Thirty-Five and a Half Conspiracies
Page 17

“You know there’s little likelihood that anything useful is in there.”
I glanced up at him. “I know, but we’re already here, so why not look?”
After we got it situated, I held the flashlight while Mason started pulling out drawers and rummaging through the contents. All we found were pens, paperclips, and yellowed paper, but just when I was about to give up, I remembered how I’d found the journal. “Take out the drawers and turn them upside down,” I said.
Mason shot me a look, but he pulled out the middle drawer and dumped the contents on the desk. I searched the bottom with the flashlight, finding nothing. Leaving the drawer where it was, he grabbed the next one and turned it over. This time my flashlight beam landed on something shiny.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Mason muttered. “It’s a key.” He started to peel off the adhesive, but it was so old, the brittle tape broke into pieces. Mason cupped the key in his palm.
“What do you think it goes to?” I asked.
He turned it over in his hand. “It looks like an ordinary house key.” He looked into my eyes. “It could be absolutely nothing, Rose. He might have kept it here as a spare because he continually locked himself out of the house.”
“Taped under his drawer? Not likely.”
“Bottom line is that we have no idea what it opens, so we’ll just be on the lookout.”
“Agreed. Now let’s dump the other three.”
He pulled them out in quick succession, but there was nothing else. “Let’s get out of here.”
We hurried out of the office. The sun had begun to set, so it was getting darker. As we headed for the window, Mason looked over his shoulder. “Wait a minute. I want to have a quick look at the crime scene.”
I tried not to flinch. “Okay.”
I handed him the flashlight and let him take point on this one since it was his idea.
He wandered around the area, then squatted down next to the bloodstains. “There’s an extra one,” he said, his gaze moving from stain to stain before returning to my face. “Do you feel up to walking me through what happened?”
Oh, crappy doodles. “Why don’t you just read the report?”
“I told you. It wasn’t exactly thorough. Besides, at this point, I don’t trust the sheriff’s department to do their job. I want to hear it directly from you.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to sound breathless. I would just stick to the story I’d told Joe. “I met Hattie here with the secret journal, but I wasn’t sure I trusted her, so I hid it in a desk drawer before I followed her into the office.”
“Which desk?”
My blood ran cold. Mason was going to be very, very thorough. Ordinarily I’d applaud his attention to detail. Today, not so much.
“This one.” I pointed to it.
“Can you literally walk me through it? Do you feel up to it?”
I would have loved to tell him no, but the last thing I wanted was for Mason to think I was fragile. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Go ahead and start.”
“After I shut the journal in the drawer, I walked to the office doorway.” I imitated each step as I described it. “Then I got freaked out about being trapped inside with her, so I decided I needed to be out in the open.”
“Okay,” he said, deep in thought. “Then what happened?”
“So I walked out here.” I made my way into the clear floor space, trying to avoid the bloodstains.
“What made you go with that choice?” he asked. “You usually have good instincts in these situations. It seems like you’d choose to stay between the desks … maybe use them for cover.”
I held my breath. He was right. If I’d been alone, that’s probably exactly what I would have done. The reason I’d stayed out in the open was to make it easier for Jed to serve as my backup, not that I could admit it to Mason. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “I just did.”
“Then what happened?”
“Hattie and I were talking, and there was a gunshot.”
“Someone got shot?”
My pulse throbbed against my temples. “Why do I feel like you’re cross-examining me in the courtroom?”
That shook him up. “I’m sorry if I’m coming across that way, Rose. I’m just trying to piece it all together. Trying to see if there’s anything there to help us.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I ran my hand over my head. “Hattie. Hattie got shot.”
“And then what?”
“Beverly Buchanan and Dirk Picklebie came out of the shadows. Beverly wanted the journal. I told her it was hidden and if she killed me, she’d never find it.”
“That was good thinking,” he said softly. “What happened next?”
“Uh …” I had to remember to keep all references to Jed out of my explanation, which got tricky since he’d been so much a part of what happened that day. “Hattie was still alive, so she threatened to shoot her again if I didn’t give her the journal.” That part wasn’t true. Beverly had threatened to kill Jed. “Then Dirk got worried she’d kill him too, so he used me as a shield and told her he wanted a bigger split of the money J.R. had offered for the book. He wanted half. Fifty thousand dollars.”
“J.R. Simmons was willing to pay one hundred thousand dollars for that book? What did Dora find out?” He grunted. “Dammit. We need that book.”