CHAPTER 24

LATE IN the afternoon on Wednesday, a day that had been eons long, Baz Petrov put his head in the front door and said, “Okay, Rosemary, this ought to do it. For the present, you’ll open both gates with a key. If you get tired of that for the front, at least, we could put in a more complicated lock with a punch-code. And I’ve hung that big bell a little better and put a pull-chain on it. If you decide you’d like a real doorbell—”

“It looks good, Baz, and I‘m sure keys will be fine,” she said quickly. “Now if you can spare a few minutes more, come and take a look at my damaged basement door.”

Half an hour later, as he pocketed his check and was promising to see her and her door-frame again on Friday, her phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, and he nodded and let himself out as she hurried to her desk.

But it wasn’t Gus, it was Gray Campbell, calling to let her know he’d finished up in hayfork and was now on his way to Davis where he’d be for probably the rest of the week, leaving his local office to his assistant. “But it’s a long, boring drive, and what are cell phones for? So tell me, what happened with the Conroy clan?”

She sat down to give him the short version of her travails, assuring him that she had suffered no permanent damage.

“Thank God for that, at least. My advice, you should get some shells for that shotgun of yours, and keep it and Tank near by. And give him a piece of jerky for me, for work well done.”

Rosemary remained at her desk, staring at the phone, adding another note to her yellow pad, waiting. Fielding another call, this one from Glenna Doty wanting details on Monday night’s attack. Waiting. By the time the phone rang again, she was seriously contemplating a drive into town to bang on the sheriff’s door. She peered at the caller name, released held-in breath in a whoosh of relief, and punched the button. “Gus! What’s happening?”

“It’s kind of interesting,” he said, a cautious note in his voice bringing her head up and her chin out.

“Interesting?”

“Nothing’s decided yet. But Andre and her attorney have talked to Harlan Quinn, that’s the D.A., about a plea bargain. She’ll admit to the attack on you and to pouring gasoline around in… Wait, let me get this right. ‘In a state of fear and distress caused by her estrangement from her lifelong employer and an unprovoked attack by a big dog.’ ”

“Bullshit!”

“And she’ll hope for probation, a substantial fine, and some time in supervised anger management therapy. It hasn’t been agreed to yet,” he added quickly, “and it’s not a sure thing, but with Congress-man Conroy behind her, the D.A. is considering going for it.”

“No!” The single word was almost a scream.”That absolutely cannot happen. Gus, I need to talk to you—”

“So go ahead, talk.”

“No, in person. Face to face. I’ll meet you in your office in thirty minutes.”

She hung up, picked up the notepad and went to shove it in her bag, put on her jacket, find Tank’s leash. When she left minutes later, the phone was still silent.

ROSEMARY drove very carefully, aware of how close to explosion she was. She pulled into the parking lot with five minutes to spare, found a slot, and lowered the windows a few inches, giving Tank his usual command. Then she slung her bag over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and set off for the building.

“Mrs. Mendes?” The man who suddenly appeared in front of her as she stepped inside was of medium height, dark-haired, and neat-featured. She tried to step past him, but he blocked her way, meeting her gaze with the coldest glance she’d ever received from a complete stranger.

“Mrs. Mendes, I recognized you from my father’s description.

I’m David Conroy, and I’d be grateful for a few minutes of your time.”

News flash: this was the “Congressman Conroy” who was backing Sammie Andre. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Conroy, but you’ll have to excuse me. I have an appointment with the sheriff.”

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “I’m aware of that, but I’m sure he won’t mind waiting while you talk with me. It shouldn’t take long, and I believe I can make it worth your while.”

Rosemary had a surge of emotion that felt a lot like panic. “I don’t think so.” She backed away, into the doorway, and called past Conroy to the uniformed woman behind the glass. “Annie? Please tell Sheriff Angstrom that I’ll see him another time.” Then she turned on her heel and headed for her truck at a pace that was almost a trot. What is the matter with you? asked her rational mind, while some darker part said, Never mind, just get out of here.

Tank picked up her mood as she opened the truck door and gave a worried whine as he tried to lick her face. “No, it’s okay. It’s okay, Tank. I just need to go home. Or someplace.”

As he looked past her and barked, she spun around and found herself facing not David Conroy but Gus Angstrom, who stopped and lifted both hands high as he saw her expression.

“Whoa, Rosemary, it’s just me.”

“Okay.”

“You want to come back inside so we can talk?”

“No. I want to go home.”

“You don’t look to be in great shape to drive. And anyway, I was going to suggest having dinner. How about it?”

“You told David Conroy he could wait for me in there.”

“What?” He frowned at her. “No, I sure as hell didn’t. I thought he’d left, but if he was still there when I called out to tell Annie you’d be coming in thirty minutes, I suppose he might have heard.”

“I suppose.” Two more very deep breaths, and she began to feel almost silly. Almost.

“But if I’d known he planned to approach you, I’d sure have… shit, it never occurred to me he’d do that. He’s a lawyer, he should have known better. Rosemary, I’m sorry.”

“That’s…okay.”

“So, what about dinner? There’s a new restaurant west of town, connected with the Mountain home Motel. I hear it’s pretty good.”

And no doubt a new favorite with well-informed locals and probably Steve Runyon as well. What fun. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather go home.”

“I got that. But you had something you wanted to talk to me about, that right?” At her brief nod, he spread his hands again, as if to show them empty of tricks. “So let’s go to my house, and I’ll fix us something to eat. And we can talk.”

It was getting late, and she’d fed the lunch she couldn’t eat to the dog. And she did need to talk to him, somewhere beyond other listening ears. “I’ll follow you there.”

GUS Angstrom drove rather slowly, probably, Rosemary thought, to keep an eye on her lest she bolt. He turned off onto a side street east of downtown and drove past several blocks of older houses—some really old—into a hillier and greener section with houses set farther apart. The driveway he finally pulled into led down to an angular wooden house stretched along the rim of a canyon and fronted by a broad gravelled forecourt. Not new, and not pretentious, Rosemary noted, but well-suited to its setting.

“You can just let him out,” Gus said with a nod to Tank as he came to open her door. “I’ll close the driveway gate—the place is fenced to discourage canyon-dwellers—and he can sniff around out here for a few minutes.”

“Nice house,” she said.

“Thanks. I built it myself, slowly, with the help of two uncles I’d worked construction with over the years—and my boy, Mike. In fact, he and I figure that when he gets home from this war, and I get tired of law enforcement, we’ll probably start a business.” Inside, he turned up the heat, took her coat, showed her into a living room with a view over the canyon, and pointed her at a high-backed, up-holstered chair that looked like a recliner. He watched her tilt it back, and grinned. “Okay, a drink. What for you?”

“Gin. Ice.”

“Good. Spaghetti be okay for supper? I’ve got meat sauce in the freezer.”

“Fine.”

He brought her drink, set it on the table beside her chair, and returned to the kitchen. Rosemary listened absently to pots-and-pans kinds of noises but stayed where she was. After a while Tank barked outside, one sharp request, and came trotting through from the kitchen moments later, to settle beside her chair.

”Gin is good,” she said to Gus when he reappeared.

“It is, but it’s a heavier hit than I’m up for tonight. I’ll have a glass of wine when we eat,” he added as he sat down on the nearby couch. “Okay. Supper is whenever we’re ready. Rosemary, I can understand why you’re upset about the idea that Andre might not serve any, or much, time for what she did to you. And what she tried to do. But it sounded like more than that to me. What’s up?”

A pull on the lever brought the chair back to its upright position. “I believe Sammie Andre is the person who shot Brianna Conroy.” She shot a glance at him, and frowned. “And you don’t look surprised by the idea.”

“Maybe not.” He settled back into his seat. “Want to tell me why you believe that?”

She put down her glass and reached into her bag for her notepad. “Yesterday morning Debbie Grace called to say she had heard about my rotten evening and was glad I’d survived. We chatted for a bit, and she told me that when they found Tank guarding Brianna Conroy’s body, he had a piece of rope around his neck, trailing about three feet with a chewed end. When Gray arrived with a collar and leash, he cut the rope off and tossed it away, she said.”

“Okay.”

“I found that…interesting. So next I phoned Sue Harrison, at the bookstore, and she told me that Brianna—Mike Morgan—had called to tell her that Tank had gone missing and ask whether Sue might have seen him. Sue lives out that way, which is why Brianna called her. Sue didn’t remember the exact date of the call, but thinks it was two or maybe three days before Brianna and Tank were found.”

“All of which led you to think…?”

“That Tank had not simply wandered off, as was originally thought, but had been either found or more likely, from what I’ve learned of him, taken by someone who tied him up out there in the woods. And then probably called Brianna to tell her where he’d been spotted.”

“That’s a stretch, Rosemary.”

“But possible. Even reasonable. Then when I got back home after signing my statement for you, I stopped in to see Kim, and we talked about Steve Runyon, among other things. Kim told me that Eddie had visited Steve at the Conroy Ranch some months ago, and she thought he’d met Andre. When he came home from that visit, he made some remark about this skinny bitch who was basically Steve’s boss.”

He leaned forward as if to interrupt, and she went on quickly. “Which caught my interest because if he was up there for long enough to meet her, he might have seen that painting of Brianna on the wall of Conroy’s office. If you’ve looked at the web page—”

“I have. And I saw the painting. So you figure Eddie could have known who Mike Morgan really was.”

“And tried after her death to call Steve and let him know, and got upset when he couldn’t make contact. Doesn’t that make sense?”

“It does.”

“Anyway, when I got ready to leave Kim’s, I offered to drive in to Rob’s gas to pick up Eddie’s last check for Kim. She was reluctant to take Tyler there, a place where he was used to seeing his father.”

Angstrom nodded but didn’t speak.

“The station’s owner, Rob Roberts, had heard about the attack on me the night before, so we talked a bit about it, and he asked whether the attacker was someone I knew or just a crazy stranger. I said she was a stranger, and described her, and told him how she’d coasted her black Porsche Cayenne into my yard in the middle of the night and crept up to my house and tried to kill me.”

She had a sip from her glass, and he waited.

“He said something like, ‘Jesus god!’ Then he got this remembering look on his face and said he’d had one of those, also a black one, through the station maybe three or four weeks ago. He said it was busy that evening and he hadn’t noticed much about the driver except it was a woman. I wanted to ask him for more details, like whether or not Eddie Runyon was working that night. I even thought about having him turn on his computer and look at the photo of Andre on Conroy’s website. But I decided it would be better to leave any further questions to professionals.”

“Very wise choice, Rosemary.”

“I thought so. After all, you’re the person in a position to get information about Andre’s movements over the times involved. At least to find out when she was on the job in Alturas or Washington, and when not. Gus?” she said impatiently when he didn’t reply.

“True, we can do that. Rosemary, don’t be angry when I say that the rest of this conversation is strictly between you and me.”

“I’m not angry, just curious.”

“I figured. Okay, one thing we’ve learned is that Sammie Andre was orginally Samantha Andreotti, and the family used to have a ragtag little ranch up in the Scotts Valley between Callahan and Etna. That’s Siskiyou County.”

“Have you talked to them?”

“The immediate family isn’t there any longer. The old man, Andre’s grandfather, died some twenty-five years ago, his wife eventually sold the property and left, and the rest of the family scattered. Andre says she hasn’t had contact with them since she left home at eighteen. Not an easy claim to disprove quickly.”

”And have you found out anything about her recent whereabouts?”

“Nothing definite, not yet. But you’ll be happy to know that we’ve been making inquiries.”

“Did you ask David Conroy?”

After a long moment, he said, “Congressman Conroy the younger is a busy man and doesn’t keep close track of his father’s employees. He’ll have to check. However, Ms. Andre pretty much comes and goes as she chooses, or did. He says.”

“Ha! After his approach to me today, I’m thinking he and Andre might have been in collusion, or whatever the term is.”

“Pretty good term for what I think you’re suggesting.”

“Good. Does the D.A. know that you’re investigating Andre further?”

“In general. He doesn’t know yet about the possibility we’ve just been discussing.”

“Baz Petrov says the D.A. Has an ego problem.”

Angstrom snorted.”Petrov should know. And he may even be right, but right now that might be an advantage. If we do move on Andre for murder, you can bet Quinn’s gonna put up a helluva fight against a change of venue that would move his case to Modoc County, or even Sacramento.”

Rosemary stared at him. “Could that happen?”

“Probably not. Brianna Conroy was killed here, and she was a citizen of this county.”

“Under a different name; does that count?”

“She was a property owner and taxpayer here under any name. Jared Kelly’s will described her as ‘the woman known as Michelle Morgan, who took care of me for the past year.’ Anyway, don’t worry about it just yet. I’ve lived around here most of my life and I—my department and I—have a good relationship with the D.A.’s office and with Sacramento, as well as quite a bit of local clout generally.” He got to his feet and stretched out a hand to her. “Come on to the kitchen, keep me company while I get supper ready.”

Rosemary perched on a stool at a central counter while Gus dropped a handful of spaghetti into a pot of boiling water, shook a glass jar and poured dressing onto two bowls full of lettuce and other things, checked the fire under a smaller pot and gave the contents a stir. How nice, another man who cooks.

He opened a bottle of wine and took it into the adjoining dining room; she slid from the stool, picked up the bowls of salad, and followed. “Sit down,” he said, and poured a glass for her. “I’ll bring the plates in a couple minutes.”

She sat, and sipped wine and wondered whether he’d taken her seriously or was simply humoring her. “Sorry there’s no bread,” he said when he set the heaped, parmesan-sprinkled plates on the table a short time later. “I was afraid if I stopped to pick up a baguette, you’d disappear.”

She had a bite, and then another. “Gus, this is good.” It was thick and red, full of flavor with plenty of meat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Glad you like it,” he said. “When my wife died—next March it’ll have been four years—after Emily died, my daughter went back to Chico to finish the second semester of her junior year, and then came home for the summer. She pulled the house together, made lists for me, got rid of stuff that needed to go. And she sorted through her mother’s cookbooks and recipes for the most useful ones and taught me to cook. Not fancy, just the kind of simple stuff you need to eat every day.”

He paused for a bite of salad. “Sarah said that a widower who couldn’t feed himself was at the mercy of any woman who came along with an apron and a light hand with biscuits.”

Rosemary laughed out loud for the first time that day. “On those counts you’re definitely safe with me.”

“COFFEE?” he asked when they’d finished.

“No, thank you.”

“Fine.” He poured a bit more wine into the glasses, and got up. “No, leave it,” he said when she moved to clear the table. “I’ll get ’em later. Let’s go back into the living room. There are a few other things I need to know.

“For instance, what was it with David Conroy that set you off today?” he asked when they were seated.

Rosemary, thinking about her drive home, set her wineglass on the side table. “The shock of running into him there. The fact that he knew right away who I was. The fact that he looked at me as if I were a—an enemy. An obstacle to be got rid of. And then he said he could make it worth my while to give him a few minutes of my time.”

“Rosemary—”

“Gus, I’ll admit that my emotional reflexes are pitched pretty high right now, but his whole demeanor just struck me as wrong. And still does.”

“Okay. I know Brian Conroy, though not well; I hadn’t met David until today, and I was some surprised that he seemed to be interested in helping Andre out. I decided it was probably loyal retainer stuff, somebody he knew while he was growing up without a mother.”

“Ha! If that was a mother substitute, he’d have been better off in a Dickens orphanage.”

He grinned. “Okay, personal question. What set you off on this track? I mean, what really got you out talking to people, looking for a trail?”

This was the question she’d been expecting all along, and she had an answer ready. “I found it hard to believe that just losing a job, even a very good job, would send a fairly young, strong woman on a murderous rampage. I thought about it endlessly, even dreaming about it, and couldn’t get away from the sense that there had to be something more, something worse. So I decided to ask some questions.”

“Seems—reasonable,” he said after a moment. And she thought: You bet.

“Rosemary,” he went on, in a shift of tone, “once you’d come up with your facts and your reading of them, what did you plan to do with them? If I wasn’t receptive, for instance?”

“I thought…I thought about talking to the real congressman. Brian Conroy.”

“Holy sweet Jesus!”

“Well, that’s sort of what I decided. Once I’d thought about it.”

“Of course, it may come to that,” he said with a grimace. “If—when—it does, I’ll arrange to have his doctor on hand.”

“Good,” she said, and picked up her glass for one small sip before setting it down again. “Now it’s time for me to head for home, before it gets any later and before I have anything more to drink.”

“It’s late already. I thought you might stay here tonight.”

“You did, did you? Think again.” She got to her feet and Tank, who’d been dozing by the door, got up as well.

“Rosemary, this isn’t an attempt to get you into my bed. Tightly wound as you are, you’re not going to get any sleep all alone out there.”

“It’s where I live. My home.” Even to herself she sounded less confident than she had the night before, when she’d been sure that her sole enemy was safely locked up.

He stood. “If you still feel that strongly about it, I’ll come along and sleep on your couch. But,” he said, waving her to silence, “there’s a perfectly good bed in Sarah’s room, all made up with clean sheets and everything, for when she comes home from Berkeley for R and R. you’re absolutely welcome to it, and we’ll both sleep better.”

“What will the neighbors think?” She couldn’t believe she’d said that.

“Believe me, they won’t notice. And they wouldn’t care if they did.”