Dangerous Secrets Page 5

  “But if they have a guilty secret, they wouldn’t come forward,” she said, reestablishing her independence, too. She couldn’t let herself depend on Ridge. His stay here would be fleeting. “Because they would still be looking for whatever she had that they want…”

  “Yes, and we don’t know what that is. But can you think of anyplace in Winfield or nearby that she frequented last summer that might be a hiding place for something important?” He studied her as though he could summon the answer from her with a word.

  Blocking Ridge out so she could concentrate, Sylvie closed her eyes and tried to think. Ginger had worked the excursion boats that toured the Apostle Islands. That led nowhere. She shook her head.

  “Can you think of anywhere that she stopped before she came to you that first night?”

  Sylvie replayed in her mind the evening with Ginger and then the night she and her father had found Ben in Ginger’s attic. The peanut butter that Ben had eaten—yes. “Groceries. She had bought groceries.”

  “Groceries? You mean the ones in Ginger’s fridge?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought one of the deputies, that young one, Josh, told me you’d put those groceries in the fridge.”

  “No, Ginger bought them.”

  “Bought them here—locally?” His voice lifted with increasing interest. “Or on her way home?”

  Sylvie shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll have to find out.”

  Sylvie looked up into his face. They were still so close together. The chill temperature had worked its way over her face, down her neck, and was trying to snake its way deeper inside her. But she had no desire to go in out of the cold. She was content to stand here quietly, looking at Ridge. For once, he didn’t look stressed. Just in the midst of intense concentration.

  “Hey! Sylvie!” Florence called from across the street. “Aren’t you going to come and sell this lady a book?”

  Sylvie hurried across the street.

  Ridge hung back, watching her go. No matter this lead about the groceries, he had rarely felt so incompetent. Since he’d come to town, three houses had been broken into and ransacked, one woman had been killed and now one had been assaulted. When would they solve this puzzle?

  Ridge had appreciated the sheriff’s show of confidence earlier but how many more times would it take before this case was solved? And he understood Sylvie’s concern that before they did, someone else might get killed.

  FOUR

  March 11

  On Friday afternoon, Ridge sat adjacent to Keir in the bare interrogation room. He had a prickly feeling up his spine. He didn’t know if it was from all the tension over the past few days or if it was because he wanted to shake the young woman across the table from him.

  At the small scarred wooden table, Tanya Hendricks sat in an odd posture. Her chair sat back a foot or so from the table. She’d slid her bottom very far forward on the seat; her head was bent forward and her arms were folded over her very thin chest. One long leg crossed the other. The leg on top jittered, broadcasting her nervous strain.

  On two previous occasions, Keir and Ridge had stopped to interview her at her grandfather’s home where she was staying. But she seemed to elude them. So they had at last formally called her in to answer questions about Ginger’s stop at Ollie’s convenience store on the way into Winfield on the night Ginger died.

  Tanya was tall, painfully thin, with long, dirty-brown hair. She wore what appeared to be designer clothes that she didn’t take care of very well and probably couldn’t afford to replace. Her wrinkled white blouse looked as if it had shrunk. Her Armani denim jeans were stained and threadbare.

  And she had an attitude. A bad one.

  As the sheriff questioned her, Ridge paid little attention to the lies and evasions she was giving him. She had a habit of letting her voice drop until her words could hardly be discerned. She rarely raised her eyes above the tabletop. He wished they were videotaping her. She would have made a good case study for police trainees in spotting an untrustworthy witness. And a suspected drug user.

  “Miss Hendricks,” the sheriff said, sounding as if his patience was about to give way, “we watched the surveillance videotape from the night in question. And Ginger Johnson was definitely in the store buying groceries from you that night. Now what did she say to you?”

  “You know, the usual…” Tanya shrugged, still not meeting the sheriff’s eyes.

  “The usual what?”

  Ridge didn’t hear her reply. He tried to temper his irritation with this difficult witness. “Did she say anything about just getting back to town?” he asked, finally entering into the interrogation.

  Tanya gave her customary insolent shrug once more. “It was nothing special, you know. Just the usual garb…”

  “Garbage?” he finished for her. “Ginger looked quite animated on the video.” Ridge wondered why Tanya was being evasive. Perhaps it was just her personality; maybe she acted this way with every adult in every situation. Or maybe it was that they were law enforcement or “pigs.” He didn’t know much about this girl. He vaguely remembered Ollie’s very pretty daughter, this girl’s mother, who had been a few years ahead of him in school. But that was all.

  “I don’t know what that means. What’s animated? It sounds like a cartoon,” the girl complained, rolling her eyes.

  “She looked happy.” Keir’s voice remained even. “She looked like she was saying a lot to you.”

  Not for the first time, Ridge wished that surveillance videos also had an audio band. Then they wouldn’t have to interview this surly teenager.

  “I don’t listen to people anymore.” The girl began to nibble a hangnail. “I just ring…their purchases and take their money, give them change. That’s all I do. No matter what my granddad says. I’m not responsible—” The girl again muttered so low Ridge had a hard time hearing her. “—buying…not picking…lottery tickets.”

  “Please speak up. Was anyone with Ginger?” Ridge asked, just fishing for anything, nothing in particular. “Maybe somebody who didn’t come in with her, but who was waiting outside for her?”

  “I didn’t see anybody. But I…looking, you know what I mean? Work is so…so lame. I just try to get through it. I don’t pay much attention.”

  If she’d been his daughter, Ridge would have grounded her until she could learn to speak up and speak respectfully to police officers. However, he clamped his mouth shut.

  Keir gave him a glance that said he didn’t have anything more to ask her. Did Ridge?

  Ridge shook his head. He rose, as did the sheriff. Keir said, “You may leave, then, Miss Hendricks. Thank you for your help.” Still slouching, she slunk toward the door.

  Just as she was going through, Ridge called to her, “You let us know if anything occurs to you, won’t you?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a dirty look that said clearly, In your dreams. Then she was gone with a slam of the outer door.

  Ridge’s cell phone rang. He answered it. And a deep frown creased his forehead as he listened to his last hope vanishing. He kept his conversation polite then snapped the phone shut.

  “Miss Hendricks was not a very good witness,” Keir said wryly, stating the obvious and bringing Ridge back to the just-completed interrogation.

  “She’s probably too high most of the time to catch what’s going on around her,” Ridge said with a frown. “What was that last part about lottery tickets? I thought you had to be eighteen in order to sell them.”

  “She just turned eighteen, I think. And Ollie, her grandfather, often has tourists who buy a winning lottery ticket, but don’t turn it in to get their prize. If the winner doesn’t turn in the ticket, the vendor doesn’t get his percentage of the prize. A big one worth several million was bought at his store last fall and no one picked it up.”

  “A winning lottery ticket,” Ridge said, suddenly alert. “Is there any chance that Ginger might have bought a winning ticket?”
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  “I don’t see Shirley Johnson’s daughter buying lottery tickets, do you?” Keir shook his head. “Besides, Ginger was gone and in Alaska before this particular ticket was sold. I think it may have already expired. Or is just about to.”

  Everything Keir said hit the mark. No, Ridge didn’t see Shirley Johnson’s daughter buying a lottery ticket. The Patterson family didn’t hold with gambling, not even buying lottery tickets. Shirley and Milo’s father had gambled away acres of choice property around Winfield, a cautionary lesson for succeeding generations like Ginger. I must be desperate. I’m really grabbing at straws. Why couldn’t they get a break in this case?

  “Anyway,” Keir promised, “I’m going to keep an eye on Tanya Hendricks. If nothing else, maybe I can pick up a new supplier in the area. I wonder if Ollie knows his granddaughter is likely using drugs.”

  Then Keir’s cell phone rang, interrupting them. He opened it and began speaking to his wife. He said goodbye to her and then he looked at Ridge. “I’m done here. I’m going with Audra for an ultrasound. The doctor thinks she might be expecting twins.”

  Ridge nodded. “Fine. I’ve got to go now. I’m moving Ben to Milo’s apartment today after school.”

  “The military school fell through?”

  “Yes, that was them on the phone. They’ve given the vacancy to the next boy on the waiting list. They’ve put Ben on the list for next fall.” But Ridge wondered if that would ever happen. Maybe Ben needed someone like Milo. Still, he couldn’t shift the responsibility of Ben to Milo.

  “I’m sorry that this case has interfered with your private plans for your ward,” Keir apologized.

  The words didn’t change things, but they made Ridge feel somewhat better. “It’s not your fault. It’s the fault of the person who—by accident or design—pushed Ginger to her death.”

  The sheriff nodded gravely. “We’re going to nail him or her. No matter what it takes.”

  Ben was waiting for Ridge in the doorway of his parents’ house. “I’m all packed up and ready to go.” The kid was actually dancing from foot to foot with his eagerness to leave.

  Ridge identified with Ben; he shared the same reaction to this cold, empty house. If only he could move into Milo’s, too. “Let’s go check your room just to be sure that you haven’t forgotten anything.”

  With dragging feet, Ben followed him through the kitchen to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Ben waited impatiently in the doorway as Ridge looked through the vacant closet, through the empty drawers of the dresser. “Did you get down and look under the bed?”

  With a hiss of impatience, Ben threw himself onto his stomach beside the bed and looked underneath. “Nothing. Can we go now?”

  Ridge nodded. Ben raced up the hall ahead of him and stopped at the back door just to pull on his winter jacket and hat. The kid swung his school duffel bag over one shoulder and then picked up the smaller suitcase. He waited for Ridge.

  For just a moment, Ridge considered taking Ben to his mom in front of the TV set, and having the kid thank her for her hospitality. Then the reality of the situation poked him hard. All his mom and dad wanted was Ben out of their house. So why put on an act? The kid hadn’t been fooled. He’d clearly read the situation as it was.

  Feeling that he should apologize to Ben for making him spend months here, Ridge shouldered a box of Ben’s possessions and picked up the larger suitcase. Once they were in Ridge’s SUV, he drove the few blocks to Milo’s Bait and Tackle Shop.

  He’d barely turned off the engine and Ben was already charging up the steps to the apartment above the store. When Ridge reached the top step, Ben was there in the doorway, waiting for him. “The note on my bed says that after I put my stuff in my room, I’m to come downstairs. Milo wants me to learn where everything is so I can help customers this spring and summer.”

  “I’m sure,” Ridge said, leading Ben through the kitchen and living room to one of the bedrooms at the rear, “that Milo wants you to do more than just throw everything in a heap in the middle of the room.”

  Ben groaned with frustration. But with Ridge giving him directions, he put away the underwear and socks into the new set of dresser drawers. Ridge’s mom had washed, carefully folded and packed them. Ridge was glad for this show of concern for Ben. Ben placed his school duffel bag on his desk by the window. “Can I go now? Milo needs me.”

  Ridge relented. “You go on. You can finish up later.”

  Ben was gone in a nanosecond.

  Ridge stood in the bedroom for a few moments, thinking about his plans for Ben and how they had gone awry. He pushed these thoughts aside and walked toward the kitchen door to leave.

  The door opened and Sylvie walked in. “Oh!”

  She looked like a snow princess. Her white-blond bangs peeked out from under an angora knit tam. The eye-catching tam matched the plum coat and leather gloves. In an area where most everyone wore flannel and denim, Sylvie always dressed with style.

  “Hi,” was all he could manage to say. His mouth had gone a little dry.

  She swept off her knit tam and then ruffled her close-cropped hair.

  He stepped forward and helped her out of her long coat and hung it up on one of the pegs by the door. She slipped her gloves into its pocket and then rubbed her hands together. “Please tell me spring is coming. Someday. Soon.”

  He tried to smile. But she was so lovely standing there in the low light with her silvery-blond hair gleaming and her cheeks rosy pink from the cold. She was wearing one of her colorful, intricate hand-knit Fair Isle sweaters and light blue corduroy slacks. He couldn’t find a word to say to her.

  She glanced downward.

  Did she think he was perturbed with her because he’d been unable to take Ben to the military school?

  “I take it that Ben has brought his stuff over?” Her voice was subdued.

  “Yes.” What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he say more than one-syllable words to her today? He’d never had trouble speaking with Sylvie in the past.

  She looked up, her expression and violet eyes grave. “I’m glad you’ve come. I wanted to talk over all that has happened about Ginger’s death, the investigation, and find out if any progress has been made.”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m at liberty to reveal.”

  She nodded solemnly. “Have you decided yet whether Rae-Jean was attacked just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time or whether someone wanted to hurt or kill her?”

  “The sheriff and I agree that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unless something develops later on that supposition which may cause of us to change our opinion.”

  She motioned him toward the table and chair. “I got an interesting and troubling phone call today.”

  “From whom?” He remained standing, unwilling to stay here alone with her. Why was it different between them this time? Why did she draw his attention in this way? She’d always been pretty. He’d always been fond of her but what was different now?

  “Please sit down,” she said. “I’ll make us some hot cocoa.” She turned toward the stove and soon had milk warming in a saucepan. “It was from the assistant professor that Ginger was dating.”

  Ridge sat down reluctantly and now his gaze followed her movements. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What did he call about?”

  “He said that he had been thinking about Ginger.” She stirred generous spoonfuls of chocolate Ovaltine into the warm milk. “Hearing that her death had been deemed suspicious caused him to think over some events he felt were disturbing. Things that had happened in the past year.”

  “What did happen over the past year?” Ridge felt his interest quicken in spite of his skepticism.

  Sylvie set a mug of fragrant hot cocoa in front of him and sat down across from him with another cup for herself. She folded her hands around the mug, very tense. “He said that there had been an ugly incident in Alaska late last fall.”

  “Ugly—how?”

  “I do
n’t know if you realize it but there is an extreme strain of environmentalists—people like the Unabomber.”

  He lifted his mug and took a sip—sweet and hot. “That insane guy that blew up things in the eighties?”

  “Yes, there are environmentalists who are rabidly against testing anything on animals, no matter what kind of makeup or medicine it is and no matter how carefully protected the animals are. And these activists are vehemently against the eating of meat or the processing of hides.” She looked at him over the rim of her mug. “They’re called ELF.”

  “Elf?” Was she putting him on? No, of course not. Not about Ginger.

  “Yes, the Earth Liberation Front. They’re also called ecoterrorists.”

  He again resisted saying that she must be making the name ELF up. But if Sylvie said there was an ELF organization, there was. “I’ve heard of ecoterrorists,” he admitted.

  “Well, these militant activists can get violent. They have attacked people who raise cattle for food or minks for fur.”

  “I remember hearing about a mink farm in Iowa,” Ridge said, pulling this up from memory. “Some environmentalist nutcase came and released all the mink from their cages and the poor little creatures got smashed on the highway. Pointless and cruel.”

  “That’s the kind of thing that they do.” Sylvie put her mug down and traced the rim with one finger. “They aren’t rational people like normal environmentalists. And in this case, evidently this particular fanatic had confused Ginger with another G. Johnson who is doing research on new uses for fish by-products.”

  He followed the movement of her slender index finger as it circled the lip of the mug. Completely captivated. “Are you making this up?”

  “I wish I were.” She lowered her hand and sighed. “This animal-rights terrorist spray-painted her name and threats in neon orange on the outside of the research building where she was doing some work for another professor. The FBI interviewed her about it because this extremist had previously tried to kill two technicians at a California lab where pharmaceuticals were being tested on animals.”