Loose Screw (Dusty Deals Mystery) (11 page)

“I could call his wife. She’s in Denver. I have her name in here somewhere.” She sighed again, this time louder and longer, but then she thumbed through her notebook. “Here it is, Bonnie Smith. She must have gone back to her maiden name. I guess you want me to give her a call.”

Choosing to completely ignore the sarcasm in her tone, I flashed her a smile. “Thanks for offering.” Then to show her I could be considerate too, I pulled a rumpled sheet of paper out from under my fanny and handed it to her. “I’ll try and get a hold of Bill Russell. Rhonda saw him with Crandell Monday. He might know something.” I couldn’t bring myself to call Bill a suspect.

“He
might
have killed him.” Frowning, Marcy ironed the wrinkles out of the paper with her hands.

Et tu, Marcy?
You got no points for being a nice local boy anymore, did you?

“How about the police? Are you going by there today?” Marcy tugged on the remaining papers buried under my rump.

Go by the police? Be humiliated? That was tempting. “I wasn’t planning on it. Why?”

“We need the official statement. You want me to call again?”

Finally, she was starting to get the idea. I hopped up and left her to rescue her papers.

o0o

It was still early, but my stomach started to grumble. I swung by a little hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop, then hightailed it back to my office to enjoy a hard-earned break. The portabella sandwich was warm and gooey and just downright delicious. Hunger sated, I popped the tab on my Dr. Brown’s and took a sip. Leaning back in my chair, I almost purred with contentment.

A knock on the door brought me back to a more dignified sitting position. Betty stuck her head in. “I thought I heard you in there. Are you going to be around for a while? I thought I’d go out to lunch with Everett.”

I waved her on and got up to take charge of the shop. The sales spawned by the discovery of Crandell’s body were beginning to dwindle. The shop was quiet for the moment. I decided to take advantage of the lull and try to get ahold of Bill. I needed a cover story though. I wasn’t comfortable just calling him up and saying, “Hear you were talking with the dead guy. Did you kill him?”

I didn’t know a lot about Bill Russell’s personal life, but I did know he had both Native American and Helena-area collections. I figured that was the best way to approach the situation. I logged onto the web and entered eBay’s address into the browser. Within minutes, a couple of promising items—a brass presentation spear tip and a peace medal—popped onto the screen. I printed them out so I wouldn’t forget the details and flipped through the phone book for Bill’s number. He answered on the second ring.

I dazzled him with a confusing monologue about wanting to get a Native American collectible for my dad and not knowing what was a good deal and what wasn’t.

“Did you have a particular piece you wanted to ask me about?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I described the two items I’d found on eBay.

“I don’t know about buying over the Internet, but the peace medal sounds like a decent price. You want to be sure you know what you’re buying though.” He went into a long dissertation on the different types of medals, when they were given out, who wore them, and how all this affected value.

I stared into space as I waited for him to finish. “That’s good to know. Thanks a lot. You may have saved my bacon.” I picked up a pencil and tapped it on the counter. “How is everything else going for you? It’s a real shame you didn’t get those medicine man items at the auction last weekend.”

“Yeah, well, with everything that happened I think I’m better off not getting them. I had a second chance at them anyway.”

I sat up a little straighter. “Really? How’s that?”

“The guy called me Monday and asked if I was still interested. I met him, but he was out of his mind. He only wanted to sell the small pieces, like the whistle or the weasel. He had no idea how to work a trade.” Bill sounded thoroughly disgusted. “I told him flat out no.”

“Really? I wonder why he wanted to sell off parts when he’d just bought it.” For a while I forgot that I’d called for information for an article. This was just good gossip. “Did you see him again after that?”

“I wondered about him selling so early too, especially since
he
approached
me
. I mean, I already had a chance at the complete set and knew what he’d paid for it. It isn’t unusual for someone to turn around pieces pretty quickly if they know someone who’s willing to pay more, but there was no reason for him to think I would.” Bill paused for a second before continuing. “He acted like he had a couple of other people making bids. I figured he either got some sucker to pay his price or gave up and went home. I was sure floored when I read about you finding his body. I guess that must have been a shock for you too.”

He had shared his; it was time I shared mine. I gave my well-rehearsed rendition of stumbling over Crandell’s feet.

I could hear the scrape of Bill’s chair on the floor. “There’s one thing I don’t get. If there were other people interested in buying that medicine man outfit, why weren’t they bidding at the auction? I mean, there was me and that city couple, but who was this other person he acted like he had on the hook? Plus, I got the definite feeling he never meant to keep that set. Like he came here just to buy it and get rid of it. It was strange.”

“That is strange.”  And it was.

I thanked him again for his help with my mythical eBay purchase and hung up before realizing he hadn’t answered my last question. Had Bill seen Crandell again before the out-of-towner was killed?

Chapter 11

Rhonda and Marcy had me doing it now. I was questioning Bill and not just in the reporter-asking-questions way. I was questioning if he could possibly have killed Crandell.

There was just no good reason to suspect Bill. Well, aside from means, motive, and probably opportunity. I picked the phone up and dialed Rhonda.

“How about a margarita on the rocks, hold the lime juice?” I greeted her.

She laughed. “So you’re having a tequila kind of day, huh? I don’t know if I can help you out with that, but I might be talked into a beer at the Bumpy Frog.”

The Bumpy Frog was a little bar tucked in between the local lumberyard and Helena’s only strip club. The Frog featured a couple of pool tables, a dance floor, and a really good house band that played a mixture of country and old time rock ‘n roll.

“It’s Wednesday night—no cover charge.”

“Good enough for me. What time? I have to go home, let Kiska out and feed him.”

“How’s eight?”

I did a quick mental rundown of how long it would take me to get home, take care of Kiska, and freshen my look. “I’ll meet you there.”

My evening was covered, but I needed to get a story written first. I decided to follow up on what Joe told me about seeing Andrew Malone with Crandell before I checked back in with Marcy.

I looked up the number for the Malones’ hotel. The front desk rang me through, and Marie Malone answered. I identified myself as a reporter from the
News
.

“I really don’t have any comment,” she murmured, in a cultured voice that, despite my four-year college degree made me feel horribly uneducated. “I don’t think I should be helping you.”

Envisioning Ted’s antlers, I forced myself
not
to reply with a polite “thanks anyway.”

“I was hoping you could straighten out a few facts for me. I want to make sure you get to give your side of the story. I really don’t want to print anything that isn’t accurate.” I tried to sound caring, unthreatening,
and
smart.

“Well, I guess that would be all right.”

Cooperation. Yay, me.

I asked if she could give me any background on how she got the feather. She repeated what I’d already heard and printed in today’s paper.

“Yes, but when did Crandell give you the feather? Did you meet him somewhere?”

She hesitated. “No, not really. I mean he called me, but… I really think that’s all I can say.”

I pushed on. “He called you? Was it regarding the medicine man set?”

“Well, yes. He said he might sell me pieces from the set. We have a museum, you see. I’m trying to preserve ancient customs and rituals.” Her voice grew more confident as she continued. “It is really horrible the way these sacred objects are bought and sold. I want to see them displayed so everyone can learn from them—not have them hidden away, stored in some collector’s basement.” She paused. “I was going to meet him, but he wanted such an extravagant amount, and Andrew, that’s my husband, was afraid I would get too upset if I spoke with him face-to-face.”

I waited.

“Anyway, Andrew talked to him. I wasn’t going to see the man at all, but I ran into him on the street. That’s when he gave me the feather. He said that if I wasn’t interested in any of the pieces, he knew other people who were.” She took a breath. “He didn’t know anything about the spiritual past of those items. He just saw them as a way to make money. It made me sick at heart.”

“So was that after your husband talked to him at Cuppa Joe’s?”

She hesitated again. “Yes, it was.”

Interesting. Her husband had left this little meeting out of his conversation with their attorney. “Did you see Crandell again after that?” I was on a roll.

A male voice sounded from the background. “Marie, who called? Was it Gregor? Can we leave yet?”

“I need to go.” She hung up.

So much for my roll. Still, I had done it. I had interrogated an actual, at-the-start
unwilling
witness. I was a rock star.

I made a few notes on our conversation. Her story gelled with what Joe and Rhonda had each seen. Based on what Marie Malone and Bill Russell had told me, it sounded like Crandell had definitely been hot to sell pieces of the set.

Had Crandell bought the set planning on keeping only part of it? Or did he decide afterward to try and make back some of the money he shelled out by selling pieces that weren’t as important to him?

There were too many holes in my information. I needed to learn more about Crandell. Hoping Marcy had dug up something, I called the
News
.

 She had the big goose egg to offer. Crandell’s ex-wife wasn’t home. Marcy had left a message on her machine. The police had issued one of those wordy statements that basically said, “We don’t know anything we didn’t know yesterday, and even if we did we wouldn’t tell you.”

That would win us all a Pulitzer.

And it left me only one choice... time to try and charm more info out of George.

A voice I didn’t recognize answered the phone at the station. I asked for George and was promptly transferred.

“Hey, George, how’s it going?” Still riding the high from my success with Marie Malone, I was upbeat and confident. 

“I’m a little busy right now.”

Not quite the helpful George I was expecting.

“Does it have anything to do with Crandell?” I lowered my voice.

“I’m not supposed to be discussing Crandell with anyone from the press and especially not you. Blake really had his tail in a knot after he saw your story today. I told him I didn’t give you all that stuff on the feather, and what was missing, but I don’t think he believed me.”

“I’m sorry, George. I really am. Do you want me to talk to him?” I was sorry George was in trouble—even more so since it seemed to have affected his desire to freely share what he knew. But who was I kidding? I was about as likely to confront Blake as Kiska was to walk by a food bowl that was brimming with steak.

“No.” George was emphatic. “The last thing I need is for him to think I’m talking to you.”

I fell silent for a moment. “I...” I knew I needed to push more, but I just couldn’t do it. “Okay, that’s fine. I’ll just tell Ted—”

George sighed loudly. “What are you fishing for?”

Unexpected hope bloomed. “Nothing much. Just following up on the keys I found and seeing if there’s anything new. Suspects? Alibis?” Anything.

“I can’t tell you about anything new.” He grunted, and his chair squeaked. “But the alibis...”

I could tell he was thinking, deciding my fate. Antlers or no antlers?  That was the question.

He decided to save me for one more season.

  “The Malones were together in their hotel room.” His voice lowered a notch. “They did some sightseeing in the afternoon—over to the history museum by the Capitol. They were back at their room around 3:30. They stayed there until 5:15 when they left to go eat at the Brass Spur. They’d just got inside the restaurant when they heard the sirens.”

“All that is backed up. They have a receipt from the museum gift shop with three o’clock on it, and about 10 people saw them come into the Spur. Aside from that, it’s just their word they were where they say they were.”

“How about Bill Russell? I assume you’ve talked to him since he was the only other bidder on the medicine man stuff.” I felt safe asking this. George was back in talk mode and I so wanted him to tell me Bill had a titanium-clad alibi, like maybe trading arrowheads with, say, 50 or so cops at the time.

“We talked to him.” He dragged out the words, like he was rethinking the wisdom of having this conversation. After a sigh, he continued, “He was at home all afternoon and night. He signed for a package at 3:20, and his wife got home from work around five o’clock. That’s all we’ve been able to confirm.”

“Oh.” Not the alibi I’d been hoping for.

 “How about the keys? Did you confirm they were Crandell’s?” I asked.

George sighed. “They were his.”

“Were there prints on them?”

“Well, you know they were from a rental. There were lots of prints on them, but…”

I kept quiet. I could feel an eye-opener coming. Finally, George continued, “There were two clear sets of prints that looked recent. One was Crandell’s and the others we can’t identify. They’re not from anyone at the rental company, but there are more just like them on the door of Crandell’s car and on the outside of a suitcase that was in the backseat.”

I opened my mouth to ask a follow-up question, and Blake’s voice sounded in the background. “George, do you have that file? Who are you talking to?”