Alberta Alibi (9 page)

Ben perched on the stool next to Sheila, sipped his coffee, put the mug down and asked, “Why do I get the feeling you two aren't simply here for the pleasure of my company?”

Sheila almost choked on her chocolate milk. How did he know? What should she say? “Katie thinks you might know something you don't know you know,” she told him.

“How can I know it if I don't know I know it?” Crinkles fanned out from Ben's eyes.

Sheila tried to laugh, but she suddenly felt like crying. She stared at her chocolate milk, wrapped her fingers around the cold, frosty glass and waited for someone else to speak because there was a lump in her throat that made talking impossible.

“The thing is, Mr. Brown…”

“Please, call me Ben! Nobody calls me Mr. Brown, makes me sound like a politician—or a criminal,” he chuckled.

Katie smiled politely. “The thing is, Ben, that you were there on the night in question…”

“What question…sorry, bad habit. I promise not to interrupt again.”

“The night the night watchman was shot,” Katie explained, “you were up at the house, right?”

Ben nodded.

“So you might have seen something important to the case. Can you please tell me what happened, in your own words?”

“Well, I generally tend to use my own words on account of whose would I use if I didn't use mine?”

Ben slapped his hand to his forehead. “Oops! Sorry again.” He took a deep breath, sipped his coffee and stared out the window. A moment later he said, “Okay, here's how it went. Chris called me about ten thirty on the
night in question.
Said he was worried about the calves up on the range to the north.

Apparently our neighbor up that way called about some problem with wolves.”

He spoke slowly, a half smile on his face, while Katie scribbled in her notebook.

“I asked if he wanted me to ride along, and he said he'd be fine, but he was concerned about leaving young Huntley on his own. I was about ready to turn in, but said I'd come on up to the house, there's a movie I've been wanting to watch on his big-screen TV. And that's what I did.”

“Was Chris there when you arrived?” Katie asked.

Ben shook his head. “Nope, didn't see him, must have just left.”

“What about the truck?”

Ben frowned. “The truck? Can't recall. I assumed he'd taken Pita though. That's rough terrain for his old beater.”

“Then what?”

“Well, let's see.” He rubbed a hand over his chin.

“I zipped upstairs to see if Huntley wanted to watch the movie, but he was already sawing logs, he'd put in a full day's work—he's a good worker, that boy.”

Sheila scowled and sipped her chocolate milk.

“Then I made myself some coffee so I could stay awake. I went to the living room, slipped my video in the machine and settled on the couch.”

“Did you watch the whole movie?”

“You kidding? Have you tried that couch? It's so soft you feel like you're floating in the clouds. And I'd been working hard since six o'clock that morning. Don't think I got through ten minutes before I nodded off. Never touched my coffee. Next thing I knew, the back door creaked open and I leapt off the couch. Couldn't believe it was after two already!”

“Was it Chris?”

“Chris? At the door?” He shook his head. “That's what I figured at first.”

“So who was it?”

“Turned out to be Ryan, my son. He came looking for me, said he got worried when I was so late.”

“Does he have keys for the house?”

“I generally leave all the keys right there,” he nodded at a row of key hooks beside the door, “but I took them with me that night. Ryan found a key for the back door he used as a kid. That's why he came in that way, he took the shortcut to the back of the house.”

“Then what?”

“Uh…let me think. I went into the hall to meet Ryan, we talked for a minute and then I went back to shut off the TV. Ryan offered to stay at the house until Chris came home.”

“And? Did he?”

“No need. That's when Chris arrived at the front door. We said goodnight and wandered on home.”

“So you both went out the front door?”

“Yep.”

“Did you notice the truck then?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. It was there all right. I remember because it was pinging away like it does when it cools. Sounded way louder in the quiet night.”

“Which means the truck had been running,” Katie said, making a careful note.

“Well, yeah, I guess you're right. I was too sleepy to think about it at the time, but now you mention it, I guess I did know something I didn't know I knew!”

13

W
orse and worse. Everything they learned made her dad look guiltier. If he went out in the truck that night, then…she couldn't think about it right now. With her thumb, Sheila traced a big “x” in the condensation on her chocolate milk glass and vaguely heard Katie ask to use the bathroom.

“Sure thing, just down the hall next to Ryan's room.” Ben nodded in that direction.

Katie closed her notebook, placed her pen and empty glass on top, gave Sheila a warning glance and left the room.

Sheila wondered what that was about.

“Your friend fancies herself a detective, does she?” Ben asked after they heard the bathroom door close.

Sheila nodded. “Katie manages to stumble across a mystery everywhere she goes, like she's some kind of bad-luck charm.” She stared at her hands, fingers locked together on the countertop. “I should never have brought her here.”

“What? Sheila, whatever happens has been in the works for a long time and would have happened no matter who came visiting. But if you ask me, you've got to keep that girl in check before someone gets hurt!”

“Ben, you don't think my dad did it?”

“Chris? Shoot at someone? Are you kidding? That man doesn't even like to shoot a wolf. He'll only kill one as a last resort.”

“You and I know that, but the police think he's guilty. A truck just like his was spotted near the development on the
night in question.
Then, today, his missing rifle showed up in the truck.”

“What?” Ben plunked his mug down so hard, drops of coffee bounced over the top. “Are you sure?”

Sheila nodded. “The police found it. And a gas can too! Now you say Dad's truck was out that night.”

As soon as she said this, Sheila gasped. She had suddenly remembered half waking the night before and thinking she heard a truck start up.

Ben placed his rough, callused hand over Sheila's and gave it a comforting pat. “Now, don't you worry. Everything will work out for the best, you'll see.”

He glanced at his watch. “Do you think Katie has set up camp in the bathroom?”

As he said this, Sheila thought she heard a soft footstep in the hall. Then the bathroom door opened and Katie strolled back toward the kitchen.

“Show me this shortcut,” Katie said when they were outside.

Sheila led the way to a narrow path that cut straight through the cottonwoods.

Once on the path, Katie stopped and bent over her notebook.

“What are you writing?” Sheila asked.

“Just a note about what I saw.”

“In Ben's cottage?”

Katie nodded. “In Ryan's room.”

“You went into Ryan's room? You're not supposed to do that. How nosy can you get? How would you like someone snooping around in your room? You don't even like it if anyone reads your notebook!”

Katie shrugged. “That's personal. This is an investigation.”

“So? What did you see?”

“Only a black cowboy hat. It's on the shelf in his closet.”

Sheila felt a burst of hope. “And? Did it have a white band? Was there a feather?”

“No,” Katie admitted. “Not that I could find.”

Her hopes sank. “Do you know how many black cowboy hats are in Alberta?”

The path ended at the back patio, but neither of them felt like going inside just yet, so they continued to the front of the house. Both girls stopped abruptly. At first glance Sheila thought the RCMP had returned, and her heart crashed into her stomach with a sickening thud. Then she realized the white SUV parked beside her dad's old blue truck was tiny compared to the RCMP vehicle. On the door was a blue decal in the shape of a horseshoe with bright red lettering around its inside edge. The girls moved closer to read the words “Cottonwood Creek Ranch.”

“That's the Arnesens' ranch,” Sheila said, “where Huntley lives now.”

“The car must belong to his mom,” Katie said.

“She must be back from Calgary.”

They both turned to the house, its red door thrown wide open. They glanced at one another, then hurried across the yard, up the steps and through the door.

The house stood cool and silent as they paused in the front hall. They walked quietly toward the kitchen.

A woman wearing a bright red T-shirt and dark blue shorts sat at the table with her back to the girls.

Her shining, soft brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail that brushed the back of her neck. Her legs were crossed at the knee, a flat-soled red sandal dangled from the toes of her right foot and her toenails were painted red. The woman was eating a sandwich and concentrating on a sheet of paper covered in small print. A short stack of similar papers lay on the table in front of her.

“Where's my dad?” Sheila demanded.

The woman's arms jerked, her foot hit the floor and she swung around. “I was wondering the same thing!” she said. She stood up then and smiled. Her teeth were very straight and very white. Sheila thought they gleamed like a toothpaste commercial. She had a round face and round blue eyes. In fact, she was round all over, no taller than Sheila and way shorter than Sheila's mom. “You must be Sheila,” the woman said, still showing her teeth. “I recognize you from your pictures. Your dad sure misses you.”

“Oh,” Sheila said. Nothing else came to mind so she simply stood there studying this woman and wondering why she kept smiling as if her face was permanently stuck that way. Probably to show off her dimples. Sheila detested dimples.

“I'm Adele James. Have you met my son, Huntley?”

Sheila shrugged. Seemed fairly obvious.

“Hi,” Katie said, “I'm Katie, Sheila's best friend.”

“Yes, Chris told me you were here. You and your brother, Russell?”

“Rusty. He's my cousin.”

“So do you girls know where Huntley is? I just got here a half hour ago and haven't seen a soul.”

“I think Huntley and Rusty went swimming,” Katie said. “He didn't know you were coming back today.”

Adele looked confused. “Now that's odd. I asked Chris to tell him. When I phoned yesterday, Huntley was out riding with you kids.”

She turned to Sheila. “Your dad said he'd be here when I got back. Any idea where he is?”

Sheila shook her head. “He was here when we left. He's probably out riding.” She didn't mention her dad liked to take off on long rides when he had something on his mind, and she was pretty sure he had tons on his mind right now.

“I checked. Pita is in the barn.”

Sheila glanced out the window. Wherever Dad went, it was his own business and not this Adele person's.

“I'm sure he'll be back soon.” Adele smiled again.

“Would you girls like toasted cheese sandwiches?”

Sheila glanced toward the stove. A greasy frying pan with a pancake flipper sticking from it sat on an element. Bread tumbled from a plastic bag, scattering crumbs across the countertop. A block of cheddar cheese on a cutting board had a dirty knife beside it. She thought of Ben's super-neat kitchen and decided this Adele person must be as messy as Dad.

“I'm not hungry,” she said coldly.

“I can make some,” Katie said. “I'm starving!”

Sheila glared at her. She did a lot of glaring these days.

When Katie handed her a golden brown, toasted sandwich with melted cheese oozing onto the plate, Sheila couldn't help it. She took a bite. It tasted amazing. She took another bite and stared outside at the garden, trying to ignore Katie, who was chatting with Adele as if they were old buddies.

Couldn't Katie figure out she wanted nothing to do with this
Adele?
Wasn't it bad enough this awful woman was sitting in her dad's kitchen, helping herself to food as if she owned the place? Sheila glared daggers at Katie, but her friend chattered on like an idiot. Didn't even glance Sheila's way. As much as she tried not to listen, Sheila heard Katie tell about the police visit this morning, the rifle in the truck and the fire at the development.

Adele wasn't smiling anymore. “But that's terrible!” she said. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Someone who has motive,” Sheila grumbled.

Adele turned to her in surprise, her round pink mouth slid into a grim line. “No one has more motive than I do.”