The Good, the Bad, and the Emus(11)

“Correct,” Stanley said. “I’ll also need to talk to the local police.” His pen was poised over his notebook. “Can you give me the name of the police detective who worked the case?”

“Detective!” Annabel snorted. “We don’t have police detectives here in Riverton. We have Chief Heedles and four patrol officers. The chief did the investigation, if you can call it that.”

“Chief Heedles,” Stanley repeated. “No involvement from the county sheriff’s office, or the state police?”

“Riverton’s an incorporated town,” Annabel said. “County doesn’t have jurisdiction. I hear they offered, but Chief Heedles didn’t seem to want any interference.”

“I’ll need to talk to Chief Heedles, then—could you spell it?”

“H-e-e-d-l-e-s,” Annabel said. “First name, Mo.”

I could tell from her tone that she probably wasn’t crazy about Stanley wanting to consult the chief. Evidently, Stanley picked up on that as well.

“It’s a touchy business,” he said. “Coming onto a law enforcement officer’s turf and conducting an investigation of what’s probably considered a closed case. It’ll go better if I contact the chief up front, try to smooth any ruffled feathers beforehand.”

“Suit yourself,” Annabel said. “Just don’t let her snow you.”

“Her?” Stanley was the one who made the mistake of saying this aloud.

“Surprised?” Annabel’s tone was sharp, and just a little triumphant. “The Mo is short for Maureen. So you think a police chief has to be a man?”

“No,” he said. “But I know quite a few very competent women law enforcement officers who are still banging their heads against the glass ceiling. I’m pleasantly surprised that Riverton is so progressive.”

“Nice save,” she said. “And we’re not that progressive—her daddy was the chief of police before her, and she didn’t have any brothers. Anyway, don’t let her snow you. There was nothing accidental about Cordelia’s death. Wait a minute. I’ve got something for you.”

She stood up and strode briskly across the room to where some papers were lying on a side table. My heart beat faster suddenly. I had the feeling she was about to show us something of Cordelia’s. A photo, perhaps. Or a letter she’d left in case her son or any of her grandchildren ever showed up after her death. Romantic nonsense, I knew, but still—

“Here’s a copy of my file on the case,” she said, holding out a slender manila folder. “I put it together so I’d have something to show the state police if I ever got them interested.”

Stanley took the folder and tucked it under his arm. Annabel must have seen my disappointment.

“Not what you were hoping for?” She patted my arm. “Don’t worry. Give me her killer and I’ll give you her life story, all of it. Dwight, see them safely on their way.”

She turned and left through a door at the back of the room. I suspected it led to the kitchen. She wasn’t quite fleeing, but still—I was reminded that she was a recluse. Maybe she had used up her tolerance for other human beings for the day.

Dr. Ffollett escorted us out of the house. He was hustling us down the front walk when Stanley stopped.

“Before we go,” he said. “May we inspect the shed?”

Ffollett blinked.

“The shed?” he said finally. “It burned down.”

“Sorry,” Stanley said. “Imprecise of me. The remains of the shed. The scene of the crime.”

Dr. Ffollett looked anxious and hunched his shoulders slightly as if bracing himself to repel an assault. Then he sighed, and stepped to the side, as if getting out of our way.

“It’s back there,” he said, pointing. “At the back of the lot, on the right side of the yard. The right side as you’re facing the house.”

“The side with the hedge,” I said.

He nodded.

“We won’t take too long,” Stanley said.

He strode ahead, and Dr. Ffollett followed him toward the shed.

The remains of the shed.





Chapter 5



As I followed Stanley and Dr. Ffollett into the backyard, I studied the gardens. I suspected that Dad would be beaming with pride if he were with us. Even my less expert eye could tell that Cordelia had been quite a gardener. I spotted more azaleas and daylilies—though I noted with satisfaction that she didn’t have the wide variety of daylilies we did. I could smell a lilac somewhere nearby, though I couldn’t spot it. Perhaps it was hidden behind the enormous pink and purple rhododendrons. I spotted beds of pink, white, red, and yellow peonies and roses, and an extensive herb garden, neatly labeled.