Bound for Murder, page 22
Common sense won out. I rolled down the window. “What in the world are you doing here—keeping tabs on me?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” Kurt crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Although I admit my initial target was Emily Moore. But when she drove here at closing time and seemed so determined to speak with you, I thought I’d better hang around rather than follow her.”
“You know her, don’t you? From your dealer days, I suspect.”
“Yes. I’m not sure she’d recognize me today, but I don’t want to test that theory. Which is why I’ve been maintaining a low profile while keeping an eye on her.” He dropped his arms with a shrug. “To be more accurate, I’ve had some of my people keeping tabs on Emily. Tonight I decided to do a little surveillance on my own.”
I grabbed my keys from the cup holder. “Why? Because she knows too much about your connection to Jeremy Adams?”
“No, because I know too much about hers.”
I paused with my hand poised to insert the keys in the ignition. “What do you know?”
“Something you may have already discovered, if your research skills are even half of what I imagine them to be. Jeremy used Emily’s poetry for the lyrics to his original songs, and when she was offered a book deal, she demanded that he return the rights to her.”
“And she called Jeremy back to Taylorsford to ensure that he would,” I said, meeting Kurt’s intense gaze.
“Yes, she was the impetus for his return. But I’m not convinced that she killed him.”
“Is that because you know who actually did?”
“Not exactly. And I could be wrong. Maybe Emily did kill Jeremy, but even so, she had help covering it up. I have my suspicions as to how that might have played out, but I need a little more time to check with a few contacts …”
“Wait,” I said, cutting him off. “You want me to say nothing to the authorities about her visit here tonight, then?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“I do mind. I think Brad Tucker should know that Emily is a more viable suspect than she may have first appeared. As soon as I can, I will tell him so.”
Kurt reached in the car and grabbed my left hand, pinning it to the steering wheel. “Don’t.”
I scooted back in my seat, struggling to loosen his hold. “Let go of me, please.”
“I will when you’re willing to listen to reason.”
“All right, spin your story. I promise to keep an open mind.”
“Very well.” Kurt leaned over and whipped the keys from my other hand before releasing me and stepping back. “Insurance,” he said, dangling the keys.
I fixed him with a cold glare. “I could have you arrested for that.”
“But you won’t.” Kurt dropped the keys into his other hand. “Now, let me explain. It’s true that I’ve been watching Emily Moore for some time, as well as a few other people. Individuals I knew from back in my days as a dealer. Many of whom could have had a reason to kill Jeremy Adams.” He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “All of whom could identify me as the Hammer.”
“And that’s what really concerns you, I suppose.”
“Exactly. It wouldn’t be beneficial for my current businesses if that little tidbit from my past was revealed. Not that I don’t feel sorry for Jeremy, or his family. But I also don’t want to be pulled into the investigation of his death by well-meaning, if misguided, attempts to reveal the truth.”
“The truth should be told.”
“Of course, and I’ll gladly help make that happen. But without allowing the investigation to veer off onto, shall we say, irrelevant tangents.”
“If you know anything, you should share it with the authorities.”
“I intend to, once I have collected all the information I seek. To do so before that”—he bounced my keys in his open palm—“will simply send the guilty party or parties scurrying underground.”
“You really think another dealer was involved somehow, don’t you?”
“Perhaps.” Kurt held out his hand, offering up my keys. “But I can’t prove it, and until I can, I don’t want to spook my sources. If they find out that I’ve been in touch with the authorities, my search for the truth will dry up before it yields the proper results.”
“But it won’t be you contacting the authorities, it will be me.”
“They’ll still suspect a connection, especially if the sheriff’s office starts focusing more intently on Emily Moore.” Kurt dropped my keys into my open palm. “So I implore you, Amy—keep quiet about what you’ve discovered about Ms. Moore. Just give me a few more days. I have someone on the trail, and I think …” He shook his head. “Never mind that. Just promise me to say nothing for a day or two.”
“You really think your investigations will yield the truth?”
“Yes, I do.”
“All right. I’ll wait a few days to talk to Brad about Emily Moore. But only because you’ve risked your own life to save me, and those I love, in the past. I guess I owe you that much.” I pointed a finger at him. “But if you don’t provide the sheriff’s office with some useful intel, and soon, all bets are off.”
“Fair enough.” Kurt looked me over, his expression unreadable. “I really do want justice for Jeremy, you know. I liked the guy, and even more importantly, admired his incredible talent. The world shouldn’t have been deprived of his music. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure someone pays for that crime.”
“I should’ve known you’d be more broken up over the loss of some form of art than a person’s life,” I said. “But as long as the truth is served, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
Kurt backed away. “One more thing,” he said. “Please promise me to stay out of this investigation. You’ve done enough to help, put yourself at enough risk. Given the sort of people who may be involved, I’m afraid it could turn even uglier.”
“Good night,” I replied, and rolled up my window.
By the time I drove off, Kurt had melted into the shadows and disappeared. I tightened my lips. Despite the times he’d helped me or my loved ones in the past, I could never be sure whether the art dealer truly wanted to protect us, or just himself.
Which meant that while I would stay quiet about Emily Moore’s connection to Jeremy Adams’s return to Taylorsford for a few days, I certainly wasn’t going to promise anything else.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The minute I saw Richard on Saturday, I decided that Kurt’s admonition to stay silent didn’t apply to him.
“I’m not sure I agree with keeping quiet about Emily Moore’s possible connection to Jeremy’s death,” he said as we crossed the county fair’s gravel parking lot. “But I get where you’re coming from in terms of owing Kurt a favor. I suppose he could be right about a possible accomplice going undercover, especially if they’re an accomplished criminal. And if he can uncover the truth”—Richard took my hand—“that puts any target on him or his associates instead of you, which is fine by me.”
I tugged my maroon cotton sweater down over the top of my jeans. “I don’t want him to get hurt, though.”
“Kurt can take care of himself,” Richard said. “Now, let’s try to enjoy the day. I’m looking forward to some disgustingly unhealthy fair food and cheering Lydia to victory.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. Jane Tucker is a formidable opponent, and Carol is no slouch either.”
“I’m surprised Lydia didn’t enter some of the other baking challenges this year,” Richard said as we strolled through the open gates that led into the fairgrounds.
“She said she didn’t have time to perfect a new cake recipe along with the pies. I can believe that, since she’s been spending a lot of time with Hugh, and that doesn’t leave her much time to experiment with her baking. Hugh loves her cooking, but he’s not so much into the sweet stuff.” I sniffed. “Speaking of food—take a whiff of that.”
Richard audibly inhaled before giving me a grin. “Deep-fried delight.”
“For a healthy guy, you sure do like your occasional indulgence.”
“Of course. That makes it even more enjoyable.”
I squeezed his fingers. “And you’ll run or dance it off tomorrow, of course.” I pressed closer to him as we encountered the crowds clustered around the brightly painted food trucks and booths.
Richard released my hand and slid his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll try. Oh look—there’s Brad and Alison. Guess they’re both off work today.”
“Surprising, with all that’s going on,” I said, as Richard maneuvered us through the food lines that had snaked out onto the packed-dirt main path.
“I guess even Brad gets a day off now and then.” Richard apologized to a cluster of teenage girls wearing shorts with combat boots as we squeezed past them. “That’s a different look,” he said, when we were out of earshot.
“They might have the right idea. I’ve already had my toes stepped on twice.” I raised my right hand and waved it in front of my face. “And it’s pretty warm for the last weekend in September.”
“True.” Richard lifted his arm off my shoulders and waved. “Hello, Brad, Alison.”
“Hi.” Alison Frye was a petite young woman who typically slicked her dark hair back into a low ponytail or tucked it up in a loose bun. But today it spilled over her shoulders in a shining fall of dark waves.
As I smiled and said hello, I noticed she was also wearing lipstick, a touch of blush, and a T-shirt with a pair of distressed jeans. Of course, Alison—who’d once worked with Brad but was now a deputy in a neighboring county—was not on duty today.
“Nice day for it,” Brad said, after shaking hands with Richard.
“A little warmer than I expected,” I said, plucking my sweater away from my collarbone. “You had the right idea, Alison.”
“We always seem to have these hot spells right before fall really hits,” she replied. “Are you going to the food pavilion? Brad says we need to head that way to cheer for Jane in the pie competition.”
“Well, not cheer, exactly.” Brad gave me an abashed smile. “The judges have already been around, if I have my timing right. But I bet they haven’t awarded the ribbons yet, so we can give the contestants some moral support while they wait.”
Alison elbowed him. “You’d better be giving all that support to your mom, if you know what’s good for you.” When he glanced down at her, she popped up on tiptoe and swiftly kissed his lips.
“I suppose,” Brad said, after Alison dropped back down onto the soles of her feet. He was wearing a loose white cotton shirt and jeans instead of his uniform, which made him look younger than usual.
Or maybe, I thought with a grin, it’s the flush of embarrassment rising in his cheeks after Alison’s public display of affection.
“I guess we should stop by the food pavilion first,” Richard said, casting one longing look at the blooming onion a fairgoer was balancing on a paper plate. “I assume we don’t actually get to taste the pies?”
“No, only the judges get to do that,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Come on, let’s see if they’ve handed out the ribbons yet.”
“You mean, whether we have to congratulate or console Lydia?” Richard asked, as we plunged back into the milling crowd to follow Brad and Alison.
The rise and fall of a multitude of conversations filled the air, along with the aroma of fried dough and the smoky odor of meat sizzling over charcoal. But as we wove our way through the crowd, the smell of food was replaced by the sharp tang of manure wafting out of the cattle and horse barns.
Near one of the wooden barns, we dodged children chasing two goats that had escaped from their pen.
“My money’s on the kids,” Richard said, as the goats clambered up a tightly packed tower of straw bales. He flashed me a grin. “And I don’t mean the children.”
The goats bleated and leapt off the bales as soon as the children climbed up to reach them.
“Not going to take that bet,” I said, laughing when the goats dashed into the building housing the poultry and rabbit exhibits, setting off a cacophony of caws and peacock shrieks.
“Glad I’m not on duty today,” Brad called back over his shoulder. “Or I might feel compelled to help.”
Alison tugged on his sleeve. “Maybe we should anyway?”
“Nope,” he said, as we walked beyond the animal exhibit area. “I heard nothing; I saw nothing. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. In fact, I’m not even going to answer my phone today. Like I said, I’m not on duty, so for once someone else can deal with any emergencies.”
“Good plan,” Richard said.
The crowd thinned out on the edge of the fairgrounds, where a pair of cement-block buildings housed the food and craft exhibits. Brad and Alison walked into the food pavilion, but Richard stopped short, turning at the sound of hard-soled shoes thumping against wood.
I immediately realized what had caught his attention. Off to one side of the permanent buildings was a temporary stage shaded by a green fabric sun screen.
On the stage, cloggers practiced their steps to the sound of fiddle music, their feet rhythmically tapping and stomping while their upper bodies remained perfectly still.
Naturally, Richard would be captivated by this traditional form of dance. Or any type of dance, I thought with a wry smile. I tapped his arm. “Go ahead, keep watching,” I whispered. “I’m just going to go in and say hello to Aunt Lydia and the others.”
“Thanks,” he said, without taking his eyes off the stage. “I’ll be right here.”
I patted his arm. “Of course you will. See you in a minute.”
Leaving Richard outside, I strolled into the food pavilion. The interior was dim after the bright sun, but I didn’t mind. Large fans spun overheard, cooling the air. As my eyes adjusted to the change in the light, I noticed that the rough wooden shelving that filled the open space was arranged in sections, some areas laden with jewel-toned jars of canned fruit, vegetables, and preserves, and others piled high with gourds, corn still in the husk, and other fresh vegetables. At the far end of the building, where the shelves were draped in white tablecloths, cakes, cookies, pies, and other baked goods were proudly displayed.
I caught sight of Aunt Lydia, Walt, and Zelda. Waving, I jogged over to meet them.
“Any ribbons given out yet?” I asked, after saying hello.
“No,” said Jane Tucker, a big-boned woman with short white hair and pale-blue eyes. Brad, standing nearby, was only a few inches taller than his mom. “The judges are still deliberating, from what I hear.”
I smiled as I studied Brad and Jane. Anyone would’ve known they were related, while Alison, who stood between them, looked like an elfin maiden caught between Nordic giants. “But where’s Carol?” I asked, my smile fading. “I thought she was planning to enter some pies.”
“She was, and we’re a little worried.” Zelda twisted her hands together as she glanced up at Walt. “I even tried to call the house, but neither she nor P.J. answered.”
“That’s weird,” I said, sharing a concerned look with Aunt Lydia. “Sunny’s covering the library today, but I know she was planning to drive out here after work to meet up with her grandparents. Maybe I should give her a call.”
“Good idea,” my aunt said. “She might know why Carol and P.J. couldn’t make it. I know Carol put a lot of work into preparing her entries this year, so it’s odd for her to not show up.”
“Maybe one of them is under the weather or something,” Walt said, giving Zelda’s shoulder a pat. “That would explain things.”
I glanced over at Brad, whose forehead was creased with concern. “I’m sure it’s something like that, but let me check with Sunny.”
Brad followed me as I stepped away to make my call. “Let me know if anything sounds wrong,” he said quietly.
I nodded but held up my forefinger as Sunny answered.
“What’s up?” she asked. “I was just getting ready to leave. Bill and Denise said they would cover the last hour and lock up so I could head out early.”
“I was just wondering if your grandparents had decided to stay home today. I’m here at the fair with Aunt Lydia, Walt, Zelda, and a few others, and apparently Carol never showed up with her pies. We were a little worried. Are they ill or something?”
“Not them, but yeah, I’m not surprised. One of the cows went into labor this morning, and apparently the grands were concerned she might have some difficulty. They even called the vet, and you know they don’t do that lightly. They probably got stuck at the farm today.”
“Oh, okay.” When I held up my hand, forefinger to thumb in an okay gesture, Zelda let out a sigh of relief and Brad moved back to stand with his mother and Alison. “We just wanted to make sure they weren’t in any trouble.”
“No, I don’t think so. But maybe I’ll swing by the farm and check on things before I head out to the fair. I’d still like to meet up with you and Richard, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. Just give me a call when you get here so I can tell you where we are,” I instructed her, before saying goodbye.
Walt draped his arm around Zelda’s shoulder. “Glad to hear everything’s fine with Carol and P.J.,” he said, after I explained what was going on.
“Hopefully the poor cow mama is okay, too,” Zelda said, before her gaze focused on me. “Speaking of people not being here, where’s that fiancé of yours?”
“Distracted by the dancers outside, of course.” I pocketed my phone. “In fact, maybe I should go and join him. We’ll pop back in a little bit to check about those ribbons.” I winked at Aunt Lydia.
“Take your time. I think it may be a while yet,” she replied. “The baking judges were still evaluating the cakes the last time I saw them, and I don’t think they’ve even started on the cookies yet.”
Brad shuffled his feet. “In that case, I think Alison and I will head out too. We want to check out some of the other exhibits. If that’s okay with you, Mom.”
“Sure, sure,” she said, shooing them off with a wave of her hands. “No use wasting a nice afternoon. Go and have fun. We’ll still be here for a few hours, I bet.”
