Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) Page 6

  “Oh, I just finally had time to stop by to see how business was going. It looks like it’s … well, busy.”

  “And so it is. You always were observant, Isabelle,” she answered sarcastically. “Lovely to see you … as usual. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Gracie turned to go back to the office.

  “There was one more thing, Gracie. Perhaps I should speak to you in private.”

  She lamented inwardly. The last thing she needed was a private talk with Isabelle, the family finagler. Trudy pretended to examine the schedule even closer and avoided looking at Gracie, for which she was grateful. Knowing Izzy, some committee probably needed one more person, or she wanted free room and board for a friend’s dog.

  “All right, but I’ve got an appointment in just 15 minutes.”

  An exercise session with a golden retriever wasn’t exactly a fib. A time limit should curtail Isabelle’s long-windedness though. Gracie led Isabelle back into the office, offering her the uncomfortable plastic folding chair by the desk.

  After wiping the chair with a tissue, her cousin sat down carefully. She immediately launched into what Gracie determined was her real reason for descending on Milky Way Kennels. Her eyes widened in surprise when her cousin described a real estate scheme that would’ve turned Jim’s hair gray in mere seconds.

  *****

  Jim pulled receipts from his pockets, laying them on Gracie’s desk. She stashed them in a folder to be entered into the accounting program later. He took a bottle of water from the small refrigerator by the coffeemaker. Settling into his dilapidated green recliner, he unscrewed the bottle.

  “I had a visit from Isabelle today, and I have a message for you.”

  As soon as she mentioned Isabelle, he groaned, closing his eyes.

  “What could she want from me?”

  “You’d better get comfortable. Now that she’s a hot real estate agent and sits on the bank board, she’s on a mission to get control of Greerson’s Meadow.”

  Jim straightened and stared at Gracie. “What? What interest does the bank have in the property?”

  “Because the Meadow is so important to the wind farm company, which is in line for substantial government grants and some hefty financing from the bank, it is ‘imperative’—that’s Isabelle’s word—that you get a power of attorney or be appointed as conservator for Toby. She wants the property to be conveyed to the bank instead of messing around with D. B.’s estate and that mortgage he held. I was told that time is of the essence. The local economy and the future of the bank are hanging in the balance. Also straight from the queen’s lips.”

  “Doesn’t she just beat all!” Jim said with some venom. “Since when is our economy solely dependent on a field?”

  “Good question, Jimmy. I don’t know. Her panties are in quite a twist about this land deal. Knowing the situation with Toby and all, I have no idea why she’d even bother asking.”

  “There’s something more to this whole thing than meets the eye, and it’s a little too complicated for poor old Tobias McQuinn to be a part of it,” Jim mused, rubbing his jaw. “Just another reason why I don’t think Toby killed D. B.” He jumped up suddenly from the chair. “I’m going up to see Roscoe. He’d better have something for me.”

  Gracie sat cross-legged behind the heavy oak coffee table, stuffing the remains of some cold pizza in her mouth. Typing in “Renew Earth” on her iPad, she watched the search engine generate her choices. Haley lay by her side, stretched out and snoring. The search brought up a few archived newspaper articles from The Sentinel. Renew Earth hadn’t been around for that long. It looked like the organization had started up maybe two years ago. She guessed that was about the time the Richters moved to Deer Creek. Gracie scrolled down through the article, scanning the information for anything that looked like a red flag. Renew Earth’s mission was to preserve the beauty of planet Earth and oppose the overuse and commercialization of rural areas. Petitions, peaceful protests, and education comprised their three-pronged approach to oppose wind farms, major dairy operations, mining, and whatever other commercial business they decided might ruin or otherwise taint the pristine rural environment. They were self-appointed watchdogs and would litigate to achieve their goals. Gracie shook her head. The reports were standard fare, but the violence in Greerson’s Meadow made her skeptical. And if there was a connection to D. B.’s death, that didn’t make them a friendly environmental group at all.

  She stretched her arms over her head and then leaned back against the sofa. Haley stirred and thumped her tail.

  Disappointed that there didn’t seem to be anything that would help Kim win the lawsuit, Gracie closed her eyes wearily. Maybe Jim was having more luck with Roscoe.

  Chapter 11

  In the moonlight, the campsite looked like something from a “B” sci-fi movie. A couple of battery-powered lanterns hung on poles outside the dome-shaped tent. They cast wobbly shadows around the campsite. The Geo was parked at an angle next to the brown tent. A pile of fast food bags wafted the odors of greasy French fries from the front passenger seat. Jim wrinkled his nose. If Roscoe wasn’t careful, he’d have a car full of critters.

  A telescope stood at the ready next to two old and sagging card tables that sported an assortment of what looked like ham operator equipment. It reminded Jim of his Uncle Jerry’s garage with its radios and antennas. Two laptops sat side by side on another table, with Roscoe studying both screens intently. He looked like a mad scientist with his hair at all angles and his glasses hanging on the end of his beak-like nose.

  “Hey, Roscoe. Any luck yet?” Jim queried.

  “Oh, why, hello,” Roscoe answered distractedly, stepping back from the computers and pushing his glasses back up onto his face. “As a matter of fact, I’ve not yet been able to ascertain if my GPS coordinates are in error or if our visitors have indeed left the area.”

  Jim raised his eyebrows and smothered a chuckle.

  “I meant any luck with information that might help my cousin.”

  “Oh. I see what you mean. I have done some research on the wind farm issue. Let me get my notes.” He began rifling through a pile of file folders that were under the laptops. “Ah, here it is.”

  Roscoe adjusted his black-framed glasses again and pulled out several sheets of paper from a tattered manila folder.

  “This wind farm company, New Energy Strategies Team, is relatively new. They began as a solar energy company five years ago and have now added wind power to their portfolio. In fact, it appears that Mr. Jackson was one of the first to lease land to them. That’s the wind farm in Strykersville.” He looked up at Jim, peering through his thick glasses.

  “The company president is Mitchell Allen, who was once an executive for T & T Salt Company. He has an engineering background and …” Roscoe ran his index finger over his tongue and turned the paper over, scanning the contents of his handwritten notes. “Oh, yes. Mr. Allen’s company does seem to be in a precarious financial position. N.E.S.T. is relying heavily on government grants and bank financing to get these wind farms established.”

  “N.E.S.T? Whatever,” Jim grumbled impatiently. “That doesn’t help Tobias out. I was really hoping you had something that might shed some light on who might want to kill D. B.”

  Roscoe’s face fell. He shifted his feet uneasily, clutching the papers to his chest.

  “I apologize if I misunderstood you, Jim. I think highly of your relative. Why, he and I had a very stimulating conversation after the rally at Greerson’s Meadow. He described in excellent detail the flight patterns of the spacecraft he observed a few nights before all the … the rather tragic events …”

  Jim interrupted the extended apology. “You and Tobias met after the brawl at the Meadow?”

  Roscoe’s brown eyes blinked with bewilderment. “Why, yes. He had some excellent journals of the recent spacecraft sightings. He was quite hospitable, although shaken after that unfortunate incident with the Renew Earth protesters.”

  “You were
with him at his trailer?”

  “Yes. That’s where the journals are kept, of course.” Roscoe’s tone became slightly patronizing.

  Jim’s pulse quickened as he mulled over the possibilities. “What time were you there? Do you remember?”

  “Of course. I considered it an interview for my report. I can tell you exactly when I arrived and departed.” Roscoe stuffed the papers back into the folder and shoved it in the pile under the computers. Jim reached forward, steadying the laptops, which were hanging precariously on a mountain of paper. Roscoe, already preoccupied with his next task, walked quickly to his tent and disappeared inside. Making sure the laptops were balanced properly, Jim checked his watch. It was just nine o’clock. Maybe he’d have time to call Toby’s attorney if Roscoe hurried. The flap of the tent opened, and Roscoe reappeared with his iPhone and flashlight. He held the flashlight under his armpit, while his finger swiped the phone.

  “Here it is,” he said, looking up as the flashlight dropped to the ground, its light flickering. Jim quickly bent down to retrieve it and looked at the phone.

  “I recorded it. The conversation is officially time stamped. I began the interview at 8:35 p.m. and concluded it at 10:52 p.m. I took photos of his journal for verification and some video of Mr. McQuinn. They’re time-stamped as well. It’s all appropriately documented. Mr. McQuinn was most helpful in explaining alien abductions that evening. Did you know that he was taken as a child? Most extraordinary experience for him,” he mused, staring off into the night sky.

  “Yes, Roscoe. I’m very familiar with that story. You’re sure about the times?”

  “Of course. The app is absolutely accurate, as are the other functions. I wouldn’t use the phone if it wasn’t precise.” He seemed offended that the question had been asked.

  “Thanks, Roscoe. Keep that phone in a safe place. It’s going to be needed.” Jim handed him back the flashlight and slapped the bewildered man on the back. “You’re a genius.”

  *****

  Jim punched the “End” button on his cell and leaned back on Gracie’s extremely comfortable leather sofa, putting his feet on the coffee table.

  “So?” Gracie asked, anxious to hear the news.

  “So, the lawyer says it’s an alibi and basically airtight. I’m going back up to tell Roscoe to hand in his phone tomorrow morning. The medical examiner put the time of death for D. B. between 8:30 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. There’s no way he was there. Roscoe took some photos of Toby that night too. Everything is documented. The lawyer had some news too.”

  Gracie pulled the clip out of her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders. She took a sip from the glass of iced tea, wiping the condensation from the bottom before setting it back on the coaster on the mission-style end table. She curled up in a club chair, with Haley intently chewing on a bone on the floor next to her.

  “What else is going on?”

  “The shot that was used to kill D. B. was pretty big, as in triple B steel shot. It’s bigger than anything that Toby had on hand. The cops found #6 at the trailer, which is for small game. He needs to start assisting in his own defense though. For some reason, he just won’t cooperate with his attorney. I need to go talk to him again. Maybe I’ll take my mother. Then he’ll be sorry.” His eyes crinkled with humor.

  Gracie laughed. “Take mine too. He’ll stand no chance then.”

  Jim stood to go, tucking in his shirt, which had pulled out slightly. Gracie picked up their empty glasses and followed him to the kitchen. Haley was immediately at her heels with her bone securely clamped in her jaws. Gracie bent down to open the dishwasher, placing the glasses on the crowded top rack.

  “I almost forgot to tell you in the excitement of Roscoe’s big revelation,” she said, standing. “Kim Jackson called me right before you got here with some interesting news of her own. Renew Earth made an offer to settle.”

  Chapter 12

  The air conditioning was now working. Just in time too. The forecast predicted warmer-than-average temperatures for the week. Gracie sat back in her chair to enjoy the cool air now circulating through the office. The familiar whistling of “How Much is That Doggie in the Window” announced Jim’s triumphant arrival through the back hallway.

  Marian shouted, “Thanks, Jim!” from the grooming room.

  “Hold your applause, please,” he said, bowing toward reception and then toward the grooming room. “It’s just gratifying to know you’re now all cool and comfortable because of my outstanding skills.”

  His boyish grin of satisfaction made Gracie laugh. He leaned against the doorway of the office, looking outrageously handsome. Why Laney, his last girlfriend, had decided to pick a corporate ladder climber over Jim was beyond her understanding. Unfortunately she had nothing good to say about herself. After all, she’d messed up a relationship with Marc Stevens not so long ago at about the same time Laney had broken Jim’s heart. Her last email from the handsome deputy, who’d saved her life right after they’d first met, informed her he was entering K-9 training in El Paso after he finished a stint with the Sierra Vista police in southern Arizona. Her feelings lately were that single was okay and relationships required too much work.

  “Outstanding skills in dialing a phone, you mean,” Gracie wisecracked.

  “Huh?” Jim looked perfectly innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I saw the Artie’s Air Conditioning Service van in the back parking lot.”

  Jim shrugged and helped himself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

  “I’ve learned when to give up,” he replied. “You should appreciate that. Otherwise, you’d still be waiting for the AC. That’s what matters, right?”

  “I agree. I hope it’s not going to be a really big bill though.”

  “Nah. A couple of hours work for Artie. I was just lucky to get him out here so fast.”

  He took his usual seat on the ratty recliner, which Gracie semi-affectionately referred to as “The Heap.” Uncapping the water, he slugged down half of its contents. Gracie refilled her coffee mug while Jim finished off the water.

  “So did you call Toby today?” Gracie had been waiting all morning to get the details on the disposition of Toby’s sanity and if the D.A. would drop the murder charge.

  “My parents actually went to see him with the attorney. Dad just called a little while ago. Tobias does have some problems, which they want to treat, but he’s competent. They also talked him into cooperating with the lawyer. He confirmed Roscoe’s story that they were talking until late about his abduction and a whole lot of other UFO things the night of the murder. For some reason, he had it in his head that D. B. had been killed the morning he found him. He has this thing about not trusting anybody with the government.”

  “I guess I can’t fault him for that. There’s a lot of that going around right now,” Gracie said with a vinegary voice. “What about the murder charge?”

  “We have to wait and see. If he hadn’t slugged that deputy, it would a little better for him. They’re checking the time stamp accuracy of Roscoe’s phone recording. The lawyer says they really could use a bona fide suspect to convince the D.A. With what you found out from Kim last night, we might be able to give them one.”

  “We? Isn’t that the police’s job?” Gracie asked. “Aren’t you always telling me we both have enough to do without getting involved in police matters?”

  “All right, Chief,” Jim answered. “I see your point. But we’re both sort of involved in this mess. You with Kim and me with Toby.”

  “And that makes a difference? Because we’re both involved?” She couldn’t resist needling him just a bit more. He’d warned her off both the library case and investigating her own cousin’s death. Now he wanted to go whole hog into a murder investigation, dragging her along with him. She wasn’t so sure she was up to another one at the moment.

  His blue eyes were thoughtful as he rubbed his jaw in contemplation. “You could tell Kim to give that investigator a call and tell
her about the Renew Earth settlement offer. There’s something very fishy about settling a quarter-of-a-million-dollar lawsuit for twenty-five thousand and assuming the mortgage on the Meadow property. It might get their juices going if there are other possibilities besides Toby.”

  Gracie chuckled softly. Apparently he was plowing straight ahead despite any of her misgivings. “I guess. I’m not sure if Kim would call. She really wants that lawsuit to go away, and I don’t blame her. It could hold up the settlement of the estate forever. However, Kim doesn’t think Tobias killed D. B. either.” Gracie absently picked at the crumbling eraser on the pencil she twirled.

  “Guys! Come quick!” Marian called frantically.

  Jim and Gracie jumped from their seats and dashed to the reception area, where Trudy was pointing, her finger pressed against the window.

  It was Roscoe. He was running wildly around the parking lot, three raccoons in hot pursuit. Gracie gasped.

  “Are they all rabid?” she practically screeched.

  Rabid raccoons were not unusual in Wyoming County. The summer months always brought warnings from the health department to watch for unusual animal behavior, especially from raccoons.

  “I don’t think so. Do you see what he has in his hand?” Jim answered with disgust. “What an idiot!”

  She opened the door and yelled, “Drop the food, Roscoe! Drop the food!”

  He looked up, startled at the sound of her voice, and ran toward the door.

  “Don’t come in here. Drop the bag!” Gracie shrieked.

  Her worst nightmare would be three raccoons loose in the kennel. She slammed the door and locked it.

  Jim opened the window and thundered, “Roscoe, get rid of the bag! They’ll stop chasing you!”

  A flash of realization came over him, and he released the large fast food bag.

  The raccoons dove onto it, shredding it within seconds. Two more ring-tailed companions jumped from the open rear window of the car. Roscoe stood shaking; watching his lunch being devoured by five greedy raccoons. The hamburgers, fries, and packets of ketchup were daintily consumed. They sat up contentedly, their paws holding French fries like seasoned gastronomes. They chattered amongst themselves, as if congratulating each other on their victory.