Music to Die For (11 page)

“Well... mebbe... guess it could work. They might be willin’, ’n’ you’re right, they’d never go away while Dulcey’s missin’.”

There was a pause, then Brigid said, “Yes, they’ll come. I’ll see to it. Prob’ly all I’ll have to do is show ’em the reporters gettin’ thick around here. But, how’re we gonna get ’em there, even with a disguise? Oh...wait a minnit...”

The phone dropped, then Carrie heard Brigid’s voice from a distance: “Nell, you go stop ’em! Herb’s gonna shove that fella with the TV camera...you go on out there ’n’ yell at the both of ’em.”

The voice came close again. “Gotta go, Carrie. No tellin’ what Herb might do. Call me back in a coupla hours. If you can’t get in on the phone, do ya mind to keep tryin’? ’N’, well, th-thanks for all this.” Brigid Mason’s voice wavered and, at last, she stopped talking.

“I want to help, and don’t worry, I’ll keep calling until I get you.”

Carrie put the phone down. She felt a bit like pacing the floor herself. First she had involved Henry in this mess, and now she was planning to do the same to Eleanor and Jason. But what choice did she have? The Masons needed all the help the four of them could give.

She looked at the clock. Eleven. Henry had said he’d arrive by early afternoon, so there was time for the next part in her action plan, a thorough look around the craft grounds.

She put on old jeans and a grey sweatshirt. After glancing in the mirror at her flying grey curls, she found a scarf she often tied at the neck of her blue dress and put it on her head. She wanted to appear as plain and unnoticeable as possible, and the hats she had with her didn’t fit with plain and unnoticeable at all.

She put on the park department badge that would let her into the craft area without paying, then took it off and dropped it back on the table. It had her name on it, and she’d stand out because almost everyone from the convention was now headed home.

When Carrie arrived at the administration building, it was alive with activity. Workers were setting up for the classes that would begin tomorrow morning, and the desk attendant was busy telling a bearded man in overalls where the woodcarver’s equipment should be put. The attendant reached for Carrie’s entrance fee and stamped the back of her hand without looking away from the workman. Carrie walked out the door quietly, grateful for anonymity.

There were a number of tourists on the concrete walkways in the craft area, but, other than two people trying to see in the windows of the darkened dressmaker’s shop, no one acted as if they were aware of the murder; or at least they weren’t letting it disturb the planned routine for opening day. Probably most of the people here had just arrived for the weekend and had no idea what had happened last night. Since it looked like all the craft shops other than the dressmaker’s were open, tourists would take little notice of one shop that was locked.

Carrie wandered along the walkways, not really sure what she was looking for or what she might learn. She had watched most of the craft workers before and had no interest now in seeing anyone weave or make pottery or operate the old presses in the print shop.

There were several people clustered under the long shed ahead of her, and she heard the sound of the bellows that heated the fire in the blacksmith’s forge. She walked up to the group standing along the railing that separated spectators from the heavy equipment and hot fire. Peering around a tall man who smelled of too much cologne, she caught a glimpse of the blacksmith. It was Bobby Lee Logan. He held up a knife.

She stared for just an instant too long before she started to duck behind the tall man. Only her head was visible when Bobby Lee looked around. She saw his eyes make note of her presence before they swung past her and down the row of spectators.

He continued his spiel without a break, explaining that the knife blade was hand forged from a discarded automobile spring, not made by stock reduction like many blades.

“This knife,” he said, as his eyes raked back along the row of spectators and stopped on Carrie, “has a blade sharp enough to cut a gnat’s eyebrow.”

Well, since Bobby Lee had seen her, why not stand her ground and make the best of it? Why not see if he’d talk with her? Perhaps she could bluff him into saying something helpful. He was certainly spilling words enough to the sheriff. And she would be in no danger here since there were lots of people around.

She almost laughed, thinking she was being melodramatic, but sobered again as she remembered the fire, the view of the man in the checked shirt, and why she needed to talk with Bobby Lee.

The demonstration finished. A few people asked questions, then the crowd moved on. Carrie was alone. She walked forward, stopping when she reached the railing, and could feel heat from the forge throbbing against her face.

Bobby Lee ignored her as long as he could. He straightened the heavy tools on his worktable, then checked the fire. Finally he looked over at her, picked up the knife, and swaggered to the railing.

“Can I help you?” His tone was insolent.

“That’s a handsome knife,” Carrie said, as she looked at the double-edged blade. “Is it for sale?”

“Two hundred dollars,” he told her. “Polished bone handle. And what do you want with a knife like this?”

“I have a friend who would like one,” she said. “I suppose you have others you could show me?”

She paused for a moment, still looking at the knife, then said, “Did you make some of the knives in Farel Teal’s collection?”

She raised her eyes to his face, which was now stony, and went on. “I saw that knife at Farel Teal’s house last night. He had quite a collection in a display case on the wall. I might have known you couldn’t let those beautiful knives be destroyed in the fire. You should be careful about showing them, though. There are others who will remember them as well as I do.”

For a moment, Bobby Lee Logan didn’t answer. He just stared at her, running his finger along the flat side of the knife blade as if caressing it. Finally he said, “We make lotsa knives like this here at the forge.”

Looking around and seeing that there were still several people in the area, she swallowed, and then spoke, forming her words clearly and softly. “But I don’t suppose any of them have that unusual dark stripe at the base of the bone handle.”

She stared into his cold blue eyes, tried not to blink, and continued in a voice that was almost a whisper, “Why did you set fire to Farel’s house?”

She heard the hiss as Bobby Lee took a quick breath through clenched teeth. The blue eyes studied her face.

“Who says I did?”

“I was there.”

“Oh, sure, some little old lady like you out tramping in the country at night.”

The comment made her boil, but she brushed her anger aside and said, “I wasn’t alone. There were three other people with me, and they saw the same things I did.”

His eyes said he didn’t believe her.

“You were still wearing your red and white checked shirt. You carried a bag with something inflammable in it. What? A bottle of gasoline? Paint thinner? It doesn’t matter. Investigators will find out what you used. You spilled the liquid in several rooms, then took time to pack Farel’s knife collection and put it in your bag because you couldn’t bear for that to be destroyed. After you set the fire, you ran out the front door, leaping clear over the steps and driving off in your car with the Missouri license plate. Isn’t that about the way it happened?”

Now the look on Bobby Lee’s face told Carrie she had guessed right. He said, “Well, if that’s so, why aren’t you telling Sheriff Wylie? Why are you talking to me?”

“Sheriff Wylie’s first question to you would be, ‘Why did you do it?’ not, ‘Tell me all about your friend, Farel Teal.’ That’s what my question is. I want to know why Farel Teal died and why he kidnapped Dulcey Mason, not why you set fire to that house—unless it has something to do with Dulcey. And, I’ll tell you this, Bobby Lee, I care about that child, though I’ve never even seen her. She’s the child you’re telling some folks is Farel Teal’s daughter, so maybe you care about her too. Farel took her from her parents, but then he was killed, and she was taken by others, probably by whoever killed him. I’m more interested in getting her safely home than I am in telling the sheriff about an arsonist right now. Or... are you worse than that? Did
you
kill Farel Teal?
Do you have Dulcey Mason?
”

For a moment her resolve faltered as she watched the fury gather in Bobby Lee’s face. But then she realized his anger was meant for someone else. It wasn’t directed at her. He acted as if she weren’t there.

There was a long silence. Three people came into the shed. Seeing that nothing was happening and the blacksmith was paying no attention to them, they moved on down the walkway.

“
Why
, Bobby Lee? Why are you trying to hurt the Masons? Where is Dulcey?”

“Is it really true about Dulcey?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know Farel had kidnapped her?”

“I know you’re lyin’. Farel wouldn’t...”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “he would. Farel took her out of Brigid Mason’s yard yesterday afternoon. Why? Was it really for the ransom money? I hear he needed to get out of town, out of the state. Then others took Dulcey away from him. A kidnap note he didn’t write was found by his body. Dulcey could be in great danger. I’m not going to argue with you about this.

I want to hear what you know and I want to hear it right now. It may help us figure out who has Dulcey. It may help us save her life.”

“Dulcey... Tracy’s little girl...”

Suddenly Bobby Lee turned back into the blacksmith’s shop, unlocked a cabinet door, put the knife inside, and snapped the lock shut. Then he picked up a soot-smudged sign and rested it on an easel next to the railing. It said, “Gone to lunch. Back at...” Bobby Lee set the cardboard clock dial at 1:00 and vaulted over the railing. Before Carrie could protest, he had her by the arm and was pulling her down the concrete walk.

“Stop,” Carrie said. “You’re hurting my arm.”

Two people who were walking toward the herb garden turned to look at them, and Bobby Lee stopped.

He tightened his lips and glared at her. She glared back steadily, hoping she looked strong and calm.

Then Bobby Lee’s face cleared, and he said, “You want something to eat or drink?”

She looked around. They were standing by the door to the craft area snack shop.

Carrie smiled up at him. “Why, yes, thank you. I’d like a Dr. Pepper, and why don’t we have some popcorn?” She didn’t reach for her purse, and after a moment, Bobby Lee left her alone on the sidewalk and went into the snack shop.

I could walk away right now if I wanted to, she thought, so I can’t be in any danger.

When Bobby Lee bumped out the door he was holding a pop cup in each hand and had a popcorn sack under one arm. She took the popcorn.

“Did you get napkins?” she asked. “Well, never mind, I have tissues in my pocket.”

They sat down facing each other at a nearby picnic table. Carrie carefully spread out two tissues and spilled small mountains of popcorn on each one. Bobby Lee began to laugh. He swore.

She glared at him.

“You don’t like my language? Well, so what? You act like we’re having a picnic. Can we get on with things? Tell me about Dulcey.”

“No need. I’ve told you all I know. Dulcey has been kidnapped, twice it would seem. Now you tell me... why did Farel take her in the first place?”

“How would I know?”

“You say you were his best friend. Unless that’s a lie, you must have some ideas about it. Tell me, for Dulcey’s sake...for Tracy’s.”

For a moment he was still, saying nothing. Then he took a deep breath so his chest swelled, stretching his red braces and threatening the buttons on his sweat-stained chambray shirt. He flexed an arm and looked at the bulging muscles.

Carrie spoke carefully, keeping her teeth nearly closed so her words came out with a slight hiss. “You listen to me, Bobby Lee Logan. Dulcey Mason is in great danger and you sit here and act cute, like some kind of juvenile delinquent who thinks he’s tough. Well, it won’t work. You aren’t tough; you’re weaker than water...afraid to speak the truth. So, I’m going to Sheriff Wylie and tell him who set that fire. I will also tell him I think you killed Farel Teal. He may already be thinking that Bobby Lee Logan has spent an awful lot of time talking about what everyone else has done and said nothing about what he might have been doing. Sheriff Wylie may be thinking about Bobby Lee Logan right now.”

Bobby Lee’s arm came up in a swift arc, and he hurled his pop cup against the board fence next to the picnic pavilion. The cup smashed, spraying ice and pop over picnic tables and one small boy who had wandered in.

The child began to scream. Carrie got up to check on him and saw that he wasn’t even wet. He was, in fact, enjoying her attention. She left him to his unconvincing sobs, put the pop cup in the trash, and sat down again, watching the fury fade out of Bobby Lee’s face.

Someone in the background collected the child, and his wailing died away.

Carrie waited.

“Chase Mason is a thief.” His voice was low and steady.

He looked at her, testing her reaction. As she watched him she was thinking, I’m not afraid of a child with a bad attitude, Bobby Lee, and that’s just how you act. You have an awful temper, but you don’t frighten me, not really. You probably aren’t as old as my own son, but you’re acting much, much younger... six or seven, maybe.

Finally his eyes drifted sideways. He looked off into some unknown distance and began to talk in a soft voice that didn’t sound like it belonged to him.

“Farel, me, and Tracy, we grew up together, were always together. In fact, mosta the kids called us ‘the triplets.’ We played together, did our homework together, fought with and for each other—you name it. Shoot, we even learned a trade together.”

Bobby Lee laughed, but the laugh was empty of humor. The sound of it sent a ripple down Carrie’s backbone.

He continued, his eyes still looking into the unseen distance. “One of the things my dad did was blacksmithin’ and we all learned the trade. Tracy too. She’s a wiry little gal, stronger than she looks. She could make a knife like the one you saw...did, in fact, make several of them, though she couldn’t do some of the heavier work. Farel had two knives she made for him in his collection. There was only one there last night. I have it now.”