Pride v. Prejudice Page 6

  * * *

  Caron and her best friend, Inez Thornton, were sitting by the pool, both texting. I sank down on a chaise longue and asked the trite parental question: “How was school?”

  Caron didn’t bother to look up. “Okay, I guess. The principal and the guidance counselor were caught having kinky sex in the library. The librarian would have intervened if she hadn’t been taken hostage by the custodian, who was high on crack and toting an assault weapon. The SWAT team took him out by fifth period, which meant I still had to go to my AP calculus class. Luckily, I was able to grab a fire extinguisher and put out the raging inferno before anyone was charred. Oh, and I got a ninety-seven on a pop quiz in my world history class.”

  “I aced it,” Inez said. “How was your day, Ms. Malloy?”

  “Nothing but lions and tigers and bears.” I leaned back and closed my eyes. “Did Peter tell you that we’re having a houseguest?”

  “He’s not home yet,” Caron said, “so he hasn’t told me much of anything. Who’s coming? I do hope it’s the ambassador of someplace really cool like Monaco or Andorra.”

  Inez giggled. “I vote for the incredibly handsome son of the French ambassador. Je t’aime, Jean-Claude.”

  “In your dreams,” Caron said with a sniff.

  “Je veux t’embrasser,” Inez warbled, “et ce n’est pas tout.”

  “Not bad,” I said. “Haven’t you been taking Latin all these years?”

  “Latin is utilitarian, but hardly the language of romance. The library has a French language tutorial with a bunch of CDs. I kept checking it out all summer. I plan to do my junior year at the Sorbonne.” Inez had accomplished many other things over the summer. Her once limp brown hair was smartly styled and glistened with highlights. Her thick glasses had been replaced with contacts. New clothes, including the tiny bikini she was wearing, had revealed a rather curvy figure. Caron had always been first violin; now she was struggling not to play second fiddle.

  “Bonne chance,” I said, amused at Caron’s pinched expression.

  Inez stopped texting long enough to push back her hair. “To sleep, perchance to dream of Jean-Claude, mon amour.” She looked at me. “Unless you’re expecting someone else, of course.”

  “I’m afraid so. Peter’s mother is arriving Monday.”

  Caron’s thumbs froze in midtweet. “Peter’s mother?”

  Inez looked curiously at her. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No,” I said, “it’s more of a sudden thing. We’ve never met her. She was on a lengthy tour of China when we got married last spring. She sent an antique porcelain figurine as a wedding present.” I clutched my hand to my mouth. “I haven’t seen it since it arrived. We repacked it in the same box so it wouldn’t get broken during the move. But we unpacked all the boxes, didn’t we? I remember labeling it and putting it in the pile behind the dining table.” I tried desperately to visualize the stacked boxes, one adorned with a scrawled Ming Thing. “Are there any unopened boxes in the storage room off the garage?”

  Caron shook her head. “I went out there last week to look for my old yearbooks. There were a couple of boxes of your books, a scruffy suitcase, a stepladder, and a trunk filled with notebooks and letters.”

  Notebooks and letters that I’d forgotten to burn. I watched her face for a sign that she’d snooped through the contents of the trunk. Her lower lip had not shot out, nor were her eyebrows lowered. “You’re sure the porcelain figurine wasn’t there?”

  “I opened all the boxes, Mother. I would have noticed if one was stuffed with packing peanuts and wadded-up Chinese newspaper. Right before we moved, you had the thrift store guys haul off a bunch of crap.”

  “Oh, no,” I gurgled.

  I was battling to breathe as Peter came out to the terrace. He grinned at the girls and then bent down to kiss the top of my head. “Shall I open a bottle of something to celebrate the onset of the weekend? Chardonnay sound okay?”

  Cyanide would have sounded okay. “Yes, dear, that would be lovely,” I said as I shot a warning look at Caron and Inez. “There’s a wedge of brie in the refrigerator, and a box of crackers in a cabinet. Shall I help?”

  “Stay right here,” he said as he went into the house. Operating a corkscrew tends to make him feel manly, as if he’d grown, picked, and stomped the grapes himself. I would never dream of disillusioning him.

  As soon as I heard the refrigerator door open, I whispered, “What time does the thrift store close?”

  Caron’s eyebrow rose. “How would I know?”

  “It’ll be open tomorrow,” Inez said.

  I felt a tiny twitch of optimism. The figurine was a particularly ugly man with a scowl. One arm was missing, as was a bit of his nose. The glaze had flaked off over the centuries. No one would have given it a second glance, I told myself. I could only trust the thrift store workers hadn’t tossed it in the trash. “I need help,” I said in a low voice.

  Greed flashed across my darling daughter’s countenance. “I’m pretty busy. Joel and I are going to a movie tomorrow night, so I have to get ready for that. You told me I could have people over to swim this weekend, remember? About a dozen are coming Sunday afternoon. I was just going to get chips and dip, but…”

  “Money for pizza?”

  “Steaks would be nice,” she said.

  “Very nice. However, this is contingent on your success. If you don’t have any luck, I’ll spring for hamburgers. Deal?”

  The abacus inside her head clicked as she pondered the likelihood of finding the figurine. “How long do I have to try to find it?”

  “Until Sunday at three o’clock. Will you agree to be at the thrift shop at nine tomorrow morning?”

  Peter gave us a puzzled look as he came out to the terrace. “What’re you going to do at the thrift shop, Caron? Volunteer?”

  “Absolutely,” Inez said. “Now that school’s started, we don’t have time to volunteer at the Literacy Council. I need to pad my college applications for maximum impact.”

  “That’s right,” Caron added. “I may decide to apply to the Sorbonne. I hear they’re real sticklers about volunteerism.”

  “Bonne chance,” I said, trying not to laugh.

  Peter poured wine into the glasses and sat on a chaise longue. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with my mother’s visit, would it?”

  Inez’s eyes widened. “Did she attend the Sorbonne?”

  “Not that I recall,” he said. “So, how was school?”

  * * *

  The next morning I found a cereal bowl in the sink, indicating Caron had arisen and departed according to schedule. I started coffee, walked down the driveway to the road to collect the newspaper from its box, and was seated at the kitchen island when Peter emerged from the bedroom. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa shortly after dinner, sparing me any awkward conversations. I wasn’t in the mood for any at the moment—or for the next three days.

  “Shall we go out to the terrace?” I asked. “I’ll bring muffins and jam.”

  “I’m thinking serious breakfast.” He opened the refrigerator and began pulling out the components for what he considered to be his signature omelet. “You getting anywhere with your latest murder investigation?”

  “My what?” I said haughtily.

  “Jorgeson mentioned that you dropped by the PD yesterday while I was in that damn meeting. I asked him for details. When I accessed the Poppoy file, I noticed the address is less than half a mile from the Swift woman’s house. Two burglars, still at large. Have you interviewed her yet?”

  “No,” I said, “and don’t bother to tell me to back off. I am not going to let that dreadful weasel throw Sarah to the judicial wolves so he can get elected to the bench. You yourself said he’s bigoted and a male chauvinist. Think how much more damage he’ll be able to do if he becomes a judge.”

  Peter grinned. “I wasn’t going to tell you to back off, my dear. I was going to ask if I can help.”

  “Oh.”

  �
��Covertly, of course. I can’t do anything that could be perceived as undermining the sheriff’s department. We coordinate with them on drug- and alcohol-related cases. The sheriff’s Harvey Dorfer. You met him when you got caught up in the pet theft business.”

  Distasteful memories came back like the miasma of pungent cigar smoke that had emanated from his stubby butts. Sheriff Dorfer had been more than testy when I’d attempted to assist in his so-called investigation, and he’d ordered a deputy to arrest me for a variety of petty missteps, including harboring a fugitive. Peter’s intervention and my success in identifying the perp had led to a truce of sorts. “Oh, yes, and we did not hit it off. I remember thinking he was ineffectual.”

  “He’s a politician, so he’s careful. Stereotypic good ol’ boy, but sharp. He has to be to deal with all the crazies in Stump County. Crime and violence are common in some of those little towns in the backwoods.”

  “Moonshiners?”

  He began to crack eggs into a bowl. “Morons blowing themselves up while cooking meth in their kitchens. Nobody would care if they went off to shacks to do it, but it’s always at home, often with children in the next room. Where’s the whisk?”

  “In one of those drawers,” I said. “Would you ask Sheriff Dorfer if I can meet with him this afternoon?” I told him about Zachery Barnard’s purported sighting of a suspicious van parked in the area, and his failure to add any pertinent details. “I’ve been wondering if Miss Poppoy might be able to better describe the men now that she’s recovered from the shock.”

  He brandished the whisk. “I’ll call and see if he’s in his office, but it’s a holiday weekend and it’s likely that a rookie has been left in charge. Do we have any chives?”

  * * *

  As I drove out County 107, I began to regret having indulged in the omelet, the sausage, and an hour of genteel marital shenanigans. This was not the time for complacency; it was the time for assertiveness and hunger for the truth.

  I turned at Sarah’s road and stopped in front of the house. The pickup truck was gone. Although I’d intended to ask her to accompany me when I questioned Miss Poppoy, I had no time to waste. I was backing up when I realized I hadn’t heard from Juniper Lund. Sarah’s trial would begin in less than seventy-two hours. I decided to cast etiquette to the breeze and drop by unannounced.

  Emily Post would have been appalled.

  There were no occupants in view as I parked beside their house, but I could hear the shrill babble of cartoon voices from within. I knocked on the door and waited, willing myself to be steely.

  The door opened. I recognized William Lund from the photo Sarah had shown me. “Good morning,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Claire Malloy. I spoke to your wife yesterday.”

  “About Sarah’s trouble,” he said with a nod. “When I asked if I could help you, I was thinking about giving directions or looking under the hood of your car. I don’t see how I can say or do anything that’s going to help Sarah. We feel bad for her. She was miserable being married to Tuck. He had good spells, when we’d go fishing or watch football. We’d all sit around and drink wine, talking about life, politics, and always blueberries. Tuck spent hours at the library researching hybrids, fertilizers, and organic pest control. He knew more than the accreditation inspectors from the IOIA. He used to confuse them with all the chemistry lingo.”

  “When he had bad spells?”

  William looked over his shoulder. “Let’s go out on the porch. Billy doesn’t need to hear this. He’s got a wild imagination, and keen ears. Junie’d throw a fit if she knew I let him watch all those gory cartoons. We can’t protect him from everything. There’s a vampire on Sesame Street, for chrissake.” He gestured for me to sit in one of the wicker chairs. “I grew up on Gilligan’s Island and Rin Tin Tin. On Saturday mornings I watched Lassie.” He cupped his hand behind his ear. “What’s that, boy? Timmy’s fallen down the well and is being eaten alive by zombies?”

  “Zombies!” Billy howled as he barged out the door, the cap gun in his grubby hand. “Where are they, Gramps? I’m gonna blow their heads off!”

  “I think they all went out behind the barn to help Grandma pick vegetables for dinner. You need to go protect her.”

  Billy pointed the gun at me. “What do you want, lady?”

  Candor would not endear me to his grandfather. “Aren’t you missing your show?” I asked sweetly.

  “Now it’s just a bunch of stupid commercials, and I don’t care if the zombies want to pick stupid vegetables.” He glared at me. “Nobody makes me eat vegetables. I hate vegetables, ’specially carrots. Carrots are nothing but rotten teeth that fall out of werewolves’ mouths. You know what cabbages are? They’re scaly dragon balls. My cousin told me, and he’s older than me. He said that zucchinis are—”

  “That’s it, Billy,” William said. “The commercials should be done by now. You need to go back inside.”

  “My mother says she sends me here so I can play outside.”

  “Either go inside or go help Grandma in the garden.”

  Billy aimed the cap gun at us, then shrugged and went back into the house. His departure was accompanied by a series of bangs and the same whiff of acrid smoke as at our prior encounter.

  “You were telling me about Tuck,” I prompted William.

  “He could be stingy. A lot of us at the farmers’ market donate part of our unsold produce to a food bank, but Tuck collected every stray lettuce leaf and took it home. He was ready to drink my beer but got pissed if I drank his. He yelled at Sarah when she bought new shoes. Tighter than bark on a tree, they say around these parts. He was paranoid, too. One night he got drunk and told me that every cop in the country was out to get him, along with the military and the FBI. Sarah told me that he used to sit on the porch, the shotgun across his lap, waiting for”—he held up his hands in mock terror—“a SWAT team, or maybe aliens.”

  “He sounds like a real pain,” I murmured.

  “Sometimes, yeah.”

  “What can you tell me about the day he was shot?”

  “For one thing, I don’t know why Sarah told the detectives that Tuck and I had planned to go fishing. We stopped going years ago, when he got obsessed with his health. He had crazy ideas about bears, rabid possums, scorpions, surveillance drones, and snipers perched in trees. I got tired of listening to it. If he told Sarah that he and I were going anywhere together, he was lying through his teeth.”

  It was too close to the trial date for tact. “Is it possible that he might have had plans with someone else?”

  William laughed. “You mean a woman? Only if she’d been tested for every communicable disease known to science. I can’t think of anyone right offhand who’d put up with him. No, he was home that night. I noticed a light when I went out to check on the chickens. Something got them all riled up, most likely a stray dog or a fox.”

  “Did you tell this to the detectives?”

  “Did I tell them about a nonexistent fox in the henhouse? Yeah, but they weren’t impressed.” He rocked back and gazed at the porch ceiling. “I like Sarah, but I’m not going to lie for her. Junie’s the same way. We heard the shotgun blast about midnight. She went to see if Billy had been awakened, and I went out the back door to make sure the animals were okay. I didn’t see or hear anything, so I wrote it off as drunken kids riding around taking potshots at mailboxes. We have to replace ours every couple of years. I want to pack it with explosives, but Junie won’t let me.”

  That would be between him and the postal authorities. “Are you sure about the time?” I asked.

  “Real sure. I was watching a movie that was over at midnight. I’d just gotten up off the sofa when I heard the blast. Fifteen minutes earlier I might have missed it, since the posse had caught up with the outlaws in a canyon and guns were blazing. The rancher and his bride were riding off into the sunset at the end of the movie.”

  “Can Junie confirm the time, too?”

  “Said she looked a
t the clock on the bedside table when she got up. You can ask her if you want.”

  It was my turn to gaze at the porch ceiling. “Do you think Sarah’s guilty?”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. From what I heard, she’d had too much to drink. I can’t explain how the two of them ended up in the barn. For all I know, he could have been crawling on the rafters to search for hidden microphones and cameras.” He stood up. I interpreted that as an invitation to leave, so I was surprised when he dug a crumpled cigarette pack from his pocket and sat back down. “Don’t tell Junie. She believes I quit three months ago, but there are times when I need a smoke.” He took a misshapen cigarette out of the pack and lit it. “Tell Sarah I’m sorry about testifying against her, but we don’t have a choice. Junie got snippety with the prosecutor, who threatened to charge her with conspiracy if she didn’t say what he wanted to hear. She came damn close to punching him.”

  “Prosecutor Wessell is not genial,” I said, somewhat disappointed that Junie had restrained herself. “What does he want her to say?”

  “That Sarah hated Tuck and wanted to escape the marriage, that she threatened to kill him more than once, that a few weeks before he was killed, he was sporting a black eye that he blamed on her.” He took a drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. “I’m going to have to testify to that crap, and the nonexistent plans, seeing lights on at the house, and the time of the shotgun blast. Perjury is serious business. I have to tell the truth.” He pinched out the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, stuck the butt in his shirt pocket, and once again stood up. “I need to see what Billy’s up to and then get busy repairing a fence over by the river. Folks, mostly college kids, like to camp out on what’s called Flat Rock, and some of them seem to think it’s okay to pick whatever they want from my field, even if they have to push down the fence. The damn cows are so stupid they’ll decide to go wading. The last time one got loose, it broke a leg. We filled the freezer with ground beef and steaks. Still got most of it.”