“Clearly there was a fourth person present,” said Mars. “One who killed two women and hid their bodies. He probably thought Charlene was dead and went into a panic when he couldn’t find her. That fourth person was the only one who walked away unscathed.”
“It had to be Fred. He knew where to find lime in the middle of the night.”
“Why did he kill Mia and Abby?” asked Mars.
I collapsed on the cushy armchair. “I don’t even know if he was acquainted with them. Although Abby and Charlene were friends. She probably mentioned Abby to him. Did you notice that Wesley didn’t mention anything about Briley last night?”
“I wondered about that. Either he feels secure about the fact that Briley is his daughter, or he doesn’t know about Peyton yet. It feels kind of strange to know something that will change the lives of people in Wisconsin whom we have never met. I wonder if the police have informed them that there’s a possibility Peyton has been located.”
Changing the subject I asked, “What if someone followed Mia?”
“Her husband and Tilly have alibis. That leaves Benton, Wesley—whom I believe we can eliminate—and Jericho.”
“And Fred,” I added.
“And Fred, who probably didn’t even know two of the three women.”
Frustrated, I went back to work on the cookbook. In the early afternoon, I made a quick white chili with chicken breasts and great northern beans, as well as Tilly’s recipe for iron skillet corn bread.
I poured half the chili into a bowl to take to Francie and Eunice for their dinner and added half the corn bread. It was early for dinner, but they could warm them whenever they felt like eating.
Mars was sniffing the air when he emerged from the den. “I’m getting hungry.”
I latched Daisy’s halter on her. “I’m taking some over to Francie. I won’t be long.”
“Isn’t that what you said yesterday when you found Abby’s body and were gone for hours?”
I didn’t think I had said that, but I understood his point. I threw him a look and left through the backyard.
When I arrived at Francie’s house, she had company. Benton opened the door.
“Thank you. Looks like you’re having a party over here.”
It was a strange assembly of people. Francie and Eunice, of course. Sam the fisherman. Benton the spy. Briley and Schuyler. They all went silent and gazed at me.
I was pleased to see Schuyler looking bright-eyed. Maybe it was good for her to get out and be with people instead of sitting at home and thinking about Mia.
On the table in front of them were two laptop computers and one desktop computer.
I tried to joke about it. “Briley and Schuyler, don’t tell me you’re doing schoolwork on a Sunday afternoon.”
Eunice said quickly, “It’s due soon. We’re going to make sure that they both get As in that class.”
If Benton hadn’t been there, I might have bought her explanation. But I couldn’t think of a single reason that Benton would be involved in their study of Old Town many years ago.
“Everything was so different when I was a young bride,” said Francie with a smile.
I could feel the tension. They were all waiting for me to leave. Had Schuyler suspected all along that she wasn’t Mia’s child? Could she remember a previous life or had she been too young? Were they researching missing children?
“Well,” I said uneasily, “enjoy your dinner.”
Daisy and I left immediately, but when I was outside, I could hear the chatter and giggles. I turned around and saw Sam Bambam wiping his face like my visit had been a close call.
They were definitely up to something.
It was too early to eat dinner. I strolled toward Eunice’s house and spied Wolf’s car there. Instead of walking along the street, Daisy and I cut through the alley. It really wasn’t very far to Natasha’s backyard from the alley.
There was no yellow crime scene tape on the gate, so I opened it and looked inside.
Wolf spotted us right away. He was standing in the middle of the patio. “You can’t come in yet.”
“No problem. I’ll be glad when they renovate back here and it looks fresh and different. The memory is a little gruesome. I do have a question for you, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Did the autopsies show how Mia and Abby died?”
“They were both strangled.”
“Then the same person probably killed both of them?”
“I don’t know that one could draw that conclusion. Plus, in both cases a ligature was used. But not the same ligature.”
“Did you find the material that the killer used?”
“No. Whoever cleaned up the crime scene did a fairly thorough job.”
“But you know this because the pattern on the necks don’t match?” I guessed.
“Exactly.”
“Was either one of them beaten like Charlene?” I asked, hoping he would keep giving me answers.
“Mia took a punch to the face.”
“Are you as confused about this as I am?” I asked.
Wolf smiled. “I hope not.”
That was reassuring. Maybe he was onto something.
I thanked him and closed the gate. Daisy tugged me toward the end of the alley, where a squirrel raced up a tree.
We weren’t far from Fred’s house. I wasn’t sure why I kept coming back to him. But as we walked, I realized that he fit Eunice’s description of a spy. He was somewhat plain, as was his home. He was quiet and didn’t draw attention to himself. I knew nothing of his travel habits, but I thought it was sort of funny that such an ordinary fellow fit the description of a spy.
As I approached his house, Georgia Beckworth, a local florist, waved at me. I had used her services many times for events. I stopped for a moment to chat with her.
“I can’t believe what’s going on in Old Town,” she whispered. “Two women dead? I trust Wolf, but I hope you’re looking into this case, too. It’s just horrible. Mia was a customer of ours. I’m just horrified by what happened to her. Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“Wolf’s working hard to figure that out.”
“And poor Charlene! Fred is just sick about her condition. I hope she pulls through.”
“I saw the beautiful roses he sent her. I imagine they came from your store?”
“They did. He was darling. So precise.” She held up her forefinger. “They must be pink and there must be thirteen. I told him an even dozen was traditional, but he said, no, no, no. That’s for funerals. It must be an uneven number, so she’ll get well. Isn’t that adorable?”
“I’ve never heard that.”
“It’s a Russian custom. We send flowers for a few Russians who live around here. They always insist on an uneven number of flowers unless it’s for a funeral.”
“Russian? Is Fred Russian? I don’t recall that he has an accent.”
“His English is perfect. I think maybe his parents came from Russia. We’re all superstitious, aren’t we? We say we’re not, but we won’t walk under a ladder.” Georgia giggled.
“Do you know Fred well?”
“We don’t socialize with him if that’s what you mean. He’s a good neighbor, though. Very quiet and polite.”