Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) (9 page)

“No.” I looked around the yard. “Where’s your car, Mr. Farrell?”

Another pause before he answered. “Over there.” A deep blue truck was pulled off the driveway and into the trees, where I hadn’t noticed it. “I like to park in the shade. Keeps the interior from fading.”

That struck me as unnecessary at 7:30 in the morning, but I merely nodded. “If I find a chainsaw, I’ll let you know.”

“I’d appreciate that.” He backed away, obviously reluctant to give up.

I watched as he went to his truck, got in, and started it up. Farrell waved farewell, and I did my best imitation of a friendly wave in return. As I turned toward the house, Dale came onto the porch. “Who was that?”

“A friend of Ben’s, he says,” I replied. “But I think he’s more snoop than friend.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Barb

Sheriff Rob Brill arrived at my office promptly at ten, with Rory not far behind. The sheriff and I had met a few times, and he seemed a decent man. He also seemed willing to respect me and the agency, which went a long way toward establishing cooperation.

“I spoke with Judge Dean,” Brill told Rory and me. “He doesn’t see a problem with you keeping the Isley girls here until we find out where their mother is.”

“Thank you. This can’t be easy for them.” Rory and I filled him in on what we knew about Rose Isley’s disappearance and Ben McAdams’ insistence on hiding it from the world.

Brill pulled at his right earlobe. “I think you’re right. Keeping Rose’s absence a secret gave him access to her money. But where did she go?”

“That worries me,” Rory said. “Do you think she’d leave her girls, Barb?”

“I’ve never met her, but Retta says she wouldn’t, not for this long.”

“Mom wouldn’t just leave us.”

We looked up to see Pansy standing in the doorway. I’d left the girls with my phone, my tablet, and my laptop, hoping they wouldn’t notice what was going on in the office until we were ready to speak with them. Pansy must have guessed their future was being discussed. She looked so young and yet so old, and my heart went out to her. I was beginning to believe her mother was dead, and I feared Ben McAdams was responsible.

Rising, I went to her. “Come in, Pansy.”

She sat in the chair I pulled up for her, next to Rory and across from Sheriff Brill. After introducing them, I sat back and let Brill take charge. He told her the judge’s decision then turned to me. “Ms. Evans, can I ask you to step out of the room for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” I answered.

Rory rose with me. “I’ll go along and say hello to the other girls.”

We left together, aware Sheriff Brill intended to ask Pansy if she was comfortable staying with us. No doubt he’d ask the other two as well, privately so they could voice any concerns they had about the situation.

I led the way to the guest room, knocked on the door, and asked, “Are you decent? You have company.”

A voice called out for us to come in. We found Iris lying on her stomach on the bed, typing on my iPad with one finger. I’d introduced her to Amazon Prime, and she was delighted with all the choices.

Daisy sat on a looped rug beside the bed playing with Buddy, and he seemed like a puppy in her presence. As he ran circles around her, making huffy noises and displaying silliness quite unlike his usual grumpy behavior, I was reminded he wasn’t very old. They say every kid needs a dog. It might be just as true that every dog needs a kid.

“Where’s Pansy?” Iris asked.

“The sheriff had to speak with her alone for a few minutes.”

Iris’ response startled me. “No! She can’t!” Springing up from the bed, she pushed past Rory and ran down the hallway. He followed while I went to Daisy, whose mouth opened wide, warning tears were imminent.

“It’s okay, Sweetie,” I told her. “Everything is okay.”

It didn’t work. Starting with a low moan of grief, Daisy’s voice rose to a full-blown wail. Though I have little experience with children, I know there are times when only a reassuring hug will help. I took Daisy into my arms, and she leaned into my shoulder, sobbing. As we sat there together, rocking gently, understandable words emerged. “Don’t put Pansy in jail! She didn’t want Ben to get dead.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Retta

Knowing Faye intended to spend the day cleaning and clearing the bunkhouse for Cramer, I decided to go out and help. Dale tries to be useful, but he usually just follows Faye around and gets in her way. When I show up, he generally finds somewhere else to be. With him out from underfoot, Faye and I would get the place spiffed up in no time.

I took Styx along, figuring he could spend the day digging holes to his heart’s content. At home I fill in his excavations, but on the farm it doesn’t matter. It’s so cute to see him go at it with both feet and come up with dirt all over his big old face. Of course it’s not so much fun when he rides home in the car all dirty, but it’s worth it to see him happy.

We arrived around nine-thirty, and Faye told me about her uninvited visitor. “That’s just rude!” I said. “He should ask before snooping around, even if he is retrieving his own property.”

“Barb checked him out.” Faye was already poking around in the bunkhouse, deciding what Cramer might be able to use. “He owns an electronics store in the strip mall on 10th, and he’s an elder at the church Ben and Rose attended.”

“That’s not a ringing endorsement.” I shivered. “Churches with made-up names make me nervous.”

Faye paused to look at me, one brow raised. “The name of every church was made-up at some point, Retta, even ours.”

I let that one go. “Okay, he was looking for his chainsaw. I guess we accept that unless we can prove otherwise. Now let’s get to work.”

We spent hours moving, sorting, and cleaning. Originally a dormitory, the bunkhouse had become a storage place when the need for extra beds disappeared. Things that should have been thrown away or donated were taken out there to rot or seize up from temperature and humidity changes. Faye and I made two piles on the grass, one for trash and one for the Salvation Army. Luckily, one thing we found in the bunkhouse was a dolly, so between us we managed to get even big items like ancient cook-stoves, broken dryers, and battered chests of drawers outside.

Dale tackled the bathroom, which was more like a locker room than a bath. There were three toilet stalls and three sinks on one end, and a shower tree at the other. He worked to get the shower, one sink, and one of the toilets fixed and scrubbed clean.

Faye thought Cramer might want the large, ornate table that had been our mother’s pride and joy. The top needed refinishing, but the result would be much nicer than the junk they sell at big box stores. There were only three chairs left of the set, but she said that was plenty for a man who needed to think a while before taking up with another woman.

We were hauling a box of odds and ends outside when I noticed Styx sniffing at the lawnmower again, pawing at the dirt around it. “He sure likes that thing.”

Faye paused to wipe her forehead with her sleeve. “Buddy went over there, too. Something must be—” She paused as realization hit. “—buried there.”

Images spilled into my mind: Ben McAdams and Rose Isley quarreling. Ben striking out. Rose falling. Had she hit her head on something? Had he beaten her to death in a fit of rage? I feared we were about to find out.

“Not something. Someone!” I whispered.

Faye went toward the barnyard gate, where a shovel sat propped against a fencepost. “See if you can move that mower.”

The rider wasn’t much different from my own, just a lot older and rustier. I found the shifter, put it into neutral, and rolled the thing off to one side. The patch of ground Styx was so interested in was strewn with hay, which was odd now that I thought about it. Parking an old mower on a pile of hay is practically inviting a fire when you start it up again.

Using the shovel, Faye scraped the hay aside. The ground had been disturbed fairly recently. Marks showed where the dirt had been patted into place. “Oh, Lord!” Her face stiff with dread, Faye began digging.

Going to my car, I got a pair of gloves I keep there and returned. Taking the shovel away from Faye I told her, “My turn.” She backed away, panting a little from exertion.

About a foot down, the shovel struck something, and my stomach did a flip-flop. It wasn’t hard, like rock, but it definitely wasn’t soil. It was something that didn’t belong there.

Kneeling, I dug with my gloved hands until a scrap of color appeared in the brown dirt. It was an afghan, hand-made in blues and greens. As I gently scraped the dirt away, the outline beneath it appeared. A nose, a chin, a forehead. A person.

Somehow it seemed more respectful to peel the blanket back from the side, taking the final layer of dirt with it. Faye knelt beside me, grasping the cover near the bottom, and we pulled it away together. First a pair of jeans appeared, then a plaid shirt.

The face we revealed wasn’t Rose Isley’s, as I’d expected. It was Ben McAdams.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Faye

Barb’s call came moments after Retta and I made our grisly discovery. “Faye,” she said, speaking softly so she wasn’t overheard on her end, “the girls did something to Ben. We’re not sure what yet, but we’re pretty sure he’s dead.”

When I told her what Styx had led us to, Rory got on the phone and ordered us to wait for the sheriff to arrive. I could have told him I knew that much about crime scene investigation, but I merely agreed.

They were there in twenty minutes, first the sheriff, then an ambulance (much too late), and finally Rory in a city police car. Barb had stayed with the girls, and I imagined her irritation at being relegated to baby-sitter. Rory had called a child psychologist the department used in such instances and asked her to go to the house. None of us knew for sure yet what those three innocent-looking children had done, but they’d need counselling, no matter what.

The EMT spoke to Sheriff Brill in quiet tones. “Okay,” Brill replied. “Do what you have to do to get him out of there.”

Brill came over to where Rory, Dale, Retta, and I stood. “Broken neck, it looks like. There’ll be an autopsy, but the guys think it’s what killed him.”

“It can’t be the girls’ fault,” I said, aware of my desperate need to believe they’d done no wrong. “They couldn’t break a grown man’s neck.”

“We’ll look into it.” Brill’s tone was non-committal. “Doc says there’s a suitcase under the body. Somebody tried to make it look like McAdams left the area.” He glanced at the spot where Ben lay. “Those girls need official supervision.”

Retta went into what I call her act, though I have no doubt she’d argue with the terminology. When Baby Sister wants something from a man, things happen. Her hair seems to get shinier, her eyes start to glow. The way she stands becomes provocative, though I swear she makes no discernable movement. All I know is suddenly Retta isn’t a widow of almost fifty with two grown children. She’s a sexy, sweet young thing, and most men turn downright goofy. I’ve never understood how she does it.

“Sheriff, wouldn’t it be easier on everyone if the girls stay with us? Faye and I raised children, so we understand their needs. Barbara is a retired district attorney, a registered private investigator, and she has served as a Milldon County deputy.” She turned to Rory. “Isn’t that right, Chief?”

Rory is somehow immune to Retta’s charms, and I detected a glint of humor in his eyes. “Ms. Evans is very competent.”

Brill tried to remain professional, but judging from his expression, Retta would get what she wanted if he had anything to say about it. “I need to talk to the judge, but I think he’ll listen to me.”

Retta gave him what she’d call a grateful smile. Some might call it a simper. Whatever the term, it usually works.

When we got back to the house, Barb brought the two older girls into the office, leaving Daisy with Buddy and Dale in the kitchen. It was good that Buddy liked Daisy, because he wouldn’t have been pleased to see Styx making himself at home in his domain.

There was some shuffling as we arranged chairs for eight people and space for a very large, very determined dog. Finally we were settled, Styx resting his head on Retta’s knee. Barb had several fresh tissues in hand, possibly for her postnasal drip, but more likely preparation for removing dog drool from her office furnishings. The only reason Styx was allowed was that his presence made the girls less nervous.

Brill nodded at the psychologist, Julie Walters, who said gently, “Girls, we need you to tell us everything that happened, starting with the day your mom—left.”

Pansy’s jaw set, but Iris said, “You found him, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Brill said. “His neck is broken.”

“We didn’t do it!” The words came from between Pansy’s teeth.

“Just tell us what happened,” Julie said softly. “You’re not in trouble as long as you tell the truth.”

Pansy started to say something, but Iris spoke first. “We need to tell, Pansy.” Shifting her slight shoulders, she began, “We already told you we came home from school and Momma was gone.”

“Mr. Yates lets us off on the road,” Pansy put in. “He doesn’t like turning around in our yard, and we don’t mind walking. We came up the drive, and there was Ben, pacing back and forth like a grumpy, ornery old bear.”

Once again Iris cut off Pansy’s negative description of McAdams, probably fearing we’d suspect she killed him. “When he saw us coming he shouted, ‘Your mother’s run off!’”

“We didn’t believe him at first,” Pansy said, “but he took us in the house and showed us. Her things were gone, her favorite necklace, her nightgown, and some of her clothes.”

“How did he explain her absence?”

“He said they had a fight. I knew Momma wasn’t happy by how quiet she was lately.” Iris heaved a sigh as if we’d gotten to the hard part. “Ben said we had to keep it a secret or we’d get split up.” Her eyes reddened, and Julie moved on.

“So you kept quiet.”

“We thought if we waited, she’d come back—”

“She didn’t just leave us!” Pansy insisted. “He made her do it!”

Something passed across Iris’ face, and I guessed she feared it was worse than that. My throat closed as I thought of the things she’d kept to herself for her sisters’ sakes.