“No problem.” He went back to his boring news release.
A nice man, that was what Pete Peterson was. He wasn’t drop-dead handsome, he wasn’t a man to set your pulse racing, and he wasn’t the stuff of which dreams were made, but he was nice. Not a bad way to be.
I clicked on things and wrote down things, and soon the blank paper I’d brought with me was filled up with a rough sketch of property lines and the names of who owned what around Tarver Elementary.
Most were people’s names; a few of the properties were held by banks, a few by businesses. All the business properties were on a small industrial park directly behind the school. Rynwood Auto Parts, Lakeside Dry Cleaning, Glass Enterprises, and Otto’s Heating and Cooling all had properties that abutted Tarver’s. But so did thirty-two residences.
My fence-sitting stroke of brilliance had persuaded me that when I saw this list, my brain would make an electric leap. I’d suddenly know—just know—who’d killed Agnes.
“This was a dumb idea,” I muttered.
“Sorry?” Pete asked.
“And a complete waste of time.” I pushed the mouse around. Where was the GET OUT OF HERE button? I started clicking anything that looked remotely appropriate. Why did they make these things so complicated, anyway?
“Hey, slow down,” Pete said. “That’s a good way to lock it up.”
Locking up was good. Then I’d reboot and go away. Click. The dark gray background turned to an aerial image. Click. Thin curvy lines appeared everywhere. Click. Another menu popped up. Click. Red lines appeared.
“Water main.” Pete indicated a red line. “Is this what you wanted?”
I stared. A thick red line cut across the school property, close to the school itself, and went into the industrial park. My brain started making little leaps. “Is there a way to find out when this was put in?” I asked slowly.
“Sure.” Pete reached for the mouse, made a long series of clicks, and a list popped up on the screen. “Here we go. Twelve-inch cast iron . . .”
A memory niggled at me, and I tugged around until it pulled loose. The kids and I had been standing in Oliver’s favorite part of the playground, back before Agnes had been killed, looking at stakes that had “12” WM” scrawled on them in thick black marker.
Pete was still talking. “Blah, blah, blah, inspected by whoever, here it is. That main went in three years ago. Laid in August.”
Three years ago in August . . . I sat up straight, my brain jumping in great leaps and bounds. Three years ago we’d taken a summer trip to Colorado. No wonder I didn’t remember. No wonder I hadn’t made the connection before. Dot to dot to dot and none of the dots involved Erica.
Open utility trenches deep enough to bury small children. Or, more pertinent in this case, a full-sized adult.
A disappearing wife.
Interval of a few years.
A surprise construction project.
Certain exposure and imprisonment.
Another murder.
Dot to dot to dot. The clues had been there all along, I just hadn’t seen them clearly. But now I knew who had killed Agnes. And I knew why.
“Thanks a million, Pete.” I jumped up and gathered my purse and papers.
“Hey, no problem. Glad to help.”
He really was a nice guy. I bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “I owe you one.” I walked out and, out of the corner of my eye, saw his hand go up to his face.
My cell phone rang as I hurried outside. “Hello?”
“Beth, it’s Richard. I can’t keep the children tonight.” He spoke loudly over an odd assortment of background noises.
I unlocked the car and slid in. “It’s Wednesday.”
“Yes, I know, and I’m sorry, but my mom is having heart surgery tomorrow. She went in for a checkup, and now she’s in the hospital. They wouldn’t even let her go home.”
“Richard, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” His voice was rough. “I’m sure she’ll be fine, but . . .”
“You have to go. Of course you do. Give her my best.”
“I will. How soon can you get here? My flight leaves in an hour and a half.”
“You’re at the airport?” Suddenly, the noises made sense. He was rolling his suitcase, and disembodied voices were calling flights.
“The kids are right here with me. We’ll be waiting at the front entrance.”
“I’ll be there as—” But he’d already hung up.
“You two stay here.” After stuffing the car keys in my coat pocket, I half turned to address both children at the same time—Jenna in the backseat, Oliver in the front. “I’ll only be a minute,” I said.
“But I haven’t seen Mrs. Neff all day.” Oliver’s lower lip stuck out. “I want to show her my new drawing.” He kicked his backpack.
“Show her tomorrow.” What I had to tell Marina wasn’t for the consumption of small children, and since Marina’s DH always took Zach to karate lessons on Wednesday nights, I knew she’d be alone. I was still angry with her, of course, but I could ignore that for as long as it took to deliver this news. “Be back in a flash.”
A whoosh of cold, wet air flew in. I got out quickly and shut the door behind me. Inside the car, the kids were already arguing about something. I rapped on the window. “Be nice to each other,” I said loudly.
Before I’d moved two steps from the car, the argument started anew. I shook my head and hurried around the side of the house. For once the gate opened easily; I took it as a good omen. Like I always did, I knocked on the back door as I turned the doorknob. “Marina, it’s me.” But the door was locked. I rattled the knob and knocked again. “Hey! Let me in!”
A ruffled curtain covered the lower two-thirds of the door’s window. I got up on my tiptoes. Marina was at the kitchen table, hands on her lap, staring at the calendar on the far wall.
I banged my knuckles on the glass. “Marina, it’s Beth! I need to talk to you!” Marina was first; then I had to call Deputy Wheeler and then Gus. “Hey, c’mon. Open up!”
Marina shook her head and continued her stare-down with November.
Sunday afternoon’s spat came back with a rush. “Oh, please.” Rain was coming down my neck. The kids were in a car that was growing colder by the minute, and Marina was playing a thirteen-year-old princess.
I hurried off the back stoop and went across the wet lawn. A few months ago when Marina and I returned late from a Friday night movie in Madison, we came back to a locked door. Her DH had bolted it before he went up to bed, and since I’d driven, Marina hadn’t brought her keys. “Not a problem,” Marina had said as she reached for a hidden key. “Swear you won’t tell, okay? The DH doesn’t know.” Now I waded through soggy shrubbery, crouched, and reached under the wooden deck for a key hanging on a nail.
Water slicked onto me as I backed out of the yews. More water soaked through my shoes and into my socks as I crossed the lawn again. Princess Marina was going to have to lend me some footgear before I went home.
Back on the stoop, I banged on the door one more time. “Hey! Are you going to let me in or what?”
Marina, still at the table and still looking at the wall, shook her head.
I slid the key into the lock, turned the dead bolt, and went in.“What’s wrong with you?”Wind came inside with me, and I turned around to push the door shut. “Geez, it’s like December out there. Anyway, you wouldn’t believe what I found out. I know who killed—”
I faced Marina and suddenly nothing I had to say mattered.
“Beth.” Her voice was strained.
It made sense that her voice was tight. Mine would sound like that, too, if a long and very sharp knife were being held against my throat.
Chapter 21
There I was, standing in Marina’s kitchen, as I had hundreds of times before. We’d baked cookies, roasted turkeys, and broiled fish in this kitchen. I could almost smell the sugar we’d burned last winter when we’d tried to make caramel. A killer with a knife couldn’t possibly have been in this room. Could he?