Comforted by what she considered her well-thought-out plan for action, Carrie finally fell asleep.
So now she was up and ready to deal with whatever Wednesday was going to bring.
She went to the kitchen and fed FatCat. Carrie hoped the cat had elected to spend the night in her own bed and not with Henry on the couch. At least she hadn’t tried her already well-established nightly routine of trouncing around on Carrie’s bed until, after repeated removal and loud admonitions, she finally retired to her pillow-padded basket in the cabin’s main room.
Carrie was just finishing a bowl of cereal when she heard a car and peeked out the window. Henry was back.
She rinsed her dish quickly and went to the door.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’m running a bit late, but was just going to get dressed. Thanks for fixing the woodstove. I’m not sure I could do it yet.”
“You’re welcome. I was hoping I’d get here in time to put fresh bandages on your wrists before you were all dressed. I think it’d be best if you put on everything but your shirt, then got back into your robe and let me do the bandaging. Or, um, do you need help getting dressed?”
“Oh, no,” she said, “but I may be a bit slower than usual. While you’re waiting, would you mind calling the university and see if you can locate someone who’s able to tell us about state laws governing Indian remains? Rob said probably the anthropology or archeology departments. You might ask them about head rights too. Do they apply here?” She pointed. “The phone book is in that drawer.”
As she was leaving, she thought of something else and stuck her head back around the corner. “I wonder if we should bring Jason up to date?”
“Already have,” said Henry, as he picked up the phone book.
Getting dressed wasn’t easy, but finally everything went together, and she was ready. She put her robe back on, rolled the sleeves up, and stuck gauze, tape, and scissors in the pocket.
Henry was still on the phone when she got back to the main room.
She crawled up on a kitchen chair and, so he wouldn’t have to stoop while fixing her bandages, turned, sat down on the table top, put her knees together primly, her stocking feet in the chair, and waited.
She heard him thanking someone, then he came and began telling her what he’d learned as he unrolled the gauze.
“Talked to a professor of anthropology who does archeological evaluation for the state. There was a law passed in 1991 that prohibits desecration or commercial use of skeletal and other burial remains found on either public or private land. But after studies are done and artifacts taken care of, original plans for use of the land can normally be continued. The professor also said he’d never heard of head rights being applied here.
“I’d guess that whatever we might find could serve as a nuisance and delay for the quarry owners, but wouldn’t necessarily stop their plans. And it’s very curious JoAnne wrote down the term
head rights
if it doesn’t apply at all. Maybe someone just told her it did.”
He stuck down the last piece of tape. “There, you’re fixed. Your wrists look good. The cuts are closed, and there’s no evidence of infection.”
She was paying no attention to her wrists. “Well, if Charles Stoker is a murderer and we prove it, then that’ll sure stop the quarry, won’t it? I was certain I’d found a solution when I saw that piece of pottery, but now it looks like we just have to work doubly hard to convict a murderer. I’d like to meet Stoker. Maybe something about him would remind me of the man who tied me up last night. Would doing that help prove his connection to JoAnne’s murder?”
Henry didn’t answer her question. Instead, he said, “Oh. I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, but Taylor called this morning and told me they talked to Stoker and he says he was hunting Saturday and Sunday. Alone. He says he didn’t kill any deer so didn’t go to a check station. They don’t know where he was last night yet. His wife says he was gone for a couple of hours, but he didn’t tell her where he was—or she didn’t care enough to ask. He’d left for the Missouri quarry when Taylor called this morning. By the way, the drive from Stoker’s home to our valley takes about thirty minutes. Taylor timed it Monday.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “Well, it sounds like finding remains of any historic significance won’t help much, but if that’s the case, why did he steal my piece of pottery?”
“
Whose
piece of pottery?” asked Henry, and she bit her lip in frustration.
“All right, I guess it was on his land, but I’ve seen pottery of that sort before, and I like it. If it won’t be any help stopping the quarry, he probably knows that already.”
“Oh, it might be some good. Taylor told me if the deputies or one of us do find anything significant, then construction and blasting have to be halted while any remains of archeological significance are studied and identified and proper disposition is made. All of that, of course, is what your son and the professor have suggested. It’s possible such studies might delay the quarry owner’s plans long enough that he’d want to go elsewhere.
“I called Jason this morning and told him about what happened last night and what we’d learned. He thought we should try to locate an alternate site for the quarry, one that wouldn’t ruin a valuable natural area and probably wouldn’t involve the study of Indian remains. Then, if we do find something of significance in our valley, Stoker might be persuaded to put the quarry at the new location. Jason’s going to start looking this afternoon.”
“Um, yes... Oh, no, FatCat, shame on you!”
FatCat was busy batting her Kitty Bangle across the kitchen floor.
“So that’s what I heard last night,” said Henry.
“Oh, dear, I am sorry. Did she keep you awake? I bought her that necklace thing because the card said the little bells would help me keep tabs on where she was, but she’s one female who hates jewelry. At least she hates that. She pulls it off, and I’ve already stepped on it two or three times. She hasn’t played with it before, though.”
Carrie grabbed the Kitty Bangle and stuck it in a drawer. “Guess it wasn’t such a good idea after all. I have a lot to learn about cats.” She leaned over to offer a chin rub to FatCat, who purred and went to wind herself around Henry’s legs.
“Didn’t keep me awake. I heard it before I went to sleep and wondered if your mice were playing games.”
Carrie giggled at that, and Henry looked at his watch. “We’d better go.”
“I’ll be ready in a minute. All I have to do is put on my sweater, jacket, and hat, and I’d like to take time to call the center. I said I’d check in every day.”
The quick phone call told her that everything was running smoothly. “Thank goodness this is our quiet time of year,” she said as she led the way to the garage.
* * *
Carrie’s new resolve made her determined to quit side-stepping awkward issues, so, after they were on the expressway heading south, she said, “You still haven’t said what you were really doing Sunday morning. You know what I did. Isn’t it fair for me to know what you did? Maybe, between the two of us, we have more helpful knowledge about this mess than we think we do.”
“Yes, that’s possible,” he agreed, then was silent for so long that Carrie thought he wasn’t going to share information with her after all.
Finally he said, “At the time, I felt I couldn’t tell you what really happened. I hope you’ll understand.
“I had decided I’d walk toward your house, see if I could find any of the frost flowers, and be at your place in time to surprise you so we could come out together. I walked straight through the woods to the old fire road and crossed the hilltop along it before I came downhill. It’s a wonder I didn’t run right into the killer.
“JoAnne was already on the hillside when I got there. It only took a second to realize nothing I could do would help her, so I went on to her house. That’s why you didn’t see any path coming sideways across the hillside from my house. I never walked that way.
“And I can’t tell you the reason I searched her house. Please bear with me. It isn’t because I don’t trust you, and I know how odd it must seem, but, believe me, Carrie, it has nothing to do with you and nothing at all to do with JoAnne’s murder.
“JoAnne and I did know each other a long time ago and she had some... important information that involved both of us. I had begged her to talk with me about it, and she finally said she would. That’s why I went to her house Saturday morning, and why I was so surprised when she was gone.
“She had papers involving what we were going to talk about, and as soon as I saw she was dead, I wanted to find those papers. Not for myself. If others find them, then an innocent person might be hurt.
“Am I making any sense at all? It was the dumbest thing in the world to search that house, especially without gloves on, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was too... bothered. Searching did no good anyway. I didn’t find the papers or any hint where they might be.”
After another long silence, he continued. “I hate to involve you, but perhaps the papers are in her safe deposit box. Is Susan going through that with you? Maybe you could check before she... ”
His voice cracked. “I can’t say more, I just can’t.”
When Carrie looked at Henry and saw the grief on his face, her racing thoughts straightened and found resolve. It was time.
“Henry, don’t worry. I have Susan’s birth certificate and the papers you signed. They’re hidden at my house.”
The car swerved, then steadied. He pulled over to the side of the expressway, turned the motor off, shifted in his seat, and stared at her. “How... how long have you... ?”
She told him everything then. After she had finished, they sat in silence until she said, “We still can’t tell Susan, can we?”
“I... no. We don’t dare. Not only have we vowed not to, Susan may not know she’s adopted. I had hoped, selfishly, I admit, that JoAnne would eventually tell her, but she said she’d made very sure Susan would never know, and was also certain Susan would never have anything to do with me if I tried to make contact on my own. Can you see why I didn’t want just anyone to find those papers and hurt Susan some way? Carrie, there were times when JoAnne wasn’t easy to get along with.”
“That may be a gentlemanly understatement,” she replied as he looked at his watch and pulled back on the expressway.
They drove in silence for a few miles, then Henry said, “Of course, no one on Sheriff Storm’s staff knows any of this. When Taylor and I talked Monday night at Booths’, I did go along with your story that I spent lots of time at JoAnne’s house because we were lovers. Taylor and Storm seem to have easily accepted that.” His laugh was almost a snort. “I suppose some older men would find that flattering. I’m afraid I don’t. It embarrasses me.
“And we never were... lovers, I mean. There was only the once. We were both adults, of course, in night school. I was taking a law course, she was in a psychology class, and all the other students seemed so much younger. We got to talking in the Student Union one night. She asked me about my work, said she’d like to know more for a paper for her class. I was flattered. We went to her home, both drank some, and then... it was all so stupid, so dumb!”
Carrie studied his profile. She could see how even JoAnne might be attracted, especially when Henry was—what? Thirty-five? And now it was still the same. She couldn’t deny it, no matter how hard she tried to put the thoughts aside.
She turned to stare out the window. Could JoAnne have thought of sex with Henry as a psychology experiment? No—no birth control! And she got caught!
Henry was quiet for a few minutes, then asked, shyly it seemed to Carrie, “What’s Susan like? I’ve never even seen her. I’ve never seen my own daughter! I guess I could have tried to find her, could have seen her on a school yard, or leaving work, or something, but I decided it would be easier if I never knew what she was like, if I just tried to forget she existed. It didn’t work. I don’t think there’s been a day since I found out JoAnne was pregnant, went to see her, and she and her parents said I’d never see the baby, that I haven’t thought, and wondered.”
“She’s a lot like JoAnne,” Carrie said.
In response to his frown, she rushed on, “Oh, I mean very intelligent and very determined. But Susan is a softer person. She has a tenderness that JoAnne wouldn’t have acknowledged in herself, assuming she had it. Susan has JoAnne’s sense of humor, though, and her strength. She doesn’t share her aunt’s, uh, mother’s—oh, golly, that’s too unnatural—JoAnne’s distrust of men. She is married, after all, and has a son.”
He allowed himself a tiny smile. “Is she pretty?”
“Nice looking. Not what I’d call pretty, but you’ll have to decide for yourself. She has JoAnne’s dark hair and olive skin, and,” she looked over at him, “your brown eyes.”
“What’s her husband like? You’ve met him, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and I like him too. He’s rather quiet, wears thick glasses, no taller than Susan. Looks intelligent, and I think he is. He’s some kind of accountant. I’m sure you two will get along.”
“Have you seen her baby?”
“Only once, and he was very tiny. In fact, I barely saw him then because he was sleeping. I really don’t know what he looks like now, he must have changed a lot. JoAnne had a photo of the three of them that was taken about three months ago. It was on the table in the living room. Did you see it when you searched the house?”
“I saw it. It wasn’t too clear. I was tempted to take it, though.”
“You should have. It’s missing now. I don’t think I mentioned that to you, and I didn’t bother to tell Taylor. Such a little thing. I didn’t see it when I was in the house with Taylor and Storm, and Shirley and I didn’t find it either. It’s weird, but I guess whoever tore up JoAnne’s house took the picture with them.”
“Expensive frame?”
“No. JoAnne got it at Wal-Mart.”
He frowned. “Odd.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But, we began talking about Susan, and you didn’t say where you went after you searched JoAnne’s house. I guess you didn’t go home.”
“No. I climbed back up to the fire road behind JoAnne’s house and followed it north. You could tell someone had driven along there recently, but there would be no way to know if it was a hunter, or JoAnne’s murderer, or both. That road actually comes out by the barn on the old farm. I should have told Roger, by the way, because he didn’t act like he or Shirley knew the road is still passable. It’s open all the way down to the old farm and then goes west along the creek. When the water’s low, you could drive out of the valley right next to the creek bank. You wouldn’t have to drive past Roger and Shirley’s house at all if you didn’t mind a bit of rough travel and had four-wheel drive. By the way, I didn’t take time to go into the old barn, though if I had, I’d have found JoAnne’s truck.”