CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AS NEWT HARMON had observed, I clearly hadn't locked myself in a closet with about 150 pounds of flagstones outside it. No one doubted what happened.

However, I had no description of my captor, and unless the sheriff's deputies had missed a spot, there were no fingerprints. Once again, there was no proof to help find the bad guy.

Within an hour of being found, I was in Sheriff Gallagher's office with Mister Tibbs asleep at my feet. I had refused to go into the building without her. I sat at his small conference table, my back to the hallway door, with Gallagher and Newt Harmon across from me.

"Cigarette smell and sort of deep, gravelly voice. Nothing else at all?"

"Mister Tibbs saw him. I didn't."

Gallagher just stared at me. "She isn't a cooperative witness."

I shut my eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and let it out. "I'm sorry I was snarky."

"I'd be upset, too. Good thing you hung up on nine-one-one."

"I didn't have a lot of choice. I'm glad you guys followed through." I nodded at Newt. "Especially you."

He nodded, with a worried expression that had not left him since he'd found me.

"And you heard no car," Gallagher said.

I didn't remind him we'd already discussed this. "My truck was in the barn. My keys were still on a kitchen counter when Newt found me."

Gallagher nodded. "So, if they'd wanted your truck, they could have taken it. Probably had a car nearby."

"If it was me," Newt said, "I'd have taken your keys."

I thought about that. "I guess the guy didn't think I'd be getting out anytime soon."

Gallagher made a note on his yellow pad. "Probably didn't want to be seen driving your pickup, so he didn't want to take it."

Newt and I both said, "Good point."

I figured Newt was sucking up. I wasn't. I hadn't considered that, but it made sense. If someone did not want to be seen in my truck, did it make it more or less likely that the person was from South County?

"Wish you'd told us earlier today about the boxes in the field," Gallagher said.

"Me, too, now. I couldn't think of how to do it." I'd just told them I was in Frost's yard at midnight. I didn't mention I'd been in the house.

"Humph. I can see why. What in the hell were you looking for?"

"Anything that would show Ambrose didn't kill Peter Frost."

"Not sure that's the best place to look." Gallagher glanced at his notes. "Let's go over one more time what you saw in your house."

"You wrote it down. I think the guy must have stayed there some, guarding the goods in the barn."

"Goods that, if they were there, are long gone."

"Maybe they took the last boxes last night and then came back to get the stuff from the house today."

"Seems odd," Newt said. "They must've been pretty sure you and Ambrose wouldn't go in the house."

"Convenient," came Granger's voice from the door.

Gallagher looked at his deputy and frowned. "Granger."

I turned to face him, noting Granger’s rigid posture and arms folded across his chest. "So they must be local. Lots of people knew I drove out there once or twice a week, but because of the lawsuit, I didn’t go in the house."

"Aaron, you can't be in here."

Granger's face was a mix of anger and something else. "Did you see a cat when you were trespassing last night?"

I feigned surprise. "Funny you ask. I thought I heard one, but I couldn't find it."

"You aren't a very good investigator," he said.

"Granger, out." Gallagher's tone was firm.

Granger turned and left. His footsteps in the hall sounded like marching boots.

Newt cleared his throat. "Uh, sheriff. Granger and I were, uh, at his uncle's place last night."

Gallagher's face began to redden, and he turned slightly to face Newt. "Will I find that on our blotter?"

"No sir."

"Put it there. Why the hell were you out there?"

Deputy Harmon, who was in full deputy mode now, explained about Granger seeing my car in town at about eleven-thirty and then not seeing it at Mrs. Keyser's.

Gallagher sounded as if he was holding back a good holler. "And you saw what at Frost's place?"

"Just the cat. Must've gotten locked in the house. Really thin. Granger took it."

"Too bad cats don't talk either." Gallagher turned to me. "You see those two?"

I shook my head. "I was pulling out when I saw headlights in the distance. I turned toward the Donovans' place and took the long way back into town."

Gallagher started to say something, but I interrupted. "And I parked behind the barn. No one could see my car from the road, Frost's or the Donovans' place. That's how they, the murderer, got into the barn without being seen."

"They," he muttered. In a normal tone, he said, "Harmon, get that on the blotter, and when Ms. Perkins is gone, you tell Granger I want to see him."

Newt left, and Gallagher stared at me for a good two or three seconds. A long time when a person feels like they're on the hot seat.

"Melanie, this is odd. But you and I know it doesn't change much. Ambrose was holding that knife."

I swallowed. "But it should raise some questions."

"I will go so far as to say it might. It could also be a homeless guy figured where the hell you kept the spare key and was staying out of the rain."

"A homeless person wouldn't lock me in the closet."

He shrugged. "Homeless or not, could have been someone trying to stay off anybody's radar. Not a good person to be alone in a house with."

I nodded. "If I'd had a clue anyone was in there, I would have called you."

Gallagher snorted. "Go over again when you were last in the house."

I did, and he tapped a pencil eraser on the table. "Can't have been anyone in there too long. Would've been seen."

Mister Tibbs seemed to have heard the pencil taps, because she stirred and looked up at me.

"In a few minutes," I told her.

"Your dog hadn't come running up the road, you'd have been in that closet 'til you could get yourself out or Sandi or somebody raised an alarm."

"Running down the road?"

"Didn't Newt tell you? She came running from toward the Donovans'."

I whispered, "He took her with him."

"Huh, maybe. Didn't want her barking at the house, probably."

I looked down at Mister Tibbs and back at the sheriff. "I think he petted her. At least she got quieter around him after a minute or two. Can you get prints from a dog's fur?"

"Don't think so, but maybe the collar. I'll have to send it to the state police for something like that. Our equipment's not very refined."

Before either one of us spoke again, Sophie knocked on the door jamb. "Sheriff? Mr. Seaton's here to see about Melan…Ms. Perkins."

"Melanie," I said, without looking at her.

"Tell him she'll be out in a minute." He looked at me. "You call him?"

I started to say it was none of his business, but said only, "No, but since I rode here in Newt's car and we're a block from the diner, everyone I know could probably tell you I'm here."

He shook his head. "Anything else? About this morning or any late-night visits. To anywhere."

I crossed my fingers, which were under the table. "No, and if I knew something I'd tell you."

He stood. "Don't go anywhere unaccompanied for a while. Better yet, visit Ambrose for a few days."

I stood, as did Mister Tibbs. But I didn't yawn when she did. "He and Sharon are having a Fourth of July barbeque at their place. He didn't invite me."

Gallagher laughed. "Imagine that."

 

THE COLLARLESS MISTER TIBBS and I were in Syl's living room later Thursday, at the grouping of chairs in front of his fireplace. Mister Tibbs had been given enough to drink at the sheriff's office that she had watered several plants on the way into Syl's house.

While Syl put ice in glasses in the kitchen, I looked around the room. He had added a two-seat sofa in deep brown and an area rug near the fireplace.

He came back in, handed me a glass of ice water, and raised his own in a mock toast before sitting opposite me.

"Thanks again for coming to the sheriff's."

"When Shirley calls, I listen. If Sandi or Stooper can't take you to get your truck, I'll do it."

I leaned my head against the back of the Queen Anne chair for a second and sighed. "It was my own house. I'd never have thought anyone would be in there."

He shook his head, more serious now. "You're going to have to be careful even when it seems safe."

I sat up straighter. "It shows someone was using the property. That has to count for a lot."

"Did you call Ambrose?"

"Oh, crud."

He laughed out loud. "Have you noticed I've reminded you to do that on at least three prior occasions?"

I started to reach in my pocket and frowned.

"Sheriff have your phone?"

"I wish. The guy who locked me in the closet."

Mister Tibbs snored loudly, and Syl said, "Damn it all, Melanie." He reached in a pocket, pulled out his mobile phone, and stood to hand it to me.

"Thanks. This ought to be fun."

His wry grin was back. "Should I wait in another room?"

I pushed Ambrose's number. "I'm sure you've heard people get chewed out before."

As the phone rang, Syl picked up a manila folder from the end table next to his chair and opened it. I was glad he at least feigned working.

Ambrose had, of course, already heard. "And how come Sharon had to get a call from Gallagher instead of me getting one from you?"

"I wonder why he called Sharon?" I mused.

"Because he wanted the other owner of the farm to know someone broke in, and he thinks I'm a damn murderer. That's not the point!"

"The guy who locked me in the closet took my phone."

Silence.

"The battery was low, so he couldn't call you either." I had tried to inject humor, but failed.

"Mel, something is really wrong at the farm. You can't be going back out there."

"I know. I'll just drive by without stopping."

"Ask the Donovans to keep an eye on the place."

I didn't sigh, but it was hard not to. "I don't know where to go from here."

"I'm talking to Ms. Dickey on the fifth. Let her handle it!"

Someone pounded on Syl's front door, and he rose to answer it.

Ambrose spoke loudly. "What was that?"

"Relax. Just somebody's at Syl's front door."

"Oh, I didn't look at the name on the phone. I'm glad you're with someone."

"I left my truck at the farm. I'll get it later today. With Sandi or somebody."

Stooper's voice came from the front hall. "What the hell, Syl?"

"Oh, I'd better go."

"I want you to call me every morning from now on."

To get off the phone quickly, I agreed.

Syl must have indicated Stooper could come into the living room, because he walked across the room and stood directly in front of my chair.

"I have to hear from Andy?"

Mister Tibbs stood up, leaning her front paws on Stooper's jeans. He patted her without looking down.

"I'm sorry, Stooper, I just left the sheriff's place." Stooper glowered, so I added, "And I don't have my phone. The guy took it."

"Shirley called me," Syl said, in his maddeningly dry manner. He sat across from me and nodded at Stooper. "Have a seat."

After hesitating for a second, Stooper sat in a chair next to Syl's.

I looked from one to the other. "I feel as if I'm on trial."

"You could end up there," Syl said. He turned to Stooper. "Andy? At the hardware store?"

"He thinks you and Mel have a thing going on."

I bent over my lap, eyes looking at the floor.

"Did he say if it was any good?" Syl asked.

I looked up, chin on my knees. Stooper laughed, showing the missing teeth on the upper right side of his mouth. "Mel's put him straight a couple of times. I think you need to do it," Stooper added.

My face felt beet red.

"I don't think I will," Syl said, easily.

 

TO GET AWAY from the comedy duo of Stooper and Syl and to wonder a bit if I'd like to get to know Syl better, I asked Stooper to take Mister Tibbs and me to get the pickup.

We'd done that, with me answering Stooper's ten questions. And I used to think he was quiet.

Only after he'd elicited my promise not to go to the farm alone did Stooper let me out of his car, so I could drive my pickup back to my apartment.

Now, I lay on my couch, staring at the ceiling. I'd heard Gallagher tell Newt Harmon to call my phone and Newt's response that it went directly to voice mail. Whoever took it had turned it off. So, no point trying to call my mobile.

I closed my eyes and imagined the guy's voice – the only thing I could conjure up. Meaning I had nothing. I'd told the sheriff the guy sounded white rather than Hispanic or black, but really, anyone could sound any way these days.

The voice had sounded as if it had come from a bit above my head, but that could mean five-ten or six-feet-two. There had been no chance to glimpse clothing or hair color.

I glanced at Mister Tibbs, who was on the floor. "Wish you could talk."

She thumped her tail once, but didn't open her eyes.

"How far did you have to run back?" I leaned a hand down and ruffled the top of her head. She opened one eye and closed it again.

"You're such a good girl. And you're so tired. Must've been quite a run."

Since I had no phone to use to tell time, I glanced at the clock. Two in the afternoon.

Rapid footfalls tramped up the steps on the side of the house, and someone rapped on my door. "Mel? Are you in there?"

"Just a sec, Sandi."

Mister Tibbs didn't even get up. I walked to the door and opened it.

She stared at me, mouth half open, part of her red hair hanging out of her scrunchie. "You're all right. Why didn't you call?"

I stood aside to let her in. "Shirley called Syl. He picked me up at the sheriff's."

"Not for a ride. I mean, of course I would have. I meant," she sort of stuttered, "I mean, I'm glad you're okay."

"I am, just kind of out of sorts."

I gestured she should sit on the couch or the recliner. She sat on the couch, and I sat across from her.

Sandi sighed. "Look, I told you I'm sorry. I didn't write it."

"I'm not mad at you, personally, I just don't feel like giving a story to the paper."

"I don't blame you." She leaned back into the couch. "Ryan's mother's cousin probably told us everything. I wanted to be sure you're in one piece."

I raised an eyebrow, and she had the decency to roll her eyes.

"Of course I'm happy to take anything for a story, but I'm here as your friend."

I felt my shoulders, which I hadn't realized were stiff, relax. "I believe you. But I can only tell you what I told Gallagher. A guy surprised me in the house, and I saw nothing, I mean zip, about what he looked like."

She frowned. "He was behind you?"

"Yep, and he said if I turned around he'd hurt Mister Tibbs."

From Sandi's raised eyebrows as she bent to pet the gently snoring dog, I knew Ryan had not heard about this threat from his mother's cousin.

She sat back up. "I wouldn't have tried to sneak a peek, either."

For the first time since she'd arrived, I smiled at her. "I need to get a new phone at the gas station, and then I want to find my phone. You have any ideas?"

"Can't imagine the guy would be carrying it around."

"Yeah, sheriff had Newt try it. Went to voice mail."

She looked at the ceiling for a second, her thinking position. "If it had been me, I would have tossed it out the window of my car."

"Agreed. Probably in another state."

"Get out your county map," she ordered.

I raised my eyebrows at her, but walked to the kitchen and took it from a drawer. Together we spread it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

I pointed. "Our place."

She pointed. "Frost's, and Donovans'."

Her finger trailed County Road 270 past the Donovan's for half a mile until it came to a T intersection at Tulip Avenue. "Turn right and this goes over to Highway 218."

"Sure, and from there down to Missouri or up to Iowa City. But if the phone's off, no way to track the guy."

She tilted her head. "I'd get rid of it just before I got on 218."

I looked at her. "I'd do it a mile or so past the Donovans'. At the T in the road."

She grinned. "We'll start there."

 

WE FIRST WENT TO the gas station and bought what the TV crime shows call a burner phone. I didn't have my number transferred to it. I had no illusion that I'd find mine, but after the Fourth of July celebrations tomorrow, I'd go to my usual provider and get a better one than the flip phone I'd bought for $9.99.

Sandi drove, and we were at the Donovans' farmhouse about three o'clock.

I looked right and left as I walked up the steps to their door. I told myself that whoever locked me in the closet was far away by now. Still, I felt mildly nervous as I knocked.

Mrs. Donovan answered, wearing a pretty shirtwaist and a look of concern. "Goodness, Melanie, come in."

"I can't stay, Sandi's in the car, and we want to look for something."

She literally shook a finger at me. "Sheriff called himself. I'm supposed to call if you come here investigating."

Mr. Donovan appeared behind her. "Now, hon, she's only investigating if she asks crime-type questions." He smiled. "Sorry to say, we were in the back of the property and didn't see anyone."

Mrs. Donovan nodded. "And like we told the sheriff, we only have cameras by the front and back door and in an area in front of the barn."

I smiled. "Good to know. I had to ask or come by."

She smiled, and he sort of snorted before he spoke. "We'll keep a better eye on your place. Not sure it'll help much, since we're in the fields a lot."

I refused two lemonades "for the road," as Mrs. Donovan put it, and headed for my truck.

Sandi grimaced when I told her we had no more to go on, but her only comment was, "Next time take the lemonade."

"Not my first priority. So, down to the T?"

Sandi loosened the cap on her bottle of water and took a swig. "We can each take one side of the road."

It was hot, and the sun was unremittingly bright. The Iowa Hawkeye hat I wore made me even hotter, since it kept in heat from my head. But I knew if I took it off, my nose would be red in ten minutes.

Sandi, pale redhead that she is, had on long sleeves and a calf-length skirt, plus a broad-brimmed straw hat. We both lathered with bug spray that had sunscreen. You never know what kinds of flying creatures will follow you around in southeastern Iowa.

We are both methodical researchers and writers, so we applied the same skills to our search. Since cornfields were on all sides, it was a slow hunt.

If it had been grass or dirt, we could have scanned quickly or at least walked slowly and looked all around. With the corn stalks, we had to stoop and peer down each row.

"It can't have been thrown too far," Sandi called from the other side of the narrow road, "the phone would have hit a stalk."

"Agreed." I shone my flashlight down a row and then moved to the next one. A couple weeks earlier, light would have made it to the ground. Now the corn was too tall.

The words from an old musical came to me. "Corn is as high as an elephant's eye…" I hummed for several seconds.

We continued walking Tulip Avenue, just east of where it intersected with 270. We would go west eventually, but everything told me my jailer would head to the highway.

To go west would wend back toward town. I thought the person would be noticed more if he went closer to town.

I stood from my crouched position. All of my thinking was based on the culprit having a car or truck. Farmers walk their fields or kids play near a pond, but no one walks along farm roads. The roads are narrow, and it can be hard to get out of the way of a tractor or hog truck.

Still, my captor could have been on foot. I wondered if the sheriff had instructed deputies to search the cornfield near my house?

"Melanie?"

I jumped. Sandi was only a few feet from me. "What?"

"I called you twice. What were you thinking?"

I took off my hat and wiped my forehead with my small towel. "If the person was on foot, where do you think they'd head?"

She shrugged. "Anybody's barn or chicken coop."

We grinned. "Not chicken coop," I said.

"Too stinky," she agreed.

I gestured around us. "They'd have to walk a couple rows into the corn if they went along the road."

"But you heard the person go in and out of the house. Didn't you think the guy was loading a car or something?"

I knocked myself lightly on the side of the head. "Yeah. Oh. Unless they were carrying things back into the field."

Sandi shook her head. "You think they drove Mister Tibbs away with them, remember?"

I sighed. "I'm glad you're thinking clearly."

She pushed sunglasses down her nose, so I could see her eyes. "I haven't been locked in a closet today."

I grinned and tried to hide my shudder by speaking lightly. "The day's young."

Sandi glanced up. "More or less. You want to drive toward the highway?"

I shook my head. "It would make sense to throw it in a corn or soybean field. Won't be found. By fall it'll be harvested or ground into the dirt."

Sandi turned toward her car. "Ugh. Come on. I didn't eat lunch. Diner?"

"How about the barbeque place? Fewer people."

 

JUANITA SPARKS, WHOM WE all call Momma Sparks, for some reason, was happy to see us on a warm Thursday afternoon. "When it's hot like this, everyone wants ice cream. No barbeque."

She is originally from somewhere in Eastern Europe and once told me her given name is "too complicated," so she picked Juanita. Her English seems good, and I think her stilted sentence structure and occasional malapropisms are for effect.

"So, Miss Melanie, you in trouble again. I am not liking that."

Sandi glanced at me. "It's more her brother Ambrose in trouble. Melanie's helping him."

"Ambrose not locked in closet, is he?"

If it had been someone else, I might have been irritated, but it's hard not to get a kick out of Juanita. "He's at his farm in Dubuque. Pretty soon everyone will know he didn't kill Peter Frost."

Before Juanita could say anything more, Sandi asked, "So, what's the special today?"

Juanita took a pencil and small notepad from the pocket of her wide, white apron. "You know Mr. Harris?"

"Sam?" I asked.

"Yes. Him. He bring me basket of green peppers, tomatoes, and squash. I make vegetarian barbeque. Very special price."

Sandi was still scanning the menu. "People order that a lot?"

"Why you think it's half price?"

I inhaled some of the water I'd been about to drink and picked up a paper napkin to blow my nose.

Sandi grinned at me. "I'll have some. Bring Mel your usual pork, not too spicy. My treat."

"So," Juanita asked, "you want with fries and drink, maybe pie?"

I mopped my eyes. "Just barbeque on a bun. A little coleslaw on the side."

Sandi and I didn't look each other in the eye until Juanita was back in her kitchen. Then Sandi put a napkin over her mouth, so she didn't laugh out loud.

I mopped water from the front of my shirt. "I needed that laugh."

"You did," she agreed.

My eyes roamed Juanita's small restaurant. The eight tables have red and white checkered table cloths with heavy white paper that can be removed when it gets stained. Which is after most meals, given how juicy her barbeque is.

I used to wonder how she made a living, but I've heard she caters, too. In fact, her barbeque is so popular if you want it during high school graduation weekend, you have to order by February.

"So, Mel, where are we?"

I sighed. "You know I'm no quitter, but I may give it a rest until after the Fourth. Ambrose said he and Sharon are chilling until he talks to his lawyer on the fifth."

"Closet got to you?"

I shook my head. "That the bastard almost made off with Mister Tibbs."

"Ah." She took a drink of her ice water, without inhaling any. "You still think someone had fireworks in the barn, right?"

"Yes, but I'm no closer to proving it."

She nodded, slowly. "Maybe we can ask around before the city fireworks tomorrow night."

"I already know Nelson McDonald and his cousin sell them. Somehow, I don't see them as smart enough to bring in so much product that they need a place to store it."

Sandi was thoughtful. "Nelson was smart enough to beat a fencing rap a couple of times."

"I know it's stupid, but I like that he says he doesn't think Ambrose did it."

"Where is the reporter I worked with? Maybe it's because he knows who did kill Frost."