you later.”
“It’s complicated. Do you mind if I wait here until the police send for me?”
Her lips parted as she stared at me. “Are you going to be arrested? Charles told me that he was going to call the police if he saw you at Winston’s house. He claims that you’re trespassing, which is nonsense. The property doesn’t belong to him.”
“Charles may get his wish, all the same. The police want to question me about the murder of Angela Delmond.”
“Come sit down and tell me about it. Can I offer you iced tea, or something stronger?”
I was beyond adhering to cocktail hour etiquette. “Scotch and water, please.”
She steered me to the backyard and insisted that I put my feet on a stool. I could see that she was frantic to hear the details, but she went inside and returned shortly with my promised drink and one for herself. “Angela Delmond is the real estate woman, isn’t she? You were asking earlier if I’d seen her. She’s been murdered? The police want to question you?” Irritation had transformed into bewilderment.
I was reluctant to throw Jordan and Pandora under a bus, but their complicity would be made known soon. I described my recent encounter with Pandora, Jordan’s admission, and my subsequent discovery of Angela’s body. My theory about Angela’s trysts sounded feeble, even to me, but I needed to verbalize it.
“Whoa,” Nattie said, her hand unsteady as she set down her glass. “Jordan was wrong about Hollow Valley. It’s not boring. I can’t believe Pandora Butterfly has been making jackasses of us for so long. Ethan will be devastated, the poor thing. He truly cares about the nursery. When Charles hears about it, well, I don’t want to be there. We’ll have to call in a bomb squad to defuse him. Two deaths in less than a week…”
“Plus Winston’s, three months ago.”
“This is beyond incredible.” She sat back and gazed at the valley and the bridge, nibbling on her lower lip and humming tunelessly. She sniffled but blinked back tears. I felt remorse that I’d shattered any remaining vestiges of pretense that Hollow Valley was her sanctuary. I was about to offer lame words of comfort when she said, “Whoever did these horrible things must be caught and made to pay. Angela used Winston’s house for her assignations. I hate the very thought of it! She violated our privacy and took advantage of dear Winston’s suicide. Who could have been her lover? Some man from her office, maybe her boss?”
“They’ll collect fingerprints from the house, especially the bedroom. They can eliminate Terry and Winston’s friends and the people out here. It’ll take time, though. There aren’t any old guest lists in a desk drawer.” I paused. “I did find something odd in the bottom drawer. Did Terry or Winston smoke cigarettes?”
“Not that I know of. Winston told me that he liked a cigar and a nip of brandy after dinner, but only once in a while. Terry gave him a box of Cuban cigars for his birthday last October.”
“Why would they have a carton of cigarettes in the house?”
She shook her head. “I can understand having basic toiletries for unexpected company, but not cigarettes. Maybe someone left it by mistake, and they were holding on to it until the person came back to visit. Until you told me about Pandora, I didn’t think anybody out here smoked except Margaret Louise.” She forced a smile. “At least Jordan doesn’t smoke cigarettes.”
I didn’t want to disillusion her. One cigarette doth not a habit make. “Should you tell everybody else why the police are at Winston’s house?”
Yes,” Nattie said, “but they can wait. I’m getting a horrible headache, and I need to go lie down. Please excuse me.”
She went through the kitchen door. The washing machine or the dryer—I couldn’t remember which—was still thumping from inside the building. It would not have been my first choice if my head was already thumping. I finished my drink and put down the glass. I wandered around to admire the flower beds and the vegetable garden. The shed had shelves of stacked flowerpots, scattered bulbs, soil-encrusted boots, several pairs of cotton gloves, and hooks that held tools. Shovels and rakes were propped in a corner behind a rough wooden table. I browsed through seed packets with depictions of ripe vegetables.
It was the shed I would have had in the garden I would never have. Unlike Nattie, I was unable to blink back my tears. I wanted Peter’s arm around me, his lips tickling my neck, his voice murmuring in my ear. I allotted myself a minute to feel incredibly sorry for myself, then firmly closed the shed door. Jorgeson would be occupied for at least another half hour, I told myself as I took off in the direction of the nursery.
The delivery truck I’d seen earlier was still there. Ethan was either at home or riding shotgun with a payload of fruit trees and flowering shrubs. I was disappointed to find padlocks on the greenhouse doors and the outbuildings. Was he worried that garden club guerrillas would make off with his ferns? I walked across the empty parking area to the edge of the Christmas tree farm. The time would come when the elders would be toppled with a chain saw, tossed into trucks, and eventually drop their needles on someone’s rug. Although I was not a tree-hugger, I would have embraced them had I not been worried about insects and spiders.
There was nothing else to see, so I walked back toward the path to the Old Tavern. When I glanced at the truck, I noticed the front door was ajar. Out of nothing more than curiosity, I climbed up to the driver’s seat. The seat was concave from hours of punishment from hefty derrieres. The cab smelled of sweat, onions, stale smoke, and banana peels. The floor was cluttered with fast food wrappers and paper cups. A dirty T-shirt exuded a pungent odor that made my skin itch. Between the two seats was a recessed catchall. A road map was so creased that its folds were frayed. When I set it aside, I saw what must have been the driver’s prized collection of matchbooks. I picked up several of them. Arkansas had towns named Paris and England, but Missouri could claim Lebanon and Cuba. I replaced the matchbooks, amused at the idea of a Missouri Empire with colonies.
It took me a moment to gather the courage to climb out of the cab. I took my time to find footholds and arrived on the ground with minimal fuss. If I ever found myself unemployed and desperate for work, I could rule out truck driving as a potential vocation. I walked around to the back of the truck and tugged at the corner of a door until it squeaked open. The interior was littered with leaves, berries, smashed flowers, and dust. I sneezed as I peered into the depths. It was not as vast as I’d estimated, but it would do well as an echo chamber. Prudence dictated that I not test my hypothesis.
Having learned only that Missouri had an international flair, I walked back to the Old Tavern. A police car was parked behind my hatchback, and an officer stood next to it, his face stony and his arms crossed. “Lieutenant Jorgeson sent me up here to find you, ma’am. He instructed me to follow you to the PD.”
“Everybody loves a parade,” I said as I got into my car. I caught a glimpse of Nattie in a second-story window as I drove away.
* * *
Jorgeson had accurately predicted the amount of time he and I would spend in his office at the PD. I’d told him everything numerous times, but he seemed to have trouble following my logical speculations about possible scenarios. By the fifth time he asked me to repeat myself, I was becoming confused as well. I’d made assumptions about the motives behind Winston and Terry’s death, but Angela’s death did not fit neatly into place. I was especially sorry to acknowledge the fallacy of my theory that Charles had murdered Esther and Winston had found her body. Jorgeson was beginning to whimper, so I tactfully retreated to the ladies’ room while he pulled himself together. There was no graffiti to distract me, so I entertained myself by visualizing the goodies that Loretta had packed in the picnic basket. She, Nicole, Samuel, and Billy Bobstay were back in Farberville by now, well fed on Camembert and tomato sandwiches, marinated mushrooms, and blueberry tarts. I’d dined on a carry-out sandwich that was even soggier than Jorgeson had envisioned. No one had offered champagne.
When I emerged, I heard Danny Delmond’s irate voice. Feeling much better, I joined him in Jorgeson’s office. Danny was expensively coiffed and clad. He was attractive in the overly polished manner of a politician, but potential voters would have been alarmed by his furious expression. I was charmed.
“So we were still officially married,” he bellowed, “but I didn’t care if she was sleeping with a caddie! How should I know where she went or what she did? I didn’t care, Lieutenant Jorgeson. I didn’t care if she drove off a cliff! All I wanted her to do was take a reasonable settlement and get out of my life!”
“Sounds like a motive to me,” I said as I sat down. “Now you don’t have to give her anything. It’s all yours.”
Danny jabbed a finger at me. “You were the last person to see her alive. Maybe she changed her mind and decided to buy the house herself. That’s a motive if ever there was one. Bartleby will testify how obsessed you were with the house. You’d do anything to get it, wouldn’t you? I know all about you, honey. You interfere with the police, you badger people, you fake evidence so you can claim to solve crimes!”
“How dare you call me honey?” I asked indignantly.
“That’s the best you can do? Listen up,
honey
—you won’t be so huffy when I sue you for slander and defamation!”
Jorgeson intervened before I could respond. “Sit down, Mr. Delmond. I realize that you must be in shock over your wife’s untimely death, so I’ll disregard this attack on Ms. Malloy. All I’m asking for is your cooperation. This won’t take long. Please account for your whereabouts yesterday and last night.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
I gave him a sweet smile. “I always cooperate with the police. Do you have a teensy problem with an alibi, Mr. Delmond? Has your girlfriend gone off to cheerleader camp with her little friends?”
He took several deep breaths, but his jaw was quivering. “I had planned to entertain a guest at my lake house, but she canceled at the last minute. Since I had nothing better to do, I drove there late Friday night and spent two days working on a deal for a new development. No one bothered me. Last night I grilled a steak and drank a bottle of wine. I came back this morning and went to my office to revise some figures.”