Chapter 21
Twenty-One
E than drove back to the station, thoughts of Jane invading his mind.
How did one small woman keep popping up in his life when all he wanted to do was forget she existed? Besides that, she was like a kitten with claws—fierce, not backing down. He was a foot taller, had a hundred pounds on her, wore a badge, but she still got to Vanessa before he did, enjoying coffee and cookies with a potential killer.
The woman had a death wish for sure.
There was an attraction there that he didn’t understand—didn’t want—especially after Corrine.
Maybe Tanner was right when he told Ethan to snap out of his self-pity, just put himself out there and find some happiness. Hmmm. Thoughts for another day when a murder mystery wasn’t on his mind.
Several deputies were working at their desks when he got in. Nora handed him a couple of messages as he headed toward his office.
He grabbed another mug of coffee and pulled out his chair and sighed.
This case was getting stranger and stranger. They had no clear killer but lots of suspects with motives, but who most likely didn’t kill Thornton.
Ethan took a sip of coffee, swallowing the bitter brew. His mind was still on Jane and her uncanny ability to get into trouble. Damn. Why couldn’t he erase her from his mind?
No matter.
He looked at the two messages.
One was from the mayor wanting an update and the other from Maggie Thornton, who was back in town. While Rosie had given her the bad news about her father and told her Ethan wanted to interview her, Maggie insisted it wait until she came back.
He wondered why Maggie had been so evasive. She didn’t seem upset about her father’s death, according to Rosie. Perhaps Maggie had a motive tying her to David’s property and assets. It was common knowledge that she was strapped for cash. Maybe David cut her out of the will or disinherited her entirely. Would she kill for that? People had been killed for less. Ethan didn’t know, but he would investigate further.
No time like the present. Ethan grabbed his jacket and hat, walked through the bullpen. Adam was just coming in and gave him a chin lift. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I’m on my way to Maggie Thornton’s. Hopefully to get answers and find out where David was staying.”
“Gotcha. I’m coming too.”
Maggie’s house was located off the main street. She lived in a white, two-story, nondescript house with a small front porch and an overgrown lawn. They pulled into the gravel driveway and got out.
“Did the mayor ever sort out Maggie’s complaint against the town and Mark Sutton?” asked Adam.
Ethan remembered the mayor had mentioned they finally convinced Maggie that she had no recourse since it was an official right-of-way.
“Yeah. Finally,” Ethan replied.
He rang the doorbell. Listened for footsteps. Rang again.
Maggie yelled out, “Hold your horses, I’m coming.”
The door opened. Ethan hadn’t seen Maggie in at least a year, and the forty-year-old looked better than ever. Her brown hair was up in some sort of bun. She had on makeup and a pair of black slacks and a red form-fitting top. She didn’t look like someone mourning a loved one. “Sheriff, Deputy. I’ve been waiting for you. Come in.”
They walked into a cluttered interior. Boxes and papers were strewn around. Maggie directed them to the living room, gesturing for them to sit down. Ethan chose a chair by the fireplace; Adam removed some papers from the chair across from him and placed them on the coffee table. The house hadn’t been aired out in a while, and the air was dense with dust and who knew what else. A scent of mothballs hit him. Was it because Maggie just opened the house, or did it always smell? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in it.
“Are you moving?”
Maggie frowned. “I’m selling the house. My boyfriend and I are moving in together.”
“Congratulations. Are you staying in town?”
“No. My boyfriend is in real estate investment. We’re buying a property in New York and moving.” She huffed. “I’m very busy, Sheriff. What do you want to know?”
Well, if nothing else, Maggie’s attitude hadn’t changed over the years. She’d always been abrupt, bordering on rude. Ethan wondered how she found someone who would put up with her unpleasant attitude. But then again, it wasn’t any of his business.
“First off, we’re very sorry for your loss,” said Ethan.
Maggie pursed her lips. “Thanks, but you and I know my father wasn’t the most pleasant of men.”
Ethan resisted the urge to say, “That’s rich coming from the pot,” but he didn’t. “The one thing we don’t know is where your father was living. Do you have any idea?”
She thought for a moment. “He had a place outside town by the Rustic Table. It might still be in my mother’s name. She never took his.”
“What was her name?” asked Adam.
“Sheila. Sheila Frankenburg.”
The name didn’t sound familiar to Ethan, and he thought he knew everyone in town. “And the address?”
Maggie gave it to him and looked at her watch. “Anything else you’d like to know?”
“What was your relationship like with your father?” Ethan asked.
She looked at her hands and sighed. “Contentious. He promised to help me with some finances, but he never did. Instead he claimed he hid something valuable and that’s all he talked about. He was obsessed with the Jenkins farm.”
“Why?”
“Ah, some old rumor about the land that his father told him. Made no sense to me but I think my father was a little cuckoo, if you know what I mean. I know he worked there feeding the animals when he was young. Maybe he got that idea then. Plus, he hinted that he was going to make a killing with some business partner.”
“Do you know who?” asked Adam.
She shook her head. “Some guy with connections. He never mentioned his name, although…” She hesitated. “I remember him calling someone Viper. You know how he liked to give people he didn’t like nicknames?”
Adam nodded.
“Could this person have killed your father?” Adding in another suspect was giving Ethan a headache. How many more people wanted Thornton dead?
Maggie shrugged. “Who knows? He alienated half the people in this town.”
“How about you? Did you wish him dead?” asked Adam, who leaned forward in the chair.
She shrunk back like he’d hit her. Her face contorted with anger. “You bastard. You come into my home and accuse me of killing my father.”
Her voice trembled with rage as she stood. “Get out.” She pointed toward the door. “Get out now.”
Ethan and Adam stood. They walked past the fireplace, and Ethan noticed a picture of Maggie with a good-looking dark-haired guy seated in a booth in what looked like the Harvest Moon. Was this the boyfriend? He sure wasn’t about to ask, since she was kicking them out. As he opened the door, he turned to Maggie. “Thank you for your time, and again, I’m sorry for your loss,” said Ethan.
She slammed the door in his face.
They walked to the truck. The cold air felt good after the stuffiness of Maggie’s house.
Adam blew out his breath. “Wow. Defensive much?”
“Hurting more,” replied Ethan.
“Think she did it?”
Did he? She sure had motive, maybe opportunity, since no one could alibi her whereabouts, but means? Maggie was about five feet six, not tall enough to knock David out unless he was sitting, and it didn’t sound like they spent much time together. He was her father, not that it made a difference, but still.
“Let’s see if we can find any clues in Thornton’s house.” Ethan dialed the office to get Sheila Frankenburg’s address. A minute later, he turned the phone off.
“Got it.”
They drove to the outskirts of town, where the Rustic Table was located.
Ethan hadn’t eaten there since he proposed to Corrine. They’d sat outdoors on the wooden deck overlooking Beaver Lake, also known as Beaver Pond until one hundred years ago, when trappers decimated the beaver population. Twinkling string lights and fire pits warmed the night. It was magical. He was so in love. Corrine purchased a new dress that shimmered in the night.
Inside, the restaurant was a blend of rustic charm and elegance, with lots of wood and stone. Large potted plants dotted the interior. Piano music enveloped them in a mystical world.
He couldn’t remember everything they ate but remembered that the grass-fed beef tenderloin from a local farm was the best he ever had. Bah, enough with memories.
His stomach rumbled. But they wouldn’t stop to eat today, not until after they searched David’s house. Ethan wondered if Jane might enjoy going to the Rustic Table with him. It was more upscale, something she was probably used to. But then again, it wasn’t a place he frequented all the time. He couldn’t deny the differences between the two of them. Country vs City.
Stop.
What was happening to him that he couldn’t stop thinking about Jane? And why was he categorizing her when he didn’t really know her? This was never him. At least it wasn’t until he got his heart broken.
Ethan turned right onto a narrow dirt road. It was now midafternoon, and sunlight dappled through the barren trees. They pulled up to a small, weathered house tucked behind overgrown bushes. It looked neglected, with peeling paint and a sagging porch. Did Thornton actually live here? Ethan remembered the man as always being impeccably dressed and fastidious about his surroundings.
They stepped out of the truck and walked up a weedy path to the steps. The wooden boards groaned under their weight.
“I hope the inside is better,” Adam said as he tried the door handle and found it unlocked. The door creaked open.
Inside was dark and musty. He tried the light switch. Nothing.
“Grab the flashlight from the truck, will you?” Ethan said to Adam.
He stood in the doorway and glanced around. He was in a small living room cluttered with boxes and old newspapers.
“Here we go,” Adam said, turning on the flashlight. “It stinks in here.” He scrunched his nose. “Smells like mold and mildew.”
Dust motes danced in the flashlight’s beam. They walked farther in and saw an old sofa and chair in one corner. Adam moved over to a cluttered desk by the window and sighed.
Adam sat on the desk chair and started opening drawers. “There’s a lot of crap here,” he said as he rifled through papers.
Ethan moved toward the kitchen. Stale food and garbage irritated his nose. A refrigerator sporadically hummed in the background. He sure wasn’t opening that.
The cabinets, countertops and floor screamed 1980s. He needed to find out Sheila’s whereabouts or if she was still alive. Opening a few drawers, he found a typical collection of utensils and odds and ends.
Adam walked in, holding a stack of mail. “Bills, junk mail and…” He handed Ethan a crumpled piece of paper with a list of initials and numbers on it.
“Might be something. Bag it,” said Ethan.
They continued their search, moving methodically from room to room through the house. When they reached the main bedroom, they found it cluttered and the bed unmade. An old wooden dresser stood in one corner. Ethan opened the drawers, finding clothes and personal items and … a locked box.
As he dug deeper, he found a set of keys that were too small for the locks in the drawers, but one key fit the box perfectly. Inside were pictures of Thornton through the years with family and friends. Happier times. But among these were pictures of business associates—men in dark suits with hard faces, looking more like gangsters than friends. He put it aside to bring back to the station.
“I wonder what other items these keys go to?” he mused aloud. “Adam, do you see a journal or a diary anywhere?”
Adam looked under the mattress and bed. “Not in here.”
They looked in the second bedroom and bathroom, finding nothing out of the ordinary.
A door led to the basement; Ethan opened it. Shined the flashlight around. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. The floor was dirt and looked like no one had been down there in years.
“I really don’t want to go down there,” he said. “But maybe we’ll find something.”
Adam laughed. “Why don’t I revisit the rooms in case we missed something?”
“Coward.”
“I hate spiders,” Adam replied.
“Damn. It looks like I’ve got to take one for the team.” Ethan glanced around, spotting a broom tucked away in the kitchen corner. He used it to knock down most of the cobwebs, then sneezed. “Crap.”
Cautiously walking down a very old set of stairs, he got to the bottom and shined the flashlight into the abyss. Lots of loose pieces of flooring were against one wall, looking a little worse for wear, since the basement was damp and the dirt floor wet. An old furnace was in one corner, pieces of discarded furniture in another, and remnants of moldy blankets were stacked on them.
Ethan poked around, but everything fell apart in his hands. “Argh, nothing here.” He walked upstairs.
Adam looked at him and laughed. “You look like you escaped from a spider’s web.”
“Fuck.” Ethan furiously brushed cobwebs off his body. “Anything?” he asked Adam.
“No. Nothing new, just the keys and the piece of paper. I don’t think Thornton spent a lot of time here.”
“Would you want to?” Ethan asked.
“Hardly.”
They got back into the truck and headed toward the office. The sun was setting, casting long shadows on the desolate road. Ethan couldn’t shake the feeling they were missing something important and wondered if they’d ever find out what Thornton was up to.