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Shandra glanced up when Ryan closed the door and wandered over to her side.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the letters Maxwell had piled on the coffee table.
“The letters my father wrote to me,” Ruthie said, her fingers fluttering the pages.
Ryan dropped to his knees beside the table. “It’s good you were able to save them. When did these show up at the restaurant?” he directed his question to Shandra.
“Ten minutes before I left?” she said, peering at both Maxwell and Ruthie.
“I’d say closer to fifteen or twenty minutes,” Maxwell said. “You brought them in, called Ryan, then we read them, and had finished cleaning up when you left.”
“That’s true,” Shandra agreed. “Why?” She studied Ryan’s face.
“And did you read anything that might tell us why your father left?” He was watching Ruthie.
“I didn’t see anything. Did you Maxwell?” Ruthie’s red-rimmed gaze landed on the man next to her.
“He mostly just said he missed Ruthie and wished he could visit, but he didn’t want to put her and her mother in danger.”
“Nothing about where he was or what he was doing?” Ryan picked up several sheets, scanning them.
“No.” Maxwell said, also picking up sheets and reading them.
“What was the return address?” Ryan asked.
“There wasn’t one. Just Ruthie’s name on the envelope,” Shandra said.
Ryan’s head whipped around and he stared at her. “Just her name?”
“Y-yes. Why?”
“She knows more.” Ryan stood.
“Who knows more?” Shandra followed him to his feet.
He tossed a glance toward Ruthie. “I need to go.” He grasped Shandra’s hand, pulling her toward the door. They both stepped outside.
“You go home and stay there,” he said. “I don’t like that someone knew about the letters and thought there might be information in them that needed to be burned along with anyone who might have read them.”
“The person who had the letters? Why hasn’t she been harmed?” Shandra wanted to know who it was but had a hunch it was Ruthie’s mother.
“I don’t know. Unless they didn’t know about the letters until now, when Donald Kerby returned and mentioned them to his daughter.” He kissed her quick. “I have to go. Go home. I’ll be there as soon as I talk to someone.”
Shandra watched him jog to his vehicle and tear out of the driveway. She spun around and found Maxwell sitting on the couch by himself, reading the letters.
He glanced up. “Ruthie went in to take a shower.”
She nodded. “I’m going to go. Tell her I’ll check in tomorrow.” A thought came to her. “How much damage do you think there was to the diner?”
“I’m not sure. I was more worried about getting Ruthie out than looking to see what was on fire.”
“Be careful. If they think the letters weren’t destroyed, they could come looking for them.”
Maxwell stared at her with a stony, determined gaze. “They almost hurt my Ruthie once. I won’t let it happen again. Find out what her father was caught up in so we can get on with our lives.”
“I will. Tell Ruthie, good night for me.”
Shandra left the house, climbed into her Jeep, and headed home. But she wouldn’t be sleeping for a bit. There was too much she wanted to find out on the internet before she could fall asleep.
~*~
Ryan pulled up to the address dispatch had given him for Chea Timms. It was a small single-story house built on the outskirts of Huckleberry. He’d checked and both she and her husband still taught school. Chea at Huckleberry Elementary and Mr. Timms at Warner High School. They didn’t have children.
No dogs barked as he walked through a lawn with only a few scattered leaves on the short-cropped grass. Lights from the larger living room window spilled onto robust plants with multi-petaled flowers in autumn colors.
He didn’t see a door bell. Two quick raps on the door brought footsteps to the other side.
The knob turned and the door opened far enough to present a man of about sixty years of age. His graying hair was worn in two braids laying against a sky-blue pullover. He had on gray slacks and beaded moccasins.
“Mr. Timms?” Ryan asked.
“Yes. How may I help you?” Timms didn’t offer to open the door any wider to allow him in.
“I’d like to speak with your wife, Chea.” He pulled out his badge. “I’m Detective Ryan Greer with the Weippe County Sheriff’s Department.”
The man stepped back allowing entrance. “Why do you need to speak to my wife?”
Uncertain how much the man knew about his wife and the deceased, Ryan answered, “I have some more questions about the homicide that happened at Ruthie Kerby’s wedding.”
The man’s eyes widened. “A homicide at Ruthie’s wedding? Who was killed?”
“Your wife didn’t tell you?” Now he wondered if the man knew his wife had been at the Huckleberry Police Station for questioning.
“No. She said Ruthie got cold feet and the wedding was canceled.” Mr. Timms led him into the living room and motioned for him to take a seat. “My wife is in our room reading. I’ll get her.”
“Thank you.” Ryan made a pretense to sit, but as soon as the man’s back was to him, he started prowling the room, studying everything. Three teaching awards sat on the top shelf of a literature heavy book case. Many books were on the history of ancient weapons. One photo of the couple sat on a lower shelf. There were no photos of other family members. Not even, Nattie, Chea’s mother.
The room was clean, immaculate, with a barely lived-in feel. He liked Shandra’s open house plan with her paints and colored pencils, Sheba’s toys, and now his personal items scattered around. It had a homey, lived-in feel. This house felt sterile.
He heard hushed voices and footsteps. Ryan strode to the chair he’d been invited to sit in and sat, pulling out his notepad.
Chea walked into the room. Fear had rounded her eyes and pinched her lips. Mr. Timms walked sternly beside her, motioning for her to take a seat on the couch closest to Ryan.
The woman sat, her hands folded primly in her lap.
Would the woman talk to him in front of her husband? From the panic in her eyes, he had a feeling her husband knew nothing about her fling with Donald Kerby before he came along.
“Mr. Timms, would you leave your wife and I alone. Although you stated you knew nothing of the homicide, I would rather question you separately to make sure you give me your version of what you know.”
Relief swept over Chea’s face, but Mr. Timms became angry.
“I am her husband. Whatever she has to say, I have a right to hear.” Mr. Timms sat on the couch beside his wife.
“Let me state it this way then. I need answers from your wife and I don’t believe she will answer them with you present.”
Mr. Timms stared at Chea. She didn’t return his gaze, continuing to stare at her folded hands.
“I see. Very well. I’ll leave you two alone.” Mr. Timms stood.
“I do have one question for you. Why didn’t you attend Ruthie’s wedding?” Ryan watched the woman and not the man. She flinched.
“I had a meeting with the principal to go over the test scores of the incoming freshmen.”
“On a Saturday?” He’d never heard of teachers working on weekends unless it was an extra-curricular activity.
“It was the only day we both had enough time to go over the testing thoroughly.”
“Thank you.” Ryan made a note to check with the principal about the meeting.
Once the man was out of the room, Ryan turned his full attention on Chea. “I want to know how you received the letters from Donald Kerby and what you did with them? Ruthie found the ones you left at the back door of the diner. There wasn’t an address, which means you had to have received a letter, too.”
“I told you before, Donald sent me the letters to give to Ruthie, but there wasn’t a return address.”
“Didn’t you even look at the postmark? You know, the ink stamped up in the corner of the letter near the stamp?”
“I did, but they seemed to always come from different places. Like he had people who were traveling put them in a mailbox for him. One was from Michigan, one from San Francisco, another from Utah. I don’t think they ever came from the same place.” She put her hands palm up in her lap. “My husband doesn’t know about Donald and I. He thinks I’ve only ever loved him.”
Ryan shook his head. “I can’t make any promises about your affair with the deceased not coming out. I have to follow all leads and ask everyone questions.” He got back to the matter that brought him here. “What time did you put the box of letters behind Ruthie’s Diner?”
Her gaze leveled on his. “I didn’t take a box of letters to the diner.”
“Where did you keep the letters?” If she hadn’t taken the letters then who did?
“The letters have been hidden at my mother’s house for over thirteen years. Once Ruthie turned eighteen they stopped coming. I’d hoped it meant Donald was returning.” Chea twisted her fingers. “I waited as long as I could before I finally accepted Clarence’s proposal. I was getting too old to hope for another man like Donald to come around.”
“And Clarence never knew about Donald?” He found it hard to believe Chea and the victim kept their affair a secret in this small community.
“He knew there had been someone before him that I loved, but I’ve never told him who.” She glanced up. “I don’t think he’d mind, other than it had been a married man. Clarence believes in rules and order.” She glanced around the room. “Anything that goes against those upsets him.”
“Did your mother know about the letters?” He had to discover who’d put the letters on Ruthie’s door step.
She shook her head. “I never told her about the letters or Donald and I. He didn’t tell anyone because he was married and didn’t know what his crazy wife would do if she found out.”
“Someone found the letters and set them on the diner’s kitchen steps for Ruthie to find. Twenty minutes later, someone tried to burn the diner down with her and Maxwell in it.”
“Oh no!” Chea’s hand covered her mouth. “Is she? Are they okay?”
“Maxwell got them out, but it means someone has been watching you or your mother and knew about the letters. That is the only explanation I can find for someone trying to torch the diner.” He peered into her eyes. “Where were you at eight-twenty tonight?”
She blinked rapidly. “I was here. You don’t think...”
“And your husband. Was he here as well?”
“He was. We were both here. We had dinner at six, went for a walk, and returned at seven-thirty. Then I went up to read while he worked on his class syllabus.”
“Where did you keep the letters from Ruthie’s father?”
She stopped a second as if debating whether to tell him. “In a shoe box, under a loose floorboard in my room.”
Ryan stood. “Thank you for your time and answers. Tell your husband it was a pleasure meeting him.” He walked to the door and let himself out.
It was after ten o’clock, but he had to follow the leads. He slipped into his pickup and dialed Shandra.
“Hello,” she answered, before the phone had barely rang.
“You answered fast.”
“The phone was sitting beside me. I’ve been going through the newspaper archives trying to figure out what could have been the thing that sent Donald on the run.”
He smiled. Telling her to stay home didn’t mean she’d stop trying to find the reason behind the murder and the fire. “What have you found?” He started the pickup and headed into town and down the main street toward Warner. Nattie Small lived north of town about five miles.
“The body found in Orin’s car was that of Mark Dapling, a known hit man. But there is nothing about who he might have been here to kill.”
“I had Cathleen pull up the reports on the case. They’re on my computer but I haven’t had time to go through them.” He steered onto the road leading to Nattie’s. “Chea said she hadn’t seen that box of letters in years. I’m headed to Nattie’s now to see if she was the one who put the letters behind the diner.”
“Let me know what happens.”
“I will. Get some sleep.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. If I’m lucky Ella will come to me in a dream and we’ll have another clue.” Shandra sighed. “See you when you get here.”
“Hopefully, only another hour or so.”
He hit the disconnect button and noticed a text. It was from Trapp. Accelerant was gasoline thrown through the window in a glass jar with a rag on fire. Ryan didn’t like that it was something made at the spur of the moment and easy for anyone to have fashioned.
A dog barked as he pulled up to the small, batten board house. The flood light at the front door lit the yard up as a large scruffy dog ran across the porch. The lawn hadn’t been mowed in a while. Wild plants and flowers grew haphazardly about the yard.
“Hey, boy. Are you friendly?” Ryan asked, stepping out of his vehicle.
“Dog, come!” Nattie’s voice carried from behind the screen door.
“Mrs. Small, it’s Detective Greer. I’d like a few words with you.”
“Come on in. Dog won’t bite ya. He’s to scare ornery critters off. Ones that don’t have enough sense to see if he’s friendly.”
Ryan stepped through the screen door into a cluttered front room.
“Have a seat. I was just getting ready for my cup of chamomile tea. Would you care for some?” Nattie stood beside a door that led into what appeared to be the kitchen. She scratched at her right palm.
“I’m fine, thank you. Go ahead and get your tea.” He sat on an over-stuffed chair that looked to be as old as the woman. All of the furniture in the room was vintage and worn. Unlike her daughter’s house, the walls, shelves, and any place available had photographs. He spotted many of Ruthie as she’d grown up and just as many of Chea. There were a few of a younger Nattie with a handsome Native American man. The photo that caught his attention was one of the Timms’s wedding party. Neither the bride or the groom glowed with love for one another. They were both posed and looking as stoic as photos he’d seen of couples in the 1800s. It appeared their marriage was one of convenience and propriety and not of love.
“Here you go. You said you didn’t want tea, but I brought you some coffee.” Nattie handed the coffee mug to him and placed her cup and saucer on the table next to a small rocker. She sat down, smiled at him, and scratched her palms. “What brings you out here so late?”
“Did you find the letters from Donald Kerby to his daughter and take them to the diner tonight?” He knew the woman liked straight talk.
Her eyes narrowed. “There a law against leaving something for people to find?”
“No. But twenty minutes after the box was found, someone set the diner on fire.”
Her eyes widened and her gnarled hand raised to her mouth, much the same action as her daughter had done not thirty minutes before. “Oh my heavens! Is Ruthie alright?”
“She and Maxwell made it out. What I want to know is did you tell anyone you had found the box of letters and did you notice anyone watching you?” He studied the woman.
Her complexion had faded with his comment about the fire. Now it grew ruddier as her eyes glinted with anger. “That daughter of mine should not have kept the letters from Ruthie. All these years she thought her father had abandoned her. Zelda called me after you talked to her. She said you mentioned letters from Donald to Ruthie and wanted to know why I hadn’t given them to Ruthie. I told her the truth. Because I didn’t know they existed. That got me to thinking about letters Chea received after Donald left. They didn’t have any return address. When I asked her about them, she said they were from students who had moved away.” She waved a hand toward a door off the front room. “I went into Chea’s old room and tore the place apart and found the shoe box under the boards in the closet. All the letters had Ruthie’s name on them and they’d never been opened. I don’t know if Donald sent Chea a letter, too, and she destroyed them, but I felt given her daddy was gone, Ruthie should have the letters.”
“Why didn’t you give them to her, instead of leaving them on the back step?” Ryan believed the woman.
Her face sagged and her eyes held sadness. “I didn’t want Ruthie to think I’d kept the letters from her all those years. You don’t know how that girl pined for her daddy to come home. She’d make wishes and pray for him to come back.”
“Did you tell anyone about the letters?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t tell anyone. I learned of the letters from you and then Zelda.”
Which meant Ruthie’s mother had to have mentioned them to someone. Considering her inebriated state when he’d questioned her, he was surprised she remembered he’d mentioned the letters.
“Thank you for your time, coffee, and information.” Ryan stood.
“How bad was the diner damaged?” Nattie asked.
“I’m not sure of the damages.” He walked to the door. “Giving those letters to Ruthie was the right thing to do. But someone thinks there is more in them than a father apologizing for leaving his little girl behind.”