Murder Checks Out, page 7
“Being estranged doesn’t mean you’d kill a parent.” Samantha slid her forefinger along the top of the desk as she stepped away from the computer. “I haven’t spoken to my dad in years, but I don’t have any desire to harm him.”
“I know, I know. I’m not saying he should be a suspect,” I said, although I was still keeping him on my personal list. “But he might know some of the family secrets. Things others wouldn’t want to share.” Staring at the screen again, I examined the list of past projects. There were several subdivisions closer to DC but also one resort community in the mountains. It was still in Virginia, but farther south. I tapped the link.
The before and after photos of the project were quite startling. Apparently, Blackstone Properties had acquired a large piece of property, including a sparsely populated valley, in the mountains. They’d subsequently flooded the valley to create a lake. Luxury homes, cabins, and condos had been built on the hills rising above the lake, giving homeowners gorgeous views of the water. There was also a clubhouse and several other amenities.
I whistled. “Wow, I bet that cost a pretty penny. Crystal Lake,” I added, when Samantha shot me a raised-eyebrow glance.
“I’ve been there. Shay and I stayed at a rental cabin with some friends a few years back. It’s nice but very pricey. The restaurants and general store on-site overcharge for everything.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I said as I clicked through the glossy photos. “I wonder what happened to the people who lived there? I mean, those who had homes in the valley before it was flooded. It says the area was sparsely populated, but that doesn’t mean no one lived there.”
“I guess they were probably paid very well for their property and moved out,” Samantha said, as the entry doors swung open and a bevy of moms and dads entered, toddlers in tow. “Looks like we’ll have a good crowd for story hour. I was going to read The Polar Express. Is that okay?”
“Sure, sounds great,” I said. Samantha, Sunny, and I took turns reading books for our weekday story times. I was glad today was Samantha’s turn. It gave me a little more time for research.
Which isn’t actually your job, I reminded myself with a twinge of guilt. I knew I sometimes gave my own personal research priority over what should’ve been my actual focus. But only for a truly good cause, I thought. Only for friends or family.
That wasn’t absolutely true, if I was being totally honest. I crossed my fingers behind my back and promised to do better in the future.
But not today. Not with Ethan under suspicion. I scrolled through some of the other projects listed on the Blackstone Properties website, jotting down the names of each. Once I had a page of notes, I began searching for any references to conflict or protests involving Wendy’s other developments. Given the well-organized protest over the proposed development near Taylorsford, I suspected it might not have been Wendy’s only troublesome project.
I wasn’t wrong in that assumption. I soon uncovered news articles documenting resistance to Crystal Lake, as well as opposition to the conversion of a large tract of land—a historic farm near Roanoke, Virginia—into a subdivision called Mountainside Farms. This had displaced numerous colonies of wild bees and destroyed the habitat of several local bird species. Glancing through the articles related to this project, I noticed that Jaden Perez had been one of the leaders of the protest efforts. However, his current organization, Environmental Advocates, wasn’t mentioned, which led me to assume the group hadn’t yet been founded.
One other name jumped out at me—Daniella Jensen. While it wasn’t that unusual a surname, it still made me question whether the woman, whose family had once owned the farm, was any relation to Candy Jensen, the costume designer for The Nutcracker. Candy had been one of the protesters gathered at Winterfest the day Wendy was killed. If her family had a long-standing feud with Blackstone Properties …
A subtle cough made me look up from the computer screen.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Kurt said. “But I wanted to check in with you while I was in Taylorsford.”
“And what brings you to town today? Are you planning to enjoy more of the Winterfest activities?”
“Nothing so pleasant, I’m afraid. I was asked to stop by the sheriff’s department to answer a few questions.” Kurt offered me an uncharacteristically closed-lip smile. “It seems that rumors of my less-than-chummy relationship with Wendy Blackstone have been widely circulated over the last few days. And, as with your books, I suspect that circulation originated here in the library.”
I lifted my chin and met his intent stare without faltering. “You mean you think it came from Zelda.”
Kurt’s eyes narrowed. “She was in the vicinity when Wendy was casting some rather icy glances my way. I don’t doubt, knowing her ability to ferret out gossip, that she might have extracted some information from a few people.”
“You make her sound like an inquisitor,” I said. “Besides, figuring out that there was some animosity between you and Wendy Blackstone didn’t require any special techniques, torturous or otherwise. It was blatantly obvious.”
“Ah, and there I was, congratulating myself on my self-control.” Kurt pressed his gloved hand to the lapel of his gray cashmere coat. “I thought I’d masked my true feelings quite well. It is one of my skills, after all.”
“I’m afraid it failed you in this instance,” I said, tightening my lips to keep them from twitching into a smile.
“Hubris strikes us all at some point, I suppose.” Kurt shrugged his broad shoulders. “At any rate, word got around. Thus my forced visit to the sheriff’s department this morning.”
“And how did that go?” I stood on tiptoe to glance around him to make sure there weren’t any other patrons lining up for assistance.
“Fine.” Kurt flicked a fleck of lint off his coat sleeve. “It was a typical session with the authorities, which quite frankly means answering all their wrong questions with facts that won’t help their case.”
“Wrong questions?” I dropped back down on my heels. “Why do you say that?”
“Because nine times out of ten they don’t craft queries that will actually supply them with the information they need. It’s usually like someone using a crowbar when what they want is a jeweler’s pick.”
“Not subtle enough for your brilliance, you mean.” I arched my eyebrows. “I suppose they didn’t really get much out of you.”
“Nothing I didn’t want to share.” Kurt flashed a toothy grin. “But enough, I hope, to put their suspicions of me having any involvement in Ms. Blackstone’s death to rest.”
“If only we could do the same for Ethan,” I said.
Kurt’s smile faded. “Are they really looking at him as a major suspect?”
“It seems so. I ran into Brad Tucker yesterday, and he certainly gave me that impression.”
“Just because he and Wendy tossed a few barbs back and forth?” Kurt asked, his blue eyes clouding. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, which was probably why he hadn’t noticed that he’d used Wendy Blackstone’s first name.
But I noticed, I thought, examining his craggy face with interest. And how it was spoken in a quite familiar tone too. There’s more history there than he’s letting on. “It seems it wasn’t the first time they’d argued, and unfortunately, Ethan sent Blackstone Properties some rather … angry emails.”
“That is unfortunate. Have you spoken to Scott? Given his skill set, he’d seem to be an advantageous ally in your quest to clear Ethan of any suspicion in the case.”
“No. I’m sure he and Ethan have talked, despite the circumstances, but I wasn’t certain …” I cleared my throat. “Well, I knew Scott was in the field on some mission he couldn’t talk about, and I didn’t want to compromise him.”
“That’s commendable, I suppose, but I think he would want to know. Even if they have spoken, Ethan may not be telling him how dire the situation is. I know how that can happen and the problems it can cause.” Kurt’s expression had grown pensive. I wondered if he was thinking about Aunt Lydia’s husband, Andrew Talbot, who’d died over forty-five years ago. Kurt and my uncle had been extremely close as teens and young men. Best friends, and possibly more, at least on Kurt’s side, I reminded myself. But I also knew from previous conversations that Andrew hadn’t shared all of his own difficulties with Kurt—troubles with drugs and money that might have contributed to his death in a tragic car accident. I’m sure Kurt doesn’t want to see that sort of thing happen again, I thought, with a little pang of sorrow.
“I’ll contact Scott tonight,” I said. “Not sure if my call will go through, but I’ll try.”
“Good. I’d want to know all the details, good or bad, if I were him.” Kurt turned his head as the children’s room doors screeched open. “You need some WD-40 for those,” he observed, as a chattering horde of children and parents spilled out into the main portion of the library.
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll take care of that in all my spare time,” I replied, squinching up my face at him. “But for now, you’d better move, unless you want to be swept up in the torrent. They’ll all be heading in this direction with books to check out, I bet.”
“A wise choice,” Kurt said, backing away. He caught my eye over the sea of adults and children who’d lined up in a haphazard knot in front of the desk. “Let’s talk again soon,” he called out, before heading for the exit.
Too busy checking out books and wishing everyone a happy holiday, I didn’t bother to reply.
Chapter Eight
Since Aunt Lydia had volunteered to pick up the twins from kindergarten so they could help her decorate her tree, I decided to stop by the Taylorsford Fire and Rescue Squad after work. I didn’t know if Ethan would be on duty but figured it was worth a little of my time to see if I could talk to him face-to-face.
One of the large garage bay doors stood open, displaying the town’s newly acquired state-of-the-art firetruck. It had taken considerable fund-raising efforts to buy the new vehicle, a project spearheaded by former mayor Walt Adams, who was on the squad’s board of directors.
Taylorsford was fortunate to have a dedicated group of volunteers who manned fire and rescue services for the town. Ethan and Hannah Fowler, the only salaried members of the squad, oversaw the recruitment and training of the volunteers, most of whom had taken coursework to become certified in fire and rescue services. It required a significant commitment, making all the squad members heroes in my eyes.
Crossing the parking lot, I waved to a few local residents, including Bill Clayton, who also volunteered at the library. Before I reached the side door leading into the administrative offices, a young woman stepped outside to greet me.
“Hello, Amy. If you’re looking for Ethan, I’m afraid he isn’t here today. He has to pull the overnight shift later, so I’m currently holding down the fort.” Hannah, who was at least half a foot taller than me, had brown hair trimmed into a pixie cut that hugged her head and highlighted her broad face and wide chestnut eyes.
“That’s too bad. I was hoping to speak with him,” I said. “Should’ve called first, I guess.”
Hannah looked me over. “Would you like to step into the office? To get out of the cold, I mean.”
The intensity of her gaze made me think there was an ulterior motive driving this invitation. “Thanks, that would be great.”
I followed Hannah into the building and down a short, tiled hallway decorated with photos of squad members and commendations from the town and the state. As soon as she led me into the main office, she closed the door firmly behind us.
“Please, have a seat,” Hannah said, gesturing to one of the armchairs placed beside a small table. “Would you like anything to drink? We always have coffee on tap, but there’s also hot water for tea.”
I sat down. “No thanks, that isn’t necessary.”
Hannah remained on her feet. “You might be wondering why I brought you in here rather than talking outside. Well, the truth is—”
“You wanted to tell me something that you didn’t want the volunteers to hear?” I settled back in my chair. “That’s my assumption, anyway.”
“A correct one, as it turns out.” Hannah settled in the other armchair. “There is something I want to share, but I don’t want to start any rumors. Which could happen if anyone overheard what I’m about to say.” She pressed the fingers of one hand against the tabletop. “Not that our volunteers are gossips or anything, but you know how it is—people start discussing things and expressing opinions, and before you know it, stories are circulating throughout the entire town.”
“I have experienced that phenomenon,” I said, offering her a wry smile.
“Anyway”—Hannah drew in a deep, audible breath—“the truth is, Ethan was quite late returning to the station after his shift at the winter festival the day Wendy Blackstone was killed. I didn’t think anything of it at first. I thought maybe he’d stopped to grab a bite to eat before he came back. He’d volunteered to stay that night, you see. I wasn’t feeling too great as the day went on. Some little virus, I guess. Anyway, when I took him some coffee earlier in the evening, he noticed and said he’d take my overnight shift. We often switch around like that.” Hannah lowered her eyes, staring down at her tightly clasped hands.
I stirred uncomfortably on the hard cushions of my chair. “So he was planning to go back to the station and stay all night? After working at Winterfest that afternoon?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t the original plan. As I said, when I took him coffee, he offered to cover my overnight shift because he could tell I wasn’t feeling my best.” Hannah shrugged. “He said he didn’t really care, since Scott was out of town. Said he just had to run home and feed the dog and let her out for a minute, but then he’d head right back to the station to relieve me.”
“So you expected him, when? Around eight thirty or nine that evening?”
“That’s right.” Hannah lifted her hand and examined her short, blunt nails. “Like I said, when he didn’t show up by nine, I figured he might have taken a little extra time to pick up some dinner. But then”—Hannah dropped her hand into her lap—“he didn’t show up until around ten thirty.”
“Did he say anything about why he was delayed?”
“Honestly, he didn’t say much of anything. Mumbled an apology and told me to head on home. It was odd, because Ethan’s usually so thoughtful about stuff like that. He didn’t have any takeout with him either.” Hannah pursed her lips. “So I thought, okay, he stopped and ate somewhere instead, but then after I packed up my gear and was leaving, I saw him in the kitchen, scrambling some eggs.”
I slid to the edge of my chair, leaning forward. “You told the deputies all this, I guess?”
“Well, not exactly.” Hannah cast me a wary glance. “I mean, they asked about his movements that day, and I told them about us switching schedules and all. And that he arrived here around ten thirty. But I didn’t say anything about expecting him before that. I mentioned him going to his house because of the dog, and that he might’ve gotten something to eat in the interim. I didn’t say anything about my uneasy feelings because he was so much later than I initially expected. And I didn’t mention fixing food when he got here.”
“Maybe he was just hungry again,” I said.
Hannah frowned. “Maybe. But Ethan generally doesn’t eat anything after dinner. It’s part of his health regimen. That’s why I thought it was odd. I mean, if he took the extra time to either fix something to eat at home or grab something out somewhere …” Hannah leapt to her feet and paced over to the large metal desk filling one end of the office. “The thing is, the more I think about it, the more confused I feel.” She turned, leaning back, her fingers gripping the rolled edge of the desk. “What do you think? Should I mention my concerns to the detectives or just leave it alone? I don’t want to exacerbate the scrutiny focused on Ethan if I don’t have to.”
“Why tell me?” I asked, rising to face her.
“Well, I know you’ve helped the sheriff’s department with some cases in the past. I thought you might have a better sense of whether these feelings of mine are really valuable as evidence or not.”
“As evidence, maybe not,” I said, my mind racing with the implication of her words. “But I appreciate you mentioning it to me. I think what might be best is if I talk to Ethan and try to get him to clarify his exact movements that evening with the authorities. There may be a perfectly innocent reason why he arrived here much later than he originally told you, but …”
“If I voice my concerns first, it might not look so innocent?” Hannah clasped her hands tightly at her waist. “That’s what I thought. It’s better if Ethan is the one to explain things, rather than me stirring up questions.”
“Of course, you could talk to Ethan directly, if you prefer,” I said, not wanting to force Hannah to accept me as a go-between.
“No, no, it will be better coming from you. I mean, maybe if I had said something right away”—Hannah twisted her hands until her knuckles blanched—“but at this point I’m afraid it would look like I was falling into the suspicious-minded camp, and I don’t want that. If you could just say something about me mentioning the timing and you finding it odd …”
“So I can be the bad cop?” I lifted my hands at Hannah’s stricken look. “No, it’s okay. I get your point. I’ve played amateur detective in the past enough times that Ethan won’t be taken aback about me quizzing him on the details.”
“That was kinda my thought,” Hannah said, her expression brightening.
“And I don’t have to work with him, which I’m sure is another benefit.” I flipped the trailing end of my scarf over my shoulder. “All right, don’t worry. I was planning to talk to my brother later anyway. I’ll see if I can find out when he’ll be back in town. Soon, I expect, given the circumstances. Once I know for sure, I’ll set up a time to meet with him and Ethan at their house.”
