Merry Market Murder(54)

He pushed the power button on the old dusty computer and we waited patiently while its technologically ancient innards warmed up.

“No password, that’s a good start,” Sam said as he pulled the chair closer to the desk and started moving the mouse. “Simple, non-password-protected e-mail, too; not the best way to protect your privacy, but helpful to us, at least.”

As nosy as I was, looking at someone’s e-mail was a new level of intrusive. I got over it quickly, though, when Sam said, “Well, now we might be getting somewhere.”

“What?”

“Looks like Reggie had an admirer. Read this one, it’s from someone called ‘Old Girl.’”

“That’s not a very flattering name,” I said. “At least Old- But-I-Still-Got-It Girl would be a little better.”

Sam smiled.

I read aloud: “But I’ve missed you for so long. There has to be a way for us to meet again. No one has to know.”

“I’d like to know who Old Girl is,” Sam said. “We have ways of tracking that down, though they aren’t as quick as I would like.”

“What was Reggie’s response? Or what did he write that prompted her to say what she said?” I said.

A couple clicks of the mouse later, and the text on the screen read, “No, not possible. We hurt too many people. They’re just beginning to heal; maybe some will never heal. We can’t. We just can’t. I’m sorry, desperately sorry.”

“I’ll have someone put together the entire conversation,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” I said, “you need to find out who this is. This could be talking about the affair I sensed when I was talking to Evie. Affairs are good motives for murder.”

“Possibly, but we’d better at least track Old Girl down and talk to her. I didn’t think Evelyn was all that important, but now I’m beginning to think she needs an official visit.”

“So, you’re saying I might have uncovered something important to your case?” A swell of excitement built in my chest.

Sam stood from the chair and looked at me with my favorite version of his eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Good job.”

I doubted very much that he ever complimented any of his coworkers with those eyes and then that hug, and most definitely not with the kiss that came next. In fact, he was usually so darn professional that I was caught off guard by his reaction. Thrilled, but still caught off guard.

“Here, help me unhook this hard drive from the monitor. I’ll take it in and have it looked at thoroughly,” he said when he released me. I wondered if he’d even noticed what he’d done. Surely a piece of his slicked hair should protest the unprofessional kiss, but it all remained neatly in place. Maybe a wrinkle in his uniform would show. Nope, no such luck. How did he do that?

Sam searched the rest of the garage just in case we’d missed something. We scanned the area right outside but didn’t find anything of interest there, either. Then we gathered the computer and told Gellie we were taking it and the file. As the police car rolled along the long driveway, Batman stood beside the house and watched us leave. I looked back and saw Gellie talking to the goose but she didn’t wield a butcher knife and Batman didn’t run away, so I figured they might be working on a temporary truce.

Our movement was halted by an incoming newer model truck. It veered around us as though it had done the maneuver a time or two before.

Of all the things to notice about the truck and the people inside, the thing that garnered the biggest chunk of my interest was the color and length of the passenger’s hair. A long, blonde ponytail trailed out from her thin winter cap.

“Sam, she might be the cornhusk doll,” I said without really thinking about what I was saying.

Sam didn’t need further explanation. He turned the cruiser around and we went to talk to whoever was in the truck.





Sixteen





Patricia and Joel Archer were not happy that a police officer wanted to talk to them, which only made Sam more persistent with his questions.

“We just worked for Reggie out here,” Joel said. “We just helped him harvest trees. I don’t think we ever spent much time in the house.”

Patricia’s long, blonde ponytail was only the first reason I was interested in knowing more about her. The rest of her reminded me of a farm worker version of Mamma Maria. Mamma was younger than Patricia, but both women were fond of heavy eye makeup and red lipstick. They were also tall and thin, and, even though Patricia wore what amounted to a flannel jacket, I guessed that her curves could rival Mamma’s.

Those facts, along with what Gellie had told me the day before about the Archers returning to help Reggie after they hadn’t been around for some time and Patricia’s resemblance to the cornhusk ornament, made me quickly think her, and maybe her husband’s, activities around the time of Reggie’s murder needed to be looked at closely. Before we’d gotten back out of the cruiser, though, Sam had warned me about jumping to any conclusions without having real evidence.