Evil Under the Moon (Moon Mystery Series Book 5) Page 3

  We took the folder into the room, where we found a table surrounded by six chairs, a file cabinet, and a copier. The first thing Andrea did when we entered was to push some buttons on the copier, turning it on, I supposed.

  We sat down, and she opened the folder. “Only one sheet in here. It’s a report from an officer who talked to Lea. It was written on the day before she died.”

  “What does he say?”

  “Lea came in to make a complaint that Chester Hubbard was stalking her.”

  “Oh my gosh! The car dealership guy who was harassing her!”

  “Yes, the same person. The officer referred her to the county attorney so she could obtain a protective order, which would be sent back to the police department. She didn’t have time to see the county attorney, obviously, since there’s no order in the file.”

  “That just about proves it. Hubbard killed her to keep her from getting the protective order,” I said. “It would have been a tremendous scandal in a town this size, considering the fact that he’s married and a big businessman here.”

  Andrea was at the copier by this time with the document.

  “Do you suppose it’s okay to copy that?”

  She nodded. “Of course. He wouldn’t have sent us to a room with a copier if he didn’t want us to use it.”

  Sometimes I think Andrea’s logic is a little skewed, but she does cut through the red tape and solve cases. Cutting through red tape is one of her greatest talents; I’m just not sure how officers of the law would view her tactics. Actually, I suppose it’s not her logic that’s skewed—it’s her attitude toward authority.

  She put the paper back in the folder and stuffed the copy into her purse. “It’s stamped ‘deceased.’ This never got any further than her visit to the police station.”

  “Someone from the police station probably called Hubbard and warned him about what she’d done, and that started events in motion.”

  “It’s not proof that he killed her,” Andrea said, “but it does look suspicious.”

  “What time is it? Let’s go to Jack’s so we can go eat. I can’t wait to see the Garden Room.”

  “It’s a quarter till. Let’s go. I can’t wait to meet some of the employees there.”

  “Are you going to show Jack the policeman’s statement?” I asked as we drove to the jewelry store.

  “Yes, I’m going to show him when we get a chance. He wants to help us with this case, so he needs to know what we know.”

  When we got to the jewelry store, Jack’s young female clerk was helping a customer. He was in the back room and came out when he saw us through the open door. “Ready for lunch?”

  “More than ready,” I said.

  “I’ll drive,” Andrea said when we were outside. “Kathleen can show you something we found this morning.”

  “Let’s take my car. We’ll have to get a guest pass for yours at the gate if we take it. You can drive while Kathleen shows me what you found.”

  I figured Andrea would be delighted with the offer to drive a Lincoln, and she did agree readily. When we were settled in the car—I was in the backseat, Jack in front—I looked in her purse and pulled out the officer’s statement. Jack took it and studied it for quite a while. Finally he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “This is a real bombshell. If this had gotten out, it would have been the biggest scandal ever to hit Martindale—and we’ve had some juicy ones.”

  I admit I was dying to know what the juicy scandals of Martindale were, but we were pulling up to the gate of the country club by now and there wasn’t time to ask. The gate swung open automatically somehow—must have been a sticker on the car or something in the car that triggered it. “What kind of magic was that?” I asked.

  “No magic—just Bluetooth,” Jack said.

  Oh, dear! Something more to learn in the overwhelming world of technology. Would I ever catch up? This wasn’t something I wanted to worry about now, however, since we were parking in front of the restaurant. And when we entered, it was everything I hoped it would be—windows all around, greenery everywhere, strategically placed trellises with vines, and soft instrumental music playing in the background.

  Several tables were occupied, and I noticed Walter Stanley, the former sheriff, in the center of the room. Three men I didn’t recognize were seated with him. He glanced at us and looked back at his companions, staring straight ahead as if he didn’t want to admit we were going to continue to be a thorn in his side. They looked as if they were about to finish their lunch.

  The hostess led us to a table in a quiet corner, as Jack requested. “Do you know those men sitting with the sheriff?” I asked when we were seated.

  “The one on his left is Chester Hubbard. The other two are local businessmen and officers of the country club also.”

  I was facing the table where they were seated, and I took a good look at Hubbard. He was a handsome man, middle-aged, with a confident look about him such as you would like to see in an airline pilot. Not that I’ve ever been in an airplane, but if I were, I’d want my pilot to have that confident look. I felt a bit superior, knowing what I did about him.

  I think we were all surprised when, just after the waitress left our table with our order, Stanley and Hubbard approached. Jack stood up and shook hands with them. Andrea and I sat where we were.

  “Ladies, this is Chester Hubbard, and I believe you know Walter Stanley,” Jack said.

  We shook hands with both of them and didn’t say anything. Stanley was still holding my hand, and he patted it with his left hand. What was he up to? “Good to see you two again. I hear you’re volunteers for Jordan and working on the Lea Logan case.”

  “That’s right,” Andrea said.

  “I just wanted to let you know I’d be glad to help you in any way I can. That’s been one tough case that’s been bothering me since it happened.”

  What’s bothering you, I thought, is that we might solve it and you didn’t.

  “Lea was a fine young lady,” Hubbard said. “Everyone involved with the country club was most upset by her death. I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to help, but if you think of anything…”

  A confession would be helpful, I thought. It would make our day to have solved the case so quickly. Andrea thanked them, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. We were about to experience an awkward silence when the waitress came with our iced tea, and the two men excused themselves.

  I put some sweetener in my tea. “That was weird. What do you suppose prompted them to come over here and talk to us?”

  “My guess is that Stanley hopes to take some credit for helping solve the case,” Andrea said. “I imagine Hubbard came along to get a sense of how we’re feeling toward him, since word might have spread about Cindy’s visit to us. Who knows? He may have found out about our visit to the police department and finding the information about Lea’s visit there.”

  “You’re assuming he knew about the fact that she went to the police?” I said.

  “He may have. Someone at the police station or the courthouse may have tipped him off. What I can’t understand is why this news didn’t spread around town like wildfire.”

  Jack looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think a powerful person must have threatened everyone who knew about it with firing if anyone told.”

  He stopped talking as the waitress approached with three huge salads. Then he turned to her and said, “Is Tony busy? We’d like to speak with him when we’re through if he’s available.”

  “He’s just finishing up some things. I’m sure he’d love a chance to skip out and leave the rest to us.” She was smiling when she said it, and I assumed the kitchen staff had a friendly camaraderie that would give her leave to say something like this. “I’ll tell him you’re out here and want to talk to him.”

  We dug in to our salads without any further discussion. I was about halfway through mine, and the others were, too, when the door to the kitchen swung open and a l
arge man in a white apron came through with a tray. He brought it to our table and set a luscious-looking dessert in front of each of us. “Jack! Good to see you. What’s happening?”

  “This is Tony Calabria, chef extraordinaire. Meet Andrea Flynn and Kathleen Williamson, Tony.”

  I was ready to pack up the rest of the salad for later and tackle the dessert—a concoction of what looked like a brownie, vanilla ice cream, and lots of gooey chocolate. “Nice to meet you,” I said, thinking it was more than nice to meet a man who brought goodies like this to the table. This would be a friendship worth cultivating.

  He sat down in the fourth chair. “Who’s watching the store?” he said to Jack.

  “I left the hired help in charge. She does a good job and knows as much about the jewelry business as I do. But we’re not here to talk about me. Andrea and Kathleen are volunteers for our newly elected sheriff. They’re looking into Lea’s murder.”

  “Oh, yes,” Tony said. “I heard about you. I’ve been planning to come and see you—to ask if I could help in any way. I’m afraid I don’t have any clues to give you. That’s what you look for, isn’t it? Clues? I’ve read all the novels.”

  “I’d call it information,” Andrea said. “We gather as many facts as we can and aim to come up with a solution.”

  “Sounds like you’re the right people for this job,” Tony said. “Why don’t we meet on my day off? I’ll try to think of anything I can to help you and make a list. You could come by my house, if that’s okay with you. Jack knows where I live. You come along too, Jack. Come on Monday, one p.m. I’ll fix lunch.”

  “I’ll gladly come if you’re fixing lunch,” Jack said. “Also, I’m listed as a volunteer by the sheriff, so I should be there.”

  “It would be most helpful if you could also provide us with a list of everyone who worked in the restaurant at the time Lea was killed,” Andrea said. “If you can make a note of which ones are still employed here, that would help.”

  “I’ll have it ready for you. I—” He looked up at a man who was approaching our table.

  “Jack—I haven’t seen you in ages,” the stranger said. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been busy, and it’s been too cold for playing golf. Ladies, this is Stuart Kerr, the country club manager. This is Andrea Flynn and Kathleen Williamson.”

  “Welcome to our Martindale Country Club. Or are you members? I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

  “No, we’re guests,” Andrea said.

  “Perhaps you’d like to consider joining. I can bring you an application…”

  “Not for me, thanks,” I said. I was enjoying the lunch and the beautiful surroundings, but this wouldn’t be for me. I don’t play golf, and I definitely don’t want to appear in a swimsuit at their pool among people who may know me. Call it vanity; it just isn’t going to happen. And I wouldn’t have the proper clothes for country club socializing. Stuart Kerr was dressed as if he flew to Italy frequently to buy his suits from Armani—or is that where those famous suits come from?

  Andrea merely smiled and said nothing. “I’ll let you get on with your lunch,” Kerr said. “It was good meeting you.”

  We agreed and went back to our salads. Tony had been silent when Kerr stopped at our table, and I couldn’t help wondering why. I suppose Kerr was his boss, and maybe Tony didn’t like him. I’d pry a little when we got to Tony’s house on Monday. Until then, my curiosity would have to be unsatisfied. Fortunately, my sweet tooth wouldn’t have to wait.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I had suspected from the start we’d spend more than the planned one day a week volunteering for the sheriff, and it was turning out that way. As a matter of fact, we’d been involved in the Lea Logan case almost every day since we started. We were on our way now to Benwood, Lea’s hometown, with the hope of interviewing her mother and any other relatives who might be handy.

  We’d found her mother’s address and phone number in the records in the cold case file, but Andrea got a “number no longer in service” when she tried to call. “She may have moved,” she said, “or given up her landline. I can’t find anything useful on the Internet, so we’ll go to the address we have for her and see what we can find there.”

  We left Pine Summit at eight, stopped at Martindale for a quick breakfast at the Cracker Barrel, and were on the road shortly for the drive to Benwood—not that far north of Martindale. When we got there, Andrea used someone mysterious on her cell phone named Siri to find the Logan home.

  The house was located in a modest neighborhood. It was small, frame, and in need of a paint job. An older, nondescript car was parked in the driveway. When we went to the door and knocked, a middle-aged woman answered. She didn’t look all that happy to see strangers on her porch. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Andrea Flynn, and this is Kathleen Williamson. We’re volunteers with the Baxter County Sheriff’s Office. We’re investigating the death of Lea Logan, and we found this address for her family. Are you her mother?”

  “Yes, and I’ve already given them other officers all the information I know.” She began to close the door.

  “I’m sure you want the person who murdered Lea brought to justice,” Andrea said. “May we come in?”

  I suppose Mrs. Logan didn’t want to admit to being a mother who didn’t care about justice for her daughter, so she opened the door wider and stepped back. “What makes you think you can find out who killed Lea?”

  “We’re devoting all our time to her case,” I said. “With the police, or the deputies, they have many crimes to solve and can’t concentrate on just one. Because we’re volunteers, we can do that.”

  “Well, more power to you. I guess I’ll try to remember them details I told them before. Have a seat.”

  We had entered a living room full of well-worn furniture. Two chairs flanked a table that held a fishbowl full of murky water. I could barely detect a couple of fish hovering in it. Andrea and I took the chairs, and Mrs. Logan sat down on a couch opposite us. Then she jumped up again. “I guess I’d better offer you some coffee.”

  I figured the atmosphere might get chummier if we accepted and shared coffee with our hostess, so I said, “Thanks. That would be lovely.”

  She returned right away with three cups on a tray. “Anybody want milk or sugar?”

  We assured her that black would be fine. I was hoping to get on with the questions, and I’m sure Andrea was, too. Her first one was, “Do you live here alone, Mrs. Logan?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  I could see this wasn’t going to be easy. “We think it would be helpful if we could talk to as many family members as possible. That’s why my sister asked about your situation here.”

  “You two is sisters? You don’t look nothing alike.”

  Yes, Andrea is slimmer and classier-looking, with a face that glows with intelligence. I suppose I could be classified as fairly ordinary-looking. But if all siblings were alike, how boring would that be? “Yes, Mrs. Logan, we’re sisters. She got all the brains, and I got the extra pounds.” Trying to lighten up the ambiance, but Mrs. Logan didn’t seem to think I was funny. I was getting the impression that the lady had no sense of humor.

  “Well, I see your point,” she said. “I’m alone here. My husband went off and left us years ago. Now my daughter is dead, and my son is a bum who don’t want nothing to do with me.”

  “Where is your son?” Andrea asked.

  “He’s in Wheeling. He shares an apartment with a couple of other guys.”

  I took a sip of the very stale coffee and set my cup on the table. “Does he work in Wheeling?”

  “He does something with computers. I don’t know who he works for. I’m not privileged with all that information about him.”

  “If you could give us his address, it would be helpful,” Andrea said. “Do you know if the deputies talked to him before?”

  “I think they did. He didn’t know nothing, though.”
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  “Do you know of anyone who was upset with Lea or would have wanted to harm her?” Andrea asked.

  “No, everyone seemed to like her for some reason, especially the men. I’ll be frank with you ladies. Lea was a floozy. She hopped from one boyfriend to another all through high school. Then when she got to West Liberty, she did settle on the one guy, but I suspect she cheated on him. He come here once all mad about something, and I couldn’t figure what else it could be except cheating.”

  “Do you know the boyfriend’s name?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. He was Hank Weaver. One of the elite here in Benwood. His family has money, and they think they’re better than the rest of us.”

  This was the same name Cindy Atkins had given us for Lea’s boyfriend in college. “Do you know where Hank is now? Is he still in this area?”

  “Someone said he’s working over in Ohio now. He probably comes home to see his parents sometimes on weekends. You could ask them.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about Lea or her friends that would shed light on why she was killed?” Andrea asked.

  “There’s nothing. I haven’t a clue, unless Hank was so jealous that he did it. But I heard he was working as a lifeguard that summer and living at home. His folks probably gave him an alibi.”

  I finished the coffee before asking the next question. I thought that if I left it, Mrs. Logan would be miffed and that would color her attitude toward us if we needed further information. “Did Lea have a computer? We didn’t find one in the evidence box at the sheriff’s office.”

  “She had an old laptop here. She forgot and left it last time she was home. She called later and said she’d get it next time, but she never made it back. Said she had an iPod or iPad or something she’d use.”

  “Is the laptop still here?” I asked.

  “It’s in her room. I’ll get it for you if you want it. I don’t know what help it would be. I’m trying to clear out that room anyway, though, so I can get me a renter in here.”

  “We’d like to see her room if possible,” Andrea said. “Did the deputies go through it when they were here?”