Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) (9 page)

"Now before you get started telling me all you know about the case, Sheriff Crabb,
I need to know one more thing. If my publisher were to turn this novel into a movie,
to whom should we offer the part of Sheriff Wilbur T. Crabb? Any ideas?"

"Let me think," he said seriously, cupping his chin with his thumb and index finger.
"Bruce Willis kind of looks like me, I think. That Rocky feller wouldn't be too bad
in the part either, I guess. That Sly guy, you know."

I wrote down in my notebook "Willis, Stallone, Knotts" and wondered to myself, when
did Barney Fife get promoted to sheriff?

I spent another hour with Sheriff Crabb. I don't think anyone had trusted the "official
authority" with classified information either, and it was easy to understand why.
He was anxious to tell me everything he knew about everything—which in the end turned
out to be absolutely nothing. When I mentioned Clay's name, Sheriff Crabb asked, "Oh,
was he the poor girl's husband? Well, I'll be danged. Say, Ms. Starr, do you reckon
they could get heel lifts if they have that Rocky guy play me in the movie? I don't
want anyone to think I'm that short. He's a good three or four inches shorter than
me, you know." The sheriff squared his bony shoulders and stood up straight to achieve
maximum height.

"I'll see to it. I promise." I wondered if the citizens of DeKalb slept well at night,
knowing this particular lawman was minding the store.

It was evident I was getting nowhere fast with Sheriff Crabb, so I decided to begin
my long drive back to the inn. Hopefully my Jeep would make it all the way to Schenectady.
I'd run across to the Union Street Diner for a quick bite, and then call it a day.
The only useful piece of information I'd extracted from the sheriff was that Rod Crowfoot,
the hiker who'd discovered the body, had soon after moved across the country to Seattle.
I doubted he had much to offer in the way of information anyway, so I crossed "speak
with hiker" off my list.

I bade farewell to the sheriff of DeKalb. He hadn't been particularly informative,
but at least he'd been friendly and treated me with a lot more respect than Detective
Glick.

I wanted to ask the sheriff if Goober could look at my Jeep before I left.

"Bye now, Ms. Starr," Sheriff Crabb said, through cupped hands.

"Good-bye, and thanks for your help, Sheriff Wilbur 'T like in Ted' Crabb," I shouted
out my window as I drove away.

* * *

When I sat down to a platter of poached eggs and toast the next morning at six o'clock
sharp, I knew I was going to have to come up with a tactful lie. I was getting awfully
good at lying by now. It bothered me a bit that it no longer caused me to stutter
or feel compelled to crack my knuckles. I hadn't even given my fingernails a second
glance in a long while.

"Harriet, your cooking is so terrific that you're turning me into a naughty girl,"
I said.

Harriet took a deep drag off her Pall Mall and cocked her head in question. "Whatcha
talking 'bout, girl?"

"Recently I got a checkup at the health clinic and my cholesterol level was sky high.
My triglycerides were off the chart too, and I'd put on ten pounds. I really need
to cut back, particularly on the eggs. As much as it pains me, I think I'm going to
have to cut out breakfast entirely. That will free you up in the morning anyway."

"But that's what—"

"There's really no sense you cooking just for me," I continued.

"Yeah, but ya know—"

"You have enough to do around here, Harriet, without pampering me."

"But, breakfast's the most 'portant meal of the day. Ain't nobody told ya that?"

"Oh, I know, but skipping breakfast isn't apt to kill me. Got to follow doctor's orders,
you know," I said, as I gave Harriet an affectionate wink.

"Bah," she spat. "I ain't been to no doctor in twenty years and look at me. They's
all quacks anyway, iffing ya ask me," Harriet said. She patted her mop of white hair,
then slid a wooden match across the side of her jeans, lightning fast, and lit another
cigarette.

"Well, you're probably right. But just for the heck of it, don't fix me any breakfast
from now on. Okay? I'm getting much too fond of your poached eggs, and I don't want
to get spoiled to the point that I'll be craving them when I get back home to Kansas."

Harriet brightened at my last comments and nodded. "All righty, girl. Iffing that's
what ya want. Price be the same, with or without breakfast, ya know."

"Oh, of course," I said, amused by her spunkiness. After I'd downed another cup of
Harriet's gritty coffee, which I was actually beginning to enjoy, I went up to my
room to check my e-mail. I had only one message. It was from my extremely enraged
and alarmed daughter.

"Where are you?" her message read. "Get in touch with me right now! While I was over
at your place, watering your plants, I found Stone Van Patten's number stuck to your
computer screen and I called him. He wouldn't put you on the phone. Acted like he
had no idea where you were, in fact. I'm not sure he even recognized your name. What's
going on with you, Mom? This is just not like you at all. If I don't hear from you
in the next couple of hours, I'm calling the Myrtle Beach police!"

Oh, goodness. What was I going to do now? I paced around the room frantically and
finally decided to walk up and use the pay phone at the drug store up the street.
I didn't want Harriet to hear me talking to Wendy, so I couldn't ask to borrow her
phone. With any luck at all, Wendy would be too irritated with me to take notice of
the area code on her caller ID box.

"Where are you, Mom?" Wendy's voice was anxious.

"I'm right where I said I'd be, honey. To call you, I've had to borrow a cell phone
from a gal I've met from New York. What's wrong, Wendy?"

"That man said he couldn't bring you to the phone because you weren't there, hadn't
been there, and had no plans of being there as far as he knew."

"Oh, Wendy, I'm s-s-orry. I'll bet you asked for Lexie, didn't you?"

"No, Mom. I asked for Roy Rogers. Of course I asked for Lexie! I told him I was your
daughter." Goodness, from who had Wendy inherited her sarcasm?

"Oh, well, that explains it then," I said. "S-s-stone only knows me as Alexandria."

"I asked for Lexie Starr. He doesn't know your last name? Does he have so many girlfriends
that he couldn't figure out Lexie was short for Alexandria? Mom, what is going on?
And why are you stuttering, by the way?"

"Nothing's going on, Wendy. You know, a lot of gals named Alexandria go by Alex,"
I said. Even as I said it, I knew it wasn't going to convince Wendy that Stone had
just misunderstood the name. "And I'm not Stone Van Patten's girlfriend. He just seemed
like an interesting man when we chatted on the Internet. He doesn't know too much
about me. I've been reluctant to share much about myself with a man I hardly know—"

"Like your name?" Wendy interrupted.

"Dear, please settle down. It's nothing like you're imagining. I probably never did
think to tell him my last name, or that most people call me Lexie. I haven't even
invited Mr. Van Patten to dinner yet, and it's quite likely I won't. I wanted to leave
myself free to change my mind about meeting him. So, you see, he was being quite truthful
when he told you he was unaware of my plans. Meeting Mr. Van Patten is not my main
concern, just something I thought I'd consider while I was out here. I spent the first
couple days driving around New England, enjoying the fall colors. Then I drove down
the coastline to South Carolina. Now I'm in Myrtle Beach and I plan to spend a few
days shopping. I thought maybe I could get my Christmas shopping done early, and there
are some wonderful shops here on the Grand Strand." Good grief, what a liar I'd become!

"The what?"

"It's what they call the main stretch through town," I said. "It's a strip of land
between the inter-coastal waterway, in this case the Waccamaw River, and the Atlantic
Ocean. There are a lot of shops along the 'strand' and good seafood restaurants too."

I didn't know what I was talking about, but I thought I'd distract Wendy with a couple
of details that I could recall from one of Stone's e-mails. "I've eaten so many crabs
that I'm about to turn into one, I think."

I was more apt to turn into a poached egg, actually. But I did meet a Crabb—Wilbur
T. Crabb, to be exact. The slivers of truth in my statements were getting harder and
harder to detect. "When are you coming home, Mom?" Wendy obviously didn't care that
I was turning into a crab. She was probably more concerned I might be turning into
a blooming idiot.

"I don't know, honey. When I've seen all I want to see, I suppose. Why were you trying
to get in touch with me in the first place? Is something wrong?"

"No, Clay and I just had some good news for you. I was too excited to wait for you
to come home, so I thought I'd call and tell you on the phone."

Dread settled into the pit of my stomach. "So tell me, honey, what's the good news?"

"You're going to be a grandmother!" Wendy practically shrieked into the phone. "Sometime
around the end of May."

"Oh Wendy—how wonderful!" I said. Oh, Wendy, how terrible, I thought. "When you get
further along, are you going to try to find out what gender it is?"

"I haven't decided if I want to know yet. I'm kind of hoping our first child is a
boy—but I really don't care one way or the other. Although, I'd imagine knowing in
advance would make it easier to decorate the nursery."

"Well, I don't care whether it's a boy or a girl, either, as long as it's healthy.
I'm thrilled for both of you—and me too, of course. My first grandchild—imagine that!
I'll bet Clay is as excited as we are," I said. I was going out on a fishing expedition.

"Oh, I'm sure he will be, once he gets used to the idea of being a father," she replied
after a short hesitation. I thought I was getting a nibble.

"Clay does want children, doesn't he?" I needed just a tad more bait on the hook.

"Yeah, sure, of course he does," Wendy said, and laughed in a nervous reaction to
my question. "He just doesn't know it yet."

Now that was definitely a bite! My fishing trip had been successful. I'd found out
what I wanted to know. Wendy's response told me Clay was not happy about having another
pregnant wife on his hands. Now I knew I had to do something to get my daughter away
from this man, and do it soon. When his first wife became pregnant, she ended up dead.
I couldn't stand by and allow this same fate to befall Wendy.

We spoke for a few more minutes. Before I hung up I asked her if she still had Mr.
Van Patten's number handy. I didn't have it with me, and I was going to have to call
him and try to explain my daughter's frantic phone call to him. Besides, it might
help convince Wendy that Stone and I weren't involved in some hot and heavy, clandestine
affair. I'd surely know his phone number if that were the case.

"I've got to go, honey. I need to get this phone back to the nice lady I borrowed
it from. I won't be out here too much longer, and we'll talk more about the baby when
I get back. Okay? I love you, Wendy."

"I love you too, Mom. Promise me you'll be careful."

"You know I will. Don't you worry."

"Well, all right. I'll try not to worry. Keep in touch."

"I will. Bye-bye now, Wendy."

"Bye, Mom."

Chapter 9

"Mr. Van Patten?" I spoke, hesitantly, into the pay phone.

"Yes, this is he."

"This is Lexie Starr. You're working on locating charms for a bracelet for me."

"Of course, Lexie. Where are you? I had a hysterical phone call from your daughter
yesterday, and I've been worried sick about you since. She caught me off guard, and
I'm afraid I only made her more concerned."

What a sweet man, I thought. He was worried sick about me and we'd never even met.
It felt kind of nice to have a man concerned about my well-being.

"Oh, well, er—Mr. Van Patten—"

"It's Stone—"

"Stone. It's a very long, rather embarrassing story and—"