I recognized one of the posse volunteers as a woman I’d seen before and thankfully she, too, seemed to recognize me. She motioned me over and kept her voice low. “You’re Sophie Kimball- Gregory, right?”
I nodded.
“Your husband and your boss are inside. You can’t go in but I’ll let them know you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
Meanwhile, Tim Justin introduced himself to the other posse member and showed him his press identification. Like me, he wasn’t allowed inside, but a sheriff’s deputy came out to speak with him. I imagined the carefully constructed narrative would be the one that would air on TV later tonight.
“Phee,” Marshall said as he stepped outside. “I didn’t expect you to drive over here. Just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
I gave him a hug and stepped back. “You should know me better by now. Tell me what’s going on. And relax, none of the rumormongers at Louise’s house know what’s happening. Not yet anyway. And certainly not from me.”
“Okay, let’s talk way off to the side where no one can hear us.”
We skirted around to the back of the building and made sure no one could catch our conversation. Then Marshall spoke. “Aimee was found passed out, barely breathing, inside the auto paint booth. This never should have happened. It’s a twenty-thousand-dollar structure with a cross flow to prevent that sort of thing. And, according to Jared, who was also there along with Darleen and Luella, it was fully functional earlier in the day when someone else used it.”
“Who? What someone else?”
“Nate’s getting all of that information.”
“What about Aimee? Is she going to be all right?”
“She’s breathing. The EMTs treated her and rushed her to the hospital.”
“Holy cow! You said possible sabotage. What are the deputies saying?”
“It’s Bowman and Ranston. That should answer your question.”
“Tim Justin is here, by the way.”
Marshall rubbed the back of his neck. “No surprise. He’s quite the go-getter when it comes to breaking news stories. Nate and the deputies are speaking with everyone who’s in the garage—the people I already mentioned plus Wayne, Kevin, and Bill.” Then he looked around to make sure we were still alone. “The deputies may be tight-lipped, but Nate and I strongly suspect tampering with the mechanism. We’ll know more when the forensics crew arrives. They should be here any minute. No sense having you wait. It’s going to be a long night.”
“Want me to bring you guys back some coffee or anything?”
“One of the posse volunteers called his wife and she’s making a late run to Dunkin’ in Surprise.”
“Good. Keep me posted. Say, what makes you and Nate believe it wasn’t an accident?”
“Someone stuffed the exhaust ventilation fan with wads of accumulated lint. Possibly from their own dryer. They also punctured small holes in the hose that pressurizes the paint, so toxic fumes could leak out. This was no accident. It was planned.”
“Wouldn’t the system have shut off automatically?”
“Not right away, even though they’ve got the most efficient option. Apparently, there are a few kinds. This one’s a downdraft system, according to Wayne, where the draft runs right down from the ceiling to the floor. It’s the cleanest option for painting. It wouldn’t matter, really. Once something is clogged, it’s clogged.”
“I suppose the forensics crew will be studying the fibers from that lint.”
“They’ll be analyzing it, all right, but who knows how long that’s going to take. Right now, it’s fingerprints and the usual protocol. Bowman plans on heading over to the hospital to get a statement from Aimee once she regains consciousness. Meanwhile, it’s back to getting statements from everyone. Too bad the only surveillance is the front of the building and it’s been acting up lately.”
“Tampered with?”
Marshall shrugged. “Hard to tell. The IT team from the sheriff’s office will have a better idea. Meanwhile, I’d better get back inside. Don’t wait up. I’ll call if anything new emerges.”
We gave each other short pecks on the cheeks before I walked back to my car and Marshall to the scene of the latest possible crime. Going to sleep at my normal hour was never going to happen. More thoughts crossed my mind than ants on a watermelon.
Once home, I made myself comfortable and nuked a pot pie. Marshall would have to make his salad another time. Then, I plopped myself on the couch with my half-used marble composition book and did something I should have started days ago—a murder map.
I drew a stick figure of Betsy in the middle of the page, and with spikes and cartoon-like bubbles attached, I filled in the suspects—Aimee, Darleen, Luella, Jared, and Holt. I was hesitant to add Wayne, or any of Herb’s crew, for that matter, but I did add a side note indicating he, along with Kevin, Bill, and Herb, were part of the auto restoration club.
Then I filled in the pertinent data:
Holt—treasurer, verbal altercation with Betsy, accused of cooking the books
Aimee—club member, ongoing scuffles regarding facility use
Darleen—ditto to Aimee
Luella—rivals for Paul’s affections. Ew!!!
Jared—No real info. Club member for years.
Mystery person who used paint booth during the day.
Other woman at workbench the first day.
That was seven suspects and four of them had motives for murder. They also had means and opportunity. I made a mental note to ask Marshall what he knew about that other woman. Especially since he or Nate must have interviewed her. I did remember that the folks they interviewed from that morning all indicated they had been in the facility most of the day and said no one else had come in.
The good news—it narrowed down the suspects. The bad news—it narrowed down the suspects. Nate had always said we were better off with a long list of suspects rather than a handful, but if we wound up with a short hand, it would make it easier to look for connections. I hoped he was right.
Then there was Aimee. Was her accident, or possible attempted homicide, in any way related to Betsy’s demise? And if so, what was the common thread? And who held the needle?
I studied the list of suspects two more times. The last thing I wanted to do was to elbow my way into the investigation when Nate and Marshall were asked to assist. Then again, they were also knee-deep in mire with that missing doll. I figured if I could keep things low-key and under wraps, I might be able to find some information that I could unceremoniously pass along to them.
I knew detectives used sites like TLOxp and IRBsearch as well as a number of government sites, but armchair sleuths were relegated to Facebook and other similar social media options. I’d been down that road before and I figured with a little help from Lyndy, we might be able to help move the investigation along.
“You want me to what?” she asked when I called. “Stalk people on Facebook and Instagram?”
“Not stalk, study. Dig deep on their profiles. Hobbies. Friends. Friends of friends. Think of it this way, we’ll be leading the horse to water but when he finds it, he’ll think he was the one who discovered it.”
“Oh, brother. Why the sudden push?”
“Pinky swear you won’t breathe a word of this.”
“I’m not back in junior high.”
“Fine. Just don’t tell Lyman. Or anyone.”
“I won’t. Now tell me what’s going on.”
I broke the promise I made to Marshall less than two hours before, but I knew Lyndy would keep her word. At least better than I did. When I finished, she was stunned.
“That auto restoration garage is becoming a house of horrors,” she said. “Are they sure it’s not an accident?”
“They’re sure. Just waiting on the official word. So, will you do it? Dive into social media on my suspect list? We’ll divvy it up. It’ll save time.”
“Beats the crossword puzzles. At least this time I don’t have to impersonate anyone. Or worse. I don’t, do I?”
“It’ll be like that old ad for the Yellow Pages—‘Let your fingers do the walking’—only they’ll be clicking a mouse instead.”
“Text me the names and I’ll get started.”
“We can compare results over paninis at Twisted Italian on Thursday. Since tonight is Monday, that’ll give us three days to do this. It shouldn’t take that long.”
“What about dinner and Marshall?”
“He’s got a full week of late nights. Besides, I’ll bring home some of that special bread and the homemade gelato.”
“Boy, it sure didn’t take you long to become a devious wife.”
“I’m not devious, I’m exercising my role as his helpmate.”
“Remind me to call emergency services if I ever need help.”
“Very funny.”
We agreed on later in the week and split up the names. I got the Turk sisters and Jared. Lyndy picked up Luella, Holt, and the mystery person pending Marshall’s ability to find out who that was. The other woman was still up for grabs.
“What about the doll case?” she asked. “What’s happening with that?”
“It’s a Ping-Pong ball. Now back in the art museum’s court. I’ll tell you more later.”
“Gee, and the only interesting thing in my office is that we’re getting a software upgrade. That’ll mean more work, not less. My gosh, I’m sounding like my cranky aunt. Hope it doesn’t run in the family.”
“Got news for you. It runs in all our families.”