Virginia parked on the street in front of Becky’s house and started up the walkway.
The front door opened ahead of her, and Randy Graham exited the house, wearing a sleeveless, quilted vest. “Hello again.”
Virginia grumbled at him before a black object fell from his vest pocket. “You dropped something.”
Randy one-eightied and picked it up. He grinned at her, holding up the ski mask he had worn during the role-play fiasco as if it were an enticement.
Virginia rolled her eyes and continued to the front door.
Becky answered in a bathrobe. “Virginia. Why are you back here? I was just about to take a shower.”
“I won’t keep you long. I need to talk to you.”
Becky stepped back to let her in, but Virginia gave her head a gentle shake and stood in place. “Are you here to apologize?”
“No. Why didn’t you tell me about Corey’s life insurance policy?”
“I did.”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me how much it was.”
“Only because I didn’t know at the time. I was shocked when the insurance company told me.”
Virginia shrugged. “Well now that his death is officially a murder and not a suicide, there’s nothing to keep you from cashing in.”
“I’m telling the truth! Look, before Corey started contracting with the museum, we were barely making ends meet. I knew he had some life insurance through the TVA, but he never told me how much. I guess he wanted it to be a surprise.”
“How much more work did he have to do for the museum?”
“The contract was for a year, but the director was really happy with his work, so there’s no reason he wouldn’t have renewed it after that.”
“How many more pieces did he have to provide?”
“There was no limit. The museum replaces them regularly and sells them off to other museums. The curator, that stuck-up bitch Claire Beckett, always says, ‘Stagnant exhibits lead to dropping attendance.’ I bet she couldn’t wait to give Corey’s contract to her husband.”
“Her husband does those animal skeleton things too?”
Becky nodded. “He used to supply them before Corey got the contract.”
“I don’t like to ask this, but how much was he making from the museum?”
Becky shrugged and answered, “He was averaging about $3,000 a month.”
“Wow! I would’ve never guessed that much.”
“It’s funny what people will pay for.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll let you get to your shower.” Blank-faced Virginia turned away.
Becky grabbed her arm and widened her eyes. “Hey, don’t leave like this. You’re my friend. I’m sorry if I haven’t been the best to you since this whole mess began.”
Her friend’s description of recent events brought the expression raging back to her face. “This whole mess?” Virginia locked eyes with the widow. “Becky, your husband was murdered while you were sleeping with another man, and you’ve continued carrying on as if nothing happened. You betrayed him in life and in death.”
Becky crossed her arms, and once her mouth closed, she spit out, “My marriage is none of your concern!”
“You’re right. And neither is your friendship. Goodbye Becky.”
Virginia wandered around the natural history museum until she saw a woman setting up a display with what looked like a coyote skeleton. She glanced at the woman’s badge and stopped to speak to her. “A new piece?”
While adjusting it on the stand, Claire answered, “Yes, it just came in.”
“Your husband’s work?”
Claire Beckett stopped working and faced Virginia. “Who are you?”
“Virginia Kennon. I’m a PI investigating Corey Melton’s murder. You met my associates.”
“Yes, but I don’t understand why y’all keep coming around here. No one here had anything to do with it. Unless it was Becky.”
“Why would you say that?”
Claire shrugged. “Isn’t it always the spouse?”
Monty Beckett entered the room carrying a skeleton Virginia couldn’t identify. She nodded toward the approaching man and asked, “Speaking of which, is that yours?”
Claire pointed Monty to an empty display stand. “Just put it there.” She turned back to Virginia. “Did Becky tell you how they stole the contract from Monty?”
“How did they steal it?”
Now empty-handed, Monty joined his wife. “Honey, everything okay?”
Claire didn’t answer him. “She found out how much Monty was making and had her husband put in a lowball offer. My director will take any opportunity to cut costs.”
Monty asked, “Who are you?”
Claire answered, “Another PI.”
“Okay.” Monty stepped in front of Virginia, glaring down into her brown eyes and pointed a finger an inch from her nose. “You need to go.”
Virginia didn’t budge. “You need to get that finger out of my face.”
Monty jabbed his finger into Virginia’s forehead. “Now.”
Claire touched his arm. “Monty, stop.”
“Do that to me one more time,” Virginia dared.
Monty accepted the challenge and pushed her forehead again. Quick as a snap, she grabbed his finger and rammed it into her knee.
Monty yelped and jerked his hand back. “You bitch! You broke my finger!”
While Claire tended to her husband, Virginia told him, “It’s just dislocated. Now, I’ll go.”
Exiting the museum, Virginia heard her phone ring. “Hi Jeff.”
Jeff clicked on his turn signal as he talked on the phone over the car’s Bluetooth. “Hi. I need a favor. Can you track down a report on the windfarm land? The Rutherford Geophysical Survey Company was supposed to do a complete physical survey of the land, but Frank Belcher said he hasn’t received anything from them.”
As she walked to her car, Virginia put the call on speakerphone and typed the name of the company on her mobile browser. “Do you think he’s lying?”
“Possibly.” After making a turn, Jeff pulled down the car visor to shield his eyes from the sun. “Either way, our best bet for getting our hands on that report is through the surveyors.”
“Okay. I’ll take care of it in the morning.”
“Why not now?”
“It’s late. I wasn’t planning on going back to the office.”
“Are you outside?”
Virginia took the phone off speaker. “I just questioned Claire Beckett.”
“The museum lady? What about?”
“Apparently, Corey took the gig from her husband Monty, and neither of them is happy about it.”
“Monty? That name sounds… That big guy’s her husband?”
“Yes.”
“She left out that little tidbit when we saw them. Wait a second, you questioned him? Virginia, that guy held a knife to my throat! You shouldn’t have gone there by yourself.”
Virginia hopped into her car. “I can handle myself, partner.”
“Understood. Anyway, I’m calling it a day too.” Jeff exhaled a heavy sigh, sending fluttering distortions to the other end of the line. “Hey, do you want to meet me at Bakwudz tonight? I need to drink, and I need to drink hard.”
“Like ten o’clock?”
“Sure. I might get there a little early,” Jeff said as he pulled into the driveway for the Bakwudz Bar.
Virginia hung up and looked at her mobile browser, where she had typed in the name of the survey company. “It’s two blocks from here. Might as well take care of it now.”
In Barter Ridge, Lula Mae Rome arrived at her house just as the sun was touching Crown-of-Thorns Mountain – named for the ring of twisted dead trees that encircled its barren peak. She placed her park ranger hat on the kitchen table and called for her dog. “Sophie!” She walked to the living room but didn’t see the French bulldog. “Sophie?” She continued into the hallway and found the dog sitting in front of a closed door. “There you are. Why didn’t you come?” Sophie looked up before returning her attention to the door. “Emory’s not home. Why’re you staring at his room?” Lula Mae saw light shining beneath the door. “Is he home?”
She turned the knob and opened the door. “Emory?”
Lula Mae shivered at the chilled wind blowing through the open window. She hurried to close it but slowed before reaching it. “Did someone break in?” She took a pensive step toward it. “Where’s the screen?” She poked her head outside and saw the screen below, leaning against the exterior wall. She drew her head back in, shut the window and locked it.
Now shivering from fear, she turned around and scanned the room again for anything unusual. All she saw was Sophie now staring at the closed closet door. Is someone in there?
Rushing to the chest of drawers, Lula Mae opened the small box on top, where Emory always put his loose change, and she found a good fifteen dollars in coins. She grabbed one of his old socks from a drawer and poured the change inside. Clutching the mouth of the sock, she cocked her arm, preparing to swing the makeshift weapon.
Lula Mae crept to the closet door, shooing the stubborn dog away with her foot and gripping the door knob.
Sophie barked, sparked by Lula Mae’s heightened stress and strange behavior.
Lula Mae took a deep breath, swung the door open and jumped back with her sock-wielding arm raised. Her eyes darted about, but from the top of the closet to the bottom, she saw nothing more than a cedar chest on the high shelf, Emory’s old clothes hanging on the pole and several pairs of shoes aligned on the floor.
“Lula Mae?” Sheriff Rome called from behind.
She screamed and shot around to face her husband. “Nick!”
Sheriff Rome stood in the bedroom doorway. “Is something wrong?”
“I thought someone broke in.”
“And you were going to attack them with a sock?”
“It’s filled with change. It’s supposed to hurt.”
“Good lord, Lula Mae, you gotta stop watching those prison shows. What makes you think someone broke in?”
She pointed as she placed the sock on the nightstand. “The window was open, and the screen is on the ground.”
“It was? Maybe Emory came back for a visit.”
“Well, that’s what I thought, but he’s not here.”
He looked around the room. “Nothing else is out of place or missing.”
Lula Mae picked up Sophie and cradled her. “I know I didn’t open that window, and I certainly wouldn’t have left it open.”
The sheriff drew his pistol, prompting a gasp from his wife. “Stay here.”
Sheriff Rome left his wife alone with their dog in Emory’s old bedroom to search the rest of the house for signs of intrusion. Following a cursory inspection, he returned to her and announced, “All clear.”
Lula Mae bowed to let Sophie jump from her arms. “Thank goodness. Who do you think it was?”
Seeing the tension still in her brow, the sheriff lied to alleviate her concern. “You know, I might’ve done it. I came home for lunch, and it was a little stuffy in here. I think I did open it, and I guess I just forgot to close it.”
Lula Mae’s shoulders dropped. “Nick, how could you? Sophie could’ve gotten out.”
“I’m sorry.” Sheriff Rome caressed her shoulders. “How about we don’t cook tonight? Change out of your uniform, and I’ll take you to the Creekhouse to eat.”
“But it’s the middle of the week.”
“It doesn’t have to be a weekend for me show off my beautiful wife in town.”
A luster of delight beamed across Lula Mae’s face. “Give me five minutes.”
When his wife left for their bedroom, the sheriff hurried outside through the kitchen door and scurried around the house to Emory’s bedroom window. The snow coverage was minimal now, but even in the dusky light he spotted discernible shoeprints – tracks too big for him to have made. He pulled the flashlight off his belt and inspected the window. At the top of the bottom pane, just below the lock, he could see scrapes along the wood where the paint had been chipped away. There was no doubt about it. Someone had inserted a slender object between the two panes to jimmy open the lock. Maybe a knife. But why?