The Hen of the Baskervilles(47)

“No problem,” I murmured back. “Good night.”

Probably a good thing she had spotted me, not the chief. People were expecting to see patrols, but I didn’t think people would find the sight of the chief reassuring. Especially not if he was glowering the way he usually glowered when in pursuit of someone who dared break the peace in his county.

Just past the 15-Q sign, I spotted Vern and another deputy standing in the middle of the roadway. Apparently they were waiting until we got there before closing in on 15-R. As we approached, I could see that Vern had unscrewed the other deputy’s flashlight and appeared to be trying to fix it.

“What’s wrong with the flashlight?” the chief asked.

“Nothing,” Vern said. “But we thought it might be a good idea to look as if we stopped here for a reason. Here you go, Fred.”

He handed the flashlight back to Fred, who pointed it at his shoe and flicked the beam on and off again, very quickly.

Vern, meanwhile, was pointing at a campsite occupied by a dark van and a small tent. It was the last occupied campsite in row fifteen, and not far from the fence surrounding the camp. I wondered if Molly had arrived later than most of the campers or if her frame of mind had made her choose an isolated spot.

“That’s her van, and the tent seems to be with it,” he said quietly. “No idea if she’s in there.”

“Meg,” the chief said. “You want to knock and see if she’s there?”

I nodded and stepped over to the tent. The front flap was zipped, though there was a mesh ventilation window. I tried to peer inside, but it was too dark to see anything. And how does one knock on a tent, anyway? I tapped on the tent pole and spoke as softly as I could.

“Molly?” I called. “It’s Meg. Are you there?”

After a few moments, I heard the sound of a zipper and the tent flap opened. Molly peered out.

“Meg? What’s wrong?”

She looked anxious, but so would I if someone awakened me at 2:00 A.M. in a strange place.

“There’s bad news,” I said. “I came to help the police find you so they could tell you.”

“Bad news?” Molly tugged the zipper all the way open and glanced beyond me to where the police and the two deputies were standing.

I turned and looked back at the chief. He walked over to stand beside me at the tent.

“It’s about your husband,” he said. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”





Chapter 19

Molly blinked as if she didn’t quite understand.

“Dead?” she repeated. “Did he wreck his car again? That’s it, isn’t it? He’s had two DUIs in the last year but nothing seems to—”

“Molly.” I didn’t say it very loudly, but it got through to her. She fell silent and looked up at the chief, waiting.

“Your husband was murdered,” the chief said.

“Brett?” Molly looked genuinely baffled. “Who would want to kill Brett?”

“That’s what we’d like to find out,” the chief said. “I’d like to talk to you. Can you come down to the fair office with me?”

“Okay,” she said. “Just let me find my shoes and— Wait.”

She suddenly looked completely awake for the first time since she’d opened the tent flap.

“You think I did it, don’t you?” she said. “I’m the obvious suspect. The abandoned wife. But you’re wrong. I couldn’t kill Brett. I couldn’t even kick him out. He finally left on his own.”

“Should she have an attorney?” I asked the chief. I was already pulling out my notebook.

“If she wants to have an attorney present—” the chief began.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t do it and I have nothing to hide.”

“Here,” I handed her a sheet of paper from my notebook. What did it say about my friends and family that I’d memorized the name and phone number of a local defense attorney?

“May we search your tent and your van?” the chief asked. “It’s routine in a murder investigation.”

“Murder?” Molly repeated. “How did he—how was he killed?”

“He was shot,” the chief said.

Molly flinched at his words.

“Oh.” She closed her eyes and remained perfectly still for a few seconds. Then she opened them up again and set her jaw.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get this over with. Search all you like.”

She reached behind her, pulled out a pair of canvas shoes, slipped them on, picked up a small purse, then walked off with the chief.

I glanced over at the two deputies, who were putting on plastic gloves. Plunkett, the Clay County deputy watched them for a few minutes, then shook his head and chuckled.