A Curious Affair Page 7

  I pulled into the Can Tank R Us graveled lot, now carpeted with pine needles and other wind-borne debris, and walked up to the glass door. The hand-painted sign read: shut at 5. Underneath in smaller letters it said: open at 10. It was well after ten, but I wasn’t surprised to find this par tic u lar house of commerce empty. These sorts of signs weren’t hard and fast guarantees of business hours, but rather optimistic statements of intent. Winter mornings tended to be drowsy times, especially after Christmas. There simply wasn’t any benefit to hurrying into the dark and cold when there weren’t any customers. I sympathized. The sun would not rise and warm this shady spot until at least noon, and most days the sky would remain an unleavened gray. That was super if you ran a ski resort, but not if you had a non-snow-related business like renting gold pans to tourists who wouldn’t arrive until school let out in June. I’d had a bit of trouble adjusting to this lackadaisical way of mountain commerce at first, but eventually learned to adapt to life in a place where the only popular measure of time was geological—and that only if gold and silver were involved.

  Shrugging in ac cep tance, I walked next door, resigned to seeing one of Cal’s old friends and hoping for fresh-brewed coffee, though prepared to eat ice cream if I had no other choice. Somehow, I wasn’t entirely surprised to reach the end of the short wooden walkway and see the nose of the sheriff’s Jeep peeping out from the side of the building. Great minds—or inquisitive ones—really did think alike. Or maybe he just didn’t care for Prune Typhoons either, and had remembered that our French bakery is closed on Sundays and Mondays even when Nolan isn’t holding rallies right outside the door.

  This sign was turned to in instead of out, so I let myself inside, wincing at the jangle of cow bells above the warped door. Not even trying to pretend that I had actually come to town to hire a snowplow, or for any of the eight exciting flavors of ice cream, I sat down at the four-seat counter next to Tyler Murphy and said good morning.

  The proprietor, Don Crandall, wore Old Spice, a smell that always reminded me of my grandfather. I inhaled, closing my eyes and allowing myself a moment of nostalgia. It almost compensated for the vague smell of burning coffee that was always in the air.

  “Hi, Don,” I said at last, eyes still closed. He was used to my sniffing when he was around. I think he found it flattering.

  “Hi, Jillian. We haven’t seen you for a month of Sundays.” It had been longer than that, but I didn’t correct him.

  “Let me guess. You’ve had a sudden craving for spumoni,” Tyler said. He blew on his coffee, sending an acrid cloud in my direction. This stuff might have been fresh at sunrise, but was long past it now. And Don wouldn’t brew another pot until this one was gone—waste not, want not. Cal had never minded the taste of singed brew, but it wasn’t my favorite.

  “No, the rocky road. One scoop in a dish, please,” I answered, opening my eyes and smiling at Don Crandall. Screw the bad coffee; it wasn’t any good here, and thinking of Grandpa made me want his favorite ice cream.

  “Better choice,” Tyler admitted. “So, shall I save you some time and tell you what’s up with our little conundrum? By the way, you sound much better this morning.”

  “Thanks, it’s the sun. So, let me guess—you came up here on a whim, maybe to keep an eye on evildoers who are passing through on the way to go skiing,” I answered, glancing at Don as he set about digging out the very solid ice cream, which was layered with ice crystals. I hoped the marshmallow wouldn’t be too unyielding. I like to squish it against the roof of my mouth, sorting out the nuts from the sweet. I’d started doing that when I began losing my baby teeth to the sticky stuff. I have shallow roots on my teeth and it takes very little to knock them out. As a child, I didn’t mind the gap-toothed look, but the tooth fairy only paid up when you had an actual tooth to barter. I had probably been cheated out of maybe a buck twenty-five by unlucky swallowing. That was five weeks’ allowance, or one Little House on the Prairie book. Those hard childhood lessons stuck with you, especially when you were now responsible for your own dental bills.

  “A whim? Yes, I guess you could say that, though I do try to visit every town in the county at least twice a week.”

  Uh-huh, a whim of solid steel. Have I mentioned that I can be stubborn? I hadn’t mentioned it to Tyler either, but he was a smart cop and I knew he had my number. As I had his. As the old taunt goes: It takes one to know one. We were both mules.

  “As long as we’re feeling whimsical, let’s have some show-and-tell,” I suggested.

  “Fair enough. Don, would you get me a scoop of strawberry cheesecake while you’re at it?”

  “Sure, Tyler,” Don answered, puzzled but pleased. There hadn’t been much call for ice cream during the long, long winter. He added conscientiously: “It might have a bit of freezer burn, though. I haven’t restocked lately.”

  “That’s okay. I take my ice cream any way I can get it.”

  Don smiled gratefully. His business—like so many up here—was barely alive, and he couldn’t afford to restock the ice cream in the winter, but that wouldn’t stop some people from complaining. The sheriff was catching on quickly, though, and was capable of compassion. I thought it might turn out that I would like him after all.

  If only he liked me, too. I wouldn’t mind having Tyler twisted around my finger. That would be a useful place for him. However, I suspected that while not unbending, he wasn’t flexible enough—or blind enough—to make himself into a pretzel this morning simply because I wanted him to.

  Jillian, is that you?

  I stiffened involuntarily. A slight scratching came at the door behind the counter. Don and Carol lived above the shop and this was how they reached their living quarters. They had a cat.

  “Go away, Clips. You know you can’t come in here,” Don called. Clips, short for Paperclips and Rubber-bands. Clips had been a true gymnast among kittens. None of the drapes had survived his youth. “That darn cat never learns, and I swear he adores Jillian. He rubs on her like she’s catnip.”

  Yeah, go away, Clips. We don’t want the sheriff thinking I have cats in my belfry, I thought at the restless feline.

  After a second the scratching stopped and we heard the soft thundering of paws running up a wooden stair. I tried not to react visibly to the reprieve.

  “Shall I start? I happened to be in The Mule this morning,” I said casually to the sheriff. Then, fearing that the cold ice cream might again lock up my jaw before we were done talking, I added: “Don, could you get me a coffee, too?” I wouldn’t drink it, just hold the steaming cup under my chin and keep the joints thawed enough for conversation.

  “Did you now? How unusual.” Tyler’s voice was mild. His gaze was warm, too, not at all sheriff-like. He was inviting me in, willing me to feel safe and confiding. We were just two friends sharing some winter morning ice cream. I wanted to believe that but remained wary.

  “Yes, indeed. And I had a short chat with Molly Gerran—that’s Irv’s old girlfriend.” I was being discreet, not mentioning I’d had this discussion with Molly in front of Don.

  “Uh-huh.” Tyler sipped from his cup, not even flinching as the scorched brew passed his lips. He was a strong man. I thought he was also an interested one.

  “She says that Irv has a nephew. His first name is Gordon or Jordon and he lives in Lodi or maybe Fresno.” I smiled a little. “I was sure you’d want to know.”

  “Why, thank you. That will help a great deal.” He didn’t bother hiding the irony. It wasn’t mean-spirited, though, so I didn’t get defensive when he added: “I didn’t know you had an in with that crowd.”

  “I don’t. Irv is the only common denominator.”

  Don put my dish of ice cream and a brimming coffee cup on the counter. He seemed inclined to linger and visit with me, but Tyler’s clear gaze reminded him of some shipment that needed unpacking in the back room. I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk with one of Cal’s old buddies about how I was doing these days. Their ongoing concern
with my isolation revived my feelings of helplessness, and reminded me of the days when Cal and I had had to wrestle with our own impotence and pity. Yes, pity. Mine, for his facing a horrible death, and he for me because I would have to go on living without him. That we’d never expressed any of this aloud did not mean it was not there.

  “Will there be an autopsy?” I asked in a low voice that made allowances for thin walls. I took a tentative bite of my ice cream. It was indeed a bit freezer burned, but I was suddenly hungry enough to enjoy it anyway. When had I last eaten? I couldn’t quite recall.

  “Yes.” Tyler was looking at me straight on now. “It’s standard in cases like this. At least it is where I come from. Nolan does not agree. He actually had me on the phone before seven this morning.”

  “That’s too bad. It’s really best to be sure about things.” I added without looking up: “Makes it easier for the family.”

  “Yes, I’m sure answers will comfort Gordon. Or Jordan. And anyone else who might be concerned about being killed in their cabins if anyone shares your beliefs about the cause of death.” Tyler put his coffee down. He asked straightly: “You weren’t thinking of going hiking in the woods today, were you?”

  “I might. The sun is a rare sight and I haven’t gotten out much lately.” And the sunshine was disappearing quickly. Another hour and it could be raining like The End of Days again. I figured that it was now or never.

  Tyler looked at his watch and frowned. “I don’t suppose you’d like some company on this walk? I haven’t seen that much of the countryside.”

  That hadn’t been my plan, having a guest while I searched for Irv’s gold mine, but I thought about it while I smashed the last of the marshmallow on the roof of my mouth. On the one hand, I had the feeling that Tyler was suspicious of my intentions because of my friendship with Irving, and maybe he just wanted to make sure that I didn’t tamper with any smokable evidence I might find. Or steal it outright. He probably thought that I would be inclined to clean out Irv’s pot field before law enforcement found it, to protect Irv’s or his friends’ not-so-good names. Or just to have some free dope. And he might be right about me, at least about my not telling anyone about what I found. I probably wouldn’t call in the law if I found a pot farm, since I’m not a hypocrite and I didn’t see anything wrong with occasional recreational drug use, and also understand that some people simply can’t endure life without some help—chemo patients being chief among them. If you have insurance or live in a city with liberal drug laws, you get your pain relief from your doctor or a cannabis club. If you don’t, then you see someone like Irv, or whoever would take over this philanthropic endeavor now that he was gone—and God bless them.

  Of course, all bets were off if I found something that made me think drugs were actually connected to Irv’s murder. Then I would report it all. But I didn’t think drugs were involved. The conviction had grown in me during the last few hours that this murder had something to do with the other great addiction of Irv’s life: gold. All our historic local murders were caused by gold, or the need for water to mine for gold. Irv had grown pot for years without any problems, so why would there be trouble now? What had changed recently was Irv’s increasing interest in panning for gold. And maybe in exploring old mines. I think he had come down with a bad case of gold fever, and that could make people very stupid.

  On the other hand, perhaps I’d misjudged the sheriff. Tyler might not think I was a potential thief. He might just be concerned about my welfare. There were wild animals out there, mountain lions and bears. He was probably convinced that there was at least one or two illegal stills out in the woods, too, which could mean trouble with people who were rigorous about enforcing No Trespassing when it came to their moonshine. I decided that this was a more likely explanation for his offer. After all, if he thought that this actually was a murder or that there was some pot field to be found, then he would flat-out discourage me from assisting in his investigation or asking questions on my own. And he could be right about this being a snipe hunt, which would make my per sis tence look foolish—at least to me—when I found nothing and it turned out I was just a crazy woman who listened to cats and inner voices.

  That last thought argued against telling him why I was so certain that Irv had been murdered, no matter how kind the gaze he turned on me. I thought a little sadly that probably it would be wisest to spend as little time with him as possible. He wasn’t stupid, and he would be bound to notice that there was something odd about me if we hung around together for any length of time.

  On the other hand, there was no denying that there were a lot of illegal businesses up here and druggies could be dangerous when their livelihoods were threatened by an outsider, which I was, in spite of my friendship with Irv. If I really believed that there was any possibility of drugs being involved, and that someone with a denim coat and a smelly butt had murdered Irving, then it might be nice to have the sheriff along on my explorations. I would just make extra sure to act like a normal person for the next little while.

  “Is it that difficult a question?” he asked. His eyes were amused. I liked the way he smiled.

  “No.” I wouldn’t mind Tyler’s company for its own sake, I decided. I had been alone for an awfully long time and that was probably not healthy. I needed to start living like a normal person again. I’d just be careful around any cats. “Let’s get the coffee to go.” I raised my voice. “Don! We’re going to pour our coffee into paper cups, okay?”

  Don reappeared immediately.

  “Sure thing, Jillian.” He set two Styrofoam cups with plastic lips on the counter. Don was an ex-Republican but he hadn’t gone Green enough to practice recycling, or to use biodegradable paper when Styrofoam was cheaper. “You keep warm, you hear? And don’t be a stranger. There’s always a mug waiting here for you, you know. No, don’t pay me. The ice cream is on the house.”

  “Thank you, Don. Give my best to Carol.” I realized that Pinky wasn’t the only one people looked after. I needed to remember to count my blessings and bear in mind that other people missed Cal, too.

  The sheriff pulled on his sheepskin jacket, put a five-dollar tip on the counter, nodded at Don but said nothing to me until we were outside.

  “Okay, Nancy Drew, where to first?” So he didn’t buy that I was just going for a walk. That was okay.

  “That way. We’re looking for a gold mine,” I said, deciding to be a bit truthful and see how he reacted to a new idea. I should find out as soon as possible how flexible he was in his thinking.

  “A what?” Tyler asked, clearly startled. He really had thought I was looking for a pot field. Well, it was my fault. I’d brought up Irv’s extracurricular drug activities myself the night before.

  “An old abandoned gold mine. I hear that it may be being used again these days.” That was a lie. I’d heard nothing definite. “And, as you have probably figured out, Irv liked to hike up here. All the time.” I started for the woods. There was a deer path through the mountain misery on the other side of the road. I hoped passionately that the snow had killed off most of the ticks that lived in the low-growing shrubs. I didn’t look at Tyler, though I was aware of him. His aftershave was subtle compared to Don’s, but it smelled absolutely delicious. Instead, I concentrated on not turning an ankle and not clenching my jaw as the temperature dropped. It would be a good ten degrees cooler when we got next to the river, and I needed to be prepared.

  “So, you think that Irv was into drugs and might have been using the mine as a ware house or a green house?” Tyler asked. He was like a dog with a chew toy. He didn’t want to give up his drug theory. I was going to have to offer a very tasty bone if I wanted to pry this idea out of his jaws.

  “That’s what some people say,” I answered shortly.

  “But you don’t believe it?” The man was perceptive. Of course, I was not great at hiding my thoughts.

  “I did at first—sort of. I mean, there’s money in drugs and Irv had to get his somewhere.
I know he grew marijuana. He gave some to my husband when Cal was sick, but I’m sure he sold, too. It wasn’t all philanthropic.” I stepped cautiously into the bracken and felt the cold damp reaching for my flesh. I was going to be sopping wet and muddy by the time we got back to the car. “But the more I think about it…I don’t know if it fits. Winter isn’t the usual time to grow dope. And Irv was, in his own way, a rather moral man.”

  “Moral?”

  “He grew marijuana. That’s illegal but not immoral—at least, not in my book. If you have ever watched someone going through chemo….” I stopped, unable to go on. “But I don’t think he’d do anything else. Nothing that would make anyone around here want to kill him.”

  “Like cooking up meth?”

  “Meth?” It was my turn to be startled. My answer to that was unqualified. “Absolutely not. It’s too…polluting —of the land and also of people. Irv wasn’t into chemicals. Look, he fed stray cats and grew his own vegetables. He dated a woman who never shaved her legs or wore deodorant. Irv was about being organic and natural—and kind. He would never deal in anything that brought living death to people or the land.” I hadn’t thought of this before, but it felt right as I said it.

  Tyler grunted.

  “So, we’re looking for a green house or maybe a storehouse. Something that would be sheltered in winter.”

  “Yes, or maybe the remains of one, if someone else knew about it and has been back since Irv died. Or…” I took a breath and went ahead and voiced the thought that was nibbling at me, though it was probably fanciful thinking. “Like I said, maybe we’re looking for a working gold mine. The man had gold fever like you wouldn’t believe. If Irv found something up here he wouldn’t be above a bit of high-grading.”