Hide Away, page 14
“Beverly, Harlan will be fine. Detective Adam Dutton is on the case.”
Beverly felt a smile creep across her face. “Adam is pretty special.”
“Hmm.” Mr. X turned his gaze toward her, his heavy-lidded eyes as inscrutable as ever.
She hastened to add. “You’re pretty amazing, yourself. For helping out Agnes like that.”
“My pleasure. From one old antiquer to another. It’s in the code.”
“The code of the good guys, maybe.”
But Beverly’s efforts over the past few years battling crooked members of the Northeastern Antiques League had made her realize professional “codes” could mutate—depending upon the character-DNA of the user. She started humming again, only this time, “Bridge Over Troubled Water.”
§ § §
Mr. X raised an eyebrow as Beverly rescued her kit and a few other items from her trunk. “That’s an unusual way of ‘going straight,’ Beverly.”
“I know I promised Adam, sort of. But desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“How many wigs do you have in the trunk?”
“Enough.”
He whistled as she slid into the driver’s seat and opened her kit. “Impressive. In all that time running around avoiding being caught by the NAL or police, where did you store these?”
“Kept a few in my suitcase. Bought others new in each town and then donated them to a charity or tossed them in the dumpster as I left.”
“That’s quite practical. I approve.”
“Did you ever use disguises during your days at the NAL?”
“It was far more effective when people saw me coming as I am.”
Beverly had only seen Mr. X as a benign guardian angel. But he also carried an imposing air about him, and every now and then, she’d seen a flash in his eyes that gave her chills. “I guess it’s the same as not asking an assassin about his job. And I have a feeling you were pretty good at doing whatever it was you had to do.”
“I was never comfortable with the role, I happened into it. Something of a family business.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Watching Forsythe and the others go off the deep end was the last straw. I do have a personal code.”
She nodded and left it at that. Although she’d love to know someday where he’d “hidden the bodies.”
As he watched her don the blond wig, eyeglasses, and a fake mole, he asked, “What did you have in mind for those disguises today?”
“I have a sudden interest in hardware.”
He chuckled, and they drove back to the store where Atkinson had dropped off Ramsay Ryall. It must be their lucky day because the man in question was exiting the store when they pulled up.
Beverly hopped out and strode up to him, using a hint of vocal fry as she said, “Why Ramsay Ryall, as I live and breathe.”
He stared at her with pinched brows. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Sherry, a friend of mine, bought one of your snowmobiles way back when. It was a beauty.”
“I’m not in that business anymore.”
“That’s too bad. Say, wasn’t it your brother I saw in the papers? A murder or something?”
Ramsay winced. “That’s right, my brother Wallace. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Oh, that’s heavy, I get it. Such a close relative and all. Must be hard.”
He hesitated, shifting the shopping bags in his hand. “Well, not that close, to be honest. We’d been estranged.”
“Guess that’s why my friend who bought the snowmobile said she got weird vibes from Wallace. Don’t want to speak ill of the dead and all, but Sherry thought he might have been on something. Said he came on to her. And not in a nice way.”
“I didn’t know about that. And I’m sorry for your friend.”
“Did Wallace do that often? You know, unwanted advances on girls?”
Ramsay frowned. “As I said, we weren’t on good terms. It’s not something I want to discuss. Especially not out here in the open.”
“Sure, sure, I understand.” Beverly smiled up at him. “So, why leave the snowmobile business? Seems like a natural for around here?”
“Wally ruined everything he touched.”
“Really? I don’t understand. I thought the biz was doing great.”
Ramsay hesitated, and Beverly egged him on, “Must have been pretty bad, then.”
“We’d snagged an International Snowmobile Congress award.”
“You know, I think my friend Sherry might have mentioned something about that.”
“It was right before our falling out. Could have meant more sales and an international market push.”
“Oooh, that must have hurt. I’d have throttled him if it was me.”
Ramsay’s neck flushed a bright red, and his hands shook so hard, Beverly worried he’d drop the bags he was carrying. “Look, I’ve got to go,” he said as he rushed off.
When she climbed back into the car, Mr. X gave her a brief smile. “You have a real knack for this disguise business. Did you make that all up on the spot?”
“Practice makes perfect. So they say.”
He had a thoughtful look. “I’m not so sure Adam Dutton asking you not to practice your craft is the right way to go if it’s part of who you are. Perhaps you’ll have to take up acting at the local community theater.”
“Theater?”
“An improv troupe, naturally.”
She laughed so hard she almost had to pull over. Her performance with Ramsay Ryall hadn’t won any awards—or discovered evidence except to verify Ramsay hated his brother and possibly knew more about his brother’s misogyny than he let on. Despite his denials.
But she had to admit it was fun. Was it all part of who she was? Would she be able to give that way of life up for one man’s approval?
Life imitates art imitates life. She wasn’t sure what role she was playing or what role she wanted to play in life, but being an avenging angel for Harlan right now was good enough for her.
Chapter 23
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.
Chapter 24
After the quick drive by Harlan’s shop where everything looked okay from the outside, they made it to Fern Gery’s flower shop. A tattoo parlor lay around the corner, something Beverly hadn’t noticed on their first visit.
She pointed it out. “I guess you have to choose between getting your sweetie a bouquet of flowers or getting her name tattooed on your whatever.”
Adam replied, “Think I’d go with the flowers. That tattoo shop was hit up with prostitution charges a few years ago. They’ve tried to stay legit since, but we’re watching them.”
Fern greeted them warmly, but as she motioned them back to the same room as before, she asked if it would be okay if she continued working while talking. “The extra-long Christmas season may not be as big as Valentine’s Day, but it’s still busy. I’ve got a wedding tomorrow,” she motioned to a table of corsage picks and boutonniere lapel vases waiting for their red roses and carnations.
The irony of discussing failed relationships and possible sexual assaults in the shadow of wedding decorations wasn’t lost on Beverly. She looked at the flowers in the refrigerated cases and wished them luck.
