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Adam and Jinks had just climbed into their car when Beverly called. Adam listened without saying anything during her account, finally adding a “Thanks for the report. We’ll follow up later,” which made Jinks give him the slow burn.
“That voice leaking through sounded like Beverly Laborde.”
“It was.”
“Follow up what?”
“She was out driving and ‘happened’ to drive by Hardin Technical College in time to see Professor Atkinson escort a young woman to a house off-campus. He then proceeded to pick up Ramsay Ryall from another location.”
“Sounds like he’s running a friendly transport service. Hardly a crime. Unless the woman wasn’t exactly legal.”
“Atkinson was at her place for thirty minutes.”
“Maybe they were discussing an exam.”
“He came out a bit disheveled, according to Beverly.”
“So, it’s a hands-on exam.”
“Sounds like it.”
“And Ramsay Ryall?”
“I think it’s time we paid another visit to the not-so-grieving brother of our murder victim.”
“Can we stop by Miralee’s and get some Dr. Pepper and venison jerky? I’m starved.”
“You should write a diet book titled Always Eating, Always Thin. I smell a runaway bestseller. You’ll never have to detect again.”
“And allow that smarmy bastard-cousin-of-the-mayor, Mike Moody, to take over my job? I like you too much for that, Dutton.”
“Thanks, Jinks. I’m touched. Truly.”
This being a Friday, they had to track Ryall down to the Apple Valley Resort, where he was between tour gigs. A staff receptionist pointed them toward the barns in the back of the resort—although “barns” was not the right word for the huge space filled with top-notch ski gear and gleaming snowmobiles. There was also an impressive array of ATVs, canoes, kayaks, and fishing tackle.
Adam surveyed the latter with a twinge in his gut. If the damned fool Harlan had listened to him and not gone out ice fishing by himself, he’d never be in this predicament.
Adam spied Ramsay Ryall in one corner, waxing a pair of skis. He strolled up to the man and pointed at the skis. “Your brother make those?”
Ryall shook his head and kept on working. “I know someone who bought skis from Wally. Said they were top-notch. But we don’t have any here.”
Jinks piped up, “Guess it’s a good thing. Not to have any reminders around.”
Ryall looked over at a nearby snowmobile. “That’s a reminder. Of our former business.”
Adam ran his hand over the closest one to him. “This one’s a beauty.”
“That one has one-seventy horsepower, with a turbocharged two-cylinder, four-stroke engine. Costs almost as much as I made last year.”
Knowing the resort’s rooms went for upwards of two-fifty a night with a long list of pricey add-ons, Adam wasn’t surprised by the expensive gear to impress the high-end guests. But paying a staffer the same as it cost to buy a snowmobile seemed harsh. No doubt, Ramsay Ryall could have used the money from his father’s estate—if said father hadn’t willed the lot over to Harlan.
Adam said, “Were you friends with Wallace’s neighbor, Dr. Vernon Atkinson?”
“We’ve gone out for drinks. Guess he bonded over our mutual dislike of Wally.”
“When did this friendship start?”
“A year or so ago, I reckon. Vernon came to me to see if I could reason with Wally about vandalism he blamed on Wally. That was before he realized Wally and I weren’t speaking to each other.”
“I see.” Adam nodded. “One other thing, Mr. Ryall. We have sources who say your brother forced himself on your late wife. And she may not have been the only victim.”
Ryall stopped working on the ski and wiped his cheek with his hand, leaving a smudge that covered up his scar. But it didn’t cover up the red flush spreading across his face. “Mai came home from a night out with her girlfriends. About a year before she died. I could tell she was shaken up. She didn’t want to discuss it, at first. Then she told me Wally pressured her for sex. She didn’t mention the word ‘rape,’ but in Vietnamese culture, rape is often seen as the fault of the woman. Since he didn’t go through with it, thank god, guess she wanted to brush it off. Be the good little soldier.”
“How do you know he didn’t go through with it?”
Ryall sat down on the snowmobile. “There weren’t any bruises, for one. And. . .”
“Yes?”
“I don’t expect you to understand this. But all guys are one hair away from cavemen. Anyway, I took her into the bedroom right then and there. Made love to her. Some might say I wanted to mark my territory. I’d like to think I wanted to show her what sex between a man and a woman was supposed to be.”
“How did this help you determine Wallace hadn’t raped her?”
“She smelled the same. And felt the same. I would have known. If he’d. . .well, I would have known.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?”
“My wife died nearly two years to the day Wallace was killed. How do you think it would have looked if I’d told you?”
“About the same as it looks now.”
“I didn’t kill him. I swear. Although if you make me take an oath on a stack of Bibles, I won’t say I’m sorry he’s dead.”
Jinks’s cellphone beeped, and she pulled it out to look at the text message. She shook her head at Adam’s questioning look, but he decided to wrap up the interview. “Did your wife mention any other women Wallace pressured into having sex?”
“Mai would never have discussed such things with me. That Asian reserve and all.”
Adam tugged on Jinks’s elbow to let her know they should leave. When they returned to the front of the resort, he counted to ten, waiting for her tirade. He wasn’t disappointed.
“That Asian reserve? What the hell? He can come over to my house anytime. Or my parents’ house. Reserve, my ass.”
“Since his deceased wife isn’t around for us to question, we don’t have her side of the story. Maybe she was reserved, maybe not.”
Jinks calmed down. “And maybe she fabricated that story to make her husband jealous. Or was another member of the Wallace Haters Club.”
Adam looked over at the house, half-expecting Ramsay to be looking at them out of the window. “Did you run down that woman Ramsay said he visited in Bangor the day his brother was killed?”
“She didn’t see him until that night, as he said. Which still leaves him enough time to kill Wallace and trot back up to Maine.”
“If he was as angry at Harlan as his brother, thanks to the father cutting him out of the will, it’d make sense he wanted to frame Harlan. Despite what he said about ‘cursed blood money.’”
Jinks jammed her cellphone back into its waistband holder. “Or that’s precisely what he meant by blood money. Only he was the one doing the spilling.”
“A lot of motives, a lot of opportunity, and not a lot of hard evidence. My favorite kind of case.”
“We could pick up a case of beer from the store. That’s the kind I feel like opening right now.”
Adam pointed to her cellphone. “That text you got. Everything okay?”
“Jacob’s being a pain. I should stop by and check on him.”
“I’ll drive you to the station to pick up your car.”
Adam had no sooner dropped Jinks off than he saw a familiar figure leaning against her SUV, arms crossed over her chest. He drove over and rolled down his window. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Did you talk to the brother?” Beverly didn’t waste any time getting down to business.
“Nice to see you, too,” he replied, with a touch of sarcasm. “We did talk to Ramsay Ryall. Thanks for the tip, by the way.”
“And?”
“He has a good reason for being friends with the victim’s neighbor. Too good a reason.” Adam stared at her. “You’re popping up in all kinds of places lately. Coincidental places.”
“Like at the pub last night?” Beverly’s smile had a way of mocking without mocking, although he felt a flush crawling up his neck.
“I met an old private eye friend.”
“So Zelda’s a private eye, now?”
“No, she’s a busybody. Creighton Querry’s the friend. Seems like I saw you with Wallace Ryall’s ex, Fern Gery.”
Beverly rubbed the sleeve of her sweater. “Getting to know her better.”
“Did she happen to say anything that could shed some light on Wallace’s murder?”
“Why don’t I hop in, and we can compare notes?” She walked around to the passenger side, where she opened the door and slid in.
He didn’t turn off the engine, keeping the heater running, and wished he’d taken Jinks up on her offer of getting a case of beer. And a thermos of coffee. “I’m listening,” he said.
“Fern thinks our killer was Vernon Atkinson, the neighbor. Or in second place, Ramsay Ryall.”
“I’d be thrilled if she had a video or photos or a confession. We’re long on gut feelings and short on court-proof evidence.” Adam sighed. “Ms. Gery didn’t say anything about being assaulted by Wallace Ryall, did she? Or knowing someone else who was?”
“You mean, sexual? Rape?”
“Something like that.”
“She said she’d heard rumors about Wally. Nonconsensual rumors. But in Fern’s case, she would have been more likely to buy him some Viagra, I think.” Beverly thought for a moment. “From your question, I’m guessing you’re talking about Braddon Hopper’s ex, Jane Campen?”
Adam turned to face her. “How did you hear about her?”
“I asked Fern why Wallace and Braddon didn’t get along. She mentioned jealousy. And then said she heard them arguing about this Jane Campen, but she didn’t get any details.”
Adam looked at his watch. Fern Gery should be at the flower shop. He glanced at Beverly and asked, “Want to come along as I ask Ms. Gery point-blank?”
“If you think it will help.”
“Mind if we drive by Harlan’s shop first? Prospero’s installing a new security system, but I like to keep an extra eye on the store when I can.”
Adam doubted the chief would be thrilled with him allowing Beverly to come along on interviews, but she’d proved herself useful and level-headed. And he certainly didn’t mind her company. Not that he’d tell her that.
Adam also didn’t tell Beverly it killed him to not be able to talk to Harlan except in his role as a cop. He had to keep all his interactions strictly professional. Although he knew Harlan understood, it still rankled.
He didn’t really need to surveil Harlan’s antiques shop, since the man was never there without Prospero and had his ankle monitor in place. But it was the closest he could come to his old friend without raising any eyebrows.
One thing was sure, when this was all over, Adam was going to take Harlan ice fishing or bar-hopping. Or over to Cy’s Point to get some of his favorite venison medallions. Whatever the hell he wanted. That is if Harlan still wanted to have anything to do with him.
