Payne & Misery Page 16

  “Well, apparently Will Payne is mega wealthy. And he finally got rid of the gold digger who freeloaded off him for years. That woman wouldn’t clean house or cook. Hardly ate anything, refused to touch meat. Can’t imagine why he’d be attracted to someone like that, but there’s no accounting for some people’s taste. Maybe she put a spell on him.”

  I remembered what I’d read in the library about anorexia.

  Grace chuckled and licked her lips as if she had come to the juicy part. “Then—get this—she made Will throw out his furniture. Said it was possessed. Why, some of those pieces were family heirlooms!” Zora Jane’s expression didn’t change, so Grace turned to me as if expecting a reaction. “Can you believe it?”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. What unspeakable things had happened in that house?

  Zora Jane asked, “Did Helen say how Will got rid of this crazy woman?”

  “Do you think he killed her?” Grace emphasized each word for maximum effect, fairly quivering with expectation, as though a murder would be cause for celebration.

  I shuddered inside, recalling my own callous attitude when I first spied on Will. All the same, I wished she had more to tell.

  After I completed my shift at the bazaar, I trotted into the sunshine, hunting for my car. A tall woman carrying a load of bazaar purchases hurried past. With her hair pulled back in a low ponytail, she reminded me of the woman Will went to see—his sister, Helen Sterne. I shook my head at my misguided assumption. Although I wanted to get home and call Deputy Colter again, seeing the woman made me think how close the church lay to Helen Sterne’s house in the woods. Perhaps a short detour wouldn’t hurt.

  I left the car in park with the engine running in front of Helen’s driveway. Why hadn’t I planned how to get in the door? “Hello. I’m Samantha Brown from the Travel Channel. I’m doing a segment on life in the foothills. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?” I’d need a notebook or recorder. Of course, that wouldn’t work anyway if she’d ever seen the much younger and prettier Samantha Brown. Maybe I could be Samantha Brown’s assistant. I’d still need a notebook. I looked around the car but didn’t see one.

  How about if I pretended to be a prospective neighbor? “Hi, I’m thinking of buying the house down the street. Could I ask a few questions about the neighborhood?” But how personal could I get before she became suspicious of my true motive? And what if there wasn’t a house for sale on the street?

  Just then, the front door slammed and Helen scurried from her porch like a cockroach running from light. I jammed the car into gear and raced out of sight. When I returned, Helen had just backed her blue sedan out the driveway.

  The timing seemed a gift from above. I didn’t have to peek in windows or break into houses either. Thank you, God. Now help me tail her without being too obvious.

  She maneuvered right on Star Mine Road. I let a car pass before I followed, so she drove ahead of me with one car in between.

  Excellent! I must be getting the hang of this.

  I followed along the front side of Banner Mountain, headed toward Grass Valley. I rolled my window down and sucked in a deep breath of the crisp fall air. Lovely day for tailing. It made me feel like singing.

  Helen proceeded straight to the hardware store. I squeezed the Jeep into a parking space between a white van and a black Chevy truck one row away, got out, and locked the car.

  “Accidentally” bumping into her at the hardware store might seem a bit contrived, but it could work. After all, I “ran into” the McCarthys at Kmart.

  Once inside, Helen marched toward the tool section, head high and purposeful. I hurried behind her, racing for the opposite end of the aisle she entered.

  Now if I could head her off at the pass.

  In my rush, I almost collided with a hardware clerk. He zigzagged at the last second—being younger with faster reflexes—but I threw him off balance. The box he carried thunked to the floor.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said. “Didn’t see you there.”

  Brushing off his red work vest as if the mishap had soiled it, he glared at me.

  “Is anything broken?” I retrieved the box and shook it. “Don’t hear anything rattling.”

  His frown deepened as he grabbed the box and dashed off. The day they taught good customer relations, he must’ve been home with a cold.

  I paused to steady myself with a deep breath and shot an arrow prayer heavenward. Help me, God! Then I turned the corner. Sure enough, Helen moseyed toward me, scanning the displays along one side.

  Taller than I realized, she towered at least a full head above me. She might be close to six feet tall. Along with the same low ponytail as before, she wore a blue-gray sweater and jeans with dirty tennis shoes. Seeing her signature hairdo made me wonder just what she went to the beauty parlor for. Maybe she needed a captive audience to complain to.

  Got to catch her looking this way. Careful, not too obvious.

  A few shoppers browsed the aisles near the tool section. Fortunately, no one interrupted us. I surveyed the displays nearest me, pretending to search for something.

  Helen sidled closer. I swung over to her side of the aisle.

  Now for the tricky part.

  She reached for something, I couldn’t tell what without being obvious. Something long.

  I inched toward her. When our feet were parallel, I took another deep breath and swung to face her. Cold brown eyes swept me with suspicion.

  I smiled and bared my teeth. “Oh, hi. Aren’t you Will Payne’s sister?”

  She scowled. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Christine Sterling. I live up the hill from Will in Alta Sierra. You know the log house?”

  “How do you know me?”

  Ignore the questions you don’t want to answer and ask something else instead.

  “We’ve been so worried about Lila. Have you heard where she’s gone?

  She shifted to her full imposing height and glared down at me, one eyebrow cocked in a high arch. “How do you know she’s gone?”

  I felt like a bug about to be squished. Shaking off the intimidation, I heard the rapid pounding of my heart. “She’s such a delicate little thing, I worry about her. Where could she be? She doesn’t have any relatives in the area, does she?”

  “Relatives? I wouldn’t know. How did you—?”

  “Last time I saw Lila, she had bruises on her arms and neck. Did she show those to you?”

  She stepped back as if the question startled her. “Bruises?” She stared at the floor. “Don’t know nothing about those.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  She shrugged. “A couple weeks ago maybe.”

  “And you haven’t seen her since?”

  She glared at me without answering.

  I shifted weight from one foot to the other. “Well, where was she when you saw her?”

  “Will’s house I guess. Why are you—?”

  “What were you doing there?”

  Eyes that had been flat before now flashed with angry light.

  Careful. You’re making her mad. How far can I push her? “Was she acting crazy so you got in a fight?”

  Her eyes crackled with electricity. “Crazy? You don’t know the half of it. Stupid little beast. Wouldn’t come out of her room, crying and carrying on. Will didn’t know what to do.”

  “But you knew how to handle her.”

  “That girl was a monster. You’d think someone mistreated her. He did everything he could to help her. And what did he get for it? She hid in the closet and screamed like a lunatic.”

  An eerie emphasis on certain words made me stifle a shiver. “So … you pulled her out?”

  She snorted. “Didn’t hurt her.”

  “Did you … strangle her?”

  She leaned toward me with a menacing expression. “Sometimes people don’t know what’s good for them.”

  I took a step backward. Did she mean Lila or me? “That’s really sad.” I shuffled and twirled a clump of m
y hair between my thumb and forefinger. “You, uh, you and Will must be worried about where she’s gone—because she can’t take care of herself.”

  “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you’re mighty nosy.” She stepped closer and lowered her angular face until her eyes locked on mine. “You might find trouble if you keep snooping.” Her breath stunk like last week’s garbage and her narrowed eyes glinted with malevolence.

  Losing all pretense of courage, I dropped my gaze. Only then did my brain identify the object she gripped with knuckles as white as a corpse. In her large, manly hands, she held a heavy-duty bolt cutter with long, sharp blades.

  25

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jesse and I slept in on Sunday. Neither of us remembered to set the alarm. After the frightening confrontation with Helen, I had no energy. I just couldn’t make myself carry on normally with Molly still missing. I made a face at Jesse when he asked if we were going to church. He didn’t ask why not.

  Late in the morning, the gate buzzer startled me. Peeking out the kitchen window, I recognized Zora Jane’s red Mustang convertible waiting outside the gate. Of all times for a visit. I glanced down at my pajamas and groaned. “Maybe we could pretend we’re not here.”

  Jesse bent to look out as the buzz sounded again. He shook his head. “Now, Christine, that wouldn’t be nice. They’re our friends. Let ’em in.”

  I stared at him in wonder. When did he start considering polite behavior?

  Jesse pressed the star key on the phone to open the gate.

  I grabbed my robe and fastened it around me as I followed him. Jesse flung the door open wide as if delighted to see them.

  They climbed the porch steps smiling. Ed wore his Sunday pants, and Zora Jane carried a casserole dish. Her bright yellow pantsuit dazzled the eye. The prominent collar made her handsome head look like a bust set on a pedestal. Matching shoes peeked out below the perfect-length pants. How many different pairs of shoes cohabitated in Zora Jane’s closet?

  Ed grinned. “Missed you at church. Thought you might want company.”

  I searched my mental excuse files for a good reason to miss church but found none, since it must be obvious neither of us was being fitted for a coffin.

  Zora Jane filled in the awkward silence, nodding at the casserole in her hands. “I brought over that chicken noodle thing you liked so much last time I made it.”

  Hard to turn away such accommodating folks. Still, I couldn’t muster an enthusiastic tone. “Come in.” If you must.

  Roy wandered into the entryway to investigate the commotion. Last thing we needed was for the cats to disappear too. By accident, I slammed the door, trying to prevent Roy’s escape. Jesse smiled. “Oops, guess that door got away from you.” He broadened his smile to include Ed and Zora Jane, accepting the casserole with a princely nod as Zora Jane passed by.

  I blinked in disbelief. He didn’t criticize my clumsiness—didn’t even mock me with his usual “jokes”—and displayed impeccable hospitality. What have you done with my husband, sir?

  As he waltzed them to the kitchen, he lifted the lid and inclined his head to sniff. The homey aroma of company chicken wafted through the air. He deposited the dish on the kitchen island, murmuring, “This smells wonderful. What a great idea! You folks can come over anytime.”

  Puzzled, I excused myself for a few minutes to splash cold water on my face and throw on clothes. When I returned, I glanced at the clock. “It’s close enough to lunchtime that we might as well dig into this right now. What do you say?”

  Zora Jane nodded, so I threw lunch together. Lettuce for a salad, sourdough rolls and butter, dishes from the cabinet. Ed and Jesse sat at the kitchen table talking like old pals who hadn’t seen each other in months.

  When we were all seated, Jesse offered a blessing, thanking God for such kind friends.

  I passed the rolls. “Actually, it’s a good thing you dropped by today.”

  Jesse nodded. “We need to update you.”

  Between bites, we took turns summarizing the events of the past week.

  Ed munched and nodded throughout the discourse. When Jesse finished, Ed scratched his head. “Have you gotten any hits from your flyers?”

  The question confused me. Jesse just told him our dog had been found.

  Jesse shook his head.

  Ed spooned another helping of chicken. “It’s good that you filed a missing-persons report on Lila. Maybe someone will report seeing her. It might give us something to start on.” While we considered that, he forked a bite of casserole and chewed. “Also, I have an idea I want to run by you. Been thinking about it since your last visit. Someone needs to talk with the deputy back in Iowa about the dead baby angle, beginning from the past and working to the present to see if they connect. We need more information about Lila and Will. Sometimes the past explains the present. Motives, you know. Did you tell Deputy Colter about the Des Moines Herald Examiner articles?”

  My water glass hit the table with a thud when I nearly dropped it. I couldn’t see how that would help. “We’d never be able to find those people after all this time.”

  Ed put his fork down and leaned forward. “If it’s okay with you, tomorrow I’ll make a few phone calls … see if I can shake out anyone who remembers the case. Could be the lead investigator from the sheriff’s office still works there—Silverthorne, I think his name was. If the case hasn’t been solved, maybe he’d like a partner—unofficially, of course.”

  Jesse and I exchanged a hopeful glance.

  “We’d be so grateful,” I said.

  As usual, prayer came first in Zora Jane’s mind. “We ought to pray too.”

  We bowed our heads while she began. “Most Holy God, show us how to find Lila. Go before us and guide our feet. Give the law enforcement people special discernment and creativity.”

  I added, “And please, dear Lord, forgive my impatience. Help me trust you to work this out in your own good time and your own good way.”

  Ed prayed, “Help me find Deputy Silverthorne. Give me words to say so I can gain his confidence right away.”

  Jesse finished. “Comfort us over the loss of our dog. And protect us. Help us think before acting foolishly. May your name be glorified in all we do. In Jesus’ name.”

  After the Callahans left, I checked the phone hoping to retrieve a message from Deputy Colter. I found none, so I phoned the sheriff’s office. To my surprise, the weekend dispatcher connected my call.

  Deputy Colter said, “This is—”

  I would recognize that arrogant voice anywhere. “I know who you are. Did you get my message?”

  “If you wish to come to the station, you may file a missing-persons report at any time.”

  “We did that already.”

  “Oh.” Tapping on his end. “Well, as for the other things you mentioned, it is irregular for you to view the car, since you are not the owner. However, since you are the owner of the dog, I arranged for you to collect it. I will be off tomorrow and Tuesday. Let me see. They will not get to the car right away. Are you available to come on Wednesday after they have completed their inspection?”

  “Is a ten-pound robin fat?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Yes, I’m available on Wednesday. What time?”

  “About one PM Wednesday then.” Tapping again. He gave me directions to the impound lot. “I hope you appreciate that I had to jump through hoops to accomplish this.”

  “Thank you, Deputy. I appreciate your help. That will be just perfect.”

  Of course, it wasn’t really just perfect.

  Waiting until Wednesday meant three more days of poor Molly rotting in the car if they left her in the trunk. By then, the smell would be enough to knock out an elephant. Why didn’t the tow people take her body out? Surely leaving her there must be a public health issue.

  Three more days.

  The waiting loomed on the horizon like a hulking giant.

  Before tossing my jeans into the laundry, I e
xtracted the picture of Lila and her puppy from the back pocket and the crumpled poem from the front. A wave of sadness overwhelmed me. I got out my magnifying glass to examine the photo.

  The picture had been snapped at a campsite. Stately lodge pole pines framed the edges of the photo. A medium-size boat sat in a cleared area behind Lila and the dog.

  “That must be their boat … the one Zora Jane mentioned.”

  Even with the lens, I couldn’t make out the name of the boat without more than a few letters visible. It might be two words. Maybe the first one begins with “M.”

  I studied the image for several minutes before turning it over. On the back, in the same cramped but neat handwriting I’d seen in the poem book, Lila wrote two lines:

  baby

  sierra meadows

  Without capitalization or punctuation.

  Jesse came into the kitchen and peered over my shoulder. “I see you couldn’t resist taking souvenirs from the Paynes’ house.”

  I frowned. “And it’s a good thing, too. Otherwise, they’d all be ashes. I guess this means Lila knows her way around Sierra Meadows.”

  “Right, but so does Will. That doesn’t tell us anything.”

  I glanced at Jesse. “Funny name for a dog, don’t you think— Baby?”

  As I perused the picture, indentations in the front caught my eye. I grabbed the flashlight and held the photo at different angles hoping to see them better. “Someone wrote on another paper on top of this and the pressure of the pen made indentations. Numbers. Is that what you see?”

  Jesse squinted at the photograph. “Looks like a phone number.”

  Nevada County had a relatively small population. “I don’t know of a 5-0-6 prefix around here, do you?” I headed for the phone book. “No. It’s not a Nevada County prefix. Where would it be?”

  The idea of calling every area code in America sounded daunting. Yet, I felt certain that this number had enough significance that we should pursue it.

  After a short pause, we said “Iowa” in unison.