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.