From Newsprint to Footprints: A River's Edge Cozy Mystery (River's Edge Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (21 page)

"He didn't say he did that, you know, stole the hoe and put it there. He just said he was really shook and drove back to town. He was afraid you'd think he did it."

"Sure, Melanie." Granger's tone could not have held more sarcasm. "You want us to believe some third party strolled by, saw the body, and then went after your hoe?"

I tilted my head back a bit and rolled my neck before looking at them again. "I screwed up by not forcing him to come here or coming here by myself last night."

"True," Gallagher said, staring at me.

"My thinking was if I told you it would sound made up, and I didn't want to do anything to make Fred change his mind about telling you himself." And I felt bad for his parents, but I didn't say that.

I looked at Gallagher, unflinching. "When did you find his car?"

''Bout five-thirty this morning," he said.

"And, uh, you knew it wasn't there all night, right?"

A split second of a smile made it to Gallagher's lips before he stopped it, but it was Granger who spoke. "I found it. Wasn't there when I came on duty at eleven last night."

"If his cat's at home, that would be good, right?"

Granger shrugged, and Gallagher said, "It could mean something or nothing. And it is there."

"With a lot of extra food?" I would feel better if it looked as if Fred had planned an exit from River's Edge. I might go after him with my replacement hoe when we found him, but maybe leaving extra food for the cat meant Fred wasn't dead or something else awful.

"If we haven't heard from Fred in an hour or so, we'll do more than look in his windows." Gallagher studied me for several seconds. "Probably need a warrant. Cat looked fine. Mrs. Keyser say you could keep the dog?"

Damned town grapevine. "Looks like it."

Gallagher stood, and Granger followed suit.

"I have no idea what's going on with Fred or whether he killed Hal or saw something that would worry someone who did," the sheriff said. "You know my admin gal, Sophie." When I nodded, he added, "Tell her where you'll be today. I suggest you not spend time alone at Mr. Seaton's place."

I nodded, stood, and walked toward the door. Before I shut it, I turned. "Did Stooper tell you he saw Hal late that night?"

Granger looked surprised, but Gallagher nodded. "I should have paid more attention to him. He wasn't sure if he saw one car or two, so I figured he wasn't any kind of reliable witness."

"I told him to call you." I shut the door.

I hadn't told Sandi and Ryan that Fred said he saw Hal's body, but if I didn't tell the sheriff and he later found out Fred told me that, I'd be back in a jail cell on some charge – whatever somebody could think of. My throat tightened.
How could Fred do this to me?
If he was gone, no one would believe me. Again.

I bent over to take a sip at a water fountain not far from the sheriff's private office. Sophie wasn't in yet, so I scribbled a note with my mobile number and said I was going home and then to the diner. For all I knew, Shirley would have heard not only that Gallagher was looking for Fred but where he was.

SHOWERED, DRESSED AND FED, I felt better. I stayed in a back booth at the diner, listening. It didn't seem that anyone knew Fred's car had been found at the river.

Three by five cards were on the table in front of me. I couldn't spread them all out, or there wouldn't be time to grab all of them if someone tried to sit with me. Instead, I had three crisscrossed piles, which I had mentally labeled as Reasons to Kill Hal, Hal's Timeline, and Fred's Schedule. There were probably thirty cards. There would have been fewer if I hadn't put the reasons to kill Hal on separate cards.

A new card said simply Fred. I was mad at myself for scratching him off the list I'd started almost two weeks ago. I still didn't have answers to the most important questions about him.

In addition to where he was now, I needed to find out if Fred saw more the night Hal died than he had told me. What reason would there be to hide that now, when he'd admitted he had seen Hal after he died? Or admitted it to me, anyway.

And why hadn't I asked him how my hoe got there? The only excuse I had was that I'd been so flabbergasted it was like being in shock. Almost as bad as when my parents died. Well, not quite.

And where was Syl in all this?  Some sleeping pills were so strong they made a person do things and then not remember them later. Could Syl have found Hal on his property, killed him, and gone back to bed?

Wait, he would have buried him. That would have taken an hour or more. And when he got up in the morning, there would likely have been bits of mulch everywhere. Oh, and a murder weapon. If Syl had killed Hal, surely even strong sleep medicine wouldn't hide that fact from himself. But why would he? What did Hal ever to do Syl?

Someone opened the diner's glass front door with enough force that I looked up.
Think of the devil
.

Syl saw me and walked rapidly toward me. Without asking he sat across from me. "What the hell is all this Melanie?"

At least he didn't yell. "I'm trying to piece it together. I take it the sheriff called you?"

"I just got off the phone. Told him he could go all over the property again." He leaned across the table toward me. "But all he said was someone may have seen Hal at my place that night."

Shirley was a couple of booths down, taking an order. She looked toward us. "Now, I haven't heard that." Her look was accusatory.

"I'm sorry, Shirley. What little I know I'm not supposed to talk about."

She gave a pointed look at Syl, whose back was to her, and went back to taking the order.

"All I know is Fred finally told me he'd followed Hal out there that night, and…"

"To my property? What the hell for?"

"Fred wanted to tell off Hal for lying to the unemployment people about why Fred was let go. He went to Hal's, but no one answered." I described Fred's efforts to follow Hal's taillights and that he saw Hal turn into Syl's driveway.

Shirley, order pad in hand, had been walking toward Syl and me and heard the last few words. "Sugar, don't I share what I know?"

I ducked my chin on my chest for a minute and raised my eyes to look at her. "I swear, Shirley, there's lots of questions but no answers yet. Bottom line, Sheriff Gallagher wants to see if Fred saw Hal really late the night Hal was killed, and I'm not supposed to talk about it."

Her eyes widened, and she whispered. "You mean he thinks Fred kilt Hal?"

Syl's posture telegraphed impatience.

"I highly doubt it."
And if I find out Fred did, I'll push him off the bridge
. "Fred's car was parked in town in an odd spot, that's all. Sheriff wants to talk to him."

She stared at me for a full two seconds and then smiled, widely, at Syl. "Now sugar, you probably need some high test to listen to all this."

"Had coffee at home. Better be decaf to go."

"Black right?" Shirley had already started to walk away.

"Unless you have bourbon."

I'd never heard Shirley giggle.

Syl looked back at me. "That's all it is? Are you sure?"

"The only thing I'm sure of is that it's looking a bit less like the sheriff thinks I did it, and that makes me happy."
And if Fred has hurt himself, I'll be really sad
.

Syl's stare was intense. "But this Fred, he's your friend."

I nodded and wished my throat wasn't constricting. "I'm…angry, but also sad."

"Well, I won't make you talk about it. I can't imagine there's anything else to be found on my property, but I really want to have this finished."

I nodded, not sure enough of myself to speak.

"Where's that brother of yours?" Syl asked.

"Oh, damn. I should have called him."

Syl's laugh was contagious, and I started to giggle. "At least, this time, it's good news." I stopped. "I hope."

Syl had been gone less than one minute when Shirley came over. "What's this about Fred?"

"All I know is his car was by the river early this morning." I swallowed the lump in my throat.

She stared at me and apparently decided to believe me, because her tone became less strident. "Andy just called. He said Gallagher called Farm and More, so they'd post a sign saying sheriff and the fire department were organizing a search party. Meeting in the park."

I almost whispered, "I should go help."

I left money on the table rather than stand by the cash register where people might ask me questions. I beeped open my truck and slid in, but before I could start the truck my phone buzzed. Caller ID said it was the vet.

"Oh. Mister Tibbs." I pushed the answer button. "Hi, Dr. Marshall"

"He's yours if you want him."

I didn't say anything for several seconds.

"You can keep him awhile, and we'll help you find another owner if it doesn't work out."

"Okay, thanks. See you in a bit."

My first thought was that Mister Tibbs might be good company, and the second was that the dog was going to rearrange my life. There wouldn't be a vet bill today, but there would be later. I stopped at the dollar store and bought dog bowls and a leash, but by the time I got to the vet I was convinced that getting the dog was a bad idea. Dr. Marshall would understand.

The barking began as soon as I entered the office. Mister Tibbs was in a dog crate on the counter, and he stuck his nose through the plastic grate.

Annette laughed. "I thought you might have gotten the heebie-jeebies, so I brought him out."

I shook my head, but I was smiling. "I guess I'll be up at five a.m. from now on." I touched his nose, and Mister Tibbs literally jumped as he barked. "Shhh. Good boy."

Annette laughed. "He's a girl."

"You're kidding."

"Mrs. Steven's dog before Mister Tibbs was Mister Ed. She picked out a male pup from a litter, but when she went to pick him up, the boy had been given away. The only one left was this cute little critter."

"Obviously not an experienced breeder," I said, dryly.

"Not hardly. A farm dog, but the family said they couldn't keep four puppies. Anyway, she'd already decided to name him Mister Tibbs, and she just couldn't get the name out of her mind."

I peered into the crate. "And I thought it was a neutered boy."

"He was so filthy you couldn't tell. I mean, she."

"Spayed?"

She nodded emphatically. "Dr. Marshall won't see them past a year if they aren't."

"No kidding." That sounded more like a city vet than a country one.

"He'll handle a big emergency, of course. He gets some senior-level DVM students to help him do a spay and neuter clinic here a couple times a year."

"Good for him. Okay, show me what kind of food to buy, and we'll be on our way."

CLEANED OF DOG slobber and in a fresh University of Iowa tee shirt, I was back in my truck with Mister Tibbs on a blanket in the very narrow back seat. We had spent ten minutes with him trying to walk across the middle console into the front seat and me gently pushing him back, saying no. He was now tuckered out and content to sit on his blanket in the back.

All parking near the river was full. It looked as if half the town had come to search for Fred. I parked on a side street two blocks from the park and took the leashed Mister Tibbs out of the truck.

When we got to the park, I stood on the edge, scanning for people I knew. Hy-Vee had set up a table with coffee and water bottles. Several sheriff's deputies had on yellow vests, and a woman in a police uniform I didn't recognize had a dog with its K-9 police vest.

"I can't do this."

Mister Tibbs looked up, apparently assuming we should be moving on.

"Melanie." It was the youngest sheriff's deputy, Newt Harmon. He walked toward me. "Hey, I was just looking for you."

"Do you have…news?"

He shook his head as he pushed his sunglasses from his eyes to the top of the head. "No, Sheriff Gallagher asked you to be sure not to do any of the river searching."

My eyes widened. "Why not?"

"Sorry. Should have said that first. He'd like you close by in case you can help him, you know answer questions or something."

I knew this wasn't true. Gallagher would have called or had someone call me to say that. Apparently, if I showed up, I was to be sent away.

"Sure thing." I jiggled Mister Tibbs' leash. "Just picked up this guy, probably too much excitement for him anyway."

Mister Tibbs stood, wagging his short tail, clearly available for petting.

"Heard you were getting him." He bent to stroke the dog and then stood. "You take care now, you hear?"

CHAPTER TWENTY

SHERIFF GALLAGHER CALLED me about three-thirty to say Fred's body had been found leaning against the bank of the river just after the town of Farmington, Iowa. I registered that this meant Fred's body had traveled about ten or eleven miles and blocked all thought of what he might look like now. Or tried to block.

"I can't talk now," I said, ending in a sob before I hung up and threw myself onto the couch.

I've never cried that uncontrollably before, not even when my parents died. A metallic sound registered, but didn't deter me.

Mrs. Keyser burst into my living room. "Melanie! Melanie!"

I gulped sobs. "I'm okay."

She was breathing hard. "You are not. Is it Ambrose? Is Ambrose all right?"

I put my hand over my mouth to stifle sobs. "Fred. Fred…drowned." And then I sobbed more.

"Oh, my." She walked away from me, and I heard her turn on water in the kitchen. She was back in just a few seconds. "Here, sit up. Just sit up, and get your breath."

I wanted to say I could breathe however I wanted, but even as hopeless as I felt, I knew she was trying to help me. I sat up, snot running from my nose and tears everywhere.

Mrs. Keyser reached for a tissue box on the coffee table and snatched two or three and shoved them at me. Then she sat on the recliner, still short of breath.

I blew my nose and gulped a few times as I tried to stop sobbing. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"That's not important. I wouldn't have used my key, but you didn't answer." She stood and shoved a mug of water into my hand.

"I didn't hear you. All I could think…" I swallowed some water and whispered. "Does drowning hurt?"

Her eyes filled with tears, and she spoke gently. "I think it's over pretty quickly. Did he…do you know how it happened?"

Someone ran up the side steps and banged on my door. Mrs. Keyser stood and opened it.

Ryan came in, looked at her, and ran to me. "Mel. God, you're okay."

"No, she's not." Mrs. Keyser returned to the recliner.

Ryan flushed. "I meant, well, we didn't know where she was." He sat next to me and put an arm around my shoulder.

I cried for maybe another two minutes and then fought to control myself. Mrs. Keyser was in the kitchen, from the sound of it boiling water for tea or instant coffee.

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose again. Ryan picked up the tissue box and held it out for me to take a few more. I looked at him with swollen eyes. "Thanks. Do you know what happened?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure anyone does. People looked for him by the river all day, and the sheriff asked the Coast Guard to keep an eye out in case he… If he made it to the Mississippi."

"But he didn't, right?"

Ryan frowned and lowered his voice. "I heard a couple miles beyond Farmington."

I spoke in a low voice. "So that'd be what, twelve miles on the river?"

Ryan took a breath and squared his shoulders. "Yeah. No one said he got to Missouri. It would be easier for his parents if he… his… if he stayed in Iowa."

I nodded. "If an Iowa ME handles an autopsy, his parents might, um, get him faster."

"I can't think about it," Ryan said.

My instincts went back to reporter mode. "Why would he do this? You think he was, uh, upset about yesterday?"
Duh
.

Ryan shrugged, and Mrs. Keyser's voice reached us. "Upset about what?"

I leaned into the couch, wishing I had some of Betty's cucumbers for my eyes. Betty! I looked at Ryan. "Are Sandi and Betty okay?"

"No one is okay."

Mrs. Keyser came into the living room holding two mugs of tea. "His poor parents. Aren't they in Florida?"

I accepted the tea, and she looked at Ryan. "There's more hot water in the kitchen."

He stood. "I need to see what's happening. For the paper. Sandi and I figured Mel would be alone." He looked at Mrs. Keyser.

"I'll stay up here as long as she wants."

It occurred to me that Mrs. Keyser didn't sound as if she was fishing for gossip, which was her usual mode. I was glad she was here.

Ryan left. I cradled my tea and stared at the wall near my parents' photo. If I looked at them, I'd lose it again.

"Melanie, do you want me to call anyone?"

I looked at her and sipped tea before speaking. "I'll call Ambrose in a bit. He and Sharon were in Fred's class."

"That's fine, but is there someone you want to come over?"

I blew my nose again. "I'm probably better off if I get cleaned up and go out in a bit. If I sit here, I'll just cry."

"Poor, poor Fred," she tutted. Her tone changed subtly. "Did he have a break-up or something?"

She had moved to beauty-shop-gossip mode, but I couldn't be angry. Fred's death would be the focus of most conversation in town for days. All I said was, "Maybe he left a note."

She stood. "You knock on my door if you need anything."

"Thanks. Thank you for coming up." My voice was shaky again. I needed to get out of my apartment.

I walked to the bathroom and leaned over the sink to splash water on my face. I didn't bother looking in the mirror. Who cared what I looked like?

I dried my face and turned toward the hall. Thankfully, I didn't shriek at the sight of Mister Tibbs, whom I'd totally forgotten. I scooped him into my arms. "I'm so sorry, buddy. Or should I call you girlfriend? I scared you, didn't I?" She snuggled into my shoulder, as if Mrs. Stevens carried her around like a toddler.

I put her on the floor next to the couch, near the old pillow and blanket I wanted her to think of as home base. I sat next to her and rubbed her belly for almost a minute. "You need to stay here while I go out, but I don't think I'll be too long."

After finishing the tea and some apple juice, I started to think more clearly. I wasn't sure I could talk to Ambrose without losing it again, so I texted him and Sharon. I apologized, but said I didn't want to cry more. It was a given that Ambrose or Sharon or both would be in town by tomorrow morning at the latest.

Should I assume Fred committed suicide? Probably, but it would help if he left a note. It would help me if that note repeated everything he had told me about seeing Hal's body. If he didn't admit that he was nearby when Hal was killed and I was not, I'd still be a person of interest, probably. Or maybe his suicide could lessen suspicion.

Forget all that. Fred is dead!

I looked for a clean top and decided on a dark peach knit shirt rather than a tee shirt. Not that anyone cared what I looked like, but the news crews from Des Moines and Quincy would be in town. I didn't need to look like a vagrant.
Sunglasses. Where are my sunglasses?
Probably in my truck's glove box.

My crying jag had worn out Mister Tibbs, so she didn't fuss as I left. I was unlocking my truck when Granger's cruiser pulled into Mrs. Keyser's driveway.
If he says something about me hurting Fred, I'll figure out how to shove him into the river
.

For a change, Granger was almost solicitous as he got out of the car. "How you holding up, Mel?"

"Better than thirty minutes ago or so." I took a breath. "Did you get his parents?"

Granger nodded as he leaned against a front fender. "Yeah. Hard on the sheriff when he has to make those calls."

"You need me for anything?"

"Probably not. Sheriff wanted me to ask if you knew anything you hadn't thought of earlier, but if you don’t, no need to go down tonight. Tomorrow's soon enough."

I shook my head. "I'll probably think better in a few minutes, but not sure what I know right now. Did he," I took a breath, "leave a note?"

"Think there was an envelope on his keyboard at home. Not sure what it was."

"I was going to the paper. Just to be with, be with the guys."

He nodded. "Come on down about eight-thirty tomorrow. Sheriff'll call you if he needs anything before that."

I started to ask if the IDI guys would be around, but I didn't really give a damn.

THE
SOUTH COUNTY NEWS
OFFICE was crowded, and a tray of cookies sat on the front counter. I stood just inside the door for a few seconds. When Hal had died people had stopped by, but nothing like this.

From where I stood, I could see yellow police tape on Fred's closed office door. If it hadn't been for that and the twenty or so people sitting in chairs around the bullpen, it would look the same. But everything was different.

I walked toward Sandi's desk, and a couple of chairs squeaked as people moved back.

Someone said, "I'm sorry, Melanie."

I didn't acknowledge them, but knelt next to Sandi, who had her head on her folded arms. I put my hand on her shoulder. "It'll be tough, but we'll all make it."

She raised her head. Her eyes were puffy, and her face was basically one red blotch. She seemed surprised to see the mascara all over her sweater, when she sat up. "He's been so withdrawn, but I didn't know what was bothering him. I would have helped him."

"We all would have."

I looked up to see Bruce Blackner and nodded. "Yes." I gave him a half smile and turned back to Sandi.

"You want to go home or stay and help me put the paper to bed?" Until the words were out of my mouth I didn't know they were coming.

She puffed her cheeks and blew out a breath. "Whew. What time is it?"

I glanced at the clock above the front door. "Three-forty-five. We have at most an hour and a half."

A woman's voice asked, "What kind of help do you need?" Peg Boynton owned the small bakery on the square. She had probably brought the cookies.

I stood from my squatting position and faced what was now a group of about fifteen people. "It means a lot that everyone came. And it's fine if you want to hang out, but maybe in the back or that meeting room near the bathroom for a bit. That way Sandi…" I scanned the room "and maybe Ryan and whoever can finish. We send the paper by computer to the printer."

There were murmurs, and Bruce Blackner said, "I'll sit by the door. I can direct folks to the conference room while you two finish working.

I noticed Stooper, who was sitting in a chair behind the others. He stood. "I'll go down to the tavern. Gary'll want to send over some sodas or something."

People started to walk toward the door. Peg Boynton blew a kiss, and I heard a woman's voice, I wasn't sure whose, say, "…and one of those cheese and cracker trays at the Hy-Vee."

I looked down at Sandi. She gave the barest smile and straightened her shoulders. "A mini-wake." She stood. "Okay. Come back here to the big computer screen, and we can finish layout. We'll have to add, to add…"

"At least a small piece about Fred," I finished.

Sandi and I were used to working together. We would know instinctively what to move off the front page to make room.

After a minute of looking at the screen, I said, "Maybe leave the picture of the mama goose and her brood, and put the article about getting them out of the sewer on page eight."

"Agreed. We can make the picture smaller if we have to. People'll need to see something happy." Sandi looked toward the door and back at me. "Ryan's supposed to be out seeing what happened. I just…couldn't."

The front door opened, and Doc Shelton walked in. He spoke briefly to Bruce Blackner and walked toward Sandi and me. "I'm sorry. It was so busy this afternoon. I couldn't leave patients."

Sandi was at the desk chair, and I was standing behind her. Doc Shelton gave me a peck on the cheek and put a hand on her shoulder. "Tribute to Fred that you're going to make the deadline."

"Thanks," Sandi said, her voice husky.

I looked at Doc Shelton. "It was mostly done. We're moving a couple of things, and as soon as we get more from Ryan, we'll put a short article on the front page. Unless he's found out a lot more."

He pulled a pen from the breast pocket of his shirt. "I'll write a short quote, something from the Advisory Committee."

I hadn't thought about getting comments from anyone besides what Ryan would bring back from the sheriff. Boy, are you rusty.

Sandi and I had just turned back to the computer screen when the door opened again. Ryan didn't look like an intern any more, and it wasn't just the haircut. His jaw was set, and his eyes focused only on Sandi and me.

When he was almost to us, he said, "I wrote a draft. You want to read my handwritten version or type it in first?"

"Easier to edit if you type it." When he raised his eyebrows at me, I smiled. "I'm not saying it'll need editing, just that you don't want Sandi and me leveling suggestions at your handwritten copy."

"Too true. Afternoon Doc." Ryan walked to his desk and turned on the computer screen.

Sandi and I had everything done except the blank left hand column on page one when Ryan called, "Go to the active folder."

Sandi swiveled and turned on the computer with a standard-sized screen that sits next to the larger one we use for layout. She went to the active folder and opened a file that simply said, "Fred."