Minnie Crockwell - Will Travel for Trouble 03 - Trouble at Glacier (8 page)

“I heard,” I said when she had calmed. I released her. “But I can’t imagine someone doing such a thing.”

“I can’t either. And to try to fake a bear attack! It had to be someone who knows a lot about bears or how bears attack.”

I privately agreed but said nothing.

“I don’t know why someone would kill John. Why?” she said as she began to sob anew, and I held her. The poor thing. Nothing could make the pain pass. She just had to survive it.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I murmured over her head. She calmed again eventually and asked for a glass of water. I rose and poured a glass for her.

“Do you think it was random?” I asked. “Who here would have a grudge against John?”
 

“I can think of one,” she said on a hiccup.

“Really? Who? Your uncle?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, not my uncle. Well, Uncle Steve hated John actually, but no, I was talking about the campground host, Rick Cannon.”

“Rick?” I repeated incredulously. “Why would he have a grudge against John?”

“Oh, it was something that happened at Yellowstone. I really don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t even realize he was the host here until we saw him last night.”

“Yellowstone? You mean his wife’s death?”

Amanda snapped her head around to look at me. “What do you know about that?”

“Well, he told me about it tonight. But what could John have possibly had to do with that?”

Tears slipped down her face.
 

“John and I were park rangers there. John forgot to post a sign that a trail was closed due to bear activity, and Rick’s wife hiked up there. She must have walked right into the bear, scared him, and he attacked.”

I sat back on the couch and stared at her.
 

Ben! Are you there?

I am here, Minerva. Is there any person in this park who was not employed at the Yellowstone wilderness area?

That’s what I was wondering,
I said.

“Believe me, when I saw Rick Cannon here, I couldn’t believe it!” Amanda said with a grimace. “What are the odds?”

Indeed
, Ben said.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “Probably not as high as one would think given that National Park employees can transfer from one park to another, right?”

She nodded.

“Did you know Jackson too?”

She stiffened and nodded again, before looking down at her clasped hands.

“Yeah. He shot the grizzly that killed Marsha Cannon.”

“Small world,” I murmured.

“It is. We quit after that. Well John was let go, and I quit. We went home to Michigan, but John wanted to see if he could find a new job in the park system, maybe in another park. He was waiting to hear back on an appeal of his dismissal. We were looking here at Glacier for an opening.”

“John changed after Yellowstone,” she continued. “I don’t know if it was guilt about Marsha’s death or anger at Jackson and Yellowstone for letting him go, but he changed. He became quiet, moody, lashed out at me, stopped talking to people. That’s why my uncle didn’t like him. The lashing out.”

“Do you mean he hit you?”
 

She swallowed hard before she nodded. A single tear ran down her cheek.
 

“I’m so sorry, Amanda.” I knew I’d said it more than once, but I seemed to have no other soothing words in my vocabulary.

“Thanks, but I’m pretty tough even though I don’t look it. John wasn’t going to get away with it much longer, I’ll tell you that.”

Amanda’s blue eyes flashed with anger, and I was taken aback for a moment. What happened to her grief? Or was this mixed bag of emotions her way of dealing with loss?

“In a weak moment, I told my uncle about it, and he decided he would drive over here from Washington State to meet us. To see how John was acting. I don’t think Uncle Steve liked what he saw.”

“Oh! I didn’t know he’d had a chance to see John before…” I didn’t finish. “Remember, you were looking for him?”

“We found him. He pulled in right after you must have, I think. Anyway, John and I got into it in front of him, and he was furious. I’ve never seen my uncle so angry. I knew he was mad on the phone when I talked to him, but I thought he would have calmed down by the time he got here. He told me to leave John. Said he’d take me back to Washington with him, that I could start over there. He didn’t hold back in front of John.”
 

She studied the bruises on the knuckles of her right hand, the ones I’d seen yesterday. I wondered what they were from.

I couldn’t help but think that the list of people who might want to kill John was certainly growing.

“I’m probably going to regret this question, Amanda, but is your uncle…abusive as well? He seemed so rough with you yesterday when he pulled you from me.”

She swung her head to look at me.
 

“No! Not to me, he’s not. He’s just very protective. He’s my only living relative. My parents died in a car accident when I was fifteen, and he took care of me. Well, he and his wife did, but they divorced within a year. She didn’t like me very much. I think she was jealous of our relationship. Uncle Steve and I were pretty close. He moved away to Washington after I married John.”

I nodded, a clearer picture forming. A thought had been nagging at me. Something she had said.

“You said John was angry at Jackson? Why?”

“Jackson was the one who fired him. We both worked for Jackson. I thought Jackson was going to shoot John on the spot when Marsha was killed. Jackson was close to Rick and Marsha.” She looked down at her hands again.

Jackson? So, now Jackson had hated John too? Good gravy!

Your list of suspects grows, I see,
Ben said.
I am not at all sure that the grieving widow could not be considered as well. She has a bit of a temper, I see.

No kidding!

I took a chance.

“What happened to your knuckles, Amanda? They look pretty sore.”

She looked up quickly, then back to her right hand.

“Oh, I was shredding some meat the other day with a new kitchen tool I found at a store. It kind of bruised my knuckles.”

“Gee, that sounds like a brutal tool. What is it?”

She shrugged and took a sip of water.

“Some sort of shredding thing. I don’t remember the name.”

I believe she prevaricates,
Ben said.

About shredding meat? Oh wait!
I almost gasped aloud. If one could shred meat with a tool, could one use the same tool to shred a man’s neck? What did it look like?

I wondered how I could get inside her trailer to see the tool. I’d have to pretend to be an avid cook to insist on seeing it. Could I pull off avid cook? That certainly was not me!

No, cooking does not seem to be a happy occupation for you, Minerva.

I would have liked to make a face at Ben, but Amanda would surely see .

I was just about to open my mouth when she rose abruptly.

“Well, I’d better get back to the RV. I’ve taken up enough of your time, Minnie. Thanks for letting me cry all over your shoulder.”

“You’re welcome, Amanda. Let me walk you back to your RV. It’s not safe out right now.” I truly believed that,
and
I wanted to see this shredding tool.

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks. I’ll sprint back.” She half smiled.

I grew desperate.

“Well, I’d worry about you.
And
I’d like to see that shredding tool you mentioned. You see, I’m quite the avid cook, and I have been looking for something just like it.”

Oh, gosh, that sounded hokey, didn’t it, Ben? No one says “I’m quite the avid cook.”

She appears reluctant,
he said.

She hesitated. “I’m not sure where I put it after I washed it,” she said.

I pressed.

“Ohhhh,” I said in my best pretty-please voice. “Could you just take a quick peek in your kitchen? I would
love
to find something just like it.”

She chewed on her lip, then sighed.

“Okay. Come on over.”

I grinned and followed her down the steps.

Minerva, please have a care. You do realize you are asking to see what might potentially be a murder weapon? And that the murder weapon would most likely be in the hands of the murderer?

Gotcha, Ben! I’m good. I’ll be careful.

I was obsessed with seeing this device and not really thinking the matter through. But little Amanda? A killer? It hardly seemed possible. However, that flash in her eyes had surprised me. Besides, what if her uncle had access to the shredding tool? Or alternatively, Amanda had said that her uncle had bear claws. I imagine he could have fashioned them into a weapon…if he wanted to simulate a bear attack.
 

And this is what you call being careful?
Ben asked with a snort.

Not really,
I conceded.
 

I followed Amanda to her RV. A gentle wind rustled through the dark trees. It felt quite eerie out, given the violent murder of the night before. If I wasn’t following the killer to her RV, then he was probably still out there somewhere. I tried to tell myself rationally that he was probably sitting in his RV or tent or apartment telling himself he had gotten away with murder.

By my use of the word apartment, I now included Jackson in the list of suspects. I could hardly believe that the handsome ranger was capable of such a brutal crime, but what did I know about revenge? Or murderers for that matter? I didn’t understand the mentality. Apparently that didn’t stop me from running into them on a regular basis, however.

You have added the handsome and dashing Ranger Jackson to your list of suspects, Minerva? That must be difficult for you.
I heard the gently mocking note in Ben’s voice, but I ignored it.

It seems like John was at the center of a ring of people who hated him, many of them interconnected,
I said silently.
Any one of them could have done it.

We arrived at Amanda’s RV, and she opened the door. I took a deep breath and followed her in. I had to admit to being a bit squeamish. Although John had not been murdered in the RV, I couldn’t rid myself of the aura of violent death.
 

I stepped inside a fairly ordinary fifth wheel. A brown fabric sofa and two easy chairs nestled against two of the walls across from a small kitchen area. A television dominated the wall next to the small steps leading up to the bathroom and bedroom. The whole of the RV looked fairly clean.
 

“I’ll see if I can find it,” Amanda said. “I really can’t remember what it’s called.” While I waited, she rummaged about in kitchen cabinet drawers, pushing things aside. I hated to do this to her, but I needed to see the device.

She looked over her shoulder toward me. “Have a seat,” she said. “I’m still looking.”
 

I sat, and she started opening cupboard drawers.

“You know how it is,” she said. “So many drawers and cabinets, you can’t remember where you put things.”

“Yes, I do know. I’ve got the same problem.” A kinder person would have told her to bring it over another day when she found it, but not I. I did not like this newfound aspect of myself, this dog-with-a-bone drive of refusing to let something go when I was “sleuthing.”

Which I am not doing, by the way, Ben
.

Ben cleared his throat but said nothing.

Amanda straightened and turned. “Look, I really can’t find it,” she said. I stood, accepting defeat, but not gracefully.

I glanced down at the last drawer she had opened which was still ajar. There, in full view, was a tool which I could safely say would be capable of ripping a man’s neck out. Dark, black, and made of a thick sturdy-looking plastic, the device resembled brass knuckles but had claws which extended from the handle. I could see how Amanda would have bruised her knuckles as she slipped her hand inside the grip and applied pressure.

“Is that it?” I said with a forced smile.

Amanda looked down. “Oh! There it is. I probably looked right at it.”

She pulled the device out of the drawer, and I stiffened.

Minerva. Please make your excuses and leave now!

I can’t, Ben.

She slipped her fingers in the grip and held it up.

“I think it’s called meat claws or something like that.”

“Yes, I imagine it would be,” I said.

“Here, take a look at it,” she said, extending the claws to me.

Something about fingerprints came to mind, and I declined.

“Oh, no. Thanks! I just wanted to see it. Now I know what it looks like, I can find one in the store. What an ingenious idea,” I said with a grin.

She lowered it and studied it for a moment.

“Yeah,” she said. She offered nothing more, and I turned to leave.

“Well, I’d better get back to my RV,” I said.