Killing Cassidy (7 page)

“He don't—didn't have much family in these parts. Just a niece or somethin'. Yeah, she come once or twice. Come for a handout, I reckon. Way I hear it, her husband's just run off with some broad, and she don't got much money.

“And that's about it, near as I can recollect, 'cept for the lady lawyer. She come once. Kept a close eye on
her
, you can bet. Don't reckon a woman got no business bein' a lawyer. Didn't trust her. 'Sides—she ain't bad to look at in them short skirts she wears, y'know?”

He gave Alan a sly look; Alan winked. Well, really! I'd deal with him later!

Alan continued his gentle probing for a few minutes more, but Jerry had evidently given us all the information he could remember. When he repeated, for the third time, his invitation to share rabbit stew, we decided it was time to leave.

“Don't you want to see the workshop?” He sounded just a little forlorn.

“We do, very much, but I have an appointment in a few minutes. Can we come back another time?”

“Any time you want. I'm always here, almost. Next time come for supper.”

“We'll take you up on that, Jerry,” promised my husband, to my dismay. “It's been a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here. You want to know anything about the prof, you just come and ask me!”

D
O
you really propose to eat something he's cooked?” I demanded when we were out of earshot. “And what about that wink and leer you two exchanged?”

“Cementing diplomatic relations, my dear,” said Alan blandly. “Not to mention the fact that it isn't wise to offend murder suspects.”

“Murder suspect? Jerry? He's a little strange, I know, but he was obviously devoted to Kevin.”

“He was also a prisoner of war in Vietnam—did you catch that?”

“Of course,” I said loftily.

“Of course. Well, that was an experience that left a good many men with some peculiar ideas.
And
he's a crack shot with that rifle of his.”

“How do you know that?”

“He shot two rabbits last night. One rabbit isn't too hard to bag, but the first shot scares any others around. They'll freeze for a second or two and then hare off, if you'll excuse the expression. He'd have to reload the gun, sight, and hit a small running target. That takes skill.”

It's amazing, the things I don't know. “Okay. Point taken. But Kevin wasn't shot, and I think Jerry was Kevin's faithful dog.”

“Dogs can turn vicious. I'm keeping an open mind, and I'm keeping relations with Jerry very, very friendly. Now, do you want to call on that neighbor, investigate Kevin's house, or get some lunch?”

“Hah! You, my dear, are the most excellent and civilized of men, and you know all about hunting rabbits. But even you don't know everything. Any woman knows you don't go knocking on somebody's door at lunchtime. And we can't get near Kevin's house while Jerry's on guard. We eat lunch.”

“Right. What sort of food did you have in mind?”

“Anything but rabbit.”

I'd intended a quick salad at my favorite little café on the edge of town. Scratch that idea. The café was now a used bookstore next to a mini-mall I'd never seen before. I drove around the outskirts of town, getting more frustrated by the moment. The streets kept turning out wrong. Almost all the old landmarks were gone; in their place were housing developments and condominiums and chain stores and fast-food joints.

“Three years, Alan! Only three years! How could it change so much in that time?”

“I imagine it's the outlying areas. The city center and the residential areas probably haven't changed much.”

I shut up. I was absolutely not ready even to talk about the residential areas. I might, before we left Hillsburg, get up the courage to drive past my old house, but not yet. Not yet. If they'd torn that down, or cut down my beloved trees, or—no.

Failing to find any reasonable place to eat, in the end we settled for a fast-food hamburger and climbed back into the car feeling full, greasy, and unsatisfied. And I, for one, was in no sweet temper.

“For two cents I'd go back to the hotel and pull the covers over my head.”

The only response to a remark like that is to ignore it. Alan said, “The neighbor first, do you think? Or one of the others?”

I turned the key in the ignition. “We might as well try her. It's Saturday. With any luck she'll be home. Most of the others we can beard in their offices next week, but we don't know where she works. Or
if
she works outside the home.”

“Right. And by that reasoning, tomorrow we'll take on the preacher. Yes?”

I sighed and made a risky left turn out of the parking lot. “I was,” I said when we were safely in the traffic lanes again, “looking forward to my old church tomorrow. But I suppose duty calls.”

We were approaching Kevin's neighborhood by a different route than the one I had taken earlier, and when we got near, I stopped the car in utter dismay. The neat little farmhouses that used to dot the road were gone. In their place were a huge plot of bulldozed earth and a sign indicating that a new superstore was to be built on the site.

“Look at that! People uprooted! The countryside ruined! How can they
do
that?”

Alan quieted my fulminations, and I turned in the direction of the only house now close enough to Kevin's to be considered “next door.” A country “next door,” for sure: about a quarter of a mile along a narrow back road.

“This'll be gone soon, too, I suppose!”

“Perhaps not. It's a pleasant house, certainly.”

I like to think I can tell something about people by the houses they live in. This one was an old farmhouse, white and rambling. The front porch sagged a bit, but it, like the rest of the house, was bright with fresh paint. A big pot of red geraniums blazed in a patch of sunlight by the front steps.

The woman who answered the door did fit the house. She was dressed in blue jeans that were clean and well fitting, but not chic. Her white shirt probably belonged to her husband, and her short gray hair was in wild disarray. Her face, shiny with soap, didn't need makeup. She was quite beautiful.

“Yes? If you're with Jehovah's Witnesses or the Mormons, I'm sorry, but I'm very busy.”

I wished I dared laugh at the expression on my husband's face. “No,” I said hastily. “We're not trying to convert you or sell you anything. I apologize for not calling ahead, but we didn't know your name.”

The woman looked puzzled. She also looked ready to close the door.

“All we knew,” I said quickly, “was that you were a neighbor of Kevin Cassidy's. I don't think we've ever met, but I was a good friend of Kevin's in years past, and if you have a moment or two, I'd really like to talk to you about him.”

“Oh. Sure, come on in. I'm sort of in the middle of something, but I'd be glad to talk about Kevin. A real shame about him, wasn't it?”

She showed us into a small living room that looked just like her. It was clean and reasonably tidy except for piles of papers tumbled over the coffee table. It was comfortable, but not fashionable. The quilted cushions scattered here and there looked as if love had gone into them; the pictures were mostly family photographs. I felt immediately at home.

We introduced ourselves and sat down. Her name was Hannah Schneider.

“That's one of Kevin's pieces, isn't it?” I gestured to a small window by the fireplace. Its original glass had been replaced by a glowing piece of art, abstract but charged with life.

“Yes, isn't it gorgeous? We were all just blown away when he suddenly revealed all that talent. He was a genius in glass, really.”

“A genius, period. I knew him mostly as a scientist—and a friend, of course.”

“He was a good friend to me,” said Hannah with a sad smile. “He even—well, I was one of his students, of course. I think—were you related to Frank Martin?”

“He was my first husband. He died several years ago.”

“Oh yes, I'd heard. I was his student, too, for a year of botany. And then when I went on to pharmacy school, I gave those two men most of the credit for my grades. They gave me such a thorough grounding in scientific method, I got through pharmacy school with no sweat.”

“You're a pharmacist, then?”

“Part-time. I didn't work at all while I was raising my kids, but now that they're grown up and on their own, it helps pass the time. I may give it up again, though. I've gotten involved in community work.” She gestured to the card table full of papers.

“Is that what you were in the middle of? It looks like a lot of work.”

“Massive, but worth it—if we can only win!”

Hannah sat forward on her chair, her eyes alight. She began to talk eagerly, her hands making rapid gestures and now and then running through her hair, making it stand straight up.

“You've seen the abomination they've foisted on us across the road? The new superstore? Well, some of us are fed up. We've had enough. They sneaked the superstore past us, but there's this shopping mall they're trying to put up out south of town, and we're fighting it tooth and nail.”

“Good for you! I've been getting more and more upset about how much Hillsburg has changed, just in the few years I've been gone.”

Hannah nodded vigorously. “Fine old buildings torn down, for no reason at all! Good farmland turned into a parking lot! It's a crime, that's what it is. Every town looking exactly alike—well, we don't need it here in Hillsburg. Kevin agreed, incidentally—even contributed to the cause. And we've got a good shot at stopping them, too. …”

She expounded on her theme for some time, but with Alan and me as audience, she was preaching to the choir. When she finally slowed down and I could get a word in edgewise, I said, “Well, I agree with every word you say, and I wish you all the luck. But you said you had only a little time, and I had some things to ask you—”

“Oh, Lord, I got on my soapbox, didn't I? Sorry. And I really do have to get busy. The meeting about the mall is tonight, here, and I've got lots of paperwork to deal with beforehand. So how can I help you?”

“I'm just trying to get a picture of Kevin's last few weeks. He was a good friend, and I feel awful that I lost touch with him and let him die without a chance to say good-bye.”

Hannah sobered. “I know how you feel. It came as a shock to me, too. We all thought he was healthy as a horse. I hadn't seen much of him myself—too busy organizing the antimall forces. And then all of a sudden, there he was in the hospital.”

“But—I must be confused. Somebody told me he thought you'd been over to Kevin's workshop just a few days before he got sick. Ordering a new window, I thought he said?”

“Oh, good grief, you're right and I'm wrong. I did talk to him about the possibility of doing one for a friend. We didn't settle anything definite, though. I'd forgotten all about it. Who on earth told you? I didn't think I'd mentioned it to anyone.”

“I'm not sure. One of the other neighbors, I think.”

“There aren't any other neighbors, really, except that crazy man in the trailer.” Her voice sharpened. “I'd be careful about him, if I were you. He's a menace, and that pigsty he lives in! A disgrace to the countryside, that's what he is! I wouldn't believe too much he tells you.” She shook her head and glanced at her watch. I had to take the hint.

“Yes, we really must go. Do you mind if I come back sometime and just talk about Kevin? I'd call first, of course.”

“Any time, but do call.” She had recovered her gracious manner. “I'm going to be out a lot, drumming up support for the cause and talking to lawyers, and all. Nice to meet both of you.”

We were shooed out the door, quite nicely but very efficiently. I backed out of the driveway and drove out of sight before stopping. I stretched back, my arms stiff against the steering wheel.

“Well, now what? That sure didn't get us anywhere.”

“A lady with a mission,” said Alan a little dryly. “Missionaries are often somewhat—monotonous, shall we say?”

“I liked her.”

“My dear, so did I, though she got a little shrill on the subject of Jerry, didn't she? I simply wished she would moderate her enthusiasm a trifle, even though I agree with her point of view.

“Now,” he added briskly, “shall we go on to the next person on the list? I'm beginning to get very interested in this wild-goose chase of yours, Dorothy.”

T
HE
next person on the list, we decided after a quick conference, was either the attending doctor in Kevin's last illness or the police chief, whichever could be found easily on a Saturday afternoon.

“Let's try the police chief first,” I suggested. “At least we know where to look for him. And if he isn't working today, we can try the doctor.”

So we drove back into town, where the police station, thank heaven, was still where it had always been.

Yes, the chief was in. Yes, we could see him. Names, please?

Here, at least, was a place where Alan's title might be useful. “Dorothy Martin. And Chief Constable Alan Nesbitt, from the county of Belleshire, England.”

“You don't say. Official business?”

“No,” said Alan firmly. “Merely a courtesy call.”

The desk sergeant scratched his head and spoke into the telephone. I frowned at Alan.

“My dear, I cannot operate under false pretenses,” he said quietly. “And I am, I remind you, not the chief constable anymore.”

“It never hurts to throw your weight around a little,” I whispered back.

Which just goes to show how wrong I can be.

We were given visitors' badges. I was a little surprised at that formality, but Hillsburg tries to keep its civic departments up-to-date. When we were shown back to the office occupied by the chief, though, it seemed very small-town. It was a shabby, homey place—imitation knotty pine paneling, scarred wooden desk covered with pictures of the chief's family. I glanced at them, looked more closely, and then looked at the chief's name badge with dawning recognition.