Bound for murder, p.23
Bound for Murder, page 23
“That goes for you too, Amy,” Aunt Lydia said.
Brad and Alison and I left, with promises to return later. Outside, I glanced over at the cloggers and noticed that Richard was now on the stage, being shown some steps by a couple of the dancers.
“You two go on,” I said, with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. “Looks like we’re going to be a while.”
Brad threw me a grin before he and Alison walked off, arm in arm.
Catching Richard’s eye, I waved.
“Learning something new,” he called out.
“I see that.” Sensing his enthusiasm, I pointed toward the building housing the craft exhibits. “Carry on. But I think I’ll just take a look over there and meet you back here in a few.”
Richard flashed me a brilliant smile and a thumbs-up gesture before turning back to listen to the cloggers.
I wandered around the arts-and-crafts building for quite some time, admiring the array of talent on display. There were sections devoted to drawing and painting, which included everything from adorably primitive works by young children to exquisite pieces by local professional artists. Glancing around after I admired a collection of handmade furniture and other examples of woodcraft, I noticed a display of quilts. Hanging on a sturdy line strung between two wooden supports, they created a brilliant splash of color against one of the building’s whitewashed walls.
An older woman bustled about the display, smoothing the wrinkles from the smaller pieces draped over the tables beneath the hanging quilts.
“Hello,” I said as I drew closer. “Are any of these yours?”
The woman’s hazel eyes sparkled as she met my gaze. “A few. But I’m mainly keeping watch so nothing goes missing. I’m a member of the local quilting club, you see. We’re taking turns manning the exhibit.” She looked me over. “Don’t think I know you, do I?”
“Maybe not. I’m Amy Webber, the library director in Taylorsford.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Sandra Everhart. I live over in the Smithsburg area, so I don’t get to Taylorsford much. Don’t know many people there, to be honest.”
“Well, I just moved to the county a couple of years ago, so I don’t know a lot of people in the wider area either.”
Sandra Everhart narrowed her eyes. “Webber? I never heard of any family by that name in Taylorsford.”
“It’s my mom’s family, actually. The Littons and Bakers.”
“Oh, okay. Them I’ve heard of.” Sandra’s lips twitched, making me wonder exactly what she knew about my family.
“Beautiful work,” I said, as I took in the intricate patterns and varied colors incorporated into the quilts. Looking down, I noticed the elegant freehand stitching on one—so perfect that it looked like writing on paper.
Each block of this quilt included a different flower or bird, along with a name and dates. Birth and death dates, I realized, as my finger traced the stitching.
“That one is mine,” the woman said. “It’s a memory quilt, commemorating members of my family.”
“It’s lovely,” I said, before inhaling sharply when my finger slid over a name I recognized.
Belinda Cannon.
“But you’ve included a death date,” I said. “I thought she was missing and never found.”
The quilter’s expression darkened. “No, that’s just what the family allowed everyone to believe. She was found, all right. Dead in an alley from a drug overdose.” She met my inquisitive gaze with a lift of her chin. “I’m Sandra Cannon Everhart. Belinda was my older cousin, and I know all about her death, because I was there when the family got that news, as well as the first time she almost died.”
“The first time?” I stared back down at the quilt. Sandra Everhart had pieced and stitched a blooming sprig of rosemary as the decoration on Belinda’s memory block.
“Yes. When those hippies from that commune dumped her off at my aunt and uncle’s house, sick as a dog.” Sandra sniffed. “She’d overdosed on something, you see, and they decided to just abandon her on her parents’ doorstep rather than take her to the hospital.”
“Hippies?” I yanked my hand back and clenched a fist to hide the trembling in my fingers.
“You know, those folks from that organic farm. Vista View, they call it.”
“Carol and P.J. Fields? They dropped her off?”
“Them and that young black guy. The one that got himself killed not long after, it seems, if those bones they found out there on that farm are any indication.” Sandra squinched up her face, accentuating her wrinkles. “Good riddance to poor rubbish, is all I have to say.”
I backed away from the table. “You’re talking about Jeremy Adams.”
“Yep. And let me tell you, lots of people in my family would rather thank whoever killed him than lock them up.”
“That seems harsh,” I said, when I recovered my ability to string words together.
Sandra side-eyed me. “You think so? My cousin Gail wouldn’t agree. That’s my other cousin, the one that was my age. She was Belinda’s little sister, and let me tell you, she never got over Belinda’s death. It messed her up real bad.”
“But Belinda Cannon didn’t die from that first overdose, did she?”
“No, but it was that Jeremy Adams and those other hippies that got her into drugs in the first place. She never touched that stuff until she joined up with that commune.” Sandra Everhart crossed her arms over her breasts. “I was there, like I said, when those losers dropped her off like a bag of dirty laundry. They tried to sneak away, too, but Gail and I were playing outside and we saw them.”
“You’re sure it was Carol and P.J. Fields and Jeremy Adams?”
“As sure as I’m standing here. It was dark, but Gail and me, we were running around with sparklers left over from the Fourth of July. So we saw what they did. Gail knew who they were right away, because she used to visit Belinda in that commune from time to time. Well, she was furious, let me tell you. She even ran after them, screaming that it was all their fault. Of course, she was mainly mad at Jeremy Adams. Gail figured he was the one most to blame, because Belinda was so in love with him and would do anything he asked. So Gail attacked him. Threw a real fit.” Sandra rubbed her forehead with one hand, as if trying to erase the memory. “I’ll never forget that scene. Gail swore she’d kill Jeremy if anything happened to Belinda.”
“Belinda survived, though.”
“That time. But after she recovered, she up and took off one day without telling anyone where she was going. We never heard nothing from her until the police came by the house a few weeks later and said they’d found her body.” Sandra grimaced. “Another drug overdose, and this time there was no coming back from it.”
“That doesn’t really implicate the commune members, though. I mean, she did choose to leave home again.”
Sandra snorted. “Because she was an addict by that point. My aunt and uncle tried to help, but they were clueless about that sort of thing. Gail’s always said that if those hippies had just taken her to a hospital the first time, she’d probably have been forced into a detox program and that could’ve saved her. But no, they were too afraid of getting in trouble with the law themselves, I guess.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets, my fingers searching for my cell phone. “Is your cousin Gail still alive?”
“She is. I guess she’s seventy now, same as me.” Sandra tipped her head and surveyed me, the lines bracketing her thin lips deepening. “We keep in touch, but it’s been more difficult recently. She doesn’t live in the area anymore. Moved into the city when she married. She’s in pretty poor health and housebound, and I don’t drive in the city, so …” Sandra shrugged.
“That’s too bad,” I said as my fingers curled around my phone. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go join my fiancé outside. I’m sure he’s wondering where I am.” This was a lie. If Richard was learning a new dance style, he’d probably forgotten I existed. But it was as good an excuse as any. “Thanks for showing me the quilts. They really are lovely.”
“Thank you for stopping by.” Sandra Everhart looked like she wanted to say something more, but at that moment a group of women walked up to the quilt display and started peppering her with questions.
I took the opportunity to slip away. Heading outside, I paused outside the building to search the Internet on my phone.
If my calculations were correct, Gail Cannon would’ve been only fifteen or sixteen when Jeremy Adams was murdered. But that didn’t necessarily mean she could be eliminated as a suspect. According to her cousin, she’d sworn to kill him, which was enough to add her to the growing list of people who might’ve had both motive and opportunity.
A few months after he’d left the commune, Emily Moore had asked Jeremy to return to Taylorsford, and he’d obviously honored her request. He’d even attended the Heritage Festival. Which drew visitors from all over the area.
Which meant Gail Cannon could’ve seen him there, after Belinda died. And lured him somewhere to kill him. But that still didn’t answer all the questions. Even if Gail was somehow connected to Jeremy’s death, it seemed unlikely that an older, housebound invalid could’ve been involved in the more recent murders.
Scrolling through various iterations of Gail’s name, I finally landed on one that seemed promising in terms of age and other factors.
But it was the last name that made me gasp and slump back against the concrete block walls of the exhibit building.
Dane. Gail Cannon Dane.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I hastily searched the article that included her name. It was an older piece, highlighting her work with her local garden society. But buried in the middle of the interview was the mention of her husband and child.
One child—a son named Daniel.
I pressed the phone to my breastbone and took a few deep breaths, my thoughts racing. It seemed more than a coincidence that Gail’s son was investigating past disappearances around Taylorsford, which allowed him a reasonable excuse to talk to the Vista View commune members. Perhaps he was telling the truth about writing a news story, but he had definitely withheld information about his aunt. Now that I thought about it, I realized he’d been very careful not to mention her name, or her connection to the commune at Vista View.
I wondered what else he’d fabricated and, more importantly, where he was today. I frowned as I realized I had no idea of his location. Despite the fact that I’d talked to him several times recently, he’d never mentioned exactly where he stayed when he was conducting research in the area—or where he actually lived.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I hurried over to the temporary stage. I was relieved to see that the cloggers had finished their rehearsal, and Richard was now engaged in a conversation with a man I took to be their troupe leader.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said when I reached Richard’s side. “But I need to talk to you. Now.”
“No problem,” said the leader of the clogging group. “We were just exchanging info. Mr. Muir is interested in having us come in and give a demonstration to some of his students.”
“That’s nice.” I flashed the man a tight smile before tugging on Richard’s arm. “This is urgent.”
He glanced down at me, eyebrows raised. “Okay. I’ll be in touch,” he said to the dance troupe leader, before following me as I strode away.
Pausing under the shade of an apple tree planted between the stage and one of the animal barns, I looked up at him. “Again, sorry for dragging you away like that, but I think you should know what I just found out.”
I related what I’d heard from Sandra Everhart and what I’d discovered through my Internet sleuthing. “So now I wonder if Dan is somehow mixed up in all of this.”
Richard rubbed at his jaw with the back of one hand. “It’s a reasonable assumption, but maybe Brad and his team should follow up on that lead.” His gray eyes narrowed as he stared intently into my face. “I’m not sure you should try to approach the guy, or even locate him. Leave that to the professionals.”
“I will, but we need to find Brad first. I’d prefer that he receives the info directly, because he knows all the details of the case. If I call the sheriff’s department when he’s obviously not there, I might get someone who won’t understand the significance of this latest development.”
“All right, I’ll tell you what—you wait here with Lydia and the others, and I’ll find Brad. He said he wasn’t going to answer his phone today, so I guess I’d better go track him down.”
I stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, that will be a great help.”
Richard pulled me into an embrace and gave me a proper kiss. “That’s a reminder to stay safe. For my sake, among other things.”
“I promise,” I said, when he released me. “I’m just going to check on that quilt one more time. I think I’ll try to sneak a photo with my phone so I can share that with Brad too.”
“Okay.” Richard tapped my nose with one finger. “But then go join up with Lydia in the food pavilion. I’ll meet you there once I find Brad and Alison.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, giving him a mock salute.
“Enough with the sarcasm; it’s my duty to worry about you,” he said, before kissing me again.
* * *
Back in the arts-and-crafts pavilion, I headed to the quilt section, but stopped at the adjacent pottery display to make sure Sandra Everhart was nowhere in sight.
Fortunately, it appeared that she’d been replaced by another quilt society member. I strolled over to the table that held the memory quilt and pulled out my phone.
“Just wanted to snap a few photos for my mom,” I said, when the woman watching over the display shot me a questioning look. “She loves quilting, and I like to collect pictures of unique ideas for her.”
That was a lie, of course. My mother, a marine biologist who loved scuba diving and other outdoor activities, had no interest in crafts of any kind. But considering the importance of establishing some proof of Belinda Cannon’s death, I didn’t care.
“Fine work, isn’t it?” a familiar voice said in my ear.
I spun around to face Dan Dane.
“What are you doing here?”
Dan’s sea-green eyes glittered. “Visiting the fair, of course. You know, collecting some local color to add to my stories.”
“Or following me?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“I don’t know. You tell me,” I said, with a surreptitious glance at my phone. If I could get my finger over the button that would dial 911 …
Dan reached out and deftly knocked the phone from my hand. “Oh, terribly sorry. Let me get that,” he said, diving for the cell before I could reach it. He plucked it off the floor and shoved it into his pocket in one swift move.
My gaze darted among the various clusters of visitors in the building. “I could scream.”
Dan lowered his voice. “You could, but I don’t think you will. Not when I tell you about your friend Sunny and her grandparents.”
I swayed slightly. “What do you mean? What have you done with them?”
“Nothing, yet.” Dan gripped my arm and steadied me. “They’re just enjoying a little quality time together at the farm.”
I allowed him to pull me to his side. “But they’re free to leave?”
Dan slipped his arm through my crooked elbow and turned me around. “No, I’m afraid not. Now, let’s take a little stroll.” He marched me toward the back exit of the pavilion. “And I’d advise you not to alert anyone we meet, if you want your friends to have any chance for survival.”
“Someone will find them eventually,” I said, considering whether to scream despite Dan’s threats. Surely if he was arrested, the authorities could then free the Fields family from wherever he had stashed them. “People are already concerned that they didn’t show up today.”
“Perhaps. But will they find them before their air runs out?” Dan glanced down at me, his eyes icy as an arctic sea. “Debatable.”
I glared at him from beneath my lowered lashes. “I don’t understand. You like Sunny. You flirted with her, and I thought …”
“That I’d fallen for her? Maybe I did, or would have, if she hadn’t been the granddaughter of Carol and P.J. Fields.” Dan tightened his grip on my trembling arm. “But sadly, I couldn’t allow my feelings to get in the way of justice.”
I ground my teeth before replying. “Justice? Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Yes, because it’s the truth. Now shut up and move.” Dan lengthened his stride, forcing me to jog to keep up with him.
“You can’t possibly get away with abducting me,” I muttered as we crossed an empty stretch of grass.
Dan halted before an old gate in the fence surrounding the fairgrounds. “Looks like I am.” He broke open the rusted latch on the gate with his fist, then kicked the gate wide open. “Keep walking. My car’s just over there, behind that dumpster.”
“I just don’t understand why you think this is a good idea,” I said as Dan shoved me in the driver’s seat of the car, forcing me to crawl over to the passenger side.
I reached for the door handle as I heard a click. Power locks, I thought, shooting Dan a furious glance.
“Good idea? No, it isn’t. It’s a terrible idea, actually. But I had to do something. You and the authorities were backing me into a corner. And you see”—he cast me a humorless smile—“like you, I’ll do anything to protect those I love.”
His mother. I didn’t dare say that aloud, although it was clear to me now that, somehow, Gail Cannon had followed through on her threat to murder Jeremy Adams.
Jeremy would’ve met Gail somewhere, especially if she’d told him she had an important message from her sister. Because Jeremy was basically a nice guy who would’ve wanted to help a former lover. And because, since her family hadn’t shared the news, he wouldn’t have known Belinda was dead.
I gnawed on my pinkie fingernail. Jeremy Adams had been tall, but thin, and probably not trained in fighting or self-defense. Gail could have killed him, given the right weapon and circumstances. And Jeremy wouldn’t have been expecting violence, not from a young girl, even if she had threatened him before. He would’ve been caught unaware. I squirmed in my seat as Dan drove away from the fairgrounds. I could try the same thing—take Dan by surprise. Unbuckle and lean over and punch him and grab the wheel …
