“Someone else was in his truck?” Bonnie started to light another cigarette, then paused with the lighter inches from her face. “Do you think they’re connected?”
“Who, Bon? Appleton and his killer?”
Fred decided to go after the ducks before Bonnie could answer.
“The murders, silly. Do you think the same guy killed Shelia?”
Bonnie waited for an answer while I watched Fred swim slowly toward the ducks. Golden’s are great swimmers, but have nothing on Mallards. They let him get close then took off quacking, only to land a few yards away, and draw him further out in the lake.
“As sure as Fred will never catch those ducks,” I said.
Bonnie turned toward Fred and laughed. He lunged at a duck but missed when they took flight again, leaving him with a mouth full of water. Beethoven’s Fifth started playing on my cell phone before I could call Fred to come back. A quick glance at the text message told me it was the contractor who had replaced me with illegals.
“Looks like our sleuthing is on hold, Bon. I need to get my Jeep fixed. They want me to come back tomorrow and fix the mess made by the day laborers.”
***
Fred should have been exhausted after his marathon swim trying to catch dinner, but the first thing he did when we got back to Bonnie’s was jump out of her Cherokee and run after Chatter. I let him go after the tree-rat, and hiked up the path from Bonnie’s to my cabin. Fred would be sleeping soundly tonight.
I spent the rest of the afternoon replacing the fuel pump on my old Jeep while Fred kept himself busy trying to catch the squirrel. The phone call to my new boss could wait.
Working on a car is one chore most people would rather pass on to a mechanic, but working on my old beast was different. I actually enjoyed it at times like this. It was better than alcohol or nicotine and a lot less work than jogging to get the endorphins flowing.
Unlike newer vehicles, with electric fuel pumps buried in unreachable gas tanks, my Jeep had the old-style mechanical pump attached to the engine block. And it didn’t take a contortionist to get to it. There was enough room under the hood for a small army of back-yard mechanics, or in my case, a man and his dog.
Fred had tired of chasing the elusive Chatter, and parked himself under the Jeep so he could watch and supervise. He barked when my ratchet slipped and I let out a few cuss words to ease the pain of scraped knuckles. I realized he wasn’t there to check my work at all when I heard the distinctive sound of bells and cannons; Beethoven was calling me.
The symphony stopped by the time I extracted myself from under the Jeep and stumbled up my front porch stairs to answer my phone. There was a message from Bonnie inviting me and Fred to dinner, and a text from the contractor wondering where I was. I sent a text back to the contractor explaining my Jeep was down and I wouldn’t be there until tomorrow. Then I called Bonnie.
“Jake, you won’t believe who called me,” she said before I had a chance to speak. I was more surprised she knew it was me on the line than I was by the excitement in her voice; she didn’t have caller ID.
“Alex Trebek?”
“No, silly. Why would he call me? It was Paula Morgan.”
“The reporter?”
“Yes. I’m so excited, I could pee my pants. She wants to interview me on television.”
“Be careful what you say, Bon. The police can use it against you.”
“That’s just it, Jake. Appleton left a suicide note in his truck. He confessed to killing Shelia.”
Bonnie was so wound up, I didn’t get many details. Our conversation went on for several more minutes without me learning much. However, she did invite me to dinner again; Patty had dropped by to celebrate with more food than they could possibly eat, and they wanted me to join them. Fred would be disappointed, but I begged off. I knew in my heart Appleton didn’t kill himself or Shelia, and my heart also knew I wouldn’t rest until I found the real killer. Not because of some altruistic sense of justice, but because whoever killed Appleton must have the two things that mean the most to me: Julie’s wedding ring, and the copy of Tom Sawyer she gave me.
Those thoughts no sooner crossed my mind when Fred came up to lie by my feet. “Make that three things, Freddie. How could I forget you?”
CHAPTER SIX
I missed Bonnie’s fifteen minutes of fame and our morning coffee the next two days. The job in Bailey demanded we get there early before the boss decided to replace me again. Bonnie met Paula Morgan at Three Sister’s Park Thursday, so they could film where Appleton killed himself and left the suicide note exonerating Bonnie.
It wasn’t until I got home, tired and dirty, that I was able to pick up my cell messages. Bonnie got a lot less than her fifteen minutes because Paula did most of the talking. She also wanted Fred and me to join her and watch the television interview. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. The physical labor had me exhausted, and all I wanted was a shower and some sleep. I would have sent her a text saying so, but I knew that would be rude. Bonnie doesn’t text.
“Can’t you record it, Bon,” I asked after making the obligatory call and begging off. “We’re so tired, well, at least I am. Fred slept most of the day when he wasn’t hunting varmints.”
She laughed. “You say the funniest things, Jake. Yes, I’ll record it. Now you get some sleep.”
***
By Friday afternoon, the job was finished, and once more I had some cash in my pocket. I thought I would stop off in Evergreen and get the pineapple pizza Bonnie liked so much, but got sidetracked when I noticed my Jeep was low on gas and stopped at the convenience store in Pine Junction. A fancy Mercedes SUV was pulling out as I pulled in. The car’s windows were too darkly tinted to see the driver, but I immediately thought of Bonnie’s mysterious SUV, the one that had driven by Appleton’s cabin last Wednesday.
The temptation to drive past Appleton’s cabin had been with me all week, so after buying a soda and lotto ticket, I gave the clerk twenty dollars and decided I’d drive by the cabin after pumping my gas.
Sometimes a person has to break the law, I told myself as I turned around to take the road to Appleton’s. Sure, I could file a report with the Park County Sheriff, and hope I would get Julie’s ring and book returned. I could have also just bought a winning lotto ticket. The odds of either were about the same. Of course, I had no guarantee I would find them in his cabin. After all, Bonnie and I had tried once with no success, so why did I think I would do any better this time?
Fred barked and woke me from my inner debate when we approached the cabin. Parked in the driveway was the Mercedes I had seen leaving the convenience store. Bonnie was right about it being expensive; people paid dearly for that circle with a three-pointed star I had saw as we drove by.
I was tempted to floor the Jeep and get away before we were spotted. Fortunately, I kept my cool, and neither sped up nor slowed down. Once I reached the bend in the road, I turned around and pulled over. My heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. I couldn’t approach the cabin now, but I needed to know who was inside, and what was he doing in there. Instinct said to wait until whoever it was left the cabin; then I could either go in or follow the Mercedes. My second option seemed the safest choice, for it didn’t involve breaking any laws. I’m not a superstitious man, but it was Friday the thirteenth after all. Besides, I could always come back, but would probably never get another chance to find out who owned the expensive SUV.
We didn’t have long to wait. I no sooner had my phone out to call Bonnie when I remembered it didn’t work up here. Then Fred barked. I looked up from my phone in time to see the SUV race down the road toward 285. I managed to get a picture with my phone before starting my Jeep to give pursuit. Only the Jeep didn’t start. “What the,” I said, and then bit my tongue. I’m sure if Fred could talk, he would have finished for me because now he was barking non-stop.