Gone With The Whisker

Chapter 6

Iwas falling directly into moving traffic. My arms flailed wildly and my feet had no idea what they should be doing. I hit the asphalt hard, and through nothing but sheer instinct I started rolling sideways, rolling away from the tires that were so very close to me.

My ears, which hadn’t heard anything for quite a while, suddenly started working again, hearing all sorts of things. Brakes shrieking, people yelling, a child screaming. I rolled to a stop and lay there for a moment, face up, looking at the sky. Still cloudy.

Footsteps ran to my side. “Are you all right?” a woman asked.

A car door slammed. “She fell right in front of me,” a male voice said, his tone tight and high. “There was nothing I could do.”

In seconds, I was looking up at a circle of strangers. “I’m fine,” I said, because I was pretty sure I was, but my voice came out quiet and no one heard me.

“Minnie! Look at me!”

I looked around and finally focused on a familiar face. “Hey, Pam. What’s up?”

“Not you, apparently.” Pam Fazio elbowed her way to my side. “Let’s give her some room, folks, okay?” Pam, owner of Older Than Dirt, the antique/gift store where Kate was spending a third of her working hours, kneeled by my side. “I’m sure someone has already called nine-one-one. Do you need an ambulance?”

I sat up, brushed myself off, and with Pam’s help, got to my feet. Everything seemed to be in working order, except my shirt had a new hole in the shoulder. I pulled out my phone and called dispatch, telling them to cancel everything, that it was just an accident. All was well.

The car’s driver hovered until I swore on an imaginary stack of Bibles that I wouldn’t sue him for almost running me over, and he eventually left.

“What was that all about?” Pam asked, brushing a bit of dirt off my back. “You just being your normal awkward and bumbling self?”

“I guess so.”

“Maybe it’s time to start paying more attention to what you’re doing?”

“Start a habit like that now, at my age?”

Pam shook her head, which made her short dark hair shake, too. “Well, since I have two decades on you and don’t have the habit, I suppose I shouldn’t ask it of you.”

I smiled. “Good to know you’re aware of the hypocrisy.”

“But honestly, Minnie, what happened?”

By now we were back on the sidewalk, and the vehicular and pedestrian traffic had cleared as much as it was going to until late August. I nodded at the congestion. “I’m not sure. Maybe someone accidentally pushed me?” I shook my head, trying to loosen the memory, but it didn’t come free. “But mostly likely, I just fell. I was trying to get around a woman pushing a stroller and I just . . . tripped.”

Pam picked a piece of leaf out of my hair, told me to take care of myself, and headed back into her store.

Slowly, I walked back to the marina, feeling the bumps and scrapes that were going to make me horribly stiff in the morning, wondering about what had just happened. Had I really felt someone shove me into the road? Yes, I was pretty sure of it. But had it been accidental or intentional?

There was no way for me to know, so I decided not to think about it too much. By far the likeliest scenario was an accident. But just in case it wasn’t and just in case someone knew I was helping the police with the murder investigation and wanted me out of the way, I decided to double down my efforts to find Rex Stuhler’s killer.

And maybe I’d be a little more careful, too.

* * *

At the house that night, I very casually explained to Rafe that the new bruises on my arms and legs were a sad example of what could happen on the mean streets of Chilson, and immediately changed the conversation to next steps in looking for Rex’s killer.

“There’s a hole in your shirt.” Rafe put three of his fingers through it, and I deeply wished I’d taken the time to go back to the houseboat to change.

“Old shirt,” I said, pulling the fabric out of his reach. “I was thinking about the Stuhlers’ pest control business. Are you familiar with any of those websites that review local businesses?”

Rafe squinted. “What, you think because Rex couldn’t get a squirrel out of an attic fast enough someone killed him?”

“People kill over dumber things,” I said. “And what if it was a skunk? What if the skunk sprayed all over . . . over . . . some historic papers, a signed letter from Abraham Lincoln, and now it’s not worth anything. Or what if Rex had guaranteed an attic critter-free, but it wasn’t, and someone had stored their, um, their Queen Anne furniture up there and raccoons got in and—”

Rafe held up a hand. “Don’t spend all your brain power dreaming up unlikely but possible scenarios. I take your point and, yes, I can think of a couple of websites people around here use.”

Grinning, I rubbed my hands together and, because of the recent abrasions, immediately regretted doing so. “Great,” I said. “Where’s your laptop?”

“You want to do this now?” Rafe pointed at the tool belt around his waist.

“No time like the present.” Darkness was coming and Kate was about to spend another night dreaming of things that made her wake up crying. “Just tell me and you can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing.” I hesitated. “Unless you need my help, of course.”

“If it’s the kind of help where you ask what I’m doing and why I’m doing it and slowing things down more than you speed them up, then I’m fine alone.”

“You hurt me,” I said, giving him a look of fake pain. “Truly and deeply.”

“Oh?” He moved closer. “Where exactly does it hurt? Let me kiss it and make it better.”

Which is what he did, so it was a few minutes before we extricated ourselves from each other and moved on to our appointed tasks. I found his laptop right where he said it was, on a counter in the kitchen, underneath a stack of newspapers and magazines.

I fired it up and typed in the first review site Rafe had mentioned. Nothing came up under the name of Rex’s company, ABK Pest Control. “Rats,” I muttered, then giggled at myself. Rats? When I was looking up pest control? Hah! Still giggling, I pulled up the other review site. This one included an entry for ABK. I scrolled down and read the comments that had been posted.

DaveR: Rex did a great job getting rid of the bats in our belfry. Okay, it was an attic, but they’re gone and that’s what matters. Thanks!

Suzie11K: One panicky phone call about the squirrel my cat brought in and Rex was here in less than an hour. He saved me from a heart attack. I love this man and if he wasn’t already married I’d snap him up. Sorry, honey :)

There were more in that same vein, but then I read a post from JNJ132: Don’t ever call Rex Stuhler. He’ll make your life so miserable you’ll wish you hadn’t been born.

I stared at the harsh words. Studied the cryptic name of the poster. And knew exactly what I’d be doing first thing in the morning.

* * *

The sixtyish woman looked at me over the top of her computer. “Morning, Minnie. What brings you here so early? Coffee?” She nodded at the machine set on a counter near her desk.

“Polly,” I said, “you are the answer to my prayers.”

“That’s what all the bookmobile librarians tell me,” she said. “What can the chamber do for you today?”

Polly, director of the Chilson Chamber of Commerce for twenty years, was a whirlwind of energy in summer and essentially hibernated in winter. She had privately lamented to me that with the tourist season expanding into spring and fall, the hibernation thing was getting harder to do, but she was hoping to continue her habits until retirement.

“Well,” I said, opening the cupboard and choosing a slightly chipped yellow mug with the logo of Chilson’s sesquicentennial, “I saw on your website that ABK Pest Control is a member of the chamber.”

Polly sighed. “Rex and Fawn. It’s so sad. Do you know if the police have found out who killed him?”

“Not yet, but last night I had an idea.” I leaned against the counter, which on most people would have hit them at hip level, but on me nestled into the small of my back. “Do you keep a list of complaints against your members?”

Polly eyed me. “You mean like a Better Business Bureau?”

“Exactly.” I wrapped my hands around the mug and sipped of the life-giving liquid. “Maybe it could give the sheriff’s office a lead.”

“Sorry,” Polly said, “but we don’t keep a list like that.”

I deflated. I’d been so sure. “Do you remember anyone complaining about them?” I explained about the review site and the nasty comment.

“What was the name?”

“Of who posted? It was a combination of letters and numbers. Don’t remember the numbers, but the letters were JNJ.”

Polly nodded. “Well, there you go. I’d lay money that was John and Nandi Jaquay. JNJ, see? They blamed Rex for an infestation of raccoons that spent an entire winter in their summer cottage. Made a huge mess of the place, from what I hear.”

“How was that Rex’s fault?”

“Who knows.” She shrugged. “People like to have someone to blame, I guess. John and Nandi kept e-mailing and calling, telling me to strike him from our membership.”

“But you didn’t.”

“From one complaint?” She snorted. “But they were angry, that’s for sure. And they seemed intent on ruining Rex’s business.”

I thanked her and went out into the morning sun, walking up to the library slowly as I thought through what I’d learned.

The Jaquays wanted to ruin Rex. How big a step was it from destroying a man’s livelihood to murder?

* * *

I worked in the library all Thursday and did bookmobile runs on Friday and Saturday morning. After waving good-bye to Julia at noon and taking Eddie back to hearth and houseboat, I grabbed a quick lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwich, washed it down with a few bites of cottage cheese straight out of the container since Kate wouldn’t touch the stuff and wasn’t there to see me commit food heresy, and stuffed a bottle of water and a book (because you just never knew) into my backpack.

“I’ll be back soon,” I called to Eddie from the kitchen. But he was doing his usual post-bookmobile routine, that of being flopped on his side on my bed, snoring like a steam engine.

“Sweet dreams.” I blew him a kiss and headed out into the sunshine. The day was bright as a shiny penny and my heart was light as I rolled my bicycle out of my marina storage unit. Rafe was out fishing with some friends and we’d be meeting in a couple of hours, so I had plenty of time to explore the idea I’d dreamed up that morning.

What I’d learned about the Jaquays had been interesting, and I’d passed on that information to Ash, but I was still convinced that Barry Vannett, he of the nasty temper, was a likely candidate for Rex’s murder. What was it he’d yelled at Rex? That if Rex came back to talk about a trail, he’d get a “face full of shotgun.” So obviously, what I needed to do was learn more about the trail proposal.

My clever use of the Internet during a nonbusy bookmobile stop had turned up a website for a grass-roots trail advocacy group. Chilson Connection was both the website and tentative trail name, which had a theoretical route laid out.

I clicked on the map and saw that, yes indeed, the proposed route was zipping right across Vannett and Stuhler land and diving deep into the adjacent state forest. I also noted that the website talked a lot about conceptual design, construction design, and costs that made my mouth drop open.

But it was the site’s home page that I found most interesting, because it told me all about a fund-raising event being held at an existing trailhead just outside Chilson that very day.

“Fate,” I said to myself as I pedaled up the hill. Well, gasped to myself, really, because the hill was long and steep and my exercise the last few months had been more sanding and painting and much less running and biking.

The trailhead was only a mile outside the city limits, and I coasted into the parking lot glad I’d decided to bike and not drive. The parking lot was jammed so full that people were parking on the grass and on the road’s shoulder. A tent with a banner proclaiming COUNTDOWN TO THE CHILSON CONNECTION was packed with people and all of them appeared to be reaching for their wallets.

Hmm.

I biked past, watching and thinking, and hours later, was still thinking when Rafe arrived at the house with a cooler in hand. Since one of my hands was holding a paintbrush and the other was all painty, I declined to hug him, and instead tipped my head forward.

“This is the only part of you not covered in paint,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “How do you do that?”

“It’s a skill,” I said, eyeing his cooler. “If only I could monetize it. Does that hold what’s left of your beverages, or does it hold future dinner that someone is going to have to cook?”

“None of the above.” He set it down and, with a flourish, opened the top and presented two foam containers. “Hot off the grill from the Round Table, two fish sandwiches made of fish caught by yours truly. Fries on the side, but I had nothing to do with those.”

“How did . . . ?” Then I remembered that one of his fishing partners was the head cook at the Round Table. My beloved was quite the catch. Smiling at my own internal pun, I scrambled to my feet, since I’d been sitting on the floor to paint the living room’s baseboard. In short order I’d cleaned up and we were on the front porch eating fresh fish and fries.

He told me a little too much about his day out on his buddy’s boat and all the bad jokes they’d shared, and I told him about the Jaquays and their intent to ruin ABK Pest Control. I also told him about my bike ride and what I’d seen at the trailhead.

“So,” I told him, opening a packet of malt vinegar and sprinkling liberally, “to me all that energy and enthusiasm about the trail means murdering Rex couldn’t possibly have changed a thing.”

“Did Vannett know that?” Rafe asked. “Maybe he thought Rex was the leader and the group would fall apart without him.”

Possible, but it didn’t seem likely. “I’m back to thinking Barry’s marijuana application has something to do with the murder. Marijuana involves money, like we were saying before, remember? Legal or black market, it means cash, and that’s always a great motive.”

Rafe nodded. “Sure, but what’s the connection in this case? What was Stuhler going to do, steal all of Vannett’s plants? Burn them? Do we even know if Stuhler was against having a grow operation next door? Maybe he was thrilled with the idea.”

“But—” I stopped myself. Because Rafe was right. We didn’t know, and we needed to find out.