18 Deader Homes and Gardens (27 page)

The receptionist was immune to my offer of feminist camaraderie. “In that the information is a matter of public record, her name is Nanette Campbell. I have no further information concerning her. What station are you with?”

“Thank you so very much,” I said and hung up. I held my breath while I looked up the name in the directory, then exhaled when I spotted it. Nanette lived in what I suspected was an apartment in the historic district. It was unlikely that she was home in the afternoon, but I had nothing better to do. A few minutes later I parked in front of a house with four mailboxes next to the front door. Nanette resided in 1-A. I knocked a couple of times, then gave up and paused on the porch to decide whether I should leave a note in her mailbox. The odds that she would call me were close to nil.

A portly man with a furled umbrella came up the steps. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Nanette Campbell.”

He gave me a disappointed look. “Oh, yes. She works at the local library. Would you like to come in and wait for her? We could have a glass of sherry.”

“No, thank you.” I surprised both of us when I gave him a kiss on the check, then went back to my car. She might work in the children’s area, I told myself without optimism. There was no reason to assume that she’d peeked over my shoulder while I read about the Terry Kennedys on the computer. Even if she had, she wouldn’t recognize the significance of the name. I could have asked about deeds for a genealogy project. Furthermore, not everyone lunged to conclusions with the agility of a gazelle.

I went inside the library and stopped at the main desk. “Nanette Campbell?” I asked quietly.

I was directed to the reference desk, where the same young woman who’d helped me almost a week ago was seated. She recognized me. “Good afternoon. Do you need to use a computer again?”

“No,” I said, “but I’d like to speak to you about another matter.”

“If you need assistance in the genealogy department, Caroline will be happy to get you started. She has a great deal more experience than the rest of us. Let me go find her for you.”

I sat down next to her. “Have you heard about Angela Delmond?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I heard she was murdered. One of the patrons saw it on the news and passed it on. Ginger, who’s a volunteer, burst into tears in the break room. Why are you asking me about it?”

“Because of your relationship with Angela’s husband. You’re named as a corespondent in the divorce.” I smiled brightly. “You were, anyway. Now the divorce is no longer an issue.”

“Is that so?” She didn’t seem surprised.

Considering my reputation as an amateur sleuth, I was getting tired of the question. “You’ve already spoken to the police about Danny’s alibi last Tuesday night. Are you certain about the date and time? I’d hate to see you cited for interfering with a police investigation or committing perjury on the stand.”

“Are you helping the police?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I said firmly. “Danny told the police that the two of you met for drinks and dinner, and then you spent the night at his condo. Will that be your testimony at the trial?”

“What trial?” She was beginning to squirm, and she glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot before she said, “Danny isn’t going to be charged with anything. He said that the police don’t have any evidence that he did anything wrong.”

“That depends on your testimony, doesn’t it? Subverting justice is a serious crime, and perjury can result in up to five years in prison.”

If her office chair had had wheels, Nanette would have been pedaling backward as fast as she could. “I didn’t lie about anything! Danny and I were together from six o’clock in the evening until we left for work the next morning. There’s no way he could have left the condo without waking me up. I’m a very light sleeper.”

“Okay, then what about the weekend? You were supposed to go to the lake house with him, but you didn’t.” I felt as if I were a shark circling in on her, one ripple at a time. I would have bared my teeth had it not been unsightly.

Perspiration glinted on her forehead. “That was the plan, yeah. I’d bought sunscreen and a new bikini, packed a suitcase, and was waiting for him when he called to say he couldn’t make it. I was royally pissed. A friend had an extra ticket to a rock concert in Tulsa, but I’d turned it down. I was stuck home all weekend.”

I patted her knee. “What a crappy thing to do to you at the last minute. Where does he get the nerve to ask you to lie for him? Men!”

“He didn’t ask me to lie,” she muttered. “If he had, I would have told him what he could do with it.”

“Did he bother to send you flowers after you told him about my computer search last Wednesday?”

Nanette swept back her hair with a dramatic gesture. “Our library has a strict rule concerning confidentiality. We never discuss our patrons.”

I nodded. “Of course not. The Patriot Act should not override our right to privacy. Still, surely you pass along amusing little anecdotes about techno-idiots like me. It must drive you crazy to put up with us. We can barely turn on the computers.”

“I did think it was kind of funny that you spent so long reading about yourself,” she admitted with a giggle. “You looked like you were posing for paparazzi. You practically patted yourself on the back a couple of times. I looked you up after you left. You’ve got a reputation for meddling, Ms. Malloy.”

“Is that what you told Danny?”

“He didn’t know who you were, either. He was more interested when I said that you were a middle-aged skateboard groupie. The idea of someone like you in a helmet, balancing on a skateboard, your arms flapping—I laughed so hard that I fell off the couch. Then Danny got this idea about putting a walker on two skateboards, and—”

“It must have been a delightful conversation,” I interrupted before I said something uncouth. “What did Danny say when you told him about my struggles with the county clerk’s site?”

“I, uh, don’t remember exactly. It’s really easy for him because he does it all the time.” Nanette glanced over my shoulder. “Mrs. Mendlehoff is waiting for me to help her find a law book. She was arrested for picketing at the federal courthouse, and she wants to sue the government for violating some constitutional amendment.”

I sat on a bench beside the library’s small flower bed, once again mired in guilt. Danny might have believed that disposing of Angela on Tuesday would sour any chance of a deal involving Winston’s house, but Wednesday I’d gone to the library and, under Nanette’s tutelage, searched for Terry Kennedy. Unless Danny sorely underestimated me, he could have guessed that I’d head for the courthouse for more information. I might as well have called him after I spoke to Terry.

Now all I had to do was prove that he’d spiked the vodka.

13

I looked at my watch. Proving that Danny had murdered Winston, Angela, and Terry (in that order) would have to wait until I picked up Jordan. Peter may have believed that I wouldn’t dream of setting foot anywhere in Hollow Valley, but I had a hall pass from Jorgeson. The turnoff to HVN was lined with TV vans and vehicles. Reporters shouted questions at me, but I merely waved as I drove past them. I handed the note to a uniformed officer, who read it with a skeptical expression. He conferred with his partner, who made a call from inside the police car. The random roar of the crowd increased to the point that I felt sorry for the wildlife. Those with camera crews primped in preparation for “live breaking news.” It was nice to be recognized.

I continued up the road to the Old Tavern. The Mustang and the Mercedes were parked in the shade. I wanted to talk to Nattie but decided to hold off until I fetched Jordan, who might gnaw off her leg at any moment. No one answered the door at the mill. I retraced my route and knocked on the door of the Old Tavern. I waited for several minutes, knocked again, and finally went to look in the backyard. It was unoccupied. It was challenging to come up with a reason why Nattie, Margaret Louise, and Jordan would be at the nursery, and impossible to come up with one that included Charles Finnelly’s house.

As I came back around the corner, Nattie opened the door. “Claire,” she said in a chilly voice. “I thought I heard a knock, but we were in the kitchen. Can I help you?”

I had no idea why she was regarding me as if I were an aphid out to ravage her vegetable garden. “I came to pick up Jordan. Margaret Louise isn’t home. Are she and Jordan here?”

Nattie came out to the stoop and closed the door behind her. “Yes, but there’s a problem. Because of everything that’s happened, Margaret Louise prefers that Jordan remain under her supervision for the time being. Why don’t you come back next week? I’m sure Margaret Louise will relent once the police have concluded their investigation.”

“You’re okay with that?” I asked incredulously.

“Margaret Louise is taking her responsibility seriously. What if Jordan were to shoplift or attempt to run away? You must admit that she’s not trustworthy, no matter what she says.”

I couldn’t deny that Jordan was capable of most anything, but it didn’t seem fair that she had been judged and found guilty at the tender age of fourteen. “My daughter and her friend will keep an eye on her. They’ll make sure that she doesn’t do anything to disgrace the family name.” At least I hoped they would, as long as I persuaded them that it was in their best interest. Bribery and threats, in a proper ratio, can accomplish miracles.

“Maybe next week.” Nattie put her hand on the doorknob.

When it suits me, I have a strong sense of social justice. I ducked under Nattie’s arm and went inside. I took no notice of her protests as I hurried down the hallway to the kitchen. Margaret Louise sat at the table, a cup of coffee in her hand. Jordan was slouched in a chair, radiating fury. I’d missed the meltdown, but I was definitely in the contamination zone.

Margaret Louise was at her dowdiest, dressed in a print housedress, her spectacles perched on her nose. Her expression was far from dowdy, however. She raised her eyebrows. “What part of ‘no way’ has you baffled? The spitfire stays here. She may believe she ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more, but she’s a minor and I’m her custodial guardian. Isn’t that right, Jordan? Running away is a status offense. No one wants you to spend the next four years in a juvenile detention facility.”

“Shut up,” Jordan muttered.

“I called her parents last night,” Margaret Louise continued, “and they assured me that they will support any decisions I make about Jordan’s immediate future. I decided that she’s staying right here for the rest of the summer.”

I looked at Nattie, who shrugged in response. Margaret Louise was slurping coffee and humming an unrecognizable melody. I was afraid to so much as glance at Jordan, who was undoubtedly harboring some unflattering opinions of me. I rallied all my dignity and said, “We’ll just see about this, won’t we?”

Nattie did not offer to show me out. I left briskly, as though I were on my way to the governor’s mansion to tattle on them. Since he didn’t owe me any favors (or know me), he might not overturn the parole board’s decision. I stopped under Colonel Moses Ambrose Hollow’s outstretched arm to concoct a wily scheme that did not include kidnapping, abetting a runaway, or grinding a blackberry pie in Margaret Louise’s face. I reminded myself that I was a mild-mannered bookseller with an unblemished reputation for sense and sensibility.

I called Jorgeson, was put on hold to twiddle my toes, and was getting testy when he finally said, “Ms. Malloy.”

“Have you taken Jordan Hollow’s formal statement yet? In case it slipped your mind, she is the one who showed me the pot patch. She’s a material witness. I’m concerned that she may be under the influence of certain members of the Hollow family who are attempting to taint her perception of the events.”

There was a silence. “Who might they be, these members of the Hollow family?”

I was so irate that I had no compunctions about throwing Nattie and Margaret Louise to the wolves. I explained the situation, perhaps embellishing the story with references to dark stares and whispered conversations. “They’re brainwashing her,” I continued earnestly, if a shade mendaciously. “She’s only fourteen.”

“With a Mohawk, a tattoo, body piercings, and a juvenile rap sheet. She’s not fragile, Ms. Malloy. I appreciate your concern, but I’m busy.”

I needed to stall. “Did you get the lab report about the poison used to kill Terry Kennedy?”

“The ME has ruled out food poisoning, prescription drugs, and garden-variety poisons like cyanide, arsenic, strychnine, aconitine, and atropine. Now it’s up to the state lab. If you’re bored, may I suggest you call Deputy Chief Rosen? He’ll be interested to hear about this purported brainwashing. He may have been trained in the techniques being used as we speak. He might even send a black helicopter to rescue the young lady.”

I closed my cell phone. Jorgeson was obviously under a lot of pressure, since he rarely resorted to sarcasm. He needed help. Since Peter was out of pocket, I had a moral obligation to ease poor Jorgeson’s anxiety. It could not be a coincidence that I was in Hollow Valley. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos had best be on alert, since I was preparing to tempt fate.

Danny Delmond had an alibi for the evening that Angela had disappeared, but his alibi for the weekend was as squishy as an overripe melon. Nanette hadn’t canceled their plans. He’d left her at the curb. Conveniently alone at the lake house, he could come and go with impunity, but he still required an accomplice—someone clever enough to lure Angela away in a panic, bash her on the head, conceal the body, and ultimately help him bury it. The workers at the nursery were apt to be muscular. Jordan had mentioned one named Rudy, but there were others.

I didn’t want to leave my car in sight of the Old Tavern. I drove to the perfect house and parked away from the gravel driveway. This might be the last time I saw it, I thought sadly. I wanted to grind a dozen blackberry pies in Danny’s face. Slowly and thoroughly, until every one of his orifices was clogged with purple pulp.

Getting inside the house did not seem to pose a challenge to anyone. I walked around to the French doors and jiggled a handle. The door opened. Having solved one mystery, I went inside and wandered around, looking for clues that someone had been there since yesterday afternoon. The police investigators had left a fine mist of black dust here and there, and they’d probably come up with scores of prints left from parties. It occurred to me that Loretta, aka Esther, might have attended some of them. Her parents were a mere hoot away, whining about the noise and damning the miscreants.