“I suppose. Why?” Ash asked as she pulled the camera case from the backseat of Tina’s car.
“Because I just realized that I have to go chase down a time-sensitive lead.” I glanced at my watch. It was 7:37, so I might still have time.
“You’ve lost me,” said Ash.
“Me, too,” said Tina.
“The screwdriver. It looks brand-new.”
“So?” asked Tina.
“We don’t know why Sherri went to Rawlins’s farm, but I think it’s safe to assume that she didn’t originally plan to fake the theft of the Saab, since there’s no way she could have predicted that Ash was going to show up at Rawlins’s farm. However, once Sherri sideswiped Ash, she decided to dump the car. But where did the screwdriver come from?”
“Maybe she has a small toolbox in the trunk,” said Tina. “We can look.”
“Possibly, but I’ll bet you won’t find one. People who keep tools in their trunk use them. That screwdriver looks pristine.”
“Are you thinking Sherri told Jesse to bring it here?”
I answered, “Yeah, and he probably doesn’t have a toolbox in his car trunk either. Maybe I’m being judgmental, but he is such a pretty boy, I don’t see him as being a grease-under-the-fingernails sort of guy.”
“So he would have had to stop and buy one,” said Ash.
I nodded. “Put yourself in his place. You don’t know the area and you’re driving along Highway Thirty-Three from the lodge toward the Blue Ridge, trying to figure out just where the hell you’re going to find a screwdriver at that time of night. You come to Elkton and what do you see on the left side of the road?”
There was a moment of silence and then Tina exclaimed, “Delbert’s DIY Emporium!”
I touched the tip of my nose. “And they sell screwdrivers at a hardware store. It seems to fit, but I don’t know how late Delbert’s is open on Thursday nights.”
“Eight o’clock. They’re open every night except Sunday until eight.”
“And when did the hit-and-run happen?”
“Approximately ten minutes after seven,” said Ash.
“That’s more than enough time for Sherri to have called her boy toy for help, and then for Jesse to have gotten to Delbert’s before it closed.” I turned to my wife. “Honey, I need a couple of close-up pictures of the screwdriver, most ricky-tick.”
“On it,” she replied, grabbing the Fuji Instax camera from the case.
There were two bright flashes of light and Ash returned a moment later, waving two pictures in the air so that the photo emulsion chemicals would dry more quickly. She handed them to me and said, “I assume you’re heading down to Delbert’s now?”
“Yeah. I need to get there before they close and confirm whether they even carry that brand of screwdriver. If so, maybe we’ll catch a break and they’ll remember selling one to some guy last night.”
“So we can hope that the screwdriver will end up screwing the driver of that Saab.” Ash gave us a demure smile.
Tina gave my wife an incredulous look, and I said, “Yep, you’ve
definitely
been hanging around me too much.”
Fifteen
I telephoned the Massanutten Crest Lodge while driving down to Elkton. Luckily, I managed to catch one of the nighttime security guards in the office. I explained who I was and gave him my cell phone number, telling him it was imperative that Linny call me. The guard said that he’d try to contact Linny immediately, but couldn’t guarantee when I’d receive a callback.
The dashboard clock said it was 7:58 P.M. as I pulled into the almost-vacant parking lot of Delbert’s DIY Emporium. Delbert’s was an example of an increasingly rare business in the United States: a local, independently owned hardware and building supply store. As I walked toward the cement warehouse-style shop, a middle-aged woman wearing a red vest appeared on the other side of the glass double doors at the entrance. It was obviously the store manager getting ready to close.
If we’d been in an urban area, she’d have probably hurried to lock the doors and then yell through the window for me to come back tomorrow. But thankfully, things are still fairly civilized in the valley. The manager didn’t pointedly look at her watch or heave a huge sigh of exasperation. Instead, she held the door open for me.
“Can I help you find something?” the manager asked.
“Yeah, I hope you can.” I showed her my sheriff’s office ID card and then the photos of the screwdrivers. “Do you sell this kind of tool here?”
Surprisingly, the woman was eager to help. “Sure. They’re about the cheapest brand of screwdriver we carry.”
“Could you show me where they are?”
“This must be pretty important if you’re working on a Friday night.”
“It is, but I can’t really talk about it.”
“That’s all right. Everybody else is talking about it. Ev Rawlins was a regular customer and a good man. I hope you catch who killed him.”
She led me into the store and down an aisle packed with all sorts of hand tools, including a display of screwdrivers that matched the one in the Saab’s ignition.
I then conducted a brief interview of the manager, whose name was Doris Axford. Doris told me that she’d been at the hardware store on Thursday night, but hadn’t been working the cash register and therefore didn’t know if anyone had come in to buy a single screwdriver. She went on to say that the person manning the checkout kiosk had been Brianna Stearns, who was off tonight and not expected back at work until Sunday.
Knowing that it was probably against company policy to release an employee’s phone number, I asked Doris if she would call Brianna and pass along the message that it was important I speak with her. Doris said she’d do her best, but didn’t sound hopeful. She explained that Brianna liked to “party hearty” on the weekends and almost certainly wasn’t home.
Glancing at her watch, Doris primly said, “Besides, by now Brianna probably ain’t in any condition to know her name, much less remember a customer from last night.”
“Do you guys have a security video system?” I asked, while scanning the ceiling for signs of a closed-circuit TV camera.
“No, sir. Never needed one, but I guess times are changing around here.”
“And not for the better, unfortunately. Is it possible for us to check the cash register records or credit card transactions?”
“Not tonight. All of that stuff is in Delbert’s office, and he’s already down in Blacksburg for the Virginia Tech game tomorrow.”
Being a fan of Virginia Tech college football is almost an evangelical religion in the Shenandoah Valley, so I knew it wasn’t very likely I could persuade the store owner to return tonight, not even to help with a murder investigation. Blacksburg was a three-hour drive to the southwest and Doris told me, in a roundabout way, that Delbert also liked to “party hearty” on the night before a big game, so he’d likely be in no condition to drive. Still, I asked her to call him, too, and pass along the message to contact me at his earliest convenience. I gave her a business card and thanked her for her assistance.
Once I was outside, my cell phone rang.
“Brad, this is Linny returning your call.” The director of security spoke loudly so that he could be heard over what sounded like one of the
Shrek
movies in the background.
“Thanks for getting back to me so quickly, Linny. Something has come up, and I need a big favor.”
“I hope you don’t want an update on Chester Lincoln. I haven’t been able to find any security footage on him yet.”
“Chet can go on the back burner for now. I need your help with a homicide investigation.”
“A what? Is this that murder they were talking about on the six o’clock news?”
“Yep.”
“And is that why you were at the lodge today?” The sound of the movie receded and I realized he’d gone into another room.
“Yes, and I’m sorry for not telling you about it, but I wasn’t at liberty to talk.”
“You could’ve trusted me.” There was an offended tone in Linny’s voice.
Actually, I was pretty certain that wasn’t true, which was why I hadn’t originally told him the real reason for my visit to the lodge. Linny would have promised to remain silent, but he struck me as so desperate to be seen as an important man that he’d have eventually revealed the secret to someone he wanted to impress. However, I needed his assistance, so I had to come up with a plausible and palatable excuse for why I’d kept him out of the information loop.
Does that sound a wee bit callous, duplicitous, and manipulative? Maybe. Call it fibbing, positive spin, white lies, or whatever you’d like, I’ll use a falsehood if it helps me find a murderer.
I said soothingly, “It wasn’t because I distrusted you, Linny. I was just trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From the killer. This morning we were looking at Chet Lincoln as possibly being our murder suspect. Now if I’d told you that, what would have happened if you’d seen Chet a little later?”
“I’d have called the sheriff.”
“Who are you kidding?” I said with a genuine-sounding disbelieving chuckle. “You and I both know that you’d have probably done something brave and stupid and tried to apprehend him yourself, right?”
“Well, I suppose that’s true,” Linny said modestly. “But now you don’t think Chet is the killer?”
“He’s still on our suspect list, but no longer our main focus.”
“Then it’s Marilyn Tice?”
“There’s no evidence that she’s committed any crime. However, the same thing can’t be said for a couple of your guests.”
“At the lodge? Who?”
“Sherri Driggs and Jesse Hauck. It’s beginning to look as if Ms. Driggs’s car was never stolen from the hotel, or any place else for that matter. That’s why I’m calling.”
“You mean she made a false report?”
“Yeah, and tried to put you through the wringer in the process,” I said, surreptitiously reminding Linny that he had a personal score to settle with Sherri.
“That’s right! How can I help?”
“I need you to go to the lodge and pull the security video from last night. Ms. Driggs said she and Mr. Hauck both returned to the hotel at around six P.M. and neither went out again. We’re depending on you to prove that she’s a liar.”
“You sound as if you want me to come in tonight.”
“I do. You’ve heard of the first forty-eight hours? That’s when we solve murders, Linny, and the clock is ticking.”
“But I can’t come in tonight,” Linny was obviously distressed. “I have my kids for the weekend, and there’s just no way I can leave them alone. Could I come in first thing tomorrow morning?”
“Of course. I can’t find fault with a man who takes good care of his children,” I replied, and this time I wasn’t trying to butter Linny up. “In fact, get back to your kids right now. I’ll send you an email later tonight, with the time parameters and—oh, hell, I just thought of something. Are you going to need photos of Ms. Driggs and Mr. Hauck so you know who to look for on the video?”
“No problem. I met both of them yesterday when Ms. Driggs jumped down my throat over her car being stolen. I’ll know them when I see them on the video.”
“Excellent. One other thing: You can’t let anybody know about this. If Ms. Driggs and Mr. Hauck catch so much as a hint that we’re looking at them, they’ll sky out for Atlanta and we won’t be able to do a thing about it.”
“You can count on me, Brad.”
“I know. Thanks, and look for that email at your office tomorrow morning.”
As I disconnected from the call, I saw a tow truck rolling eastbound on Highway 33. It was probably the wrecker that Tina had summoned for the Saab. I briefly considered following the truck back up to Thermopylae, but concluded it made more sense for me to instead find a computer and do some background research into Sherri Driggs and Jesse Hauck.
I drove to the sheriff’s department and waved to the dispatcher as I headed for Tina’s office. Suppressing a yawn, I realized that the caffeine buzz from the sweet tea we’d had at dinner was wearing off. There was no telling how much more investigative work had to be done tonight—and after that, Ash and I still had a teddy bear display to assemble—so I put a pot of coffee on to brew.
As the coffeemaker began to gurgle, I emailed Linny the time parameters I wanted him to check on the security video, and then I began my computer search on Sherri Driggs and Jesse Hauck. I was sipping black coffee that was almost as dark as my mood and frowning at the computer monitor when Tina and my wife came in.
Tina pointedly glanced from the coffeemaker to my cane on her desk and then at me seated in her office chair and said, “Gee, I guess you don’t need to be told to make yourself at home.”
“Yeah, I’m not the only one who might be making myself at home,” I said sourly. “And home might never be the same again.”
“What’s wrong?” Ash asked.
I handed the women some sheets of paper that I’d printed out during my Internet search. “I plugged Sherri Driggs’s name into the search engine and look what I came up with.”
Tina squinted at the paper. “The Amerriment Corporation? Who are they?”
“A theme park consortium.” I looked at Ash. “Do you remember the Sierra Bear Mountain Fair?”
Ash looked up from the paper she held, and her eyes narrowed. “That cheesy amusement park near Stockton? How could I forget?”
“Well, Amerriment owns it and five other theme parks scattered over the country.”
“We got roped into taking Heather and some of her girlfriends to the Bear Fair when she graduated from junior high school,” Ash explained to Tina.
“It’s a cute name for a park,” said Tina.
“That fooled us, too. But the place was awful: dangerous-looking roller coasters, tacky carnival games, and horrible junk food.”
“And booze,” I added. “It’s the only theme park we’ve ever been to where beer was sold everywhere. It was a warm day and by three o’clock, the place was just full of drunken guys ogling my teenage daughter and her friends.”
“We left before Brad could shoot anybody,” said Ash.
I nodded. “And when I complained to the manager, he laughed and told me it wasn’t nineteen-sixty anymore. So, there’s a brief overview on the sort of classy operation you can expect from Amerriment.”