Resisting the temptation to get a nail file and start giving him a manicure, I sat quietly until he spoke again. “Maybe we could talk to Maggie. Or I could, I guess. I could tell her to go see the chief.”
“I’d feel so much better about doing it that way, Joe.”
We went into my room, and Joe called Maggie’s cell phone number. We both put an ear to the phone. This time Maggie answered her own phone. First Joe had to answer questions Maggie had about my disappearance. There was nothing new, he told her.
“Listen, Maggie,” Joe said. “There’s one other thing. Lee told me that the night she found Silas Snow’s body, she saw your car out there by his fruit stand.”
“Oh!” Maggie sounded startled. “I didn’t know anybody saw me.”
“She wasn’t sure it was you.”
“There’s no secret about it now, I guess. I was so worried about Maia getting taken by that fake movie producer. Anyway, I tried to talk to her when we ran into each other in the chocolate shop, but Aubrey Andrews Armstrong”—she spit the words out—“turned up, and I couldn’t. So I went out to her house that evening.”
She sighed. “I guess Lee told you I had run into him in California.”
“She tried not to break any confidences,” Joe said.
“Well, I guess my career, and maybe my marriage, are just about shot anyway. But, back to Tuesday. After I left the chocolate shop, I went back to the park to make sure the kids did the cleanup. It took more than an hour to pick up all the dirty paper napkins. But I was still worrying about Maia. So after I left the park, I went to her house to try to warn her about Armstrong.”
“How did she take the news?”
“I didn’t get to give it to her. Nobody answered the door.”
“Oh. But Maia and Vernon’s house is east of the Interstate. Why did you go over to the fruit stand?”
“What do you mean?”
“The fruit stand is on the west side of the Interstate. That’s where Lee said she saw you.”
“But I wasn’t there.”
“You just said you were at Maia and Vernon’s.”
“Yes, but I went back to the Interstate—from the east, just the way you’d expect—and I got on it headed north, and I went back to town.”
“So you were never on the west side of the Interstate?”
“No.” Maggie took a deep breath. “Does this mean that Lee
didn’t
see me after all?”
“It might. She said that as she came out of the fruit stand she nearly ran into a red VW.”
“A red one! I wasn’t driving the red one! I had the new one. The acid green. Ken . . .”
She quit talking, but it was easy to finish her sentence.
It hadn’t been Maggie I’d nearly run into as I drove out of the fruit stand. It had been Ken.
She promised to call the chief, and Joe hung up. We looked at each other.
“Why would either Maggie or Ken kill Silas Snow?” I said.
“Guessing by the weapon used—a shovel—it was a crime of passion. If one of them got really mad . . .”
“People don’t get that mad at folks they don’t know, Joe.”
“True. We tend to murder those nearest and dearest to us.”
“I hope that’s not really true. But you’ve had a lot more experience with killers.” In his previous life as an attorney, Joe had been a public defender. I knew he had defended accused killers.
“That was just a wisecrack, of course, Lee. Most people never have a reason to kill anybody. But anybody could be pushed over the edge, I guess.”
“How?”
“It has to be something that they perceive as a real threat—either to their physical being, as killing in self-defense; to their property, like killing a burglar; or to their . . . I guess you could call it self-image. I guess killing your wife’s lover would be a twisted form of that. Then there’s revenge, getting even with somebody who harmed you or threatened your view of yourself.”
“It’s hard to fit any of those motives with either Maggie or Ken and Silas Snow. I don’t think either of them had ever met Silas. They wouldn’t have cared what he thought of them.”
“Which probably means that they were out near the fruit stand for perfectly innocent reasons.”
We were still mulling over the Ken, Maggie, and Silas relationship—or lack thereof—when the phone rang again. Aunt Nettie caught it downstairs, then called up to tell Joe it was for him.
“Probably Chief Jones,” Joe said. He picked up the receiver.
I could hear the rush of profanity three feet away. “You
blankety-blank
! I’m going to come out there and mop the floor with you, you worthless piece of
excrement
! What do you mean? Telling my wife all that trash!”
CHOCOLATE CHAT
HALE AND HEART-Y
The good news about chocolate is—it’s good for you.
Chocolate contains phenolic chemicals, the same chemicals behind red wine’s well-documented ability to fight heart disease. Japanese research indicates that phenolics fight disases such as cancer and heart disease by increasing immune function and suppressing cell-damaging chemicals.
A 1.5-ounce chocolate bar contains as many phenolics as a five-ounce glass of cabernet. As might be expected, dark chocolate contains more phenolics than milk chocolate, and white chocolate contains very low levels.
But watch out! Chocolate may be healthful, but the fats and sugars mixed with it may counteract its value. For example, contrary to folklore, chocolate apparently does not promote tooth decay, higher cholesterol, acne, or hyperactivity. Alas, if you mix chocolate with
sugar,
all these things may result.
As for weighty matters: New products have been introduced over the past few years claiming to offer chocolate in low-sugar, low-fat, and low-carb versions. Just remember to read the labels carefully. “Low-sugar,” “low-fat,” and “low-carb” products are not always “low calorie.”
Chapter 18
I
t wasn’t Chief Hogan Jones, but I recognized the voice booming out the receiver and bouncing a yard away into my ear. It was Ken McNutt.
Nothing he said was very original; it was simply so surprising to hear that language and fury coming from the usually mild-mannered Ken. For the first time I
believed
he’d been a marine. Heck, judging from the words he used, I’d have believed he’d sailed with Captain Kidd.
Joe’s reaction also surprised me. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even seem to resent being cussed out.
He just listened until Ken ran down. When silence finally fell, he said, “Are you mad because I advised Maggie to go to Chief Jones or Lieutenant VanDam and tell one of them she was out near Silas Snow’s fruit stand the night he was killed?”
The cursing broke out again. Joe held the phone at arm’s length and waggled his eyebrows at me. He still seemed more amused than angry. When Ken again seemed to have run out of things to say, Joe spoke again. “I advise you to go talk to Jones or VanDam, too, Ken.”
More swearing. This time the tirade didn’t last as long, but it was still loud. Ken ended it with one statement I heard as clear as the call of a wood thrush on a Michigan summer night.
“I’m not going to let anybody hurt Maggie! I’ll kill’em first!”
“Nobody wants to hurt Maggie, Ken. But if she was out near the fruit stand, she may have seen something important.”
“She wasn’t near the fruit stand! She went to the Ensmingers house. And she didn’t even see anybody there!”
For the first time Joe reacted to Ken’s tirade. He snapped out an answer. “What did you say?”
“I said Maggie knows nothing about Silas Snow’s death.”
“No! No, you said—” Joe broke off. “Listen, Ken, this is vitally important. The fact that Maggie
didn’t
see anybody. Has she told anybody else that?”
For the first time Ken spoke in an ordinary tone of voice. “What do you mean? She told you a few minutes ago.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t catch the importance of it until you repeated it. Maggie may be in danger because of what she
didn’t
see. You’ve got to get her to a safe place.”
“A safe place?” Ken sounded dazed.
“Yes. Are you at the school?”
“No. I’m at home. Maggie’s at the school. She told me the number you called from.”
“Call her and tell her to stay there. Go get her. Put Maggie on the floor of the backseat. Take her straight to the police station, around at the back. Make her run from the car to the station. Ask for VanDam. And stay there until you see him. Don’t let her sit near a window.”
There was a long silence. “Joe, I know I lost my temper. But you don’t need to get even with me with some elaborate leg pull.”
“Ken, this is no joke! Maggie could be in real danger. If you don’t want to drive her to the station, I’ll call VanDam and ask him to pick her up. Call her and tell her to stay away from windows until he gets there.”
“No! No, I’ll take her. But Joe, if you’re kidding . . .”
“I am not kidding, Ken. This is exactly the piece of evidence VanDam and Hogan Jones have been looking for.”
I was full of questions, of course, but Joe shook his head. He waved his hand at me, then punched numbers into the phone.
“Hogan,” he said. “I just found out something.” He quickly told the chief what Maggie had said. “I told Ken to get her to the station as fast as he can,” he said. “You may be able to get enough for a warrant.”
He gave a few more grunts of the “uh-huh” and “uh-uh” variety, then he hung up.
“I’d better get down to the station, meet Ken and Maggie,” he said.
“Joe! What’s going on?”
“I gotta go. You know enough to figure it out.”
I followed him downstairs, still asking questions. Joe wasn’t talking. He charged the back door, but Aunt Nettie and I wouldn’t let him open it until we told him we couldn’t take much more of my “disappearance.”
“It’s just too hard on people,” I said. “My friends call up crying, and I feel like a louse.”
Joe smiled. “I’ll tell the chief. I think Maggie’s evidence will allow him to bring in the killer. Maybe you can be found alive this evening.”
He moved toward the door, then turned back. “I forgot to tell you one thing. I called the publisher of Maia’s book.”
“Oh? Did he pay her for it?”
“Yes and no. It seems that Vernon came to him and told him his wife’s big ambition was to see the book in print. Vernon paid to have it published and even threw in an extra thousand so the publishers could offer her a small payment they called an ‘advance.’ Vernon even offered to pay more to ensure their silence, but the guy claims he didn’t take the money.”
I discovered I was furious. “That’s the meanest thing I ever heard of.”
“Meanest?”
“Yes. For Vernon to fool her that way, to let her think a publisher really wanted that awful book. It’s a terrible thing to do.”
“But if she really wanted to see it in print . . .”
I shook my head, but Aunt Nettie was the one who answered. “No, Joe. Vernon’s motive might be good, but he fooled her. He wasn’t honest. This has got to be kept secret. Not one of us can tell a soul. Not a soul. If the word gets out, Maia will be humiliated.”
“I promise I won’t tell anybody but Hogan. And I promise I’ll never lie to either of you. Though I’m not smart enough to make either of you look foolish.”
“I do a pretty good job of that for myself,” I said.
Joe laughed, then gave me a kiss on the mouth and Aunt Nettie one on the cheek. He went out the kitchen door. Monte tried to go with him, but I caught him and kept him inside. Monte stood on his hind legs, scratching at the screen and whining as Joe drove away, traveling much faster than he usually did. He really seemed eager to meet Ken and Maggie. I still didn’t understand why.
I looked after his truck. “I heard Maggie’s story, too,” I said. “I don’t see anything to base an arrest on.”
“What did she say?”
I repeated the story to Aunt Nettie.
“I don’t see any special significance in it, either.” Aunt Nettie sighed and gestured toward Monte, who was still scratching at the screen. “Monte’s going to tear that screen up. I guess I’d better take him out again.”
“I’ll take a turn.”
“No, Lee! You can’t be seen.”
“I won’t be seen. I’ve been studying that map Hogan brought out. I can find a deserted road to walk on.”
“You could skulk in the bushes, I guess, but somebody might come along.”
“According to the map, I can go along the Baileys’ drive and cut across to the Sheridans’ cottage. Behind them I hit Mary Street, and that parallels Lake Shore Drive and goes clear down to One Hundred Eightieth Street. Every house on it is marked ‘summer cottage.’ There won’t be a soul there.”
“And that policeman sitting in our drive? What’s he going to do when you stroll past him?”
“He’s just here to keep reporters from coming in and asking rude questions. We’re not prisoners.”
She frowned, but I carried the day. After all, I wasn’t confined to the house because I was safer there. As long as the rifleman thought I was dead in the woods, I was safe wherever I was. No, I had hidden out for nearly forty-eight hours so that Hogan Jones and VanDam could trick the killer of Silas Snow.
The wind was still blowing and the temperature was in the fifties, so I got a jacket. By then Monte was jumping around madly, realizing he was going out.
“He does need a longer walk,” Aunt Nettie said. “I just took him around in the yard, since I had to stay within earshot of the telephone.” She frowned. “Do you want me to come along? I don’t want you to be nervous.”
“Nervous about being in the woods? I may be, but I think it’s better if I go out there and face the trees. It’s a case of getting back on the horse that threw you.”
“Be sure to come home before dark.”
“It won’t be dark for a couple of hours. I’m not going that far.”
Monte and I started off. I didn’t deliberately elude the cop in the driveway; I just happened to go out the back way, along the path to the Baileys’ house, and he just happened not to see me.