Murder in the Dog Days (Maggie Ryan) (29 page)

And Nick’s: when people started marching to protest some other pointless killing, I marched too.

And that question as the boy slid into the darkness: Nurse, tell me why.

Josie and Maggie were climbing the bank behind Holly, saying something about Mother getting worried, their shoes squishing in the damp weeds. Holly turned her face away from them. Be strong, Schreiner. Maggie paused and said uneasily, “Josie and I better go on to her house. Do you want me to come back for you?” Holly shook her head, not daring to turn around.

“Okay.” Maggie hesitated, then handed her a Kleenex. “We’ll see you there in a little while.”

Holly nodded mutely. Maggie squeezed her shoulder and then was gone.

Holly lifted the green branch and struck the old oak tree. One.

She hit it again and again. Two, three. The leaves were ripped, crushed, shredded. Defoliated. Stripped. Wasted. Whoopee. Panting with angry grief, she lashed harder and harder until the branch was a scarred naked cane and she was gasping for breath
.
Why?

And it’s one, two, three what are we fighting for?

Don’t ask me I don’t give a damn,

Next stop is Vietnam.

And it’s five, six, seven open up the Pearly Gates,

Well there ain’t no time to wonder why,

Whoopee we’re all gonna die.

It took twenty minutes for Holly to pull herself together and get back to the Colbys’. To her surprise Nick and Maggie were bundling Sarah into the Camaro. Maggie asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Holly turned to Nick. “Where are you off to in such a rush?”

He paused as he climbed into the passenger side. “We can’t find Olivia. She was supposed to meet with her editor hours ago.”

“She’s still not there?” She’d been late even when Holly had been talking to them.

“Her editor just called here looking for her.”

“For you,” Maggie interrupted, thrusting some papers out the driver’s window. “We’re worried, so we want to go check. Here’s where we’re going. And also—” Her fingers lingered on Holly’s hand. “I apologize. Really. It’s just that I wanted to protect Josie. Children need to grieve too and I was afraid your questions might complicate things.”

“You thought the big bad policewoman would brutalize the kiddies? Listen, I’ve nursed more broken children than you could ever imagine.”

Maggie shrugged. “Your act convinced me.” She gestured at the papers Holly held. “That’s why I wanted to keep you busy. It’s not Mr. Taynton’s fault. Anyway, I’d really like to talk to you again. See you soon.”

Taynton? The Mosby Museum director? What the hell was she talking about? Holly flipped through the papers as the Camaro backed into the street and swirled away around the corner. A scribbled name and address on the top sheet meant nothing to Holly. Underneath, sales slips. Dated today, from Mosby Hardware and from the Blue and Gray Frame Shop. Maggie had bought a picture frame, canvas, mat knife—oh, Christ. All the stuff they’d found on the steps of the Mosby Museum that morning. That asshole! Furious, Holly sprinted to the street but the Camaro had long since disappeared. Christ, Winks had spent all day looking for something that hadn’t even existed!

Not that she wasn’t just as pleased to have Winks out of the way.

Christ. What an asshole Maggie was. All to distract the authorities from a sad little girl.

She looked back at the sales slips and felt a grin tugging at her lips. An image flashed into her mind. The barracks at the 18th Surgical. She and Billie Ann and the others had found some cans of red and white paint one day. They’d painted pink polka dots all over their quarters. Tweaking official noses.

Maggie would’ve loved it.

All the same, Schreiner, right now the official nose is yours. Better get back to work. She shoved Maggie’s papers into her pocket and went back up the walk to ring the Colby bell.

“Oh. Detective Schreiner!” Donna’s arm was around Josie’s shoulder. The girl looked sad and spent, but more alive somehow, her hurt nearer the surface. Tina, eyes red too, hovered in the background. Donna said, “Please come in. I’m so sorry I was upset when you were here before.”

“It’s natural to be upset,” Holly said automatically. She followed them in and sat on the familiar sofa again. “I just have a few questions. I wanted to ask if you’d remembered anything about what your husband was working on. Especially this last week?”

“I’ve been trying, ” Donna said, “but I don’t know if it will help. I remember a Mr. Bates came here to talk to him. Something about Resler. And a man from the environmental group that opposes the highway came by. And a lot of phone calls. Mrs. Resler, Mrs. Carson from the congressman’s office. A woman, Priscilla something, I didn’t know her at all. Dale seemed happy to hear from her. She gave him a name and he said it was a new lead. But it didn’t seem to work out.”

Mitch, no doubt, refusing to cooperate with reporters. Turning the new lead into a blind alley, as he’d done with her. But Holly nodded. “Good. This is very helpful, Mrs. Colby. Now, we’ve been told there were tapes stored in this room. They’re missing now?” She gestured at the empty shelf.

“Yes, Maggie was asking about them too. It must have been the man who broke in that took them. I think I would have noticed if they were gone.”

Holly believed her. Josie, who had pulled away from her mother and was sharing a wing chair with Tina, said, “Except for one.”

“Yes, I wanted to ask you about that one,” Holly said gently. “Do you still have it, Josie?”

“Yes.”

“Could you bring it in, please?”

Josie slid from the chair and moved reluctantly from the room. Holly asked Donna, “What was on the tapes?”

“Interviews,” Donna said. “The current ones were in his study. The ones he stored out here were older. He’d already transcribed the parts he wanted, but he’d hold them until the story was finished.”

“Do you remember what story these were about?”

Donna shook her head. “I didn’t pay much attention. The labels were in code, you know, KC for Knox plane crash. The people he worked with could tell you more about them. I really didn’t do much except answer the phone for him when I was home too.”

“Mail?”

“No. He always checked the mail. In case there was a tip for him or something.”

“Did he ever talk about it?”

“Sometimes. He mentioned a letter from Felicia yesterday morning.”

“What was your impression of Felicia Colby?”

“I thought—well, it’s probably not fair. We only heard from her when she needed money. She needed money pretty often. It was hard for her, raising that child alone.” Donna’s blonde head bowed suddenly, as though realizing she was now in the same fix.

“Did she ever ask about Dale’s will?”

“Not that I know about. Maggie said I should look for a will in his papers. He never talked about a will.” Donna’s mouth trembled. “He thought he’d live as long as—as other people.”

“Yes.” Most of us think that. Some of us wish we didn’t have to. Holly glanced at her notes. Check with Gabe, see if they’d found anything in Colby’s papers.

Josie came back in and tossed a tape into Holly’s lap. “Daddy’s stuff is erased,” she said. “It’s John Denver now.”

“Yes, I know, but our people will still want to look at it. We’ll try to get it back to you right away, but—”

“No. I don’t mean that. You can keep it. I don’t want to see it again. Ever!” She dove into the farthest wing chair and buried her face in the back cushion.

“Josie, don’t cry!” Donna sprang up and ran to her daughter, her knee on the seat beside her. “Please don’t cry!” She had started crying herself. “Things will get better, really.”

Tina joined her mother and sister and for a moment all three sobbed together. Whoopee. Holly slowly put the evidence bag into her shoulder bag. The kids come first, Maggie had said, and promptly had reduced that stoic little girl to tears. Wonderful. And she’d almost done the same damn thing to Holly. Mitch was full of it too, all that garbage about facing the pain. After eight years, why face it now? Be strong.

Eight years of nightmares.

Phony forgetting.

Donna raised her head from her daughters. “I’m sorry, Detective Schreiner.”

Holly said gently, “It’s natural to be upset, Mrs. Colby. I’m finished with my questions anyway, unless you can think of something else.”

“No.” She straightened, brushed a hand across her hair. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Well, call me if you do. The girls too, okay?”

Tina just snuffled, but Josie’s teary eye appeared, peeking over her shoulder. “Okay,” she said.

Holly checked in with Gabe before she left. He was frantic. “Yeah, we got statements typed up and signed from most of them. Not Kerr, not Mrs. Colby. And Taynton at the Mosby Museum is going crazy. Can’t figure out which painting was stolen.”

“Nothing was stolen, Gabe. Call off Winks.”

“What do you mean?”

“Somebody bought a frame and burglar tools and left them on the steps. Practical joke.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’ve got the receipts right here.”

Gabe let out a whoop of laughter. “Christ! And old Taynton about to have kittens!”

“Break it to him gently, Boy Wonder,” Holly warned. “He can still complain to the chief if we don’t handle it right.”

Gabe was still chuckling. “Right. I’ll present it as the results of tireless police work.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Let’s see. Felicia Colby’s friend in Harrisburg. This Nan Evans. We finally got through, she said yes, she saw Felicia in the ladies’ just before five yesterday.”

“How about Doc Craine? Any word?”

“Not yet. And I don’t dare call him again.”

Holly sighed. “You’re probably right. Well, I’m going off to—” she glanced at Maggie’s scribbled note in her hand—“looks like Emmie Grant. Maybe Ernie. On Appleyard Road.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“No idea. But the Kerr woman is supposed to be there. Wait, there’s something else here.” There was another line written under the address. She squinted at Maggie’s scrawl
.
Pelt is found
?
No, no
t
found. Frien
d
, maybe. And was that a
n
o
in the first word
?
Pelot. Pilot
!
“My God, Gabe, it’s the pilot’s friend! Corky Lewis’s friend. His sister told me he met some Vietnam buddy last fall but I couldn’t get his name. Maybe this is the guy. Why the hell didn’t Kerr tell us?”

“She left messages twice,” Gabe reminded her.

“Yeah, and then she wasn’t there when I called back,” grumbled Holly. “Anyway, I’ll check this out. Back to you soon.”

18

Olivia stirred the scrambled eggs. “Do you like them well-done?” she asked timidly.

“Medium.” Ernie stood at the kitchen door, rifle balanced lovingly in his hands. Sergeant Rock snored at his feet.

She looked into the cupboard and pulled out a plate. “Is this one okay?”

“Yeah. One for you too.”

The inside of her cheek had stopped bleeding at last, though it still felt puffy. And so far she was doing well, keeping him happy. There had been no recurrence of that instant of uncontrolled fury when he’d thought she had called the police. Except for his growing irritation that the phone wouldn’t ring, he was being polite. He’d even noticed after a while that her cheek was swelling where he’d hit her, and had escorted her here to the kitchen, encouraging her to make herself an ice pack. Her jaw still throbbed dully but the ice pack stopped the bleeding and the headache had diminished too. While she held the towel-wrapped ice to her cheek he had said that some scrambled eggs would taste pretty good. “Oh, do you want me to fix you some?” she’d asked eagerly.

“Sure.” Ernie had grinned. It really was a nice grin. “How about you? Had any lunch?”

“Um—a little.”

“Some for you too. My guest,” he’d declared magnanimously.

“Yes. Uh—where’s a bowl?”

He directed her to bowl, skillet, eggs. When she picked up the heavy iron skillet he’d said in a tense voice, “No funny stuff, now.’’

“What?” She’d jerked around to look at him in alarm, dropping the skillet onto the stove. It made an enormous clatter. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Never mind.” His voice was peaceable again and the hands on the rifle relaxed. He picked up his beer, sipping slowly now. He watched her melt the butter, break the eggs, stir them into the skillet, start some toast. She worked carefully. The eggs had to be perfect so he would be happy.

Now she spooned them onto the plates, two thirds for him, and added a slice of buttered toast to each plate. He said, “Forks in that drawer.”

She found the forks. “Just put mine here on the counter,” he instructed. She obeyed, even though it meant sidling near the napping Sergeant Rock before she could leave the plate and retreat to the other end of the kitchen. The dog raised his head. Luckily he seemed interested in something at the front of the house, his ears pricking toward the dining-room door, away from her.