The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies (23 page)

She wasn't so dumb. And if she thought her loot was still around, she was also smart enough to think that there was only one likely place for it to be, and that was in Reuben Hofer's house.

Chapter Forty-three

“I've got something for you and you're going to have to come and get it.” McIntire didn't wait for the sheriff to invoke his back, his fatherly duties, his son-ly duties, or his lack of time and deputies. Before Koski showed up to get Chet Greely's shotgun, he intended to take care of an errand of his own.

If Jacob and Samuel Hofer had shot their father, they'd got rid of the weapon. Why? If it belonged to the family, why not just clean it up and put it back where it came from? If the Hofer boys had a twenty gauge, which was now missing, their whole family knew it and was protecting them, or they were all in on the crime together. Nobody in the neighborhood had reported a gun missing, and it would be hard to believe those kids could have gotten hold of one any way other than theft without their parents, or snoopy younger siblings, catching on. They hadn't bought it, not around here. Another possibility was that the trapper, Hector Monson, had left one in the house, and that it had been overlooked in settling up his estate.

It was time to quit pussy-footing around and go straight to one person McIntire might have a chance at cowing into telling the truth. Joseph Hofer.

***

He was playing catch with his sister, looking so much like a real kid that McIntire hated to break the spell. He didn't need to; Claire spotted him, missed the ball, and headed for the weeds to look for it. A few seconds later, Spike bound up with the ball, but without his mistress.

McIntire wrested the ragged drool-covered orb from the animal and wiped it on his pants leg. He tossed it to the boy, who didn't recover from his dumbstruck stare in time to keep it from rolling through the grass and back into the dog's mouth.

Any further attempts at getting friendly would probably only show him up for the fraud he was. McIntire bent low enough to allow the child to hear him without letting his words carry to anyone who might be on the other side of the open windows. “Joey, the sheriff would like to know, does anyone in your family have a gun?”

It was a simple question, one that shouldn't have required the agony of concentration on the round face.

“Pa doesn't allow guns.” Was it a family of parrots? Did Ma line them up every night to practice their lines?

McIntire was halfway erect when Joey went on, barely above a whisper. “We use to have one, but we left it at Grandpa's. It's too bad, ‘cause now we can't shoot a deer.”

***

“They
use
to have one. That's what he said. They left it at Grandpa's.”

“So maybe they did. Reuben didn't want it. Did he also tell you it was a twenty gauge?”

“No. He's a little kid. But he implied it was something you could kill a deer with.”

“If any of the others say it wasn't that kind of gun, are you going to believe them?”

“I ain't gonna believe much of anything that bunch says.”

“So where is it, if it ain't back at Grandpa's?”

“The way I figure it, they could only have done two things—buried it, or hidden it somewhere around the house or barn.”

“Or thrown it down the well, or drove off in the night and dumped it somewhere, or packed it in a suitcase and taken it back to South Dakota. You got a mighty poor imagination. Why get rid of it anyway?” Koski reflected McIntire's thinking. “It only makes them look guilty as all hell.”

“Because they're dumb kids. Although,” McIntire said, “maybe not all that dumb. A missing gun might make them
look
guilty, but the actual weapon might prove them to be guilty. Did you check the well, by the way?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, and, speaking of weapons, can I have the use of your phone a sec?”

The sheriff gave a couple of hefty cranks. “Give me Wanda's…?”

“Cut'n Curl,” McIntire supplied.

“Right. Wanda's. You know the place?” She did.

“Hello there, Mrs. Greely. Pete Koski here. I—sure.” The sheriff waited, picking at his teeth, while Wanda took care of whatever urgent occupation he'd caught her in.

“Sorry to drag you away from your work. I have something that belongs to your husband. I might need to get some information about it. Will Mr. Greely be home this afternoon?” He held the earpiece away from his head and winked. When the squeaking subsided, he drawled, “Weeellll, I guess that might be okay for the time being. Tomorrow it is, high noon. We'll see you then.

“I think it's time we reunited the Bobbsey Twins.” He held the cradle down for a few seconds before releasing it with a pop. “Put me through to Koski's Hardware.”

Arranging Bruno Nickerson's lunch hour activity did not take long. “He says Belinda will have the car, maybe you can pick him up?” Koski slapped his hat back on his head and picked up the case containing Chet Greely's shotgun. “All right, let's go tackle that widow.”

***

“Mrs. Hofer, I don't think you've been entirely honest with us.”

Her hands fluttered up and settled back, like a pair of startled blackbirds. “Well, I can't imagine why you say that. I've certainly tried to be.”

“I asked if you own a shotgun.”

“And I said my husband didn't approve of firearms.” The trembling in her chin started in the center and spread, like waves from a pebble dropped in a pool.

“Do you own a gun?”

“No! That is…I think there was an old one of my father's around somewhere. No one ever used it. I'm not sure if it works anymore, or if all the pieces are even there.”

“We'd like to see it, if you don't mind.”

Mary Frances stared in astonishment at Koski's brusqueness that said it didn't matter a hell of a lot whether she minded or not. Then she called, “Claire!”

The girl came from upstairs, hair arranged to obscure one eye,
ala
Veronica Lake, and a suspicious dab of red on her lips. She'd no doubt seen the sheriff coming.

“Claire,” her mother said, “See if you can find Grandpa's old gun for Mr. Koski.”

The child didn't move.

“What's the matter?”

She turned and left the room. The sound of drawers being opened and closed came from the other side of the wall. She called out, “It doesn't seem to be here.”

“Of course it is. Where else would it be?” So much for her remark about thinking there might have been one “around somewhere.”

“I think maybe the burglar took it!”

Koski called for her to come back into the room. She stood in the doorway, ready for flight.

“Up ‘til now, you were pretty sure nothing was missing.”

“I guess I forgot we had it. We don't ever shoot it.” She echoed Mary Frances' words. Not surprising with her bedroom directly above. Her mother hadn't had to call her twice, even with that feeble voice.

The sheriff asked, “What kind of a gun was it, Mrs. Hofer?”

She glanced toward her daughter before she replied, “I'm not sure. I don't know anything about guns.”

“Did your father use it for hunting?”

“Sometimes, I think, when I was a child.” Her hand flitted up to cover her mouth. “There wasn't much of anything to hunt where we lived.”

“One barrel or two?”

“I don't know. One, I think.” With each reply, her tone became higher and thinner, a building hysteria.

“When did you last see it?”

She looked again to Claire when she spoke, but answered without hesitation. “The day after my husband died. It was in the chest when we took out sheets to make up a bed for Jane.”

“Why didn't you tell us about the gun when we asked?”

“I didn't see any reason to. I didn't even think about it. Maybe I blotted it out of my head. After all, my husband had just been killed by a gun. It wasn't something I liked thinking about. Surely you can understand that. What does it matter? It was just a beat up old gun of my father's. It didn't have anything to do with Reuben.”

“Doesn't it seem strange to you that it's not there now?”

“Yes, of course it does. But the house was broken into.” Her self-conscious snicker returned. “It might have been about all we had worth stealing.”

It was no use. Mrs. Hofer might be lying through her teeth, but as long as they all stuck to the same story, there was no chance of proving them wrong. Although she seemed genuine in her belief that the shotgun was in the chest. If it was true what she said, that the gun was in that chest the day after her husband died, then it had disappeared sometime between then and the morning after the burglary. It might be anywhere between here and South Dakota by now. Once again McIntire realized how short-sighted and irresponsible it had been not to search the house immediately.

“Where is your sister-in-law now?” McIntire asked.

“Gone home. She left early this morning.”

“Claire, come over here. Sit down.”

She crossed the room, skirting McIntire like he was a boa constrictor, and slid onto the edge of the chair offered by the sheriff, facing him.

“On the day your father died, you took his dinner out to him.”

She nodded. “I always did.”

“Did you also take dinner to your brothers?”

She squirmed. “That's Joey's job.”

“So Joey took the lunch?”

“It's his job.”

Once again it wasn't answering the question, but Koski didn't press it. “Your mother said you left here at a quarter past twelve.”

“I don't know exactly.”

“The news was just getting over. Your father wanted his dinner at twelve-thirty, on the button.”

“He was kind of persnickety.”

Koski nodded in understanding. “When Mr. McIntire saw you coming, it was getting toward one o'clock.”

“It's a long ways. A half mile.”

“Which should be a ten or fifteen minute walk for a sprite like you. It took you at least a half hour.”

She nibbled on a dirty forefinger, “I think maybe I had to help Joey. It might have been too much for him to carry.”

“So you went to the potato field yourself?”

“I might have. Ya, I guess I did.”

“When you got to the potato field, were your brothers there?”

Her hand went to the lump under her blouse, and then quickly down.“Sam and Jake, you mean?”

“Yes. Were Samuel and Jacob Hofer in the field?”

“Oh,” she met the sheriff's gaze, “I didn't bother to look. I was in such a big hurry that I just put the dinner pail and the thermos in the pickup and took off.”

Koski stood up. “Mrs. Hofer, I believe we need to talk a little more with your sons.”

Mary Frances spoke through tremulous lips. “I think it might be best if they had an attorney present. They're underage.”

“We'll take them into town. You can ride along, and we'll keep them entertained while you round one up.”

“I don't think I'm well enough for that.”

Koski relented. “It doesn't have to be right this minute. We'll give you a chance to find somebody.”

“Do you have any lawyers in Chandler?”

“A few.”

“A decent one?”

“All well and duly licenced to practice law in the state of Michigan,” Koski told her. “I can't vouch for their decency.”

Chapter Forty-four

Bruno Nickerson and Wanda Greely faced each other across the sheriff's pitted table like a pair of banty roosters. Wanda recovered first. “Hello, Bruno, how have you been?”

“Just fine. You?”

Her smile showed a smear of scarlet on a front tooth. “Very well, thanks. Belinda and the kids doing okay?”

Koski butted in on the chance to get the scoop on Belinda and the kids. “Okay, cut the gab, I didn't get you here for a tea party.”

“What did you get us here for?” Wanda sat primly, handbag on knees. “I don't imagine us being here together is a case of bungled scheduling?”

“Your old business partner's been shot in the head. This is a murder investigation.”

Nickerson gave a huff of disgust. “I might have known you couldn't keep your mouth shut.”

“Mouth shut about what?” Wanda demanded. “We didn't do anything illegal. At least
I
didn't.”

“Theft ain't legal last I heard. That stuff belonged to Reuben and me.”

“And one of you still has it.”

“If I had it, I sure as hell wouldn't be peddling nuts and bolts now!” Bruno glanced at Koski. “Sorry.”

“No,” she responded, “you'd have drunk it all up, and your kids would be sleeping in a tent!”

“Well, the three of you had it,” Koski interjected, “and as far as we know, it's not been sold. So one of you has still got it.”

“It ain't me!” The two spoke in unison.

McIntire said, “Mrs. Greely has indicated that it disappeared from her home after a visit from Mr. Hofer.”

“So it seems reasonable to assume that Reuben walked off with it.” Koski stated.

“He couldn't have!” Wanda slapped the purse on her thighs. “When he left, he didn't have a thing on him.”

Nickerson snickered. “That must have caused some talk around the neighborhood.”

“Oh, shut up. I gave him a ride back to the camp. He was in my car, and he wasn't carrying anything. We'd looked at the stuff before we went to…earlier in the evening,”she corrected. “We each chose one thing for ourselves. Sort of for a keepsake.” She reached to pat Bruno's hand. “You could have done it, too, if you hadn't waltzed off with the whole she-bang!”

“The last time I saw that stuff, you had it, and you're the one with the fancy pink—”

Koski quashed the tiff with a wave of his hand, and Wanda went on, “That was the thing I saw Reuben take when he left. But the next day it was all gone. The only way it could have disappeared is if he got up in the night and handed it off to somebody.”

“It sure as hell wasn't me!”

“Could somebody have broken in?” McIntire asked. “Taken it in the night?”

“It was under my bed.” Which she and Reuben were in, presumably not so deep in slumber that they wouldn't notice an intruder.

“What about while you were off driving Reuben back ‘home'?”

“I never thought of that. I don't lock the door,” she admitted. “Of course it would have to be somebody who knew the relics were there. In other words—” She waved across the table.

Koski jumped in quick, heading off another round of squabbling, which McIntire might have enjoyed. “If either of you have it, I imagine it isn't something you'd keep from your spouses. I don't suppose you have any objections to my talking to them?”

“Go ahead. I got no secrets from Belinda.” The wife who a few days ago didn't need to know everything.

Mrs. Greely was not so sanguine.

“You got no right to drag my husband into your sordid little piddling investigation.”

“Homicide is sordid, no doubt about it, but I wouldn't call investigation of it little or piddling.”

“Is that what we're talking about? Homicide?”

“What else?”

“I didn't kill Reuben because I thought he'd swiped a few trinkets.”

“What did you kill him for?”

“You're as big an ass as what's-his-name here!” And to think a mere forty-eight hours before, she'd been itching to repay what's-his-name's compassion.

“All right, “ Koski said. “Forget about murder for the time being. Try to follow me here. Somebody ransacked Reuben Hofer's house, obviously looking for something. Something we figure they didn't find. You,” he aimed a forefinger at each of them, “have lost something. Something you think Reuben might have taken. Ergo….”

His encouraging nod was met with twin blank stares.

“All right, back to murder. A murderer has to have a motive, of course. Revenge is one of the all-time favorites, but revenge over a few missing trinkets, as you say, Mrs. Greely, is weak, especially if the victim may still be able to produce said trinkets, unless, of course, he was dead.”

“I'm glad you are at least able to figure that much out.”

“‘Course there's other motives. Maybe just wanting to get rid of somebody inconvenient. Somebody that could do a good job of messing up your life. Or plain old anger. Rage at something that isn't the way you thought it might be. Fury at betrayal, that sort of thing.”

Bruno sat dazed. Wanda turned clownlike, skin pale with pink circular cheeks and crimson lips.

Koski heaved a despondent sigh. “I guess maybe we have no choice but to contact those spouses.”

“You can't!” The screech could have shattered glass.

“I'd have to have a damn good reason not to.”

“All right then, how's this? I did it.”

Bruno's jaw dropped. “You shot Reuben Hofer?”

“Oh for cripe's sake!” Wanda Greely faced Koski and put her hands on the table, ready for the cuffs.

“I searched his house. I know he took the stuff. He got me into…he took advantage of me, and, when my back was turned he made off with the stuff. He couldn't have lugged it all the way to California, so he must have taken it to his wife, and she's still got it somewhere.

“I didn't plan to look for it myself. I thought I could make his wife see that Reuben and I had an agreement, and she should honor it.”

Nickerson sat dazed, not even objecting to being left out of the “agreement.”

“But the house was empty, so I just thought to have a quick snoop around. I know it was wrong, but it had to be there! Anyway, one thing led to another, and…”

“So you searched all through the house?”

“And made a big mess, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. I'll try to make it up to them, somehow.”

They could definitely use the services of a hairdresser. McIntire asked, “You did this by yourself?”

“Of course.”

“You searched the house—and the barn.”

“That's right.”

“The little girl was in the barn when you got there. She hid under the hay in the loft. All night.”

“Oh, God.” After a quick glance in Nickerson's direction, she dropped her forehead to her hands.

“She heard someone come into the barn and up the ladder to the loft. I guess that was you,” Koski said.

She nodded, head down, fingers buried in her hair.

Koski bent down to peer at her four inch heels and pencil wide skirt. “You'd gotten all dolled up in your bib overalls and shit-kickers, I take it?”

She raised her head and said with an anemic smile, “Not exactly, but close.”

“To pay a visit to a bereaved woman, asking that she honor her late husband's business agreements?”

Mrs. Greely sank back into her chair. “Sorry, Bruno.”

“You moron!”

She studied her ruby enameled claws for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “Send him out of here.”

Koski nodded to Nickerson. “Take a walk. Don't go too far.”

The door closing on Nickerson's back was Wanda's signal to turn all business. “I figure his wife killed him, and it's my fault,” she said with no preamble. “Like I told”—She gave a twitch of her head toward McIntire—“I sent a letter to Reuben with a picture of my son.” At McIntire's cough she added, “Our son. Reuben's and mine. I shouldn't have done it, but I didn't know then that
my
son looked so much like
his
son. I didn't think Kevin looked much like the Reuben I remember. Maybe some around the eyes. I went to see Mrs. Hofer more out of curiosity than anything else. I didn't so much want the money, as just to know once and for all what happened, and that it wasn't that bastard Bruno! Pardon my French.

“After I saw the boy, I knew she had to have done it. She'd have known the second she saw that picture. They could be twins…damn!” She slapped her hands to her cheeks.

“What?”

“I was right! If our two boys are about the same age, and they
must
be, that means that Reuben was back with his wife close to the time he was…with me. Right before he was sent off to California. He
did
leave the stuff with her!”

They weren't the same age. Joey Hofer had to be a year or so older, maybe more, for all the difference that made.

Koski waved his hand, “Get back to the story.”

“What else is there? You were talking about motive. Mrs. Hofer must have seen the snapshot, and known right off what Reuben had been up to, so she killed him.”

The sheriff took time to light a Camel before saying, “Mrs. Greely, Mary Frances Hofer weighs in at around three-hundred-fifty pounds. She can barely get off her chair. I ain't sure she
can
get off her chair. She didn't sneak out to the hayfield, shoot her husband, and sprint back to the kitchen in time to be shelling peas when the law showed up.”

“Three-fifty?”

“At least.”

“Cripes.” The penciled on brows drew together. “So she didn't shoot Reuben then?”

“No. That we can be sure of.”

Her head dropped again, this time onto her folded arms. Only the regular twitching of her back and shoulders indicated that she hadn't been overcome with the urge to take a nap.

The two men regarded each other through the haze of smoke, and waited. A long time. McIntire contemplated the dark roots of Mrs. Greely's copper penny hair. Koski reached toward her shoulder but pulled back. The spasms went on, counterpoint to lapping of the waves outside the window.

When she lifted her head at last, her face was blotched with red, smeared with pink, and streaked with black.

Koski handed her a lighted cigarette and McIntire contributed his folded handkerchief. The last of the three dozen Leonie had insisted on leaving clean and pressed.

“It wasn't Chet. I know it wasn't.” McIntire flinched as she blew her nose. “I thought she'd killed him. I was sure of it. Otherwise, I'd never have bothered her again, a new widow. But I wanted to know what had happened to those artifacts. I talked Bruno into going to see her. We didn't drive together, of course. It wasn't Bruno's fault. He's not too smart. I just wanted to know what happened and—”

“Bullshit!”

“What?”

“You wanted her gone,” McIntire said. “You might have visited the first time for the reasons that you say, and once you saw Joey Hofer, you might have thought Mary Frances had killed her husband, but most of all you wanted her to pack up and leave.”

“Okay, I admit it. I hoped with Reuben dead, they'd move away. Why wouldn't I?” She sucked at the cigarette. “I knew that they'd taken Mrs. Hofer to the hospital, and that there was nobody home. You hear everything in a beauty parlor.”

“So you decided to try your hand at burglary.”

“I talked Bruno into going. I said that maybe she didn't know about our agreement with Reuben, and we could at least talk to her about it. I didn't tell him she wouldn't be home. Then I convinced him to search the house. I waited in my car, out on the road. If anybody came along, I was going to honk the horn, so he could come outside, and we'd act like we just got there. He was gone for ages. Finally I saw him come out the back door and head off to the barn, so I got out to check. He'd gone crazy! The place was a disaster. I high-tailed it back to my car and got the hell out of there.”

McIntire dwelled only for a second on the tantalizing image of Wanda's high tailing. So far what she said may have been true. Had Bruno been getting posthumous revenge for the destruction he'd had to deal with compliments of the “Tobacco Road Gang?” But there was more. “So why'd you go back?” he asked.

“I didn't go back. I went straight home.”

McIntire gazed at the gun case in the corner.

“All right!” It was venomous, but she inhaled, and continued measured and civilized. “The next day, after I finished work, I went back. I felt terrible about all the mess, even though I hadn't actually done it myself, of course. Bruno wouldn't have gone to the house without me. It was my idea that got him there. So I went back and brought the relic that I kept.” She nodded to McIntire. “The stone with the hole in it. There were two of them, and Reuben and I each took one. I thought giving mine to his wife might be a sort of peace offering. Of course I know it couldn't make up for—”

“Bullshit!”

“I second that bullshit,” Koski said. “It wasn't just the earspool there. That's what it is by the way—antique jewelry.”

“No kidding?”

“So here's the million dollar question, Mrs. Greely. Who's hand was it?”

“Hand?” The laughter looked ludicrous on the tear-ravaged face, and went on almost as long as the crying jag had. “Some detectives! Hand? Did you really think? That must be….” McIntire's already black-smeared handkerchief suffered further indignities. “It wasn't human!”

Koski stared. “Martian?”

“
Bear
. It's a bear paw. Chet made it for Kevin last Halloween. It was on a stick so he could pull a string and it would—” She opened and closed her hand.

“A bear paw?”

“I thought it might fool an Iowa farm girl.”