A Lonely Way to Die: A Utah O'Brien Mystery Novel (Minnesota Mysteries Series Book 2) (14 page)

Mark held up the carton of tea, and moved forward, making Mort move back. “This is all I gave my mother. Take her to the clinic, get her a blood test, do whatever you want, because I didn’t give her any damn pill. I gave her a cup of tea. Is there a law against that?”

The little girl started to whimper. Mort handed the pill bottle to Mark, and we left.

On the way home, I asked Mort if he thought Mark tried to kill his mother. “Josie looked up the side effects of that brand of sleeping pills, and Mildred seemed to have most of them. Maybe he ran out of the painkillers he used on Sonje and tried to murder Mildred with what he still had in his medicine cabinet.”

He shook his head. “He’s not the brightest guy in town, but he’s smart enough to get rid of the pills if he tried to kill somebody with them. And his wife took those pills, so he knew just one wouldn’t hurt anything. It would just put you to sleep. The bottle was almost full.”

“So you’re still thinking somebody slipped Mildred some painkillers but she didn’t get the full dose.”

He nodded. “That’s why I wanted Rita to stay with her, in case the bad guy comes back and tries again. He not likely to try anything if there’s a witness. And now we go see John Meecham.”

“No” I said, emphatically. “You go see John Meecham. You can drop me off at the museum.”

He looked at me and frowned. “Why?”

“Because he has no respect for me. Or any woman, for that matter. He might talk to you. He might even accidentally tell you a little bit of the truth, but not if I’m in the room.”

He nodded, seeing my point.

“I don’t know how that man has lived as long as he has,” Mort said. “You would think either his wife would kill him or one of the husbands around town. There’s plenty that have a righteous grievance. What the heck do women see in Meecham, anyway?”

I couldn’t answer that. To me, John Meecham was a pain in the rear, and always had been. He was slightly overweight, rude, a bullet-headed guy with a receding hairline and no sense of style whatsoever. His appeal to women was a total mystery to me.

Mort said, with a chuckle, “One time, down at the Little Perch bar, I thought I was going to see him get his due. He’s damned lucky your Sam is such a level-headed guy.”

I looked at him, and waited. We were only a block from the museum when he decided it was time to tell me the rest of his story.

“Sam’s wife was sleeping around and didn’t care who knew it. She was drinking heavy, hanging out at the Little Perch almost every night. After a while, Sam started coming with her, to keep her company. He’d sit there, nursing one beer, looking glum.

“She drank pretty heavy, and after a few beers she would get all sassy and start flirting with anything in pants, male or female. That’s when Sam would go all silent and depressed. It brought down the mood in the bar, I can tell you.”

He pulled into the parking spot next to the mammoth, but he didn’t turn off the engine or open his door. I sat still, and waited.

He zipped his jacket up a little higher and put his hands under his armpits to stay warm. “So one night when Sam’s wife has gone off to the restroom and didn’t come back, probably because she went out the back door with some guy, Meecham says, real loud, ‘Hey, Two Hawk, what are you doing hanging around here? Go play with your girlfriend. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, ain’t it?’”

Mort rearranged his cap, stalling for more time. “All of a sudden the whole bar goes silent. You could have heard a penny drop. So I turn, and there’s Sam, getting up from his table and heading towards Meecham. He outweighs Meecham by 30 pounds, at least, and Sam actually works for a living, so he’s solid. Even if he wasn’t mad, there’d be no contest, but he was mad.

“He had a beer bottle in his hand, but not right side up—he was holding it with the bottom up, like a little club, and he was heading towards Meecham real slow and quiet, the way a bulldog will come after you when he knows he doesn’t have to prove anything, because he knows he’s gonna win.

“I was sheriff. Off-duty, but still, I shoulda tried to stop him—but I figured Meecham had it coming. Word around town said he was one of the guys who had his way with Sam’s wife.

“So Sam gets up to Meecham, who looked like he was about to wet his pants, and Sam looks him straight in the eye and smiles while he reaches around and sets that beer bottle on the bar, real gentle, right side up. He pats Meecham on the shoulder, and then he heads towards the door. He gave me a little salute on his way out—like he just saved me from cleaning up a mess, and I should thank him for it.”

I fiddled with the zipper on my jacket, just to have something to do with my hands. “Sam had an affair with Carol Kramer, didn’t he?”

Mort opened his door and started to get out. “Sure. Everybody knew that. Girl, you really need to get out more. He divorced his wife a few months after that little dust-up with Meecham. Then he ran for mayor. I figured that little incident was why he won. Made people sit up and take notice of the guy.”

SIXTEEN

The kitchen was empty when I walked in, except for Molly. The bloodhound slipped off the heated bench when I came in the room.

I had a twinge of guilt for making her lie on the hard floor with her old bones. I went into the bathroom and picked up the soft plush rug. When I got back to the kitchen, I made the old dog stand up, and laid the rug down in front of the heater. She ran her nose around all the edges, decided it was good, and flopped down on it, hanging over on both ends. I made a mental note to ask Josie if she knew how to make a rag rug. Or maybe I could find a really big pillow at the thrift store in Randall.

I made a sandwich, found my laptop, and sat down on the couch. I wanted to check and see what they were saying about the murder on the news.

A herd of national reporters were in Randall, waiting in front of the sheriff’s office. They had a video of an interview with Wally, but he didn’t say much. Gavril Constantin was expected at the sheriff’s office as soon as he could get through, he said. It shouldn’t take much longer, because the Interstate was open again.

They were still reporting the death as a possible suicide and the bigger sites were delving into Sonje’s life—her books, her marriage to the musician, and the rumors about their divorce. No mention was made of her former life in West Elmer, as Gwyneth Price.

I closed the laptop and stuck it back on the bookcase when I heard footsteps on the back porch. Josie came through the back door. She didn’t have the baby.

“Gabe and Sam are showing the chickens to Grace,” she said.

She headed towards the sink and looked for something to wash. She didn’t find anything. It was time for our little talk.

I said, “You didn’t want me to figure out that Sam is Gabe’s father.”

She stiffened and put her hand on the edge of the counter, holding herself up.

I could see Sam and Gabe walking back through the garden with the baby. I herded Josie out the other door, into the museum. I took her arm and led her to the little loveseat beside the camel. We sat.

I made a guess. “You overheard something at the diner, about thirteen years ago, and you think Sam is going to be mad at you for not telling him.”

She nodded. “You know that old pay phone we had back in the hallway, by the restroom doors?”

That pay phone was there all the years I was growing up. They only took it out a few years ago. Tears started leaking out of her eyes, and she reached into her sweater pocket for a tissue.

“I was in the office, doing the books,” she said, “when Carol Kramer called Gwyneth Price on that phone. Carol was making sure the paperwork was all set up, and she was making arrangements to go to the city so the baby could be born in a hospital where nobody knew her. It was the only way she could claim it came early, and stillborn, without the truth getting out all over town. I didn’t want to hear it, but I was trapped.”

She looked so miserable, it broke my heart. “You thought Carol told him? Did you think Sam has been pretending all day that he doesn’t know Gabe is his son?”

She shook her head, looking again at the crumpled, soggy tissue in her hands. “I knew Carol didn’t tell him. Way back then, I knew she didn’t. But what could I do?“

I said, “Carol Kramer lied to Sam, but that was her, not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He’s going to hate me if he finds out I knew. And he’ll be so miserable, knowing he has a son after all these years, and then he’ll have to watch him drive away with that other man. It will kill him. And he’ll blame me for it.”

I was starting to feel like a priest listening to a confession. Maybe the worst secrets are the ones you’re not supposed to know.

She looked at the dire wolf in front of us, and nodded. “That man means the world to me. He’ll be so hurt, he might never speak to me again, and I can’t bear it. Or what if he decides to go back with Carol Kramer so they can make a proper home for their son? Her other boys are old enough now, and she got all that money. There’s no reason for her to stay with that awful husband of hers.”

I had a momentary vision of Sam moving his clothes out of my closet and watching him leave—but I shook it out of my head. It might happen someday, for some reason, but not because he wanted to live with Carol Kramer.

“Josie,” I said, “Gabe needs his family, and we’re his family. Not just Sam, but all of us. The boy is afraid he’ll end up in foster care. He needs people who will fight for him, the way you always fought for me. I have to tell Sam. It’s only fair. And besides, look at it this way—you’ll get a grandson out of the deal.”

She smiled at that, but it quickly faded. “Are your maternal instincts finally kicking in, at your age?”

“The hormones kicked in a long time ago. Joe and I started talking about having kids just before he died.”

“You never told me.”

I looked at her, and put my hand over hers. “Some things are too private to share. Even with your mother.”

She pulled her hand out from under mine. “Why can’t you just leave it alone? If you hurt that man, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Mort pulled into the parking lot.

I said. “You’re going to pull a Mildred on me? Seriously?” I didn’t believe it for a second.

Her wry smile told me that she didn’t believe it either.

When Mort came through the front door, he saw the state of Josie’s face and glared at me. I patted Josie’s knee and got up. He took my place and pulled Josie to him, enveloping her in his arms. He glared at me again over Josie’s head. I left my mother in good hands.

SEVENTEEN

Sam and Gabe were in the kitchen when I came in. Gabe was sitting on a kitchen chair with the baby on his lap. He was telling Grace all about the proper care of chickens.

My phone rang. It was Mort, calling me from the other side of the wall. “I’m taking your mother to Angie’s,” he said. “You need to go talk to Emma again, see if she’s any more coherent than she was this morning. I’m not going. Take Sam. And send Gabe and the baby over to the diner. Angie will make him a hamburger.” He hung up.

Sam was surprised when I deputized him, but he was happy to go. Gabe was happy about the hamburger. Molly and Jocko both stayed home, where it was warm. Molly was happy about that. Jocko wasn’t. Gabe bundled up the baby, put his own coat and hat back on, and left.

Sam changed into his green plaid Pendleton shirt, and when he was back downstairs he did a quick turn for me, like a fashion model at the end of a catwalk. He got a quick kiss for his trouble.

We took Sam’s red Silverado, with him at the wheel. During the drive, I tried to get my mind back to the possible murder, and away from the fact that Sam had a son. I was still shaking a little from the confrontation with my mother.

Sam said, “Did Josie tell you we talked to Conrad on the way back from Sally Morgan’s?”

I looked at him, waiting for the rest. “He said he remembered something after you and Josie left the station. He wasn’t paying a lot of attention, but he’s sure he saw Sonje’s black SUV drive out of the parking lot going north, towards town. Not south across the bridge.”

I thought about it for a few beats. “Did Conrad see anyone following her?”

Sam shook his head. “I asked him. He didn’t notice. Carol started helping him with his crossword.”

We didn’t speak for a few minutes. All of the streets had been plowed so it was an easy drive. The sky was clearing, and the sun was setting, turning the western horizon bright orange.

Then Sam said, “The usual motive is money, isn’t it? Gwyneth was pretty well off, from what I can gather. Has the sheriff found out who’s going to inherit the money?”

“Probably not. We can ask Gavril when he gets here.”

He nodded. “I hear Mark’s been having money problems. He got laid off from his job at the technical college in Randall a few months back, and he’s paying child support. They laid him off so he could collect unemployment, but I hear they should have fired him. He came to work drunk a couple of times. If he’s in the will, he might have a motive.”

I thought about that idea. I didn’t find painkillers in Mark’s bathroom cabinet, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some stashed out of sight.