The Remedy Is Murder Page 10

  I gave him a wary glance. “Are they?”

  He returned a frown. “Are they what?”

  “Artificial?” I reached for one of the berries. “There are times when I can’t tell if you’re joking or not, Barney.”

  “They’re definitely the real deal,” he said. “And I know that you usually get your fruit and produce from my competitor, but I think you should give us a try.”

  “Did you bring pricing on everything?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Just these. If you like the berries, I’ll come back for a dog and pony show.”

  “Fair enough. I like Golden Retrievers and Percherons.”

  Barney frowned. “What’s that last one?”

  “Percherons,” I said. “Some people call them gentle giants. They’re massive and beautiful horses. Burt Sutton has quite a few at his ranch.”

  His gloomy expression brightened. “That’s what Doreen calls me!” he said. “A gentle giant!”

  Barney was a short, scrawny bald guy in his late thirties. He probably weighed less than my clogs.

  “She should know,” I said. “Your wife’s a smart woman.”

  He squared his shoulders. “Probably why she married me, right?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, washing the strawberry and then taking a bite. “And you’re right; this is delicious!”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Barney said, handing me a business card. “You probably have one of these, but there’s another. Call me when you’re ready to hear my whole spiel.”

  “Will do,” I said. “Thanks for dropping by. I’m glad that we ran into you and Doreen last night, although I wish it had been a better occasion.”

  He shook his head. “So true, Katie. I still can’t believe that Don’s actually gone.”

  “Shocking, wasn’t it?”

  “One hundred percent,” Barney agreed. “I mean, the news was hard enough to hear, but the way he died was so…” His mouth squirmed left and right. “…well, it was so utterly bizarre.”

  I started to say something, but Barney stopped me with one finger.

  “Sorry,” he said excitedly. “I saw you talking to Rosalind and Butch last night. Did they tell you what they saw the night it happened?”

  “The night of Don’s death?”

  “Yeah,” Barney answered. “They saw a car parked down the street in front of Leroy’s house.”

  Leroy Nevelson was a retired truck driver known for three things: his unwavering support of military veterans; his extensive collection of Tammy Wynette memorabilia; and the large PARK HERE AT YOUR OWN PERIL! signs at the edge of his front yard.

  “So someone was taking a walk on the wild side?” I said. “So to speak.”

  Barney grinned. “No doubt,” he said. “But that also means someone doesn’t know that Leroy’s serious. Do you remember the time he strafed a Volvo with his BB gun?”

  I smiled. “Really?”

  “For real,” he replied. “The people were visiting from up north. They called the cops, but Deputy Chief Walsh brokered a deal so they wouldn’t file charges.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “Well, the numbskull in the Volvo had a couple of outstanding parking tickets from the last time they visited Crescent Creek. Trent suggested they call it even.”

  I laughed at the thought of my old friend negotiating a settlement between visitors to town and Leroy Nevelson, known affectionately as Mad Dog by everyone in Crescent Creek. Trent could be gruff. He could be narrow-minded. But he also had one of the biggest hearts in the world. The concept of dismissing parking tickets to keep Leroy in the clear was classic Trent Walsh.

  “Did Rosalind and Butch mention the make and model of the car?” I asked.

  Barney nodded. “It was a Cube,” he said. “One of those little boxy things. There was even a ticket on the windshield when I saw it sitting there. The moron must not have noticed the fire hydrant.”

  “In Leroy’s yard?”

  “No, it’s in the neighbor’s yard,” Barney explained. “Right on the property line.”

  “Well, that’s all good to know,” I said. “It could also be really helpful.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “Helpful for what?”

  “For the investigation into Don’s death,” I answered. “It would be good for the CCPD to know about the car parked in front of Leroy’s the night of Don’s attack. It might be connected to his death.”

  “Oh, I get it.” Barney lowered his voice. “You’re working undercover or something?”

  “Not undercover,” I said. “But I keep my eyes and ears open whenever something like this happens.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “I have no idea,” I replied.

  “Fair enough,” Barney said. “Why would anyone use a two-by-four to try and kill a guy? I mean, if you’re that mad at somebody, wouldn’t you go for a gun or maybe a knife?”

  I shrugged.

  “But you know something?” he continued. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. My guess is this was a crime of passion, so the person who clobbered Don didn’t go into that shed with some kind of grand plan. They probably dropped by to talk about something. But when the conversation didn’t go their way, they flew into a rage and reached for the first thing they could find.”

  “Possibly,” I said. “But Don was struck on the back of his head, which doesn’t necessarily suggest they were having a chat. I think the person snuck up on Don when he was in the shed and decided to use whatever was convenient as a weapon.”

  “Doesn’t Don keep his golf clubs in the shed during nice weather?”

  “I don’t know about that,” I answered. “Are you wondering why the perp didn’t use a club instead of the lumber?”

  Barney nodded. “Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t really know,” I said. “It just seems that the element of surprise was in the assailant’s favor. Otherwise, if Don was facing the person, it would seem like he could’ve ducked left or right. From what I understand, there were no defensive wounds on his hands either.”

  Barney thought about the comment. Then he shook his head and repeated one of his favorite wisecracks.

  “I’m just a sales guy,” he said. “What do I know about such things?”

  CHAPTER 28

  A woman dressed in a pink blouse, khaki knee-length shorts and running shoes was talking to Earl Dodd when I walked into the office at the Moonlight Motel late that afternoon. I gave my friend a wave and sat in one of the chairs to wait. Then I did my best not to eavesdrop on a conversation that involved the woman explaining why her credit card had been declined.

  “What’s she going to do?” I asked a few minutes later after the red-faced guest departed.

  Earl smiled. “Break the bad news to her girlfriends,” he said. “They’re driving from Rapid City to Phoenix, and that one agreed to pay for the rooms on the first day.”

  “Well, if they’re truly friends, they’ll work it out,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Earl replied with a shrug. “Otherwise, she’ll have to leave her diamond watch as collateral.”

  I laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

  He shook his head. “Dad said we have to stop being so nice to people. That’s a one-way street to bankruptcy in our business.”

  “Sounds like your father’s in a mood these days,” I said.

  Earl grunted. “Hard to tell. He’s been spending a lot more time at his girlfriend’s place lately.”

  “Which puts you in charge around here, right?”

  He nodded. “Unless you know something that I don’t.”

  “Well, then can’t you be as nice as you want?”

  He thought about my question. Then he reached into a drawer under the counter, pulled out a handful of Dum Dums lollipops and pushed them across the counter to me.

  “What are those for?” I asked.

  “Being nice,” Earl said.

  “Thanks very much,” I replied, picki
ng up a sweet treat. “I don’t want to overindulge, so I’ll go with just one.”

  “Suit yourself,” Earl said, returning the rest of the lollipops to the drawer. “So what brings you this way?”

  “I just wanted to see your handsome face,” I said.

  Without missing a beat, he laughed and told me that I could save the time and gas by following the motel’s new Instagram account.

  “I didn’t know you were into social media,” I said.

  “My father’s idea,” he replied. “One of his buddies at the VFW told him all about it.”

  “Does your dad post the content?”

  The smirk on Earl’s face answered the question. Then he said, “But I don’t mind doing it. My father’s got his hands full with Laverne.”

  “I bet he can manage,” I said. “Where did they meet?”

  “She liked one of his posts,” Earl explained. “Then they started chatting. And then email. After a few days, they met for coffee. And the next thing I know, I found some bridal magazines in the office.”

  “So they’re serious?”

  “Laverne is,” Earl answered. “I think my dad wants to take it slow. He’s tough on the outside, Katie, but I don’t think he’s totally over my mother yet.”

  “Those things take time,” I replied.

  He shrugged again, but didn’t have anything more to add on the subject.

  “So anyway,” I said. “I wanted to ask you about something that I heard around town.”

  His eyes went wide. “Is it the thing about Sammy Hodges and the stolen case of Spam?”

  I giggled. “No, but that sounds like a good one.”

  “It’s the best!” Earl said brightly. “The poor doofus dropped his wallet in the stockroom at Food Town as he was carrying the loot out the backdoor. Cops arrested him last night.”

  “Why did he steal a case of Spam?”

  Earl made a face. “Consider the source, Katie. Why does that guy do half the stuff he does?”

  “Boredom,” I said. “He’s tried to pilfer a couple of our sugar caddies. When Harper stopped him the last time, he confessed to doing it to liven up the day.”

  “What did I tell you?” Earl said. “Total doofus. But besides making stupid mistakes and poor choices, Sammy’s a good guy.”

  “Did the police recover the Spam?”

  Earl laughed. “Half of it.”

  “Where was the rest?”

  “Fido,” he said.

  “I didn’t know Sammy had a dog.”

  “He doesn’t,” Earl told me. “Fido’s a hamster.”

  “Oh, brother,” I said.

  “I know, right?” Earl chuckled again. “Doofus.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear about Sammy’s legal problems,” I said. “But I was actually interested in another scandal that’s been bouncing around the grapevine.”

  He raised both eyebrows. “Alice Howard’s new tattoo?”

  “No,” I said. “I heard that Dr. Whistler and one of his patients have been carrying on a romantic relationship here at the motel. Do you know anything about that?”

  Earl heaved a sigh. “I thought that one had been squelched once and for all,” he said.

  “So you’ve heard the rumor?”

  “Yes, I have. But it isn’t true.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “No doubt about it,” he replied. “I can understand why some folks assumed that’s what was going on, but it was completely innocent. The woman in question was staying here for a few days because her house was being painted and the fumes were making her sick. She had an appointment with Dr. Whistler one afternoon, but her car wouldn’t start. I suggested she go with either a taxi or Uber, but Doc Whistler offered to pick her up when she called to tell him that she had to cancel the session.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “There was one more thing,” Earl said. “Bessie Hollister’s sister and brother-in-law were staying here at the same time. They’d come for a family reunion or some such thing. Anyway, Bessie was here to see her sister. When she spotted Doc Whistler and his patient getting into his car, she pulled out her phone, took a picture and then put it up on that gossip site.”

  “Which site are you talking about?”

  “Small Town Sizzler,” he said. “It’s the one that Regina Underwood and Connie Buchanan started to get revenge for being left off the invitation list to Deb and Fred Zitter’s pool party. They were livid. I guess they were the only ones in that social swirl not asked to help christen the new swimming pool.”

  “No kidding? I’ve never heard the reason they started that site.”

  Earl scowled. “Well, now you have,” he said. “And if you ask me, that’s a bunch of nonsense.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” I told him.

  CHAPTER 29

  The next morning at seven, after I finished helping Harper refill salt and pepper shakers in the dining room, I went to unlock the front door. A man wearing a blue blazer, dark slacks and white shirt open at the collar was waiting on the porch studying his phone.

  “Hey, there,” he said after I opened the door. “I’m here to pickup an order for Keith Forsey.”

  “It’s ready to roll,” I said. “Come on inside.”

  “Will it take long?” He pointed at the phone. “I have a patient in fifteen minutes.”

  I waited while he’d crossed the threshold. Then I told him we could take care of everything in five minutes.

  “How about two?” he asked without a trace of humor.

  I smiled, spun around on my heel and hurried to the cash register. As I double checked the name on the bakery boxes on the counter, Harper gave me a puzzled look as she loaded the last few salt and pepper sets onto a tray.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Fine,” I told her. “Mr. Forsey’s in a bit of—”

  “It’s Doctor Forsey.” The man sneered at me. “If you don’t mind.”

  Harper’s eyes zipped from me to the snooty medical professional in the blue blazer.

  “Are you a dermatologist by any chance?” She moved closer and pointed at a blemish on her chin. “I’ve got this ugly pimple that won’t clear up no matter what I do.”

  The man’s jaw tightened. Clearly annoyed, he answered Harper’s question with a one-word response.

  “Psychologist,” he said.

  She giggled. “Oh, cool! I need one of those, too. Between the bad skin and lack of confidence, I’m a mess!”

  Dr. Forsey’s gaze shifted toward the cash register.

  “How much?” he asked me.

  “Two dozen scones,” I said. “That’s twenty-four plus tax.”

  He huffed. “And the total with tax?”

  I gave him the number, he handed me an American Express card and I quickly processed the transaction.

  “Thanks,” he said, reaching for the boxes. “Sorry to be in such a rush, but I appreciate your help.”

  As he crossed the dining room, I told Harper that I’d be right back and raced to catch up with Forsey before he made it to the door.

  “Can I walk with you?” I asked. “We haven’t met, but I’ve heard about your new practice here in town.”

  He glanced at me. “Uh, I’m in a hurry. If you want to make an appointment, you can call Sarabeth. She runs my office and manages the schedule.”

  I stepped onto the porch and shut the door. Forsey was already halfway down the steps when I joined him again.

  “It’s not for me,” I said. “It’s about a police matter.”

  He stopped long enough to glare. “Then maybe call my attorney,” he said, moving again toward his car. “I’m still looking for someone local, but my regular lawyer is in Denver. She can help...uh, help with whatever you’re curious to ask me.”

  His smile would be perfect for a television commercial promoting teeth whitening. He was showing it so often, I worried that his face might actually hurt from muscle strain when he finished.

  “You’
ve heard about the attacks around town,” I said, making it a statement instead of a question. “Someone told me that your office manager…what was that name—Sarabeth?”

  He aimed a key fob at a shiny black Lexus. The car’s onboard security system issued a trio of high-pitched squawks.

  “That sound is so obnoxious,” Forsey grumbled. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Completely,” I said. “Although I can think of a few other things that are even more annoying.”

  He put the boxes on the trunk of the car before opening the back door behind the driver’s seat. Then he loaded the cargo and slammed the door.

  “Alright,” he said, opening the driver’s door. “Nice to meet you. Thanks again for the scones.”

  “Please,” I said. “Just one question?”

  He dropped into the seat and reached for the door handle.

  “Okay.” His voice was brusque and cold. “One question.”

  “Is your office manager slinging mud about Dr. Whistler’s reputation?”

  The man’s head snapped back on his neck.

  “Say that again?”

  I repeated the question along with a brief explanation that I was referring to a series of rumors that began circulating around Crescent Creek around the same time that Barry Lincoln was attacked in the YMCA parking lot.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Forsey snapped. “Rumors don’t drive my business, ma’am. I’m focused on helping my patients. I actually like and respect Dr. Whistler. And there’s nothing I can do about the people who have been attacked. At the same time, what would you propose I do to help Whistler? Give his business card to the people that I meet?” He leaned toward me. “I’ve got a little advice for you, Katie Reed. Find a better way to use your nervous energy than cook up crazy conspiracy theories.”

  After one final toothy grin, he shut his door, started the engine and drove away. As I walked back to the porch, I thought about Forsey’s attitude, tone and demeanor. He reminded me of other people that I’d met in my life; men and women who were powered by a curious blend of ambition, greed, entitlement and arrogance.

  “Well, Mr. Forsey,” I muttered when I reached the top of the front steps. “Nana Reed would have a little advice for you, too: Physician, heal thyself!”