SHERIFF GALLAGHER ASKED ME to come to the law enforcement building, but I took it as more of an order. He'd been annoyed that Sandi evaded him, but I told him she didn't know anything helpful.
When we got to the building, he put me at the table across from the desk in his office and left the door open. I think the dull tone of any responses I made had scared him.
Minus my purse with its pen and paper, I took a couple pages from the recycling tray near the sheriff's door and a pencil from his desk.
My notes were sloppy, a bulleted list even I could hardly read. But I wanted to write down every interaction I'd had with Brad and David in the last ten days.
When I saw the two men at the farmers' market, it hadn't seemed odd that Brad had inquired about Ambrose and me finding Peter Frost. A lot of people asked about Frost's murder right after we found his body. Hardly anybody asked after the sheriff arrested Ambrose for the murder.
Asking me how Frost had died, that was odd. Probably everyone in town knew he'd been stabbed. The South County News hadn't published by the Sunday of the farmer's market, but the story had been on local TV and in the Des Moines Register. Had Brad been trying to see what else I knew about Frost's death?
David had pulled up in front of Patel's store as I worked on the big pots for flowers. Kind of odd to drive the fertilizer truck around the square.
Why not just make his delivery somewhere and then switch to a car or pickup? Maybe he had recently dropped off fireworks orders. Or maybe it was his only transportation. Or had he been following me?
Get a grip. He probably drove around making deliveries.
I jotted down Nelson's name. He seemed to have known his competition. Maybe he could tell Sheriff Gallagher.
Something else, some other time I'd seen Brad and David, would not come to my mind.
Someone rapped lightly on the doorjamb. Aaron Granger, pale and drawn, stood there. "Can we talk?"
"Sure." I smiled slightly. "I'd invite you into my office, but it isn't mine."
That seemed to relax him. He walked around the table and sat across from me. "We talked to Brad."
"Did you find David?"
He looked away and then back to me. "In a manner of speaking."
"Oh, dear. He really died?"
His tone was cold. "I'm no medical examiner, but I'd say instantly."
I whispered. "And your uncle didn't die that way?"
"Sheriff'll have to talk more to you. I just...can't. I wanted to say I'm sorry."
I shook my head. "You saw Ambrose near your uncle with the knife."
He frowned. "More for what I said about you and Ambrose around town afterwards than the arrest itself."
I nodded, slowly. "Luckily it didn't get back to me. When you feel better, you can give Ambrose a call."
He stood. "I will." He walked out without saying anything else.
Saying Ambrose's name had been an important reminder. Even in Dubuque, he'd probably heard about the explosion. A news story might have even mentioned an unidentified body or missing people.
I took the new phone from the pocket of my jeans. I had given Ambrose the number, and the phone showed two missed calls – one from Ambrose and one from Sharon. My ears must have really been pounding to miss the phone's buzz.
I called him.
Ambrose opened with, "Sandi called and told me about the guys' truck blowing up and that you were safe. But she said you were with the sheriff." His tone hardened. “They trying to accuse you of something?”
"I’m glad she called. There's, uh, more, I think."
"What? Are you hurt?"
"No, just kind of flustered. It was, well, let's just say loud." I paused. "I mean I think they were using our barn."
"Who? Are you sure you're okay?"
"Brad Thomas and David Bates. I think they were storing fireworks in our barn."
Ambrose said nothing for maybe ten seconds. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I don't know for sure, but I think that’s why I’m in Gallagher’s office. I've heard, just maybe, they know you didn't kill Frost."
A dry sob came through the phone. I heard Sharon's alarmed cry. She must have been near him.
In a choked voice, Ambrose said, "No, it's okay. Mel's going to call back when she knows more." He hung up.
I stood up and walked to the water fountain in the hall. As I finished drinking, I saw Sheriff Gallagher at the end of the hall, talking to the fire chief. Gallagher had been in uniform tonight, and it bore sweat stains and black streaks.
He nodded toward his office. "I'll be down in a minute."
I didn't acknowledge him, but went back in and sat down.
A minute later he walked in, went behind his desk, and picked up the phone. Whoever he called didn't answer, because he left a terse message saying to call him back.
He looked at me. "I want to make sure the county attorney drops the charges against Ambrose first thing in the morning."
I shut my eyes for a couple of seconds and then looked at him. "Who did it? Brad or David?"
He sat down and snorted. "Brad says David, of course. I don't know how we would prove any different, but I asked Judge Morton for a warrant to search David's home and car. Might be something."
"And Brad's?"
"Yes. At the very least, we can get Brad for being an accomplice after the fact."
Gallagher paused. "I hadn't wanted to think Ambrose killed him, but between him holding the knife and Frost's body temperature, it sure looked like it."
I nodded, but didn't feel gracious enough to say I understood.
"What about fingerprints in our barn near the Velcro?"
Gallagher smiled. "You and your memory. But, no, they seem to have wiped down a lot of that barn. Probably didn't have to actually touch the building much, just the door."
"Did Brad say he used our house or locked me in the closet?"
"He acted as if he didn't even know there was a house on the property."
"There has to be a way… Hey, were there fingerprints on Mister Tibbs' collar?"
Sheriff Gallagher shook his head. "Only yours." He smiled. "Which, as you know, we had on file."
I didn't smile. "And, of course, he didn't have my phone."
"Correct. He has a lawyer. Right now, they aren't even volunteering to give us his fingerprints."
I brightened. "That says something, doesn't it?"
Gallagher shrugged. "Not really. Could just be the lawyer's advice, maybe he has a juvenile record he doesn't want me to see, though I don't know of anything. Brad's adult prints aren't on file."
I massaged the back of my neck and looked at Gallagher. "Too bad dogs can't do IDs in a lineup."
He grunted. "They might growl, but dogs growl at a lot…"
I nearly yelled. "What about a bite?"
"What about a bite?" he repeated.
"When some of the softball players walked by us in the park, Mister Tibbs growled. She never growls. Brad and David were with Bruce Blackstone and Jagdish Patel."
I talked too fast, and Gallagher looked as if he wanted to call a psychiatrist.
I took a breath. "If Brad or David took Mister Tibbs with them that day, why did they put her out of their truck?"
"Huh." Gallagher left the room without saying anything else.
I had thought something specific about Brad or David was eluding my memory. Instead, it was Mister Tibbs' growl at the softball field. I wished she were with me now.
After a minute, I stood and went to the doorway. I knew the room used to question people was not far from Gallagher's office.
After a few seconds, a man's voice, I assumed Brad's, yelled, "No way!"
The door to the nearby room was closed, so as voices lowered, I heard nothing more. I walked back to the chair I'd been using and sat, leaning forward to put my head on the sheriff's desk.
If Brad could be tied to Frost's death or, even if he couldn't but successfully blamed David, it would be over. Ambrose would be free, and the farm would be ours. I felt certain Aaron Granger would not continue his uncle's false claim.
I wanted to feel elated, but all I felt was cold and dizzy. Less dizzy than right after the explosion, but still light-headed.
The sheriff's office had no street-level window, but it did have a narrow window near the ceiling. From it came a mix of red and blue flashing lights, as well as a lot of bright white lights. I figured television trucks outside had set up portable lighting.
A door slammed nearby, and Sheriff Gallagher came back into his office.
I sat up and looked at him.
He smiled. "You'll be glad to know it looks as if the bite on his arm is getting infected."
I smiled weakly, as he walked behind his desk and faced me. "Did he admit Mister Tibbs made the bite?"
"No, but the county attorney will ask the judge to mandate a comparison." He frowned. "I'm sorry, but we'll probably have to have a vet do some kind of cast of Mister Tibbs' mouth. Doc Marshall can usually do that for us."
"Can she be asleep?"
He shrugged. "Not sure I can think of any other way a vet could do it." Seeing my expression, he added, "I bet we can arrange for you to be with your dog."
I nodded. "Now that you know Ambrose didn't do it, can you tell me anything more?"
Gallagher frowned lightly and said, "With the understanding that you won't repeat this to your reporter friends."
I snorted. "Not hardly."
He grunted. "It was a pretty one-sided article. All I'll say is the knife was one they were using to open boxes of fireworks. Brad says David reacted angrily to some demands Peter Frost was making."
I nodded. "I can believe it wasn't planned."
"Dead is dead," Gallagher said.
I certainly knew that. "Aaron came in."
He frowned lightly. "I asked him not to discuss it with you."
I smiled. "He actually didn't. He apologized for saying a bunch of stuff about Ambrose and me. You know, around town."
The sheriff's phone buzzed, and he picked it up. "Yeah? Okay. In a few."
He hung up. "Need to brief the media. Couple pictures of you hauling away little Rachel. People are calling you a hero. You want to talk to them?"
"No! Please, I don't want to."
He smiled fully. "I don't get off that easy. Hang on a bit, and I'll have someone drive you home. You can lie down in the car to avoid your media buddies."
At the word buddies I thought of Mister Tibbs. I needed a hug, but her slobber would do. It would do just fine.