Chapter 10
It was mid-afternoon before Mom and I had lunch at the Spaghetti Warehouse, but even then neither of us felt hungry. After the police arrived at Allred’s shop they questioned us extensively, both there and at precinct headquarters. I debated whether I should hand over the medallion to the police, but Mom persuaded me that it was the right thing to do. However, that involved going into depth about the background of the medallion and Ben’s murder. Finally, the investigating officer called Grant to verify our story. Grant must have done some fast talking to keep us from being detained. At any rate, our trip to escape a killer in Ventris County and clear our minds of past sad events had failed miserably.
“Do you think the person who killed Mr. Allred is the same one who killed Ben?” Mom asked, taking a sip of icy sweet tea.
“I would say that it is a strong possibility. I don’t know how the killer learned about Jason Allred, but there has to be a connection. He must have been hunting for the medallion and Allred refused to give him any information. Maybe Allred was killed to keep him from identifying his killer. I would guess that something scared off the murderer before he searched Mr. Allred’s body. Oh, I don’t know, Mom. I’m just trying to figure all this out.”
A horrifying suspicion caused me to choke on my tea. I knew for sure that someone was watching me—possibly Ray Drake—as I had seen his car slide past my hiding place when I was on the way to Granny Grace’s. Had he or someone else followed me to New York City? Had he been in the plane during my flight? Had he tailed me through the labyrinth of city streets to Arlen Templeton’s office? Fishing in my purse, I pulled my cell phone out and found the number for Forrestal Antiquities. Punching it in, I waited as it rang in that far off office.
“Who are you calling?” Mom asked.
I held up one finger. “I’ll tell you in a minute.”
The brittle voice of Minda Stilley answered on the first ring.
I identified myself but before I could tell her the reason for my call, she laughed and said, “Oh, Mrs. Campbell, I’m so glad to talk to you again. One of your concerned law officers from Levi dropped in after you left the office. He said he is keeping an eye on you and wanted to be sure you stayed safe. He wanted to know where you planned to go next. Wasn’t that thoughtful? Mr. Templeton was out of his office but I found that paper on his desk with the address of the Oklahoma City antiquities dealer. Of course, I want to aid the law in every way I can and most certainly thought it was nice of him to be watching over you, like a guardian angel.”
A cold hand seemed to close around my throat. Shutting my eyes, I waited for a moment before I could find my voice. It was just possible that Ms. Stilley’s helpfulness had cost a man his life.
“Can you remember what the law officer looked like?” I asked.
She giggled. “Cute. He kept his cowboy hat on the whole time, but he had dark hair and a nice tan. Very attractive. I wouldn’t mind having somebody like that watching over me.”
Thanking her, I hung up. Cute? Surely that let out Ray Drake. A lawman? Was it Jim Clendon or somebody with a fake ID?
Mom’s voice betrayed her anxiety. “Why did you call that New York antiquities dealer, Darcy? Why are you looking like that?”
Shaking my head, I said, “I’m afraid that Mr. Allred’s death just got more complicated.” And I reiterated Minda Stilley’s information.
Mom was silent for a long while, gently stirring the ice in her glass. At last, she said, “We may as well go home tomorrow. I sure don’t have the heart to sight-see and evidently we are just as safe in Levi as we would be here.”
I nodded. “You’re right. Thank goodness the chief gave us permission to leave. Since he had us write down our life history, he probably feels it’s safe enough to let us go.”
When we arrived back in Levi the next evening, the telephone’s message light was blinking. I pushed the play button and heard Grant’s voice.
“Darcy, when you get home, give me a call either at the office or at my house. I’ve found out something about Ray Drake that you should know.”
It was after six o’clock, so I found Grant’s home phone number and punched it in.
“Thanks for helping us get out of the city,” I said. “If you hadn’t talked to Chief Spencer, we’d probably be locked up by now.”
“I doubt that,” Grant said. “I did some checking on this Drake character and that isn’t his real name. He’s a long way from being an FBI agent, and the blue Buick he drives is a rental car. Drake is actually Cub Mathers. It was a long route to trace him down through papers he filled out for the car agency but he rented it in Houston, flew there from Chicago, and then drove up here. That’s a roundabout way to get to Oklahoma, but he probably had other fish to fry along the way. Anyhow, Cub is a big-time crook in Chicago. He’s officially known as a hit man.”
“A hit man?” I gulped.
“Yep. You and Miss Flora entertained one of the most heartless guys in Illinois. There’s not much he wouldn’t do. Like it or not, I’m sending a patrol car by your house every hour. Leave all your outside lights on so my man can have a good look as he passes, and Darcy —”
“Yes?”
“Darcy, be careful. I think trouble follows you like a hound dog follows the trail of a raccoon. When did you get to be such a magnet for danger?”
“Hey! Thanks for comparing me to raccoons and hounds. I’m not a magnet for anything, thank you! This is your quiet, peaceful town, Mr. Hendley. May I remind you that I’m not the sheriff here?”
As I hung up, I heard him chuckle. He irritated me so that I forgot to tell him what I learned from Minda Stilley.
Sleep eluded me that night. Tomorrow was the long-awaited Decoration Day at Goshen Cemetery. Mom and I would get up early, load the car with flowers, and return to the cemetery. Neither of us had been there since the day we found Ben’s body.
Somewhere in the darkness, an owl hooted. Crossing to my bedroom’s double window, I peered out. Perhaps I could glimpse my favorite bird. I didn’t believe the ancient superstition about owls announcing trouble. Hearing an owl could mean there would be a change in the weather. That wasn’t superstition; that was fact. Again, the owl hooted softly.
Another superstition haunted me, the one about trouble coming in threes. First was Ben’s death, then the Oklahoma City antiques dealer. If I believed that old saying, there’d be one more death. Superstitions surely did not belong in a civilized society. “Fear is the opposite of faith,” I told the invisible owl.
Nevertheless, someone was responsible for the murders. Allred’s death must surely be tied to Ben’s, but enough of such thoughts! A cup of hot tea would relax me.
As I turned from the window, something moved at the front corner of the house. My heart did a flip and landed in my mouth. Had the movement been a piece of paper blown by the mounting wind? Or maybe it was just a shadow and my nerves were playing tricks. But, as I squinted into the night, the shadow moved again.
Gripping the windowsill, I forced myself to breathe normally. If someone was lurking around the house, would he try to get in? Should I call Grant or dial 911? If it turned out to be just a cat or a dog looking for scraps of food, I would feel foolish calling the law.
Dad’s handgun still lay downstairs in the bookshelf drawer. I would feel better if I had it, just until I could decide what else to do. Mom was sleeping and I didn’t want to wake her. Hopefully, she had remembered to lock the outside doors before going to bed. Another thought stopped me on the stairs. Had someone managed to get in while I debated what to do? Was an intruder even now waiting for me in the darkness?
Creeping down the stairs and into the living room, I slid open the bookshelf drawer, lifted out the small gun, and tiptoed into the kitchen. I didn’t dare turn on a light. Familiar objects looked alien to me; shadowy shapes that must be the table and chairs could be hiding places for an intruder. A soft scratching sound came from the back door, the rasp of metal on metal. I stopped, paralyzed.
Someone was trying to get into the house.
At that moment, a horrible eardrum-splitting noise shattered the stillness. Our neighbor’s donkey brayed one long and raucous blast. My nerves snapped. I screamed and heard footsteps running across the back porch. Adrenalin shot through me, blotting out the fear. I wanted to see this person who had dared invade our home. Gripping the gun, I ran to the door and yanked it open. On the other side of the trees, a car started. Tires screeched as it roared away.
“Darcy! Are you all right? What in the world is going on?”
Mom ran into the kitchen as I picked up a scrap of paper wedged between the screen and the door. Slipping it into my pocket, I closed and re-locked the door.
Turning to my mother, I muttered, “Somebody just paid us a visit but the donkey spoiled his surprise.”
Mom blinked. “Somebody tried to get into this house?”
“Yes.”
The adrenalin evaporated, leaving me feeling as limp as a wet dishrag.
“Oh, what are we going to do?” Mom wailed. We held onto each other and I don’t know who was shaking more. “We should call Grant,” she added.
“I guess. It won’t do any good though. Whoever it was is not here now. We are evidently dealing with an evil person or people, someone who is so sure that we know something about Ben’s gold that he is willing to go to any length.”
Mom’s voice sounded quavery. “The Lord certainly protected us tonight, Darcy.”
“Do you mean when the donkey brayed?”
“Yes. I don’t remember that it ever brayed in the middle of the night before this. That and your scream scared away the person at the door.”
“Then I’m grateful to the Good Lord, Mom. He must hear your prayers.”
“He always does,” Mom said. “He hears yours too.”
I pulled the paper from my pocket. “I found this between the screen and the door.” In my palm lay a wrapper from Red Man Chewing Tobacco.
Mom poked it with her finger. “Do you know who chews that brand?”
“I saw Jim Clendon take a package of it from his pocket the day we were at Goshen Cemetery.”
We stared at the cellophane wrapper. At last Mom said, “Lots of people chew tobacco and lots of them buy Red Man.”
“Yes, but do we want to show it to Grant? In fact, do we want to tell him about this at all? He’d probably move a deputy right into our front room, and who knows if it’d be someone we could trust? Maybe our intruder was the officer who has been driving past our house every hour. Maybe he is Clendon or one of the other deputies.”
“I’m bringing some quilts and pillows downstairs,” Mom said. “We can leave on all the lights, inside and out, and sleep down here the rest of the night.”
“And I’m sleeping with this little fellow,” I said, patting the gun. But our plans for sleep were optimistic. We heard a thunderstorm blow in, shower us with rain, and move out. The owl’s prediction was right as far as the weather was concerned. Was he also predicting the near break-in? At last, the sun appeared and our long night ended.