2 Fog Over Finny's Nose Read online

  They stood there for a tortured moment of silence.

  Meg clutched Dimple’s arm more tightly. “We understand you took Cootchie up here.”

  Ruth nodded. Tears welled up and spilled down her face.

  “Cootchie must have wandered away while Ruth’s back was turned,” Monk said.

  Meg regarded him for a moment, her gray eyes narrowed. “Her back shouldn’t have been turned.”

  Somewhere down deep Ruth registered surprise at the anger she heard in Meg’s voice.

  “Now wait just a minute, ma’am. Ruth has taken excellent care of Cootchie since the day she was born,” he said.

  “She didn’t take very good care of her today, did she?” Her voice was shrill and hovered oddly in the rising fog.

  “That’s not fair, ma’am. You haven’t been here to see how well Ruth cares for Cootchie.”

  Before Meg had a chance to respond, Jack approached and cleared his throat. “Ladies, I have something to tell you. It may be nothing at all, but I think you should know a witness saw a pickup driving down the fire trail on the far side of Finny’s Nose.”

  They all stared at the detective.

  Monk spoke first. “Who was the witness? Did he see a child in the truck?”

  “It was one of the Coastal Comets, a guy named Hector Rodriguez. He was hiking and says he saw a pickup headed downslope about an hour ago. He has no details about the driver.” Jack looked down at the faded knees of his jeans. “We found these on the ground near the fire trail.” Slowly he held up a plastic bag. Inside were three soybeans.

  Dimple buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, and Ruth slid to the hard ground of Finny’s Nose.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack collapsed in his squeaky chair at his desk, convinced that if the coffee machine wasn’t repaired soon, he would have to shoot someone. The desperation he felt at not being able to find Cootchie only deepened when the pair from the FBI showed up to take over the search. It was now well into Thursday and still no progress. He thought constantly about his own young son. It was all he could do not to pick up the phone and call Louella to check on him again.

  His stomach growled, reminding him he had not eaten lunch.

  The phone rang, and he snatched it up. His face warmed when he heard the voice on the other end. “Oh, hey, Bobby.”

  “Hi, Jack. Is there any news?”

  “No.” He hoped his helplessness didn’t seep into his voice. “It’s pretty much the FBI’s show now.”

  “I bet that really ticks you off.”

  He smiled. How did she know that? “Yeah, I guess it does. Are Monk and Ruth okay?”

  “I don’t think so. They won’t be okay until there is word, I think.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Well,” Bobby said, “I just wanted to tell you that I hope you’re holding up. I know this is hard for you. Maybe we can go for that run after everything is settled and Cootchie is back safe and sound.”

  His heart jumped. “Oh sure. I would love that.”

  “When do you get to come home?”

  He groaned. “Who knows.”

  “Okay. I’ll fix you a frittata and leave it at your house. Do you like fritattas?”

  He had no clue what a frittata was, but that didn’t stifle the warm feeling in his gut. “Sure, that sounds great.”

  Nathan entered the office with a coffee cup in his hand.

  “I’ve gotta get back to work. Thank you for checking in. I’m sure the frittata will be great.” He hung up and looked at his friend. “If that’s coffee, you are promoted to admiral.”

  “It’s orange juice, and we don’t have an admiral.”

  “Okay.” He noted lines of exhaustion on Nate’s face that he was sure matched his own. He struggled to pull his mind to the Honeysill investigation. “Did you catch anything from the Candace interview that I missed?”

  “Nothing in particular. She came across pretty sincerely ignorant about the life insurance policy.”

  “It gives her a motive for killing him,” Jack said.

  “Two hundred fifty thousand motives, I’d say. Do you want the background on Rocky Bippo that Mary dug up?”

  “Sure,” he said wearily. “Let me have it.”

  Nate consulted a sheaf of papers. “He’s a GOP.”

  “A Republican?”

  “A Guardian of the Planet. Some sort of gang that goes around trying to keep people from cutting down trees and stuff like that.”

  “Legal or not?”

  “He’s been connected with blockading a logging road and dumping sawdust and a three-hundred- pound stump in the middle of an Oregon city council office. No charges filed due to lack of evidence. Oh, here’s a good one. He was in the vicinity of the Elegant Tree Farm when it was torched.”

  “I thought they liked trees.”

  “Apparently these trees were propagated from genetically modified stock.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Jack asked.

  “I’ll bet the GOPs think so.”

  He rubbed his face. “That’s all we need. A bunch of environmental wackos on the loose in Finny.”

  Jack looked at his phone again, willing it to ring with news about Cootchie. “Who’s next?”

  “Bing the balloon guy again. He was supposed to be the one to take Honeysill up in the balloon, but he was AWOL at launch time. We got his basic story already, but he’s back for round two.”

  They walked to the interview room and settled into hard chairs.

  The door opened, and Bing stepped into the room. He looked like a man entering a country club rather than a squad room. His hair was spiked with gel, and his muscled arms were tanned under his blue polo shirt. To top it off, the man was carrying a styrofoam cup of coffee.

  “How are you?” he said to the officers, extending a hand to both. “Good to see you again. Pretty nuts around here. I bet you guys are wishing this whole festival deal would pack up and leave town.”

  “Something like that. You remember Officer Katz. Have a seat, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Great.” He slid into a chair. “I’ve been on my feet all day. You can call me Bing. Sounds like you people are busy these days. I understand there’s a kid missing.”

  “We’re managing. Why don’t you tell us again about the day your balloon crashed, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Well, let’s see.” He took a sip of coffee. “Like I told you before, I got up around five or so—I’m an early riser. I went for a jog on the beach before I checked in with my guys to make sure they had everything under control. Then off I went in search of Starbucks. Never did find any. Had to buy this at a catering place. Can you really survive in a town without a Starbucks?” He chuckled.

  “Barely,” Nate commented.

  Jack tried to block out the enticing aroma of coffee. “Where were you at launch time? The balloon was scheduled to go up at one o’clock. It left without you.”

  “Hey, I was just seeing the sights in this little burg. It’s great here, just like Mayberry or something. I’m thinking of buying a piece of property. I think this would be a great place to set up shop. Folks would pay well to see the coastline from a hot air balloon.”

  “What sights were you seeing, exactly?”

  “I can’t recall minute by minute. I spent some time on the beach, searching for the sun. Then I went for a walk. I lost all track of time—that’s why I was late for the launch.” He put the cup on Jack’s desk and laced his fingers across his abdomen.

  “Come on, gentlemen. What motive would I have for shooting down my own balloon? The things are eight grand a piece, just for the nylon skin. That would be a poor business move on my part, don’t you think? Plus my best guy was up there with him. It was just a stroke of luck that he got out of it with only a broken ankle.”

  “We’re just putting the pieces together, Mr. Mitchell. How well did you know Ed Honeysill?”

  Bing looked up at the ceiling, frowning. “Let’s see. I met him about two years ago
at a festival in Oregon. I’ve seen him a couple times since; we seem to frequent the same events. I know he sold fungus or something, didn’t he?”

  “And how well did you know his wife?” Jack pressed.

  Bing looked startled, the easy smile still in place. “Why? What did she tell you?”

  “That she knows you.”

  “We’ve become friends recently. Nothing too interesting. I’m just someone she talks to when Ed is—was—networking.”

  “Were you with her before the launch?”

  “Oh yeah. I think we talked for a while in my trailer. I don’t remember what time it was or anything. I forgot about it.”

  “You talked?”

  Bing raised an eyebrow. “Among other things. We didn’t break any laws, Detective. Maybe a few commandments, but no laws.” After a moment he added, “Look. I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve got no motive to kill Honeysill. I was getting all I wanted from Candace with him alive. You know what I mean.”

  Jack masked his disgust by swallowing a sip of orange juice. “Okay, Mr. Mitchell. Just one more topic. We’ve talked about your relationship with the Bippos. Run through it once more, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh boy.” Bing sighed. He shook his head. “I don’t really have much of a relationship with them. I adopted a dog from Evelyn, trying to be a Good Samaritan, you know? It didn’t work out, so I gave him back. That’s about it. I don’t mix with them.”

  “Evelyn is pretty adamant that you abused the dog,” Jack said.

  “Come on, guys. Do I look like the kind of guy who tortures animals?”

  Jack wanted to say that Bing looked about as nice as many of the psychotics he’d met over the years. “She says when she threatened to press charges, you reported her to animal control for having too many dogs on the property.”

  “That’s not true. I just gave back the dog; that’s all.”

  “She seems to think you’re a real hard-hearted slimeball,” Nathan spoke up. “So does her brother.”

  Bing twitched before his smile returned. “Just between us guys, women sometimes get a little more interested in me than I do in them.”

  “Are you saying Evelyn Bippo wanted a relationship with you?” Jack asked.

  “She would have jumped at the chance, but she just isn’t my type. Rocky is crazy, by the way. He’s one of those wackos who eat wheatgrass and refuse to use plastic shopping bags. He loves trees more than people.”

  Jack digested the info as best he could with no coffee in his lower GI tract. “All right, Mr. Mitchell. One more thing. You own a ninety-nine Dodge Ram pickup truck?”

  “Sure do. But it’s back home in Oregon. I drove my Hummer here. The gas mileage is lousy, but it’s worth it knowing you can roll over any moron that gets in your way.”

  “All right.” He stood to signal the end of the interview. “Thank you for coming in. We’ll be in touch. By the way, is there anyone else, besides the Bippos, that has a problem with you?”

  “I’m a very likable guy, Detective—ask anyone. I really can’t think of any enemies. Why do you ask?”

  “It could be that Honeysill wasn’t the intended target.” Jack slam-dunked the coffee cup. “Maybe you were.”

  Jack watched Bing leave the office, a slight look of unease on the man’s face.

  Nate’s phone rang. Jack could feel the tension before his friend spoke a word.

  “Right,” Nate said, eyes wide. “We’re on our way.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The knock on the door sounded like a gunshot. Ruth leaped to her feet, hands covering her mouth, eyes staring wildly. Monk set the cup of newly steeped tea carefully on the mantel. He nodded calmly as he said, “I’ll get that, honey. It’s going to be fine.”

  Seemingly in slow motion, the door opened, and there was Jack, standing on the doormat with his hands jammed into his pockets. “Sorry to come by so late.”

  “Come in.” Monk ushered the man inside.

  “Ruth, I’ve got news,” he said.

  She stared at him like a half-wit. A terrible smother- ing blanket of terror pushed at her from all sides. In her mind she heard herself screaming, but no sound came out of her mouth.

  “We’ve found her.”

  Monk cleared his throat and stood up straight. He gripped Ruth around the shoulders and pulled her close. “Tell us, Jack.”

  “She’s fine, perfectly fine. Apparently whoever took Cootchie drove up the coast to Half Moon Bay and left her on the steps of the public library. She curled up in the nonfiction section under a bench and fell asleep. The custodian found her this morning. She told him she was from Finny and wanted a book about hydroponic gardening.” He smiled.

  “Did Cootchie say who took her?” Monk asked.

  “She didn’t tell us much of anything that wasn’t about poetry or rocks. She said it was a man with glasses, though she can’t say if they’re reading or sunglasses. As for the vehicle, she says it was a spaceship.”

  “Was she—? Did he—?” Ruth stammered.

  “The doctor at Eden Hospital did a thorough exam, and he said she’s in mint condition. No sign of, er, injury or anything.” He looked closely at her. “It’s all over, Ruth. Cootchie is absolutely fine, and we’re going to find the person who did this.” When she did not respond, Jack added, “It wasn’t your fault. No one blames you.”

  Ruth turned away from the two men and stared out the window at the lengthening shadows.

  “Okay, Jack, thanks for coming over,” Monk said.

  “No problem. If there is anything you need, anything at all. . .”

  “We know where to find you. I’ve got a pot of clam chowder simmering on the stove and a loaf of bread in the oven.” Monk added more quietly, “We’ll get through it.”

  “Maybe you could take her over to Dimple’s. In a few days, I mean. Let things settle awhile.”

  Monk nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Ruth walked outside. The moist air surrounded her with an outer coldness that matched her inner chill. The fog deadened the sounds. Even the birds that rustled in the corner of the yard seemed as though they were in another world. She felt moisture on her chin from the tears coursing unnoticed down her face. In the middle of the horror came a realization that she’d been given a miracle. For a moment, the agony lessened. “Thank You, sweet Jesus,” she said as she sank to the ground and gave her tears to the fog.

  She didn’t know how long she stayed on the cold ground. Vaguely she recalled the birds poking at her hair. Monk lifted her and brought her back into the house. She knew he talked to her for a while before he hoisted her in his arms, but she could not remember any of the words. Somehow she came to be deposited in a chair in front of the glowing pellet stove with a mug of steaming Earl Grey at her elbow.

  Monk gave up trying to talk after a while. He sat in a rocking chair across the area rug from her and began knitting. The soft clacking of his needles and the shushing of the yarn through his fingers kept time with the rocking. That and the clock were the only sounds.

  “What are you knitting?” she finally asked. A ludicrous question, but it was all her mouth could manage.

  “A sweater. Cable knit, for you,” he answered. He continued to watch her, his fingers working unsupervised. “You need a new one.”

  “The last one you gave me is still fine.”

  “I know,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No thanks.” They lapsed into relative silence again.

  Ruth watched the yarn loop and curl as it transformed from skein to sleeve. It was magical almost. She watched him pull a thread and unravel a row. Suddenly her heart clenched in one aching desire. If only she could undo that minute, that one second when she had turned her back on the person she loved so dearly. The moment when she let Cootchie down. Let Dimple down. The moment when she almost destroyed them all.

  The sobs returned, but there were no tears left to accompany them.

  Monk put down his
knitting. He handed her a box of tissues and rubbed comforting circles into her back. “It’s okay, Ruth. She’s fine. She’s just fine.”

  When her sobs relented, he excused himself to tend to dinner. She watched him add cream to the clam chowder and stir it slowly. The brown bread came out of the oven and perfumed the whole house with fragrance. He set glasses of iced tea on the table along with bowls of chowder and thick slabs of bread.

  Ruth was too wrung out to protest as Monk took her hand and led her to the table. “Heavenly Father, thank You for this food. Thank You for bringing Cootchie back. Thank You for your boundless love that will help us through anything. Amen.” He lit a bayberry candle. “Eat something. It will help.”

  She struggled to get the spoon to her mouth. In spite of her emotional condition, Ruth’s taste buds found the chowder delectable. She managed several spoonfuls before she gave up. Monk finished his dinner and sat back, sipping the tea and watching her.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking?” he said.

  “I was thinking,” she said word by painful word, “that Cootchie saved my life. Or maybe it was Dimple. I’m not sure.”

  He nodded.

  “I felt like my life was over because Phillip was gone. I thought I couldn’t survive another day. Not one more day.” She stared at the liquid that swirled in her glass. “I wanted to walk out the door and keep walking until I fell off the edge of the earth. Dimple found me somehow. She asked me to go with her to her first ultrasound.” Ruth shook her head. “I didn’t know her well, and from what I did know about her, I thought she was crazy. I mean, a woman who brews her own perfume and writes fortunes for a living?”

  “Dimple is one of a kind,” he agreed.

  “I thought she was nuts. But she asked me to go with her. And for some reason, I did. I went because I felt God was urging me to. Just for the ultrasound. Then it was just for the Lamaze classes. And then only to see her through the delivery. Then I met Cootchie, and she became the reason for me to live.” Tears began to roll down her face again. “God sent her to me so I wouldn’t be alone. And then He brought me to you when I was able to love again.”