“But why a gun?”
“Why not? Some guy trying to stash a gun in a supply closet right after there’s been an assassination makes more sense than trying to hide a pair of glasses or a bundle of cash. A gun is instantly incriminating. It would peg him as part of the assassination plot. Okay, let’s say the guy has a gun on him. He’s afraid to try to go outside with it, because he might get stopped and searched. So when all hell is breaking loose, he runs in and hides it in the closet, not knowing Loretta is in there. He might have planned to stash the gun in the closet all along. He might have intended to retrieve it later, or just let the police find it if it was clean of any incriminating evidence. So he stuffs the gun in between some towels or something and leaves. Loretta comes out from her hiding place and takes it. Maybe she thinks she’ll bring it to the police but then changes her mind and goes down the blackmail highway. Since she works at the hotel, she could probably sneak out an exit no one is covering or else hide the gun and come back to get it later.”
Michelle considered this line of reasoning. “Okay, so she has the gun and she’s seen the guy, and if she doesn’t know who he is, it’s easy enough to find out. She contacts him anonymously, possibly with a picture of the gun and where she was when she saw him, and starts
extracting payment. It works, Sean, as well as anything else.”
“And that’s why her house was ransacked. They were looking for the gun.”
“You really think Loretta kept it here somewhere?”
“You heard Tony: the woman didn’t believe in banks. She was probably the sort who kept anything of importance right where she could lay her hands on it.”
“So the big question is, where’s the gun now? Maybe the killer found it.”
“Maybe we take the house apart board by board.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Unless there’s a secret compartment somewhere, hiding the gun in a wall doesn’t make it real convenient to get to.”
“That’s true.” King’s gaze was absently roaming over the little garden. He stopped at one spot, passed it and then came back. He walked over to the row of hydrangea bushes. Six pink ones, and one in the middle of the group that was blue.
“Nice hydrangeas,” he said to Tony.
He came over wiping off his hands on a rag. “Yeah, Mama loved those the most, probably even over the roses.”
King looked curious. “Interesting. She ever say why?”
Tony looked puzzled. “Why what?”
“Why she liked hydrangeas over roses?”
“Sean, do you really think that’s important?” asked Michelle.
Tony rubbed his chin. “Well, now that you mention it, she told me more than once that to her those hydrangeas were priceless.”
King glanced sharply at Michelle and then stared at the blue hydrangea and exclaimed, “Damn!”
“What is it?” asked Michelle.
“The longest long shot in the world. But it might just be. Quick, Tony, do you have a shovel?”
“A shovel? Why?”
“I’ve always been curious about pink and blue hydrangeas.”
“Nothing special about that. Some people think they’re different bushes, but they’re not really. I mean you can get yourself pink and blue ones, but you can also change pink to blue by lowering the pH in the soil, make it more acidic, or blue to pink by making the soil more alkaline and raising the pH. They got stuff to make it more acidic, aluminum sulfate, I think they call it. Or you can put some iron filings in the soil, tin cans, even rusty nails and such. That’ll change the color from pink to blue too.”
“I know, Tony. That’s why I want the shovel.”
Tony fetched the tool from the garage, and King started to dig around the blue hydrangea. It didn’t take long before his shovel clinked against something hard. And a short time later he pulled out the object.
“Nice source of iron,” said King as he held up the rusty pistol.
CHAPTER
33
KING AND MICHELLE had stopped at a small diner for a quick bite after leaving poor Tony dumbstruck in his mother’s garden.