I gave an embarrassed laugh, covering my own mixed feelings about this whole idea. “I’m not sure if it’ll be as much fun as it sounds. I came across an astrological chart in one of my investigations, and Gail mentioned you might be able to give me an idea of the person whose chart it is.”
“I can certainly try. I’d like to have some time alone to examine it before we meet, though. I’ll need to consult some reference books, and maybe redo it in my own style. There are a considerable number of variables involved.”
I rolled my eyes at the phone-already the escape clauses were being penciled in. “No problem. Where should I send a copy?”
“I’m guessing you want this done pretty quickly. Why don’t you leave it with your dispatcher, and I’ll pick it up later tonight. We can meet tomorrow morning. Then I’ll have a better idea of how I can help you.”
At least her sense of timing was good. “Well, I appreciate your help. You sure it’s no trouble?”
“No, no. I’m looking forward to it; this is a first for me. Can you come by my place at around nine? It’s on Whipple Street-the house with the picket fence out front.”
“You got it. See you at nine.” I broke the connection and dialed the extension to the conference room. Ron picked up on the third ring, sounding harassed.
“Did you get anything on that currency collector you mentioned?”
His voice regained some of its usual enthusiasm. “Yeah, I did-Richard Schimke, Rich to his friends. He specializes in American money, mostly Confederate and earlier, but he knows a lot about currency generally, and he’s easy to get along with. I’d be happy to do it for you.”
“How’s it going with your paper chase?”
“Almost finished-just a few odds and ends.”
“All right, it’s a deal. But remember, we don’t have enough to get a search warrant for any of Coyner’s records right now. You’re going to have to be careful finding out where he banks and what he’s been up to. Get people to volunteer information to you, okay?”
He sounded like a sailor with a fresh wind in his sails. “You got it.”
I finished what was left of my vegetarian lasagna and sat back in my chair, feeling full and content. Gail was mopping up the last of the sauce from her plate with a piece of French bread. She popped it in her mouth and smiled at me. “So, how was it?”
The usual kidding I gave her couldn’t compete. “Delicious-you win.”
I helped her clear the table and began filling the kitchen sink with soapy dishwater while she put the leftovers in the fridge.
Gail and I had been a couple for over a decade by now, and yet we still lived apart. Losing a wife to cancer had made me shy of repeating that degree of intimacy. Gail believed that a shared mortgage and the risk of one of us evicting the other in a dispute would undermine the honesty of our relationship. Both arguments had their flaws, but the bottom line was that we both liked things the way they were.
The dishes done, we left the kitchen area and climbed a dizzying, freestanding set of stairs to a loft with a sofa and a picture window overlooking the moonlit tumult of hills where the West River and the Connecticut River valleys converge.
Gail settled in a nest of pillows, leaving the lights off so that the dim blue-gray view could spread into the room like water spilled from a pail. I sat next to her and stretched my stockinged feet across the coffee table before us.
“Did Billie get in touch?” she asked sleepily.
“Yeah. Told me to leave a copy of the chart at the PD so she could check it out tonight, before we meet tomorrow morning.”
Gail chuckled. “That’s Billie, all right. I’m glad I thought of her; if anyone can decipher that chart, she can.”
I was a little surprised. “Why wouldn’t you have thought of her? I thought she did it for a living.”
“Oh, no. She does get paid for it, but that’s just to stop her friends from bugging her for free readings. She’s a potter, and a very good one; sells to companies who want to decorate their boardrooms and corner offices. She also has pieces in a museum or two. I met her through VermontGreen; she’s our activities coordinator this year.”
VermontGreen was a headline-grabbing environmental group that was doing all in its power to keep Vermont rural. It had some good ideas and made effective use of the media, but, like most single-issue outfits, it treated its detractors like reactionary industrialists hell-bent on paving the state over. Gail was a member, albeit a moderate one, which made debating the group’s merits something I tended to avoid.
I therefore kept my voice strictly neutral. “You say she’s very gung ho?”
Gail nodded approvingly. “Oh, yes. This year, it’s activities coordinator, but she’s always heading up something, plus doing a ton of other things. On top of the pottery, the astrology, and VermontGreen, she also teaches pottery to both adults and children, and runs a kind of halfway house out of her home for just about anyone who needs a shoulder to cry on. Amazing woman, and a good listener. You’ll like her.”
I didn’t answer, and she interpreted my silence accurately.
“Still bugged about the astrology? It’s no stranger than some of the other things you’ve relied on, and she’s well trained. She’s been doing it for years, and she’s a bit of a skeptic herself-avoids the mumbo jumbo. Besides, if you don’t like what you hear, I’ll find you another left-wing loonie to talk to-maybe someone who’s into crystals or pyramids. The boys’ll love that.”
I conceded defeat. “All right. I’ve already committed myself. Did you manage to dig up any other natural-foods suppliers?”
“Just one. Who do you have looking into that?”
“Kunkle.”
She laughed. “Oh, perfect. Tell him to contact Sunshine Jackson in Guilford. He supplies a lot of people who think the Food Co-op is a subdivision of Dow Chemical.”
I pulled my small notebook from my pocket and wrote down Jackson’s name, not that I thought I’d easily forget it.
“I take it you still don’t know who shot that man, or who stole the chart?”
I rested my head against the pillow behind me and watched the moon between half-closed lids. “Nope. I think Coyner’s hiding something, but I don’t know what. He may be the beginning and the end of this case, or he may just be a suspicious old woodchuck who resents his property being invaded. Hard to say.”
“And all you’ve got is the chart and some money.”
I was silent for a while, thinking about that. “That’s the sexy stuff; there is more.”
Gail sounded surprised. “What?”
“The house itself, for one-it was like a shrine to his own emptiness.” I envisioned the contents of his house slowly parading by in the half-light before me, including those most cherished possessions that he’d hidden away especially. “And there was a holster without a gun… and a few old bullets.”
She mulled that over, similarly baffled. “Why keep those?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, “but I think I’ll make an effort to find that missing gun.”
7
Locating Fuller’s gun was dependent not only on securing another search warrant but on getting hold of the right tool for the job. I thought I could coax the former from a judge; the latter, in this small state, would take some research.
I was standing by Harriet’s desk the following morning when she walked in, impatient to get things rolling. “Do me a favor, would you? Call the state police and ask if we can borrow their metal detector. I think the Rockingham barracks has one, but you might have to dig deeper.” I handed her a sheet of paper. “Also, please make sure Willy gets this-it’s some homework Gail did for him. And last,” I added with an apologetic smile, “I’d appreciate it if you could get either Sammie or Dennis to file for a search warrant for Fuller’s missing gun.” I handed her the rough draft of an affidavit I’d worked up before her arrival.