JoAnna Carl Read online

  "I told the manager you were checking out," he said.

  Tess fluttered her eyelashes. "You're not really going to take me to the police chief, are you?"

  "Not on an empty stomach," Joe said. "The Stop and Shop should have some fresh doughnuts by now."

  Tess refused a doughnut, and she pouted all the way to the police station. She hung on to my arm, looking terrified, after we got out of the truck. She was so short I felt as if I were dragging her along.

  Chief Jones was coming out as we approached the door.

  "Hi, Chief," I said. "We found out why Jeff kept coming into town in the middle of the night."

  "Well, well." The chief looked Tess over. "I was gonna call all the motels after I had breakfast. I fig­ured Jeff wasn't coming in to admire the quaint Victo­rian decor."

  Tess cast imploring looks at us, but the chief es­corted her into his office and left Joe and me in the outer room. I called Aunt Nettie to tell her the lat­est development.

  "I should have known enough about human nature to figure that out," she said. "I'll change Jeffs bed. He'll have to sleep on the cot in the little room."

  "I just hope he gets out of jail," I said.

  I told Joe to go home, but he said he'd stick around.

  "Thanks," I said.

  He shrugged.

  I sat down on a plastic chair, and I guess I fell asleep, because the next thing I knew Joe tapped me on the shoulder, and I opened my eyes and saw the chief coming out of his office. He motioned for Joe and me to come in. Tess was huddled in a chair. The four of us filled up the little office.

  "Now, Miss Riley, I'm going to paraphrase your story," he said. "You correct me if I'm wrong."

  Tess looked at him adoringly and nodded. He smiled back. She'd found somebody who was suscepti­ble to eyelashes. Good for her.

  The story the chief told us was incomplete. Tess said she was from Tyler, Texas, and that she was a freshman at SMU. She had left her dorm room five days earlier and had driven north from Dallas. She had not really explained why she had taken a notion to do this.

  When she got to Chicago, she'd seen she was going to run out of money pretty quick. So she called Jeff— "He's a good friend," she said when the chief got to that part of the story—and asked him to wire her money. Instead, Jeff got in his car and drove to Chi­cago to meet her. But Jeff hadn't had any money ei­ther. So early in the morning two days earlier they had headed for Michigan, apparently because Jeff thought I'd be a soft touch.

  "So," I said, "you were the person in the second car with the Texas plates." I'd figured that out, of course, but I wanted to confirm it.

  "Yes, I was," Tess said. She looked at the chief and fluttered her eyelashes. "Jeff said you'd towed my car."

  "It's in the lot out back."

  "I guess I can pick it up now."

  "The gas tank is still close to empty," Chief Jones said. He continued her story.

  When Tess and Jeff got to Warner Pier, Jeff rented a motel room, using almost the last of their pooled money, then went out to Aunt Nettie's house, where he was discovered by Joe before he fell in the window over the stairwell. Jeff had sneaked into town that evening and the next to see her.

  "Tess says that Jeff was with her from eleven p.m. until around one thirty last night," the chief said. Tess nodded eagerly. "She was tired of being cooped up in the motel room, so they went out for a ride a little after one o'clock. After about fifteen minutes, Jeff suddenly said she had to go back to the motel, because he'd seen something he had to check up on."

  "The person in front of the shop," I said.

  "Maybe. But Jeff didn't tell her that. So her story substantiates Jeffs, sorta, but it's not really an alibi."

  "Still, her presence in Warner Pier explains a few things," Joe said. "Now we know why Jeff was sneak­ing into town in the middle of the night. That fills the biggest gap in his story. Can you let him go?"

  Chief Jones looked more Lincolnesque than ever. "Well, I'd like to wait until we see what the medical examiner says. And whether or not there are any fin­gerprints on that bat."

  I started to speak, then remembered that Joe was the lawyer.

  "We couldn't really expect any fingerprints when the temperatures are down in the twenties," Joe said. "Unless the murderer was too macho for mittens. And the medical examiner isn't going to be real specific about a time of death. After all, even when I got to the scene, Gail had only been dead a little while. Jeff must have stumbled across her body very soon after she died."

  "I'm still going to hold on to him until I can run a couple of checks," the chief said.

  Tess fluttered her eyelashes again. "What kind of checks?"

  Joe spoke before the chief could. "He's probably going to see if Texas—or anyplace else—has outstand­ing warrants for you or Jeff. So if there's anything you want to tell us, now's the time."

  Tess sighed and leaned back in her chair. "No, that's okay."

  Tess asked to see Jeff, but the chief told her to come back later. Tess produced her car keys, and the chief escorted us out to the City Hall parking lot, where Tess's car occupied a corner. Joe brought Tess's backpack around from his truck, and I began to give Tess directions to Aunt Nettie's. "We'll stop at the Shell station, and I'll buy you some gas," I said.

  But Tess wasn't paying any attention to me. She was staring at her car.

  "What's wrong?" I said.

  Tess pointed. "My taillight. How did it get broken?"

  Chapter 11

  I stared at the broken taillight, trying not to panic. It was the left one, like on the car Jeff and I had seen. Would Chief Jones think that Tess had been in the car that sped away after the burglary? Would he think Jeff had tried to cover up her connection with the crime?

  I tried frantically to picture the car Jeff and I had seen. I simply didn't care enough about cars to re­member it. My dad was an auto mechanic, so you'd think I would have been raised knowing one taillight from another, but Rich's view of cars solely as status symbols had made me lose interest in the whole sub­ject. If a vehicle moved when I pressed the accelera­tor, that was all I asked.

  Tess's car was an inexpensive Ford. But Jeff had said the fleeing car had been some sort of sports car. Had he recognized it as a sports car? Or had he simply been leading us astray?

  Joe and Chief Jones had also been staring at the broken taillight; and it was Tess who spoke first. "I certainly hope the city of Warner Pier will pay for that light," she said. "Those things are expensive to replace, and I'll get a ticket if I drive without it."

  I bent over to look more closely, and both Chief Jones and Joe knelt behind the car.

  "You won't be driving it for a few days," Chief Jones said. He and Joe looked at the snow under the rear of the car.

  "Maybe you could scoop the snow up and melt it down," Joe said. "See what you find."

  "It had to happen here," the Chief said. "We were looking all over for broken taillights. If we'd found an abandoned car with one, we'd have noticed. Besides, if one of my guys puts a car in the lot without making a note of anything that's wrong with it, I'll have his uniform. There was nothing on the record sheet."

  "What are they talking about?" Tess said to me.

  "They're saying the light wasn't broken when the car was towed in."

  It made sense. If the police impounded a car, they'd be responsible for its condition when it was picked up by the owner. They couldn't leave themselves open to the kind of demands that Tess had just made, that they pay for damage that occurred while the car was in their lot.

  The chief stood up. "Guess I'd better ask around, find out if anybody unusual was seen in the city lot."

  "But who's going to take care of getting this fixed?" Tess said. "If it was all right when it was towed in ..."

  "For the moment, we're going to keep the car, get the crime lab to look at it," the chief said. "We'll try to find out just what happened."

  "I haven't got the money to repair it," Tess said. "And my
dad doesn't either." Her face was all screwed up. Tess obviously didn't come from a wealthy family. Jeff would have shrugged off the damage.

  "Come on, Tess," I said. "We'll worry about getting the taillight fixed after Chief Jones investigates. Right now we're heading for the house. I've got the wonder­ful job of trying to track down Jeffs dad."

  "Oh, no! You can't call him. He mustn't find out I'm here."

  I sighed. "Come on," I said.

  Joe handed Tess her backpack. He grinned at me, I guess because I was the one stuck with Tess and he wasn't. "I'll call Webb Bartlett," he said. "His office ought to be open by nine."

  "Who's Webb Bartlett?" Tess was still pouting.

  I started shoving her toward my van, parked around the corner. "Webb Bartlett is the lawyer Joe is going to call and ask to represent Jeff. That's why I have to get hold of Jeffs dad."

  "But I can't let anybody know where I am."

  "Jeff needs a lawyer," I said. "His dad is going to have to pay the bill."

  "But surely there's some way ..."

  "Look, Tess! Jeff may be accused of a very serious crime. I may feel sure he didn't commit it, and you may feel sure he didn't commit it. But that doesn't count. If he doesn't have the right legal representa­tion, he may go to prison for years!"

  "But I can't let anybody know where I am!*'

  At that I lost what temper I had left. "Oh, yes, you can! You can quit running away like a little kid. You can tell me why you and Jeff left college and came up here. You can tell me—and Chief Jones—why you were hiding out in that motel, why Jeff wouldn't tell us you were with him. Why you abandoned your car in the parking lot of a grocery store."

  "No! No, I can't!"

  "Okay! Don't tell us. Stand around saving your cute little butt and let Jeff be convicted of murder!"

  "Murder?" Tess gave a sob, and when she spoke her voice was just a whisper. "Murder is what we were trying to avoid."

  I stared at her, and she stared back, and suddenly I was cold clear through. And only part of it was be­cause it was dawn on a winter day in Michigan.

  What had Tess meant? Murder was what she and Jeff had been trying to avoid? I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but I asked her. All she did was cry.

  Tess had scared me into regaining control of my temper, I was able to talk more calmly. "Let's go out to Aunt Nettie's. Maybe she can inject a little common sense into the situation."

  We walked around the corner and got into the van, and I started the motor. "I'm exhausted," I said. "Whatever you and Jeff and the Warner Pier burglar are up to, it's sure kept me from sleeping the last couple of nights."

  I started to pull out from the curb, but lights flashed in my rearview mirror, and I stopped to let a car pass. It didn't pass. It stopped, blocking me. Its door opened, and the driver jumped out. "Lee!" he yelled. "Lee!" He ran around the front of the car—it was a big Lincoln—and I saw the shock of beautiful hair. It was Hart VanHorn.

  I rolled my window down. "Hart?"

  "I hoped that was you. I saw the Dallas Cowboys sticker on the van yesterday."

  "It's me. My dad put the sticker on, so I wouldn't forget my origins. What can I do for you?"

  "A reporter I know called to find out if I'd heard anything about a murder here in Warner Pier."

  "Oh, it's a regular mess," I said. "And it looks like my stepson is in the middle of it—I don't mean he did it! But he found the body, and the police are holding him."

  "That's what Mike Herrera said."

  "Mike Herrera? How'd he get involved?"

  "As the mayor of Warner Pier, he knows most things that go on around here. So I called him."

  I should have figured it out without asking. Hart VanHorn was important; a state legislator and a possi­ble candidate for Congress. That meant he would have lots of contacts. He could probably find out anything about anybody in the entire state of Michigan with one phone call.

  "Mike said the victim was Gail Hess," Hart said. "That's why Mom and I came down to find out what's going on."

  "I'm sorry to say I haven't given poor Gail a thought," I said. "I've been too worried about Jeff."

  "Does he need a lawyer? I could call—well, nobody in my old firm handles criminal matters, but I know people who do."

  "Joe Woodyard was here—his mom was the second person on the scene. Joe said he knew somebody. Webb Bartlett?"

  "Webb's a good choice." A smile flickered over Hart's face. "Joe and Webb were a year behind me in law school. Joe knows a lot more about defense attorneys than I do."

  Neither of us needed to go into the reasons Joe knew a lot about defense attorneys. But Hart had brought up another point.

  "Did you say a reporter called you?"

  "That's right. A political reporter from the Chi­cago Tribune"

  "Chicago! Oh, no!"

  "He's a nice guy. We've dealt with each other be­fore. Why does that upset you?"

  "Because Chicago is a long way from the Warner Pier Gazette. That means the reporter got a tip. And that means somebody from Warner Pier called him. Or called somebody."

  "So?"

  "So, somebody around here is still in contact with the reporters—maybe the tabloid reporters—who had such a great time in Warner Pier when Clementine Ripley was killed."

  "Not good."

  "No." I dropped my voice. "Listen, Hart, let's for­get that pizza for now."

  "But I'm not afraid for the press to know I have a date with an attractive—"

  "That's very chivalrous, but this is not the time."

  Hart looked as if he were going to argue, but before he said anything someone else spoke. "Hart? Were you able to find out anything?"

  Hart moved, and for the first time I realized that his mother was in the car behind him.

  "Oh! Mrs. VanHorn," I said. "It's a real mess."

  She raised her well-bred eyebrows. "Is it true that Gail Hess has been killed?"

  "I'm afraid so." As Olivia and I peered at each other through our car windows, Hart stood in the street between us and Tess huddled in the seat beside mine. I sketched what I knew about the situation, worked in a casual introduction of Tess, identifying her as a friend of Jeff's, and described the discovery of Gail's body.

  Olivia frowned. "This is very shocking."

  "It's certainly shocking for Warner Pier," I said. "Frankly, once the tourists go home, we have almost no crime. But after the wild events of last summer"— Olivia nodded to indicate that she remembered the murder of Clementine Ripley—"this could turn into another invasion of the tabloid press."

  "Yes, Mother." Hart's voice sounded mocking. "It could mean a big scandal."

  Olivia shot him what—in a less-refined woman— could have been a dirty look. "I didn't know Gail very well," she said. "Had she mentioned any personal situation that might be linked to this? Any quarrels? Any threats? Family problems?"

  "Family problems are the most frequent cause of murder," Hart said. "That and psychological prob­lems." He almost sounded amused.

  Was I imagining the mockery in his voice? I glanced at him, but his face was bland. "Gail hadn't said any­thing to me," I said. "I had only seen her a few times recently, when she came over to see the display of molds and when she came to pick them up. Then, of course, she came back when she discovered that one of them was missing."

  Hart spoke then. "One was missing?"

  "Yes. We hadn't realized it at first."

  "She called and told me about it," Olivia said. Her voice sounded a little short.

  "She and Aunt Nettie searched everywhere," I said. "It was the trained bear in the harness. All we could conclude was that the burglar took it. But we don't know why—it was up on a top shelf. That was the last time I saw Gail. Maybe she did have some personal problem. She seemed to see some big significance in that particular mold being missing. And she seemed fascinated by the sports car Jeff and I saw. Her reac­tion was really strange. I'm trying to figure it out."

  "Strange?" Hart said. "Strange
in what way?"

  I opened my mouth to describe Gail's triumphant behavior, but Olivia spoke. "Lee and Jeff's friend must be freezing, Hart. We should get home."

  I realized that Olivia was right about the tempera­ture. Tess's teeth were chattering. Hart said good-bye; he and his mother drove on, and I pulled out behind them, following them across the Warner River bridge and down Lake Shore Drive, since their house was maybe a quarter of a mile beyond Aunt Nettie's. The taillights of the Lincoln kept going as I turned into the drive.

  I escorted Tess inside and introduced her to Aunt Nettie. Aunt Nettie had moved Jeff's things out of the extra room and changed the bed for Tess. She'd tossed Jeff's sheets and towels into the washing machine; it was quite homey to come into the old house and find it smelling of laundry soap, bacon, and coffee. Aunt Nettie was going to have Tess eating out of her hand by lunchtime.

  After breakfast I did the dishes, Aunt Nettie went back to bed, and Tess took a shower. By then it was after ten o'clock, which meant it would be after nine a.m. in Dallas. Rich's office would be open. I couldn't put off that phone call any longer. This time I had to explain the entire situation to someone who knew how to get hold of Rich—in Mexico, or wherever he was. Even if it was Miss Brit.

  The receptionist with the British accent answered again, and once again she assured me that Rich was unavailable, and that his personal assistant was, too. I took a deep breath, then asked for Alicia Richardson.

  "Tell her it's Lee McKinney," I said.

  That put a little excitement into Miss Brit's clipped tones. We might not have met, but after my repeated phone calls I was willing to bet she had found out I was Rich's ex. If he was off on a trip with his first wife, having the second one turn up—even on the tele­phone—was sure to put the office on its ear.

  Almost immediately I heard Alicia's soft Texas voice. "Accounting."

  "Alicia, it's Lee."

  "Lee? Lee McKinney?"