Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 05 - Just Ducky (25 page)

“Yes, it’s true, Paul doesn’t talk much, but I think he could handle the job effectively enough until this predicament is rectified. He appeared to me to be a hardworking and reliable employee who I’m sure would step up to the plate if called upon to do so. These are unusual circumstances, which may call for a less than ideal solution,” I told him.

“Yes, of course. You’re right, Lexie. Just having a warm body behind the counter will have to suffice if it comes down to that. But let’s wait until tomorrow afternoon to make a decision. The bombing suspect could be in custody by then, and you could be feeling well enough to report for duty. If that’s the case, we won’t have to call on Paul Miller to take the position. If not, I’ll speak with Mr. Miller tomorrow evening and arrange for him to pick up your key to the library and reopen it on Monday morning. Does that sound fair enough to you?” He asked.

“Yes, all right. I guess I’ll go along with that plan for now. I’ll be in touch with you Sunday afternoon.”

The pain pill I’d taken was beginning to take affect, and I couldn’t muster up the strength to debate the matter any further. Besides, I felt as if I owed Colby Tucker that much, having put him in the hospital the previous weekend. And if a suspect were indeed in custody, I would somehow manage to drag myself down to the library and be the warm, but battered, body behind the counter. In the meantime, I would rest and recuperate as much as possible, and pray the investigators would reopen the case and arrest the guilty party by tomorrow afternoon.

“Thank you, Ms. Starr. Take care and get better soon. I’ll look forward to hearing from you tomorrow.”

I laid the phone down and the next thing I knew, Stone was patting me on the shoulder to wake me up for lunch. He explained that Wyatt was downstairs having a cup of coffee and visiting with him, as he was warming up a pot of leftover vegetable soup for the three of us.

I felt remarkably better already. Not better enough to partake in a rambunctious game of racquetball, but good enough to go downstairs and join the two men at the kitchen table for lunch. I could tell my caffeine level was dipping well below the recommended level, and I was anxious to speak with Detective Johnston and give him my complete and honest statement. I wanted the detectives to hit the floor running on their way to tracking down Ducky’s killer, and my would-be assassin!

Chapter 16

I related almost the entire story of my activities since Ducky’s death, to Wyatt, over lunch, and all the while, he was shaking his head in disbelief. His condescending attitude is what prompted me to leave out a few minor details, such as my getting locked in Ducky’s first husband’s bacteria-ridden bathroom, being groped by her second husband, and stalking a postal clerk. Unfortunately, he was already aware I’d nearly killed my new boss with my less than stellar cooking skills, and now he knew why I’d invited the Tuckers over for supper to begin with. I had lured them into my web to interrogate them.

I tried not to catch Stone’s eye, since he was aware I was being somewhat evasive, as I rambled on. I told Wyatt that Ducky had been suspicious of her ex-husband, Bo Reliford’s, intentions when she caught him following her in traffic two separate times. But I also explained why I was certain Bo couldn’t have constructed the suicide note when he couldn’t even spell simple words like ‘for’ and ‘sale.’

“How do you know Bo didn’t have someone else type the note for him?” Wyatt asked. “You have to look at all the possibilities, no matter how remote they may seem.”

“Well, I don’t know anything for sure about who wrote the note. But wouldn’t it be pretty stupid to involve a second party who could end up being a hostile, or worse yet, a willing witness at his murder trial if he were to be arrested for the death of his former wife? If the person who penned the note for Bo was charged with being an accessory to the murder, isn’t it likely he’d be persuaded to turn state’s evidence in hopes of getting a lighter sentence? Why would he, or anyone else, even take the chance of getting himself in that position? His accomplice would have to be operating on one brain cell to do something that idiotic.”

I was proud of my ability to come up with a reasonable answer to the detective’s question. Unfortunately, the detective was not quite as impressed as I’d been.

“It happens all the time. And who said the killer, if there is one, mind you, was smart?” Wyatt countered.

“Well, um….”

“What if Bo was unable to create a legible suicide note, but felt it was crucial to make the death look like it was self-inflicted, and made someone who was as much of a moron as himself, an offer he couldn’t refuse?”

“Yeah, but…”

“We already know Bo is practically illiterate, just by his ‘for sale’ sign,” Wyatt continued. “So it stands to reason he could have drug someone else into the situation to assist him, but yet carried out the murder on his own, or perhaps with his accomplice’s help.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Why did I suddenly feel as if I was rapidly losing my stake in this debate? Maybe the detective was right. It was obvious from Wyatt’s questions that I hadn’t looked at the possibility of Bo Reliford’s involvement in this crime from every angle. He probably did merit more scrutiny than just basing his innocence on two misspelled words. I usually was not so quick to let a suspect off the hook. Maybe the noxious fumes in Bo’s bathroom, that I was trapped in at the time, had muddled my reasoning in some way.

“Who said he didn’t have a co-conspirator? Maybe even one who was a writer by trade?” Wyatt asked. It was clear he was fully invested in this dispute now. “Ducky did work at a library, you know. She could have known lots of writers, and tons of readers for that matter. And with her sometimes less than amicable personality, she could have easily pissed somebody off. For that matter, his co-conspirator could have wanted Ducky dead as much as Bo did.”

“Pissed them both off to the point of murder?” I asked.

“Who knows? I’ve seen people murdered for more unimaginable reasons than anger. And why would Bo Reliford move back to Rockdale in the first place?”

“Maybe to be closer to his daughter, Barbara Wells, who lives here in town. I wouldn’t want to live too far away from Wendy, or even Andy now,” I replied. I was desperately trying to regain my footing in the argument of Bo’s guilt or innocence, but knew it was a losing battle.

“Barbara’s been interviewed this morning, along with several other potential suspects. Ms. Wells said she hasn’t seen him or even spoken to him since he moved back here from Lee’s Summit, so I doubt his daughter had any bearing on Bo’s change of residency,” Wyatt said. He took several additional ladles of soup out of the pot, and refilled his bowl before continuing to speak. I was tempted to slap the spoon out of his hand. Where was just a wee bit of salmonella when you needed it?

“Could be, I guess,” I said, in resignation.

“And, why was Bo following his ex-wife? The man has a rap sheet that includes assault and battery, spousal abuse, resisting arrest, and public intoxication. You wouldn’t believe how many times we responded to domestic disturbance calls to his and Ducky’s house in the last few years of their marriage.”

“Yeah, I remember you telling us that before,” I said. Throughout my conversation with Wyatt, Stone had sat stoically, sipping on spoonfuls of soup, and listening without commenting. I wondered what he was thinking. Probably that it was painful to watch his wife continually being knocked off her high horse, and pitifully attempting to get back on it.

“And I think I also told you about Bo’s tussle with my partner, Clayton, one night, where he ended up slicing his own leg open with a broken beer bottle. He’s not exactly the pick of the litter, Lexie.”

“Well, I guess that’s true enough,” I said, just before a light bulb came on. “Hey, back up the bus! Did you just say the police department was interviewing potential suspects? Does this mean Ducky’s death is now being considered a murder—?”

“—
potential
murder!”

“—and the case has been reopened?” I continued. It had just occurred to me I’d accomplished my primary goal of getting the police department involved in investigating Ducky’s death as a homicide, and I was thrilled by the realization.

“After discussing the situation with the Chief this morning, I got him to consent to putting a couple of us on this case, at least long enough to determine who rigged your car with an explosive device. Hopefully, if we can find the bomber, we’ll also find the killer in the process,” Wyatt said.

“Does that mean you agree with me the two incidents are related, and most likely, the same perp is responsible for both crimes?” I asked.

“I agree with you that it’s a high probability. And now, even Chief Smith believes there’s more to Ducky’s death than meets the eye. Enough so that he’s willing to assign Clint Travis and me to the case, temporarily anyway.”

“Oh, Wyatt, I can’t tell you how much of a relief it is to hear her death is finally being investigated. It’s so important to me that justice is served for her death. She’d worked hard her whole life, and was just getting set to enjoy her retirement when her life was cut short. I know the police department doesn’t appreciate my assistance, but I swear I’m only trying to help you solve a case that I feel shouldn’t go unpunished.”

“I know, Lexie. Actually, you’ve been a big help in a few past cases and Chief Smith has reluctantly said as much. This murder investigation with Ducky would have never come to light without your interference—”

“—assistance.” I corrected.

“Sorry, I meant
assistance
, as well as perseverance, because your involvement has, on occasion, been invaluable to the entire Rockdale police force,” Wyatt said, apologizing, but not without a gleam in his eye and a smirk on his face.

I knew Detective Johnston’s apology wasn’t totally sincere, and a tad sarcastic, but I wasn’t going to let him get by with referring to my aid in helping the cops close murder cases as “interference.” The cases had consumed a lot of my time and energy and placed me in risky situations in my efforts to track down the killer in each instance. And, but for the grace of God, I’d be dead now for my efforts. My successful investigative techniques, which I admit included risky pranks and often bordered on being illegal, in at least some instances, deserved more credit than the police department had ever extended me, and Wyatt should know that better than anybody.

“Well, whatever. At least now I can sit back, relax, and let you guys handle the case, and hopefully you’ll nail the bastard quickly!” I said, emphatically. “Thank you, Wyatt! Stone and I will help you in any way we can.”

I ignored the groans echoing throughout the kitchen, and Wyatt shaking his head slowly back and forth. I hadn’t won the battle, but I’d definitely won the war! I was thrilled with the outcome, and appreciated Wyatt’s efforts to convince Chief Smith of the potential of murder being the cause of Ducky’s death. I even felt a bit remorseful for having momentarily wished a little food poisoning on my favorite detective.

Chapter 17

The rest of the day I lounged around, relaxing, recuperating, and watching
The
Love Boat
reruns I’d taped on our DVR. To celebrate their tenth anniversary, our guests had made reservations at the
Golden Ox
, one of Kansas City’s premier steakhouses, and would be heading out as soon as they got freshened up. It was quite a drive from Rockdale to downtown Kansas City, and they had early reservations so they could go to an event at the Performing Arts Center afterward.