CUTTER'S GROVE Page 18

  Before we go our separate ways Mel tells us he's thinking of heading down to Palm Springs for some golf next weekend. “Anybody interested?” he asks.

  “Count me in,” Herb says.

  “I’d like to but I can’t make it,” Paco says. “Got a run coming up – L.A. to Phoenix.”

  “How about you, Lucas?” Mel asks.

  “I’m not much of a golfer, Mel. Think I’ll pass.”

  “Suit yourself. You interested Sonny?”

  “Naw, I can barely hit the toilet when I’m peein’,” he says. “Don’t think I’d have much luck hittin’ that little bugger of a golf ball.”

  “Guess we’ll have to take you along then, Arliss,” Mel says.

  “Great,” Arliss responds. He leans over to me. “You must be psychic,” he says.

  I smile, but I’m thinking, If I was psychic you’d be cooling your jets in the heartbreak hotel right now, shithead.

  As Sonny and I are walking back home it occurs to me that, with Herb and Arliss out of town next weekend, there would be nothing to stop me from finally satisfying my curiosity about the mysterious contents of Herb’s basement.

  Yeah, I know. Some guys are suckers for punishment. And some are too stupid to draw breath.

  I figure I probably qualify under both definitions.

  37

  By Saturday it’s been a week since I’ve had any communication with either Beth or Deborah. I decide to phone Deborah first to see how she’s getting along. She comes to the phone sounding out of breath. “Hello.”

  “Did I call at a bad time?” I ask.

  “Lucas, what a pleasant surprise. No, not at all. I was just doing some housework. How have you been?”

  “Fine, thanks. How about you?”

  “I’m getting by. Trying not to think too much about what the future holds.”

  “Have you had any more word on Harold’s tests?”

  “Not yet. Mr. Fosberg says we may hear something soon, though.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you … anything at all?”

  “I’d love some company,” she says in a timid tone.

  “Sure.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Sounds good. Would you like to go out to the hotel?”

  “Are you sure Beth would---”

  “I don’t think Beth would care an awful lot one way or the other,” I interrupt gently.

  “Really?” She sounds more skeptical than gladdened.

  “It looks that way.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. “Sounds to me like you could use a good home-cooked meal. Why don’t you come over here? We don’t have to go to the hotel.”

  “If you insist.”

  “Definitely.”

  “I’ll bring some wine.”

  “That would be nice. I’ll see you around seven.”

  If I harbored any thoughts that Deborah had a romantic evening in mind, those notions are dispelled the moment she answers her door. Actually, it’s hard to believe this is the same woman who had such a mesmerizing effect on me that day at the garage. She looks as though she’s aged ten years. There are puffy bags under her eyes and she has given no effort to making things better with makeup.

  She invites me in and immediately apologizes for her appearance. “The doctor prescribed some sedatives and they’ve just taken away all my energy,” she explains. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

  “You look fine, Deborah,” I say, trying to make it sound as though I mean it.

  “Everything’s ready, so we can eat right away if you'd like.”

  “Sure.”

  “Lucas, I’m so glad I have you to talk to,” she says when we’re seated at the dining room table. “I don’t know what I’d do if I had to face everything alone.”

  “I’m glad I’m here for you.”

  “It’s been terrible. Everyone I see looks at me like it’s my fault, what Harold did.”

  “I know. But with time that’ll change.”

  “I hope so. But you know, Lucas, I really don’t think Harold had anything to do with Anne Marie’s disappearance.”

  “I had a talk with Corporal Yates about that. I think he feels the same way.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He can’t figure why Harold would bother to deny his guilt in light of the evidence against him regarding Rhonda. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That’s right. And Rhonda Getty was a terror. She was always acting up in public. Not that I condone what Harold did, but to some degree I can understand what might have happened at least. She was the type of child to make fun of someone like Harold. But Anne Marie was just the opposite. She was the most well-behaved, polite child I’ve ever known. I can’t imagine her doing anything to hurt Harold’s feelings. And that puts us back to square one with the original murder suspects then, doesn’t it?”

  “Actually, there have been some developments since we spoke last, Deborah.”

  She looks at me with hope in her eyes. “What?”

  “Mel, Herb, and Paco have all been cleared. They were in Las Vegas for three days before Anne Marie disappeared. Yates checked Paco’s alibi when he learned that Paco wasn’t Anne Marie’s real father. He confirmed all three were nowhere near Cutter’s Grove at the time.”

  “My God, then we know it has to be Arliss!”

  “That’s the way it looks, yeah.”

  “Well, if we’ve narrowed the list down to a choice between Arliss and Sonny, there’s really nothing to debate. Why don’t we tell Sergeant Yates what we know?”

  “We’ve got nothing on Arliss, Deborah. Yates will laugh us out of town if we tell him how we’ve come to the conclusion it had to be one of the poker guys.”

  “Maybe not,” she says. “After all, he has to admit Thelma Paige’s abilities now that she was the one to find Rhonda.”

  “Ah, but remember, it was me who came up with the poker group, not Thelma. She just gave us her impressions at the time of the disappearance; she didn’t interpret them.”

  “You’re right,” Deborah says. She’s thoughtful for a while. “What’ll we do, then?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve got to get something on Arliss. Something real we can turn over to Yates.”

  “Well, sure, but just how do we go about doing that?” she asks.

  I’m struck by the fact that I had very nearly the same discussion with Beth not long ago. “That’s what we’ve got to figure out,” I say.

  Throughout dinner we toss around some ideas. But, as much as we don’t like it, there’s simply no getting around the fact that there is no physical evidence against Arliss.

  In the absence of physical evidence, we conclude, we have to come up with a way to make Arliss give himself away.

  38

  Two days later I get a call from Deborah. “It’s a pretty safe bet that if Arliss killed Anne Marie he buried her body, right?” she says.

  “Seems logical,” I reply.

  “Okay. So what if Arliss had some really good reason to dig her up?”

  “That sounds a tad bizarre, Deborah. Why would he want to do that?” I ask.

  “Let’s say that he thought there was something valuable - an heirloom of some kind maybe, worth thousands of dollars - buried with her. Don’t you think he’d be awfully tempted to dig her body up to get it? We’d just have to keep an eye on him and catch him in the act.”

  “Why on earth would he think Anne Marie would be buried with a valuable heirloom?” I wonder aloud.

  “I haven’t thought that part out yet,” Deborah admits. “But if, for whatever reason, he could be made to think that she was, might it not be a way to get him to give himself away?”

  What she’s proposing seems a little over-simplified but, just the same, she might have a germ of an idea here. “I suppose it’s possible. But, assuming Anne Marie is buried somewhere in the desert, how could we possibly get away with following him? He’d spot us in a second.”

  “True,” she a
grees, “but don’t you think it’s likely that Anne Marie is probably buried not too far from where you saw her ghost?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I suppose.” Verbalizing this possibility makes me feel a little ridiculous.

  “Then couldn’t we hide out somewhere nearby and wait for him to show up?”

  “How would we know for sure when he’d show up? We could be out there forever waiting for him.”

  “Maybe,” she says, “but I think it would be fair to assume that he’d move on it quickly once he became aware there was something valuable just sitting out there waiting for him to go and get. Don’t you agree?”

  “It’s conceivable,” I concede, “if there was enough money involved to make it worth his while. But we’d have to come up with a very convincing scenario and then find some way to get the information to him without it sounding like a setup.”

  “I agree. But that’s all right, we can do that. We just need to think it through, come up with something entirely believable that would make it impossible for Arliss to resist going through the gruesome act of digging up a dead body.”

  “There’d have to be a lot of money involved to get him to do that I think.”

  “Well, yes,” Deborah says. “But he’s not a wealthy guy. The idea of making some easy money would be awfully tempting I would think. Particularly if he didn’t perceive there was any real risk of getting caught.”

  “Okay, so how do we go about hooking him?”

  More silence. “I don’t know yet. Let me think on it. And you do the same.”

  “Okay, Deborah. I will.”

  I hang up the phone thinking it’s a long shot at best but, who knows, maybe we could make something of this idea of Deborah’s. It’s also really good to see her all fired up again, with something to think about besides Harold’s fate.

  But although it’s nice to have Miss Marple back on track once again, the truth is I miss Nancy Drew all to hell.

  ****

  Mid-morning of the next day Sonny drops in to the shop. “How’s it goin’?” he asks.

  I’m just finishing up a tune-up for one of Mel Hocking’s crew and there’s nothing else awaiting me. “Okay, Sonny. Not overly busy, though.”

  He looks sad at the prospect of a drop in the income he’s been blessed with since I entered his life. “Things’ll pick up again,” he says hopefully.

  “Sure they will.”

  “Wanna go up to the diner for a coffee?” he asks.

  My first inclination is to take a pass but, after a little thought, I decide to take him up on the offer. Might as well see if Beth has thawed at all. “Why not,” I reply.

  Sonny’s demeanor brightens noticeably - I assume it’s at the prospect of some fireworks. “Maybe yer presence’ll improve Beth’s personality,” he says. “She’s been a mite bitchy lately.”

  “Don’t count on it,” I advise him.

  When we walk in to the diner a few minutes later, my advice seems pretty much on target. Beth gives Sonny a cold acknowledgement. “Sonny,” she says. I get nothing at all.

  We sit at a booth, looking at each other nervously while Beth approaches with a coffee pot in hand. At first glance it’s not clear whether she’s planning to serve us or use the pot as a weapon.

  We both slide our cups to the edge of the table to encourage the former, rather than the latter, action. She fills our cups. “Anything else?” she says without looking at either of us.

  “No, thanks,” we mumble.

  She walks away without another word.

  “Why didn’t ya talk to her?” Sonny says.

  “Did it look to you like she was in the mood to talk?” I respond.

  Sonny makes a sucking noise through his teeth. “Guess not,” he says.

  When we finish up, I walk to the counter to pay the bill, hoping this will give me an opportunity to open up some dialogue. Beth takes my five and makes change. “I was just wondering if maybe you’d like to …” I begin. But she’s looking at me like she’s about as interested in what I’m about to say as she is in last year’s baseball scores. “Well … I’ll see you later.”

  The cash register’s ping is the only reply I get to that one.

  I’m just about to climb into bed that night when Deborah calls. “I’ve got an idea,” she says. “It would have to be done with a lot of finesse but it just might work.”

  “I’m all ears,” I say.

  “What if Arliss thought Anne Marie was wearing a valuable bracelet - her grandmother’s - worth ten, maybe fifteen thousand dollars? Maybe even more than that.”

  “Why on earth would a young girl like that be wearing such expensive jewelry?” I ask.

  “She was intrigued by the bracelet. She was always asking her mother if she could wear it around the house. But, without her mother’s knowledge, she had snuck it out of the house.”

  “Then how would her mother know she’d been wearing it?”

  “Maybe it had happened before - her taking it without her mother’s okay. Then her mother notices it’s missing right after her disappearance. It would only be logical to assume Anne Marie had done the same thing again.”

  “I don’t know, Deborah, it’s pretty weak. I can’t see Arliss rushing out to dig up her body based on that.”

  “I can,” she insists. “If it was sold to him right.”

  “Like how?”

  “Well, for example, if he stumbled upon the information indirectly. You know, not like he’s told about it.”

  “Well …”

  “Come on, Lucas, work with me here.”

  “I’m trying, Deborah. It’s just---”

  “Let’s get together after work tomorrow,” she says all excited. “By then I’m sure I’ll have come up with a way to do this.”

  What the hell? Maybe she will. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  39

  I’ve never seen Deborah so animated. She’s like Victor with a new chew toy. “You wait for another poker game,” she says the next night. “Then you take Sonny aside and confide what you’ve heard about this bracelet from Bonnie. You make the point that even Paco doesn’t know about it being missing. But when you tell Sonny you make sure it’s overheard by Arliss.”

  “That might not be so easy to do, realistically,” I argue.

  “I didn’t say it would be easy, Lucas. But if it’s done right, I think it would be the bait we need to hook him.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I allow. “By the way, Mel, Herb, and Arliss just left on a golfing weekend to Palm Springs. I was thinking it’d be a good time to find out, once and for all, what’s in Herb’s basement.”

  “An excellent idea,” she says.

  “You wanna come with me? We could do it tonight.”

  “Definitely.”

  When I pick Deborah up at our arranged hour later that night, she comes out dressed like Batwoman ... Well, kind of. She’s entirely in black: black tights, black turtle neck sweater, black running shoes. Her hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail. “You expecting to run into some super villains?” I ask.

  “Don’t be a wise guy,” she says. “At least I’ll be able to run, if need be, this time.”

  I give her a look that conveys, in no uncertain terms, my heartfelt desire that speedy departures will not be a necessary component of the evening’s activities. “A quick look - in and out,” I emphasize. “Shouldn’t take us more than a minute or so.”

  Deborah looks a little disappointed. Like she spent all this money on her spiffy new wardrobe for nothing.

  The drive out to Herb’s is quiet. We picked a late hour to improve our chances of avoiding anyone on the way. When we pull into Herb’s driveway, I drive around back and park behind the equipment shed again. After all, it’s what saved our asses last time I was here with Beth.

  I’ve brought along a flashlight and we use it to approach the darkened back doorway. Predictably, the door is locked. We circle the house, looking for an open window. Ther
e isn’t one on the ground floor but when I shine the light up to the second story we see a partially open window. “Wait here,” I tell Deborah. “I saw a ladder hanging on the side of the shed we parked by.”

  A minute later I’m back, brandishing the ladder. I steady it against the house and cautiously climb up. The window turns out to be to a bathroom. It’s a tight fit but with some effort I manage to scramble through. When I’m safely inside I poke my head out. “I’ll go down and open the door,” I call down to Deborah.

  In the upstairs hallway I shine my flashlight into the bedrooms as I pass by. The place looks like it went through the American invasion of Baghdad.

  When I open the door for Deborah, she scurries in, all excited. “The basement’s over this way,” I tell her. “Follow me.”

  We descend the stairs into the basement a short distance, with me flashing my light around the cement walls. When I see there are no outside windows, I stop and turn to Deborah. “Switch on the light there, will you?”

  She turns back up the stairs and gets the light while I continue down. When the light comes on, the first thing I see is four boxes, each about two square feet in size, along the wall at the bottom of the stairs. “These must be what Beth and I heard being dragged down here,” I say.

  “Open one,” she says.

  Gee, ya think? “Right.”

  The boxes are all taped shut with duct tape, so I dig out the little Swiss Army pocket knife I always carry and do a neat slice down one of the seams. When I fold back the flaps of the box, Deborah takes an involuntary breath.

  The box is full of clear plastic Ziploc bags which exude an unmistakable odor.

  One mystery solved. Our buddy, Herb, is a dealer. Big time.

  All very interesting, I reflect on our drive back to town, but our discovery does nothing to help us nail Arliss with Anne Marie’s murder. He may well be Herb’s partner in the dope scheme, but that’s a far cry from what we’re trying to bag him for.

  “At least we’ve got something on him now,” Deborah says. “What do you think we should do?”