CHAPTER 67
WHEN REUBEN hooked back up with Annabelle and Caleb later that day at the campground, the big man didn’t have much to report. Yet he did have one observation.
“We been to all these little towns up here, but Divine is different.”
“Different how?” asked Caleb.
“There’s money here,” answered Reuben. “Thriving shops, new cars, renovated buildings, a courthouse and a jail. Went to the church, even did a little praying. I talked to the padre, he said it was all done in the last few years.”
“What cover are you using?” Annabelle asked.
“Said I was a writer looking to set a novel in a small mountain town. Everybody seemed to accept it okay. I guess I look like a writer,” he added smugly.
Caleb stared up at his giant friend with the long, curly black hair and beard shot with gray. “I’d say you’re more bohemian-looking, but that’s probably just splitting hairs. But I think I see what you’re saying. The library was really beautiful. The librarian said it had been recently redone too. Brand-new media center, computers, the works.”
“And who’d you tell ’em you were?” asked Reuben gruffly.
“A wandering bibliophile. I think I fit that role rather well.”
“You really told them that?” asked Annabelle.
“No, I actually said I was looking for work as a short order cook and was checking the classifieds. For some reason she accepted that without question, though I hardly look like a Fry Daddy connoisseur,” he added stiffly.
“Sure you don’t. What’d you find out, Annabelle?” asked Reuben.
She told them of her conversation with Shirley and Judge Mosley.
“The woman knows something, that’s for sure. I think we should follow her and see what else we can find out.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“When will Alex get here?” Caleb wanted to know.
“Soon, at least I hope.”
“Missing the lawman, are we?” Reuben asked.
“No, I’m just tired of doing all the thinking.”
“Well, here’s another one for you to think about. Where are we going to be crashing?”
“Not in town,” she said. “How about we just sleep in the van out here?”
“In the van?” said Caleb with a stricken look. “What about bathroom facilities?”
Annabelle pointed to the woods. “Nature’s own.”
“Oh, for Chrissakes,” began Caleb.
Reuben held up a hand. “Caleb, if a bear can shit in the woods so can a librarian.”
“And what about that reporter?” Caleb pointed out.
“I’ve sort of got a plan, but I need Alex’s help.” She turned to Reuben. “So why do you think Divine is so prosperous?”
He said, “Maybe if we answer that, we can explain why people keep getting murdered and/or blown up.”
“Do you think something’s happened to Oliver?” Caleb asked.
“I’ve never met anyone better able to take care of himself than Oliver,” Reuben answered quite truthfully.
At least we can hope, thought Annabelle.
CHAPTER 68
WHEN SHIRLEY COOMBS left the courthouse it was already seven in the evening and the darkness had fallen solidly on mountain-bound Divine. She stopped at one store, and when she came back out she toted a plastic bag full of wine bottles. She put this in her car and then walked into Rita’s. When she came back out a couple hours later she climbed in her late-model red two-door Infiniti where it was parked behind the courthouse. Apparently so absorbed was the woman in her thoughts that she never saw the white van behind her as she pulled on to the road and sped off.
She arrived home and went inside, staggering slightly.
Caleb pulled the van to a stop a little ways down from the house. Shirley Coombs lived in a one-story vinyl-sided house with a small front porch decorated with tubs of pansies. A gravel drive led to a detached garage. Twenty yards behind the house was thick forest. In a side yard a vegetable garden had been laid out, though the only things planted in it now were a couple of bare and leaning tomato stakes. A pile of rusted lawn chairs and a stack of firewood dominated the small backyard. The lady had no neighbors; hers was the only house down here.
Reuben hunched forward between the two front seats and stared at the house as lights came on inside.
“Do we wait till she passes out and search the place?”
“Why don’t you go and see if you can get a look inside one of the windows,” said Annabelle.
“I’ll go with him,” said Caleb.
“Why?”
“Four eyes are better than two.”
They slipped out of the van and headed to the house, keeping to the tree line until they neared the house. Then the two made a beeline for the back porch.
Five minutes later they were back in the van.
“Talk about your diamonds wrapped up in a tin can,” said Reuben.
“What do you mean?” asked Annabelle.
“What he means is the inside of Shirley Coombs’ humble abode hardly matches the outside. The furniture is all high-end, the paintings on the walls are real oils, a couple by artists I recognized, the rugs are authentic oriental, and she’s got at least one sculpture that is museum quality.”
“Shirley the small-town court clerk is living high on the hog,” added Reuben.
“But not so anyone can see it,” said Annabelle. “Crappy on the outside and I bet she doesn’t encourage visitors.”
“She must just like to be surrounded by nice things,” ventured Caleb.
“I’d like to get a look at her bank statement,” said Annabelle. “What do you want to bet it shows she’s loaded?”
“And still staying in this place,” said Reuben. “Why?”
“Greed,” said Caleb, and they both stared at him. “She’s doing something up here, something at that courthouse, and she’s getting paid for it. But she wants more and she won’t get it if she leaves.”
“I bet you’re right, Caleb. Nice deduction. She did strike me as the greedy type.”
“The thing is, do we know it’s connected to whatever happened to Oliver?” asked Reuben. “We could be wasting time with her and meanwhile Oliver might be in serious trouble.”
“I think they are connected, Reuben,” said Annabelle. “From what the sheriff told me, Oliver was right in the middle of all this stuff. I can’t believe a small town like this would have two completely unconnected major secrets. Whatever Shirley’s got going on has to be tied to all the other stuff. It has to. It’s the only thread we’ve got.”
An hour went by and then another. Finally, the front door to the house opened and Shirley came out. She was dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved blouse and flats and carried a bag. The way she meandered to her car indicated that at least some of the wine she’d purchased had made its way down her throat.
“She’s going to drive like that, up here?” Caleb said worriedly.
When Shirley shot out of her drive, Caleb followed. They headed back to town and through it. Shirley finally turned off and drove up a dirt road, pulling the car to a stop in front of the demolished trailer.
She popped open the car door, grabbed her bag, and staggered up to what was left of the front steps and sat down. She opened the bag, pulled out the bottle of wine and chugged it. It went down badly and she ended up throwing most of it back up. She tossed the bottle down and lit up a cigarette. Then she started to weep, her head resting on her knees.
“Willie! WILLIE!” she sobbed.
“Can I help?”
Shirley jerked up and saw Annabelle standing there. She wiped her face with her sleeve, stared at her suspiciously for a moment and then shook her head wearily. “Nobody can help me, not now.” She indicated the destroyed mess behind her.
“Was this where your son . . . ?”
Shirley nodded and dragged on her cigarette. “What the hell are you doing here?” she slurred.
“Just driv
ing around looking for my dad and heard someone crying. I’m sorry, Shirley, I really am. I know how you feel. The loss and everything.” Annabelle sat down on the steps next to her.
“Why come here?”
“The sheriff told me my dad had helped Willie. I don’t know, I thought there might be some clue here. At this point I’m basically grasping at straws.”
With this earnest explanation Shirley’s suspicious look faded. She flicked her cigarette away and rubbed at her eyes. “He was curious about what happened to Willie,” she said slowly. “Came to see me about it.”
“He did?” Annabelle said quickly. “I thought you two hadn’t spoken.”
“I lied to you,” Shirley said bluntly. “I didn’t know who you were and all,” she added vaguely.
“Sure, I understand that.”