The Silence of the Llamas (26 page)

“Ben is on his way back,” Ellie continued. “He’s not far. He was just sitting in a restaurant up in Newburyport.”

“That’s good,” Maggie heard Dana say. “What did you decide about the police?”

Good for you, Dana. Cleaning up here is fine for now, but I really want a shower in my own bathroom, the sooner the better.

“I just called them. They didn’t have a patrol car nearby, but one should arrive in a little while to take our report. I guess you and Maggie need to stay. Ben and I are going to tell the police the truth when they ask where he was. We’ll tell them we had a fight and he wasn’t here when the llamas got loose.”

Dana answered quickly. “That’s the best thing to do. They shouldn’t give him any problem about that. We’ll be done in a few minutes. Maggie’s still changing.”

“Take your time. I just made some tea, and we can finally have that pie.”

Well, that was some consolation, Maggie thought. The pie had looked good. She leaned over the sink and picked a bit of dirt out of her hair. Yes, she would eat her pie and even some ice cream on the side with impunity after this ordeal.

The women had finished their dessert but were still talking over the wild events of the night when they saw the lights from a car drive up and park at the back of the house.

Ellie peeked through the curtain. “It’s Ben,” she said, then sat down again. She took a breath and suddenly looked tense again.

They heard the back door open, and then he called to her from the mudroom. “I’m back, Ellie.”

He sounded tired . . . and somewhat chastened, Maggie thought.

“Yes, Ben. I saw your car.” She rose from the table and left the kitchen to meet him.

Maggie and Dana retreated into the front parlor, to give them privacy, though they could hear just about every word of the conversation. Ellie was tearful and Ben very apologetic.

“I think they’ll work through this,” Dana whispered.

Maggie nodded. She’d taken out her knitting and was stitching away when the police finally arrived.

Two officers came to the front door. Ellie and Ben showed them in. Ellie explained the events of the night and introduced the police officers to Dana and Maggie.

“Officer Hanson and Officer Stahl have been here before. When Daphne was attacked,” Ellie explained to her friends.

“I can see everyone is tired. I’m just going to take your statements and you can go home,” the older police officer told them. He already had a notepad out and began asking them questions.

Meanwhile, Ellie and Ben were talking with the other officer, a bulky, dark-haired young man who Maggie guessed was less experienced than Hanson. He bounced on the balls of his feet as he listened to their replies to his questions. The Kruegers took him outside to see the gate that had been opened and the hate message that had been painted on the barn doors.

They came back in just as Maggie and Dana were finishing their interview with Officer Hanson.

“I think that’s everything.” Officer Hanson looked over his notepad, then flipped it closed. “The detectives on this case will be in touch if they need any more information.”

Maggie was relieved to hear that they could go. She imagined Dana was, too. It was already past midnight.

Officer Hanson was now intent on catching up with what the Kruegers had to report. Ellie broke away briefly and gave Dana and Maggie a hug good-bye at the front door.

“Thank you both so much. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been here all alone. I would have lost my mind.” She sounded as if she was either about to laugh or cry. Her nerves were frayed to the breaking point, Maggie thought.

“You would have managed, Ellie.” Dana hugged her back. “You led the charge. We were just foot soldiers. You’re very strong and brave.”

“It was an adventure,” Maggie said wryly. “Now I can tell everyone I’ve taken part in a llama roundup. Hang in there. This will be over soon. I just have a feeling.”

“I hope you’re right, Maggie.” Ellie gazed at her a moment, then stepped back. “Get home safe. I’ll call when I get a chance.”

“Yes, please do. Call me soon,” Dana said.

Maggie and Dana didn’t talk much on the ride back. They were both exhausted, Maggie thought, and crashing after the rush of adrenaline they’d felt while chasing the llamas.

The road back to the village was dark and empty. They passed few cars or trucks, just the rolling, silent landscape, fields and woods, the occasional house or barn bathed in silvery moonlight. Maggie stared out the window drowsily until Dana’s voice roused her.

“I know this has been an ordeal for Ellie and Ben, and a strain on their marriage. But I hope they don’t give up and leave. I think they should wait a while before they make such a big decision. At least until this investigation is over.”

“I do, too. But I can understand why Ben wants to go.
Nothing has turned out as they’d hoped or planned. Not even their marriage, from Ellie’s perspective.”

“That was a blow,” Dana agreed. “But Ellie’s hanging in there. Maybe they’ll talk things through and end up feeling even closer.”

“I hope so.” Maggie thought that was an optimistic prediction, all things considered. But who was she to say? “It was scary out there in the dark. But no harm done to the animals, luckily.”

“Yes, no harm done.” Dana nodded, her gaze fixed on the dark road. “But I wonder what the police think now. Obviously Ridley did not come back from the grave and paint that message on the barn.”

“I think we can rule that out. Either he wasn’t the one harassing them, as his daughter claims,” Maggie recalled. “Or he wasn’t the only one. And it could be entirely unconnected to the other incidents,” she added, reminding Dana of their earlier conversation.

“It’s hard to say. Either way, I’m not sure this latest incident does anything to support Ben’s innocence one way or the other.”

“Unfortunately not,” Maggie agreed. She turned and stared out the window again. “It doesn’t help us figure out who killed Ridley, either,” she added. “I’m starting to think someone is trying to frame Ben. But I can’t figure out who or why.”

“I know what you mean. The pieces are all there . . . but it’s very frustrating.” Dana turned to her. “The pot is still simmering, Maggie. But it hasn’t boiled down yet.”

“Not yet. But it’s getting there,” Maggie predicted.

She could almost taste it, in the damp, earthy scent that clung to her hair and clothes. And the sour-sweet smell of rotten apples.

M
aggie started off Monday with two Advil, swallowed down with a gulp of coffee. She still ached all over but went on about her business, getting dressed, going into town, and unlocking the shop at twenty to nine. She wasn’t the type to stay home and baby herself.

This is the way it is when you take a fall in middle age, she told herself. It feels even worse a day or two later. She’d taken it easy on Sunday, read the newspapers and knitted a bit . . . and ignored the thick layers of leaves that covered her lawn.

She hadn’t even made much effort to get in touch with Lucy or Suzanne to relate her wild night with Dana on the llama farm. She’d simply sent out a short e-mail and expected Lucy be the first to rise to the bait.

Maggie was back in the storeroom when she heard someone come in the shop before the official opening time.

“I’ll be right out. I’m just making some coffee,” she called out, expecting her early visitor to be Lucy.

“Mrs. Messina? It’s Detective Walsh . . . and I’ve already had my coffee.”

Maggie didn’t like hearing that. She didn’t like Detective Walsh. Never would. And with good reason. He’d practically arrested her for murder—and had never apologized, she always remembered. She knew he had only been trying to do his job. But in her humble opinion, he did it very badly.

She took her time fixing her own mug of coffee, put on her shopkeeper’s face, and walked out to meet him.

He had walked to the back of the shop. Maggie found him standing near the worktable and guessed that he’d probably been debating whether or not to hunt her down in the storeroom.

Detective Walsh looked much the same, she noticed. A tall man with a long, typically unsmiling face, dark eyes that looked as if they’d seen a lot of sad situations. Not too much could surprise him, or move him, anymore.

“Hello, Detective. How can I help you?” Maggie greeted him.

“I understand that you were at the Kruegers’ farm Saturday night, Mrs. Messina. Visiting Ellie Krueger.”

“Yes, I was. With a friend of mine, Dana Haeger.”

He nodded quickly. He knew who Dana was. He probably knew her husband, Jack, at least by name and also knew that Jack still had a lot of friends in the police department. More friends than Walsh did, Maggie would wager.

“We got there about six, for dinner, and had planned to watch a movie and do some knitting. Then ended up helping her round up the llamas,” Maggie explained.

Maggie had told Officer Hanson the same, in just about
the same words, too. She wondered why she rated this special visit from the head of the investigation.

“I understand that another friend of yours . . . Suzanne Cavanaugh,” he read off the pad again, “has some sort of photograph she wants to give us.”

Maggie nodded. “She was doing an appraisal Saturday at a property right next door to the Ridley farm, and she saw the same sort of spindle that was used to kill Mr. Ridley, on the floor, in the front parlor.” Well . . . under a chair, more precisely. But that was a long story and not worth going into, Maggie decided. “And this neighbor, Walter Kranowksi, disliked Justin Ridley. He went on and on about it.”

Detective Walsh didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head, staring at her. “I had a feeling I was going to run into you on this case, Mrs. Messina. Your name and the names of your friends are all over the reports of these incidents.”

“We all know the Kruegers and happened to be at the festival or visiting the farm when these strange events occurred.”

He smiled slightly and shook his head. “It is uncanny how that always happens to your group, isn’t it?” He forced a thin smile. Maggie found it menacing but had a feeling it was an effort on his part to be friendly. “I’m only going to warn you once. If you meddle in this investigation in any way, you will all be charged with obstruction. I’m serious this time.”

Maggie nodded quickly. “I understand you, Detective. Believe me.”

He didn’t look truly satisfied by her answer. Maggie wondered if more threats were coming. But finally he said, “You do your job, Mrs. Messina, and I’ll do mine.”

“As it should be,” Maggie said agreeably. She tried to look contrite and properly scolded. It was hard, but she tried.

He stood back, and she could tell he was ready to go. She was relieved he didn’t ramble on with more warnings.

There were a lot of questions she wished she could ask him about the case. But even if he did take the time to hear her out, she was sure he wouldn’t answer them. He probably didn’t know the answers to most of them anyway, she decided.

His phone sounded, and he pulled it out and checked the number. Then he looked back up at her. “That’s all I came to say. As long as we understand each other.”

Maggie nodded again, feeling as if she’d been dismissed. Even though it was her own shop and it should have been the other way around.

“Good-bye, Detective. Have a good day.”

He nodded, seeming unaware of her sarcasm. Then he turned and left without noticing her sly smile.

When the shop was empty again, Maggie felt mildly infuriated and totally invaded, though she wasn’t sure why. She used the nervous energy to rearrange the stock, emptying a few baskets that still held summer colors and fibers and refilling them with enticing fall and winter choices.

She hardly noticed when Lucy strolled in. “Aren’t you the little whirlwind today. Looks like you’re pulling the store apart.”

“It needed to be done,” she said shortly. “I just had a visit from Detective Walsh, and that always raises my blood pressure. I’m just working off some steam.”

“Uh-oh. What did he want?” Lucy flopped on an armchair and stretched out her long legs.

“Oh, just the usual macho beating-his-chest routine about any of us—particularly me—screwing up his investigation.”

“Oh . . . the irony.” Lucy smiled and looked at the ceiling.

“Exactly,” Maggie agreed. If they hadn’t asked a few questions around town and put things together when Amanda Goran was murdered and when their friend Gloria drowned last summer, both of those investigations would have gone nowhere.

Maggie sighed and clamped her yarn swift to the table.

“Why even go there?” she said finally. “I did want to ask him if the police had ever checked out Kranowski’s story about his gout and so many other questionable points. But, of course, I couldn’t say a word about it. He would have found some reason to lead me out of here in handcuffs.”

“Oh, Maggie. I know he’s a twit, but now you’re exaggerating. Besides there’s a big difference between meddling in police business and just . . . well, living your life.”

Maggie wasn’t sure where this was going. But Lucy had piqued her interest. “You mean like all of us just happened to be at the festival when the llamas were attacked?”