The Buick crunched to a stop on the gravel drive. I craned my head for a better look. Large metal bins, lined up like boxcars in a railroad yard, were marked with specific designations: PAPER, GLASS, PLASTIC, ALUMINUM CANS, CARDBOARD. I started to inch forward, but was stopped by a uniformed policeman barely old enough to shave.
“Ma’am, I’m afraid this is as far as you can go. The recycling center is closed.”
“Closed?” I stared at a large sign hanging from the gate. I took a wild guess and assumed it contained the hours of operation. For all I knew, it could have been a recipe for oatmeal cookies. They really ought to make signs trifocal friendly. “But, Officer, doesn’t that sign over there say the center is open nine to five, six days a week?”
“Sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to come back another time.”
“It’ll only take a minute.” I crossed my fingers and got creative. “I’ve got a big bag of aluminum cans in the trunk of my car. And a huge stack of newspapers,” I added for good measure. It wasn’t a total lie. I did have a bag of aluminum cans and a stack of newspapers, but they happened to be in my garage, not in the trunk of my car. A little white lie, not a big black one.
“It’ll have to wait for another day, ma’am. Sheriff’s orders.”
I peered around the steering wheel, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on. It was hard to tell with a half dozen uniformed men blocking my view. I thought some idle small talk might buy me extra time before I was shooed away. “I’m going green,” I announced.
The youthful policeman’s eyes widened. He looked at me as though he expected me to change color right then and there. “Excuse me?”
“I’m going green,” I repeated. “I think everyone should, don’t you?”
“Hmm . . .” He looked a bit uncertain. Probably wondering if I was off my meds.
“It’s up to us to save the planet, you know.”
Before he could reply, the coroner’s van pulled up behind me, and was motioned through. Something was up. Something was definitely up. Surely no one could expect me to leave just when things were starting to get interesting. I knew it wouldn’t be long before the mean old sheriff evicted me, so I had to make the most of the time I had left.
“People need to become eco-friendly if we want to take stress off the planet,” I said, expanding on my ecology lecture. “Personally I believe all of us should practice the three Rs.”
He scratched his head. “Reading, writing, and ’rithme tic? If you don’t mind my asking, how’s that going to save the planet?”
“Son, get with it,” I scolded. “This is the twenty-first century. The three Rs have changed since your grandmother’s time.” I said this with a straight face. Mind you, I’m well aware I’m a grandmother myself. This young man should thank me for updating his education. “The three Rs stand for reduce, reuse, and recycle.”
“Is there a problem, Olsen?” one of the sheriff’s deputies called over. He had probably noticed my Buick semi-permanently parked at the entrance.
“No, sir,” Olsen called over his shoulder. “This nice lady was just leaving.”
At the mention of “nice lady,” Sheriff Wiggins’s head whipped around. I waggled my fingers at him. A friendly gesture, which, by the way, he didn’t return.
“Olsen,” he growled, “kindly review the meanin’ of obstruction of justice for the ‘nice lady.’ She seems to have forgotten.” After giving me the evil eye, he turned back to business.
Keeping my gaze fastened on the sea of uniforms
,
I shifted into reverse. I watched as a man in jeans, T-shirt, and ball cap gestured repeatedly at a large bin marked PLASTIC. I was about to ease my foot off the brake when I noticed the bottom of the bin had rotted away. A dark icky liquid oozed out of a hole in one corner. I squinted, trying to see what had captured the men’s attention.
I couldn’t be one hundred percent positive from this distance, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it looked like string. Long, dark string mixed with gooey liquid. But why would string have the sheriff bringing in SLED? And the coroner?
I squinted so hard my eyes nearly crossed. I berated myself for not making an appointment for an eye exam.
String
wasn’t quite the right word for what I was seeing. This was finer. More like thread—or hair.
“Ma’am? If you don’t want to get on the sheriff’s bad side, it’s best that you leave.”
I nodded absently, my mind busily computing. SLED wasn’t called if someone accidentally dumped aluminum cans in a bin reserved for glass bottles. Or for improperly disposing of flashlight batteries. Body parts were another matter, however.
“Ma’am . . .”
It was time for me to go. I had seen enough.
Chapter 16
The following afternoon I went out to get my mail, stopping from time to time to pull weeds from the flower beds bordering the drive. I had just reached my hand inside the mailbox when the sheriff’s car pulled into the Brubakers’ driveway. I watched with interest as Sheriff Wiggins climbed out, then disappeared around the walkway leading to the front.
Now what? I wondered. Had the sheriff actually taken my worry about Rosalie seriously? Or was there another, more sinister reason for his visit? I hoped it had nothing to do with whatever had been found at the recycling center. I knew I should go inside, mind my own business, but my feet seemed to have a will of their own.
With each step toward the Brubakers’, I wondered how I was going to explain my visit. I had already traveled the lamebrained borrow-a-cup-of-sugar route. I glanced downward and realized I still held a handful of mail. I leafed through it slowly as I walked along, needing time to form a plan. An electric bill, a Macy’s ad, and the answer to my prayer—a mail-order garden catalog. Knowing Earl’s penchant for growing things, I was sure he’d appreciate my loaning him a garden catalog. No hurry returning it, I’d tell him. Take all the time in the world.
Belatedly my conscience kicked in. I hesitated just as the walk curved toward the front porch. How rude of me to intrude on a private conversation. I hated nosy neighbors, and now I had become one.
“Mr. Brubaker?” The sheriff’s voice carried loud and clear. “Your wife has been reported missin’.”
Apparently I was out of sight, but not out of earshot. Should I go, or should I stay? My feet seemed encased in cement and unable to move of their own accord.
“Missing? Rosalie’s not missing,” Earl replied, sounding irate. “She’s visiting the grandkids in upstate New York.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind givin’ us a number where she can be reached.”
“It’s none of your damn business.”
“Sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we need to verify her whereabouts.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’, I hope. We have the body of an unidentified female in the morgue. We’re just tryin’ to account for women in the area who have been gone two weeks or longer.”
“Well, it’s not my wife. Rosalie’s at our daughter’s in Poughkeepsie.”
“If you could give us your daughter’s number, we could clear this matter up with a phone call.”
“Fine.” Earl mumbled a number with an 845 area code. “Call her, you’ll see.”
“ ’Preciate your cooperation. And, sir, one more thing. Would you be willin’ to give us somethin’ that belongs to your wife? For instance, a hairbrush or a toothbrush.”
“What the hell you want that for?” Earl demanded.
“No need to get riled,” Sheriff Wiggins soothed in that wonderful baritone of his. “Thing is, if we had an item we could use for DNA, it would help us exclude your wife as a possible victim—and eliminate you as a . . . person of interest.”
“Me!” Earl squawked. “No frickin’ way! Surely you don’t think . . . ?”
“Of course, I could ask Judge Blanchard to sign a search warrant, but I hope that won’t be necessary.”
Could he really do that? I wondered. Wasn’t that against some constitutional amendment or other? But the sheriff was a shrewd one. He could be bluffing. Have to admit, he had me going for a minute. Sure wish he’d let me hang out with him so I could study his technique.
“Search warrants,” the sheriff continued smoothly, “tend to draw a heap of unwanted attention. You know how nosy folks can be.”
Humph! Nosy? Was he talking about me?
“Not that you have anythin’ to hide, but some folks might jump to the wrong conclusion.” The sheriff let the threat hang.
Earl finally relented. “Why the heck not? What’ve I got to lose?”
I could hear Earl’s footsteps recede, then grow louder again as he returned. I knew I should make my getaway, but those darn feet of mine didn’t want to budge.
“Here’s her hairbrush. Take the darn thing. Now leave me alone.”
The door slammed shut.
Before I could duck into the bushes, Sheriff Wiggins rounded the walkway, nearly knocking me off my feet. “Whoa,” he said, catching my shoulders just before I toppled into the holly.
“Sheriff . . . um . . . fancy meeting you here.”
The grim set of his mouth signaled he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Didn’t that man ever smile? Someone should tell him it takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown. But that someone wasn’t going to be me. At least not today.
“I . . . ah . . . ,” I stammered. “I was bringing Earl a garden catalog.” I waved the Jackson & Perkins catalog under his nose to give my story credibility. “Did you know he grows orchids?”
“I didn’t come here to discuss hobbies with Mr. Brubaker.”
“I’m afraid I might have given you the wrong impression yesterday.”
Sheriff Wiggins headed down the walk at a brisk pace. I practically had to run to keep up.
“I never meant to imply that Earl is guilty of any wrongdoing. I just wanted you to be aware that Rosalie’s been gone a long time and no one’s heard from her. I thought you could make a few calls, confirm that she’s safe at her daughter’s and that she’d be returning all in one piece.”
I winced at my choice of words. All in one piece?
When he didn’t reply, I forged ahead. “Where friends are concerned, the Babes and I only want peace of mind.”
I wanted to clap my hand over my mouth. There was that word again.
Piece
or
peace
, no matter which way you spell it, they both sound the same.
As we rounded the walk, he made a beeline for his cruiser. Soon he’d be gone and once again I’d be flounder ing with unanswered questions. I took a deep breath and blurted, “I see you have Rosalie’s hairbrush. Is it true examiners can eliminate a person based on microspectro photometry?”
Well, that certainly got his attention. He stopped so abruptly he almost left skid marks. “How do y’all come up with these questions?”
I shrugged, not wanting to brag. “I read.”
“That Nancy woman again?”
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “The Internet.”
Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he glared down at me. “This is a murder investigation, ma’am. Best leave it to the professionals.”
I have to admit, if he meant to intimidate me, it worked. But I didn’t want to let him see that. I countered by tilting my head back until I heard vertebrae in my neck crackle and stared him in the eye. “Earl isn’t a murderer.”
“And you know this how?”
“I just do, that’s all.”
The sheriff wagged his head and, heaving a sigh, continued toward his car. I hustled to keep up. No easy task for a woman who used to be five feet three before she started shrinking. I make sure to take plenty of calcium. Can’t afford to get any shorter.
I caught up with him just as he slid into his cruiser and started the engine. “If Earl
did
harm Rosalie, I probably would have found something when I went through his trash.”
“You what!” He looked as if he wanted to throttle me. “What were you thinkin’?” He didn’t wait for an answer, which turned out to be a good thing since I didn’t have one. “You know, don’t you, that I could arrest you for tamperin’ with evidence?”
“Unless you want to consider a jar of spaghetti sauce evidence, there wasn’t any
evidence
to be found. Besides, it isn’t against the law to look through trash that’s been left out on the street. Lennie and Ed do it all the time.”
Sheriff Wiggins pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lennie and Ed who?”
“Detectives Lennie Briscoe and Ed Green. They’re partners on
Law & Order
.” There! I had gone and done it again. How could I ever expect the man to take me seriously if I kept spouting TV trivia?
“Oh, yeah, right,” he sighed. “
That
Lennie and Ed. I suppose they’re best friends with the lady detective you talk about—Nancy somebody or other.” He shifted into reverse and backed down the drive.
“You really ought to watch more TV,” I called after him. “You can learn a lot.”
I don’t think he heard me. The man must think me a complete idiot. I swear my IQ drops to a new low each time we talk. At this rate, I’ll soon have no brain cells left.
I stared after him until the patrol car disappeared from view. That man made me so mad that I wanted to stomp my foot like a two-year-old. It should be reassuring to know that by checking out Earl he was at least taking my concerns seriously. Small consolation, that. How hard could it be to track down three missing women? He had all sorts of resources at his command. He had SLED, for crying out loud. I bet I could do an equally good job with far less. And I had one resource he didn’t have—I had the Babes.
Chapter 17
Megan phoned early Tuesday morning. “Lucky for you, Kate, Dr. Baxter just had a cancellation. Naturally I called you right away.”
“Naturally.” This is the kind of luck that keeps me from buying a lottery ticket.
“Can you come in this afternoon at two thirty?” Megan sounded so pleased, so proud. Poor girl, she probably harbored the delusion she was doing me a huge favor.
I explored the evil tooth with the tip of my tongue and felt a
zing
. “Sure,” I replied, resigned to my fate. “Pencil me in.”