Winter's Secret (20 page)

His interview with Mrs. Benser had been an eye-opener. Her information had nothing to do with the burglaries, but opened a completely different can of worms. After an afternoon of checking her facts, he'd been forced to come here, the last place in Wisconsin he wanted to be. And to do what he didn't relish. He hated this kind of nasty little crime. And it took time he'd wanted to devote to preparing for the Saturday bingo stakeout and trap.

The youngest of his deputies caught up with him at the bottom of the porch. They walked side by side up the creaky, rickety steps, making Rodd recall delivering Thanksgiving dinner here. As he knocked on the door, he muttered, "Remember, don't say anything. Just keep your ears open and remember everything that's said."

"Yes, sir."

Veda opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Good evening, Miss McCracken." Rodd took off his hat. "There is something we need to discuss."

She grimaced at them as if they were naughty children. "I don't need or want to discuss anything with you." She started to shut the door.

Rodd had anticipated her action and had his boot wedged in her doorway. Without a change in his even tone, he continued, "Then I'll have to take you down to the police station for questioning—"

"Questioning! What are you up to?" She glared at him, ignoring the deputy.

"There is a matter I need to question you about I can do it here or down at the station." He met her angry gaze without flinching. "It's your choice."

She fumed at them in silence.

He waited for her to open the door wide and let them in. Most people would have at this point. No reasonable person wanted to be taken into the police station.

"And if I refuse?"

He'd anticipated her obstinacy too, but couldn't quite credit it. "Then I'll have to take you by force."

Her breathing began to wheeze, and her face had turned an unpleasant scarlet. "Come in then!" She threw wide the door and stalked away. A stream of foul language spewed from her. The young deputy's eyes widened as he and Rodd entered the room. Veda snapped off the TV and thumped down into a worn recliner. "What's this all about?"

While Rodd eased down into an ancient rocker facing her, he motioned the deputy to sit on the sagging sofa along the wall. Veda exuded a malevolence unexpected from an older woman. He didn't blame Mrs. Benser for taking great pains to keep Veda McCracken from knowing she was the one who'd given the sheriff information; this was one grizzly bear of a woman.

Rodd took his time, arranging himself in the chair, taking off his hat, and opening a small dark notebook. Then he looked across at Veda. "Miss McCracken, since this is a small community I decided to try to settle this privately—"

"Then why's he here?" She jabbed her thumb toward the deputy.

"Police procedure specifies that an officer must always have a witness when questioning anyone. Now this is a matter concerning yesterday's Senior Bazaar—"

"What about it?" she snapped.

"You were the sole treasurer at the bazaar?" He watched for her reaction.

"So?" She gripped the patched arms of her avocado green recliner.

Rodd leveled his gaze at her, aiming at the spot right between her eyes. He could gently ease up to the point for this visit, but why? Why not just fire the charge at her? "You stole $103.50 from the Senior Bazaar profits—"

"What!" Veda reared up in her chair. "Who says so? Which of those mealy-mouthed—"

He continued his attack. "My source isn't important. I've—"

"Liar! Whoever told you this is a liar—"

"I checked my facts before I came," he went on in a calm but insistent voice. "Each participant—"

"Those women can't be trusted to get anything right."

As though she hadn't interrupted, Rodd continued. "Each participant kept track of her sales and her total money taken in. The final sales figure of crafts and bake-sale items came to a total of $103.50 more than you reported."

"That's a lie."

"Those are the facts."

Veda glared at him, her face beet red. "This is just a plot to take the attention away from your botched investigation of the snowmobile burglaries. Think arresting an old woman will make you a big man?" she sneered.

Her venom still had the power to surprise him. And she'd attended church this morning as usual! He kept his tone colorless. "I think stealing is stealing."

She crossed her arms over her breast. "It's their word against mine."

"No, it isn't." Still amazed and somewhat amused at the craftiness of the elderly bazaar women, he looked her straight in the eye. "The women who collected the money marked the bills."

Veda's eyes narrowed. "I didn't see no marks on any bills."

"They were very subtle But every woman who collected money at the table marked each greenback that she put into the till for the event."

A cunning look came into the woman's eyes. "What kind of marks?"

I'm not telling you, lady
. "Each woman had her own mark and will be able to identify it."

"Those—" Another stream of foul invectives about the character and appearance of the women who had worked so hard on the Senior Bazaar followed.

Rodd felt uncomfortable sitting there with his young deputy, listening to such language coming from an old woman. He had heard enough of it in Milwaukee to last him a lifetime. But in the vulgar and profane department, Veda McCracken could top any suspect in the city.

"Evil words come from an evil heart." Rodd recalled the verse from Matthew. He had no problem believing the portrait of Veda that Harlan had painted for him.

He dragged in a ragged breath. "Miss McCracken, this is useless. Now, give me the money and the ladies won't press charges against you."

Caught up short, she seethed at him, rapidly breathing in and out in wheezing puffs. "What if I don't?"

Her bullheadedness shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. He pressed on. "If you don't give it to me now, I'll have to serve you with a search warrant—it's in my pocket. Then this deputy will keep you in that chair while I tear your house apart looking for the marked bills. And if you make me do that, you will be arrested and everyone will know what you've done."

"Everyone will know anyway!" she growled. "You don't think those old biddies will keep quiet."

"Some of them may talk, but that's much different than this appearing in the newspaper." He raised his eyebrows at her. "It's much different than going to jail." He stood. "Now let's get this over with. Just give me the money and we'll leave."

She glared at them, and then with a vicious curse she rose. She stomped out of the room and returned with a wad of cash in hand. She threw it at Rodd. "Here! Take it and get out of my house!" Another stream of obscenity.

Noting the tiny incriminating marks, Rodd counted the money, then pinned her with his gaze. "You owe the bazaar another fifty cents."

She dug into her pocket and threw a handful of change at him.

He didn't bother to pick it up but stared at her. "A word to the wise: Don't volunteer to be the treasurer of any other cause in the future. Good night, Miss McCracken." He and his deputy walked out. She slammed the door behind them.

"Whew!" the young deputy observed. "She turned out to be an ugly customer."

Rodd nodded. The expression on Veda's face had been murderous. Mrs. Benser said that the women had grown suspicious over the past three years, but had been unable to oust Veda as self-appointed director and treasurer of the bazaar. Whenever they had put someone else in the position, Veda had simply barreled in and taken over anyway. In desperation, they'd finally come up with the plan of the separate tallies and marked bills. It had worked. Veda's skimming had been unmasked.

His past experience with people like Veda caused Rodd to be seriously concerned now. Would she take her anger out on the women who had worked together to catch her stealing? Her kind of hatred would seek vengeance. He'd keep his eye on the honest women and protect them as best he could. Evidently, they'd hoped in the safety of numbers; he hoped it worked. He'd have to watch his own back and—a gut feeling alerted him—Wendy's too.

Veda might be the Weasel. The idea stunned him. But Veda had the strength to batter down a door. He'd seen her snowmobile beside her garage. She'd do anything that might cast suspicion on the Rieker family. And now he knew she wasn't above larceny. Could it be possible? Maybe he'd find out this Saturday night after bingo. The waiting was killing him.

Chapter Twelve

Out of the frosty mid-December night Rodd walked into the brightly lit VFW hall in LaFollette. A haze of cigarette smoke hung above the crowded hall. Small children ran around the tables playing tag while the adults with multiple bingo cards in front of them sat shoulder to shoulder along long institutional-looking tables.

The size of the crowd affirmed what Wendy had predicted. This Bingo Night would bring in a large sum of money—one that should tempt the Weasel.
God, just give me a clear shot at him. That's all I need.

As Rodd stood in the back of the long room, he saw heads turn toward him, then away. He was used to that. People always noticed a police officer in their midst—kind of like a Martian dropping in. His khaki-and-brown uniform with its badge, and the belt with handcuffs and gun, pointed him out as different.

"B-3!" The caller at the front of the room barked into the microphone.

"...letter from that old bat in Steadfast. She really laid into him...."

Rodd caught a snippet of conversation and felt himself stiffen. Of course, by now everyone in the county had read Veda's letter to the editor in Friday's Steadfast Times. She'd vented on him all her anger at being caught red-handed stealing from the Senior Bazaar, vowing to start a petition to have him removed from office for malfeasance for not stopping the burglaries.

"N-34!"

"If she thinks anyone would sign a petition, she'd start—" someone to his left said, then cast a glance over his shoulder at Rodd.

He hadn't thought of that, but Veda's own unpopularity would work for him.
But if I can't catch the Weasel I'll resign anyway
. The thought pained him more than he'd thought possible three months ago when he'd taken his oath as sheriff. Even though he knew she wouldn't be here, his eyes sought out Wendy's golden head. Would he be forced to leave her, never knowing if they could have had a future together? But what right did he have to let her know of his feelings when he might have to go back to Milwaukee—beaten by a small-town thief?

"0-65!"

Suddenly the large number of the people congregated in the room bothered Rodd. After doing a rough head count, he walked back to the entrance and read the sign specifying the allowed occupancy of the building. The number in attendance exceeded the limit. What could he do? If he emptied the room, he'd spoil his plan. Why was it always something?

"G-52!"

He walked toward the front of the hall. Only a half hour left till midnight, but he had to do something to mitigate the possibility of injury. He put his hand over the mike. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said to the veteran calling the numbers, "but everyone needs to make sure that all personal items on the floor are under the tables. I need unobstructed aisles in case of emergency—"

The players stood shouting, "Go on with the game!" "What's the problem?" "Don't stop now!"

The vet, a tall white-haired man, held up his hand for quiet. "Sheriff, why—"

Rodd interrupted him. "I should clear the room. You have exceeded the occupancy of this hall, but since the game's nearly over, I just want clear egress in case of emergency."

The vet nodded. "Okay."

Rodd took his hand away, then walked to the nearest exit to check that it was clear and unlocked.

The vet explained the concern, and the crowd, though grumbling, shifted everything under the tables. Then the vet called out, "1-29!"

As the game proceeded, Rodd checked all exits, making certain everyone would be able to get out safely. Gus Feeney sat at the front table, his gaze never meeting Rodd's. The big clock behind the bingo caller ticked away the minutes till midnight.

"Bingo!" a woman in the third row shouted and stood up. "That's my fifteenth one!"

Some applauded and some groaned.

After her card had been checked for accuracy, Gus rose and walked to the scoreboard. "That makes you the big winner so far! Come on, folks, just seven more minutes!"

The caller stepped up his pace. The anxious players eyed their cards intensely. "B-5! N-39! 0-70!"

The caller's rapid announcements kept rhythm with Rodd's heartbeat. He had all his deputies stationed to anticipate any contingency on the road to Gus's house and at Gus's house. Two of them were on snowmobiles—one along the way to the house and one at the house. He'd follow Gus home at a discreet distance. By now, Rodd realized that he had to be prepared for anything.

The clock struck midnight. The plump woman who had won fifteen times went forward and received her five-hundred-dollar prize. Other people accepted lesser awards. Then Gus announced that the Bingo Fund-raiser had brought in nearly nine hundred dollars. The crowd whistled and applauded.