Proof of Innocence Read online

  “Well, all I can tell you is everybody in the county knows J.D. stands for Jack Daniels. Rick Wade found out when we were kids and told everybody, like he told everybody the birth certificate says ‘unknown’ under ‘Father.’ ”

  “Rick said Nola Carson named her baby J.D. because all she remembered about the man passing through who most likely fathered him was he drank Jack Daniels.”

  Whatever she thought of the adult J.D., Maggie had a sudden image of the child, hearing that and more.

  God, what people did to kids.

  Tomlinson might have sensed her reaction, because he hurried into speech. “Everybody called him Jack Dan growing up.” Something passed across his eyes before he added, “Except Pan.”

  Maybe he was a bit of a gossip, but that was sorrow in his face.

  Scott cleared his throat, “It wasn’t until he came back on leave that some folks shifted to J.D. Following Pan’s lead, most like. And, once he was charged with murder and the papers had J.D., people got used to it. But growing up it was Jack Dan.”

  He seemed lost in a memory, then added, “His mama called him J.D.”

  “You remember Nola Carson?”

  “Sure. She wasn’t mean like most of the Carsons. An uncle and a brother of hers died in prison. Her cousin Marie’s still in for knifing some guy. Nola’s father was killed in a bar fight, and another brother smashed up driving drunk. Nola wasn’t like that. Oh, she drank. Drank hard, and it kept costing her jobs. Used to hear men joking they’d never know which bar they’d walk into next and see Nola working there. Same way she was about men, moving from one to another.”

  “Social services never took him away.” She’d checked. She’d needed to be prepared for a sympathy play by the defense.

  “Never heard Nola hurt him. But I suppose if anyone raised him it was the Wood Witch.”

  “The who?”

  He chuckled. “Sorry, that’s what we called her as kids. She was Bedhurst’s bogeyman. When I heard the Hansel and Gretel story, I knew it was about the Wood Witch, and she’d eat kids for sure. Since J.D. spent a lot of time with her, nobody messed with him. Nobody knew where she came from or when. Thought she was a squatter. Could have knocked folks over with a feather when it came out Anya owned the land.”

  “Anya Nouga, the woman Carson inherited the cabin from?” Carson had testified the inheritance was why he’d requested leave to return to Bedhurst.

  Scott nodded. “Shack more like. Plants all over. Had a club she shook at us that rattled like a snake. She was forever cooking stuff in huge pots outside. Potions, maybe poisons.”

  She remembered the tiny cabin — one room and cramped loft — she’d visited as part of the frenzied trial preparation. It had been rundown, yet tidy. Yes, there’d been fire pits in the yard, but all in all, Maggie could see why a boy preferred it to the shell of a trailer that had once been home to Nola Carson.

  “You’d go out there, by Anya Nouga’s cabin?”

  “Sure. We all did. Even Charlotte.” He grinned. “Daring the devil, you know. Irresistible to kids. Would creep through the woods to spy on her stirring those pots and talking gibberish over them, for the thrill, trying not to get caught by her or Jack Dan — J.D.”

  “What happened if you were caught?”

  “Kid stuff. Run off, shouted at. Here’s your coffee.” He handed her a cup, finally stepping back and opening the way.

  “Thanks.” The coffee was good. Sipping as she went, she returned to Dallas’ office, retrieved her bag, took a final swig before leaving the cup, then headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Scott asked from the dimness of the hallway. “Dallas should be here any minute.”

  “Tell him I’ll be back soon.”

  “But—”

  She was out the door before she heard more. She nearly collided with a figure on the sidewalk before it sidestepped to avoid the contact.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to — Oh. Carson.”

  “Good morning.” His tone was even. “No more alarms during the night?”

  “No.”

  She stepped past. He pivoted and fell into step with her. She stopped. “What are you doing?”

  “Going with you.”

  “You have no idea where I’m going.”

  “True.”

  “I won’t be long. Tell Dallas I’ll be right back.”

  “Scott will tell him.”

  She frowned, then resumed walking.

  Might be better to know where he was. Plus, it would delay his hearing from Scott that she’d been in his office.

  Two blocks past the square, she turned left, went a block and a half to a faded blue frame house, with bright daffodils unfurling in front.

  A dent showed beside the scar near his mouth as Carson murmured, “Good work, Maggie Frye.”

  She didn’t respond, studying the house.

  “Round back,” he said.

  She walked down the driveway and saw a small sign on the converted garage: Doranna’s Do’s.

  In answer to her knock, a voice invited her to “Come on in, hon.”

  She was aware of a reaction from Carson, but he smothered it too quickly for her to catch. It left a small dent by the scar near his mouth.

  “Never thought to live to see the day you’re early, but it’s — Oh.” A short, wiry woman with unnatural dark red curls froze between the two chairs, with a brush in each hand.

  “Doranna Ruskin? I’m Maggie Frye, Assistant Commonwealth’s Atto—”

  “Oh, I remember you, hon. Just never thought to see you in my shop, not if I lived forever. Hey, J.D.”

  “I have questions that might help in investigating the murders of two young women in this county.”

  “Well, I never thought you’d come for a shampoo and cut. But I can’t tell you a thing more about poor Pan getting murdered than I did in that courtroom. And nothing about Laurel.”

  “I understand both murdered women were your custom—”

  “My word.” She clapped one hand — still holding a brush — in the vicinity of where her heart would be beating under the brightly flowered smock. “I never thought of it that way. Could give a woman a turn, except near everyone in the county’s been a customer now and again.”

  “Can you—?”

  “Sit. Here, take this chair, hon, and I’ll…” She moved to a side chair in front of a wicker chest with magazines neatly fanned on top.

  “No, thank you. If you could—”

  “Well, I’m sitting. I’ll be on my feet the rest of the live-long day. Thank you, hon,” she added to J.D., who’d slid the chair forward.

  “Ms. Ruskin—”

  “Doranna.”

  Maggie gritted her teeth. Was she ever going to finish a sentence?

  “Now you go right ahead and ask me your questions,” Doranna invited kindly. “Though I can’t begin to imagine — but never mind, you go right ahead.”

  “Do you remember either woman talking about her personal life?”

  “Of course. Everybody does. But nothing that’d say who murdered those girls. If there had been, I’d’ve been to the sheriff first thing. Especially with that nonsense about J.D.—” She didn’t finish, clearly remembering Maggie’s role in the nonsense.

  “Was there anyone either woman expressed concern about — Let’s take this one at a time. Pan?” Doranna shook her head. “Laurel?” Another shake.

  “Threats?” Two more shakes.

  “Anything unusual in the weeks leading up to their murders?”

  “Laurel hasn’t been here for years, but even back before Pan was murdered, there was nothing. As for Pan, like I said at the trial, she was happy with J.D. home on leave — said how nice it was to have such a loyal friend.”

  She smiled at him. Maggie wondered if there’d been a shade of emphasis on friend.

  “How about Laurel, who were her special friends?”

  The woman’s eyes gleamed. “You’re meaning lovers? I’d say talk to Barry
at Shenny’s. Supposedly he hears all the dirt and claims he doesn’t spread it. I did hear tell some things from a girl who works in a fancy salon Laurel’s patronizing in Lynchburg. Nothing to swear to, you understand?” Maggie nodded. “Seems Laurel was pretty free and easy right along that she hadn’t stuck to the forsaking all others portion of her wedding vows. Word was she was going on and on a while back about somebody on another plane — whatever that means. But when she was in last time, and her girl asked about somebody on another plane, she waved it off, saying it was over — or would be soon — and she’d had her fill. It’s gossip, pure and simple, but seems to me that’s what you’re asking for.”

  “Thank you. What about Pan Wade?”

  Doranna leaned forward, demanding eye contact. “Pan Addington never broke a promise in her life. And it’s sure as all she didn’t break a single one of her wedding vows — didn’t so much as wrinkle them. Anybody who hints otherwise is a worthless, self-centered child in man’s clothes.”

  Clearly not Rick Wade’s fan.

  “What about before Pan married? Anyone show special interest in her?”

  “Near everybody her age.”

  “Names would be helpful.”

  She flapped her hands. “Pull out the yearbooks. Okay — okay. Let’s see. My Trent for one. Was couple years behind her, but he had it bad. Rick, of course, though he never treated her the way he should. My nephew, Ralph, bless his soul — died in a car accident not a year out of high school. That Hank Berkin who went to college on a football scholarship with Rick, but was real smart, and became a professor. J.D. here, of course, and Scott. And then the Everly boy in your class, J.D. — or was he the one turned out to be gay?”

  “Ben,” he supplied. “He was crazy about Pan and he is gay.”

  “Like I said, three-quarters of this town was nuts for Pan — all the guys and half the girls. Be easier to say who wasn’t.”

  “Who wasn’t?” she asked immediately.

  “Like I said — half the girls.”

  “Specific names would—”

  She laughed. “Any girl who wanted any one of those boys. Okay, okay.” She narrowed her eyes, abruptly serious. “Only one comes to mind was Laurel. Now that girl looked to be seriously put out by attention that went to Pan. That won’t help you much, since she got murdered herself.”

  “Were they ever friends?”

  “No. Not enemies or snarling, but distant-like. Pan more friendly than Laurel, but that was her way. Both their ways, come to that.”

  Maggie used a tactic she sometimes employed, abruptly changing the direction of her questions. Even well-intentioned witnesses stuck in a mental track, and this could shake things loose.

  “Did Pan and Laurel have appointments with you around the same time?”

  “So they’d overlap, you mean?” Doranna tapped the back of the brush on her thigh. “Might have happened a time or two, but nothing regular. I sure don’t recall talk between the two of them to be thinking of it now.”

  “Can you think of any similarities between Pan and Laurel? Anything that would link them?”

  “Pan and Laurel similar? Not hardly. No, no link at all.”

  “I will need the name of the woman you mentioned in Lynchburg.”

  Doranna pursed her mouth. “She’ll be telling everyone she’s the star witness. SherriAnn Pendergast.” She added an address and phone number.

  Maggie thanked her and started out. She had the doorknob in hand when she realized J.D. hadn’t followed.

  “Doranna, will you think some more?” he asked. “Small town, a lot of people in common, there must be links.”

  The woman peered up at him. “Well, sure. But no more links than any other two souls. You know how it is, J.D. — went to school together, their mommas were distant cousins or some such. Anyway, they went to all the same weddings and funerals and all.”

  “That’s a link,” Carson said. “Pretty strong link. Folks in the same circles see a lot of each other in the county.”

  She tipped her head, considering. “S’pose so. As I said, they were kin of some kind. Not that kin necessarily makes for friends. If that were so, Laurel and Charlotte wouldn’t have been at daggers-drawn most their lives. But I do s’pose you’re right. Even though Laurel was younger than Pan and you-all, there was mixing at parties and such, wasn’t there?”

  He nodded. “There was.”

  “But like I said, not much more than most any two souls in this county.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Not a lot there,” he commented as they walked back.

  “Cases are made from putting together a whole lot of not a lot.”

  He grunted. “Theresa Addington suggested Doranna?”

  “Yes.”

  When Maggie called Pan’s mother from the high school yesterday, she’d asked her to think about any connections Pan and Laurel might have had. At first she said none beyond a distant family tie and living in the same county.

  Maggie floated specifics — “Friends in common? A restaurant both went to all the time? A favorite store? A service provider. An auto mechanic, or—”

  “Hair. Of course. They both went to Doranna to have their hair done. At least Laurel was going there when Pan—” As with many family members of murder victims, she hesitated at the next word. “—died. I heard she started going to Lynchburg after she married Eugene.”

  Interesting Dallas and Carson hadn’t mentioned it.

  “Why’d you press Doranna about a link?” Maggie demanded of Carson. “I’d expect you to want everyone to believe the murders are unrelated.”

  “Why would I want that?”

  “If Laurel’s murder isn’t related to Pan’s, it puts more distance between it and your trial.”

  “I was found not guilty.” His left eyebrow arched. “Remember?”

  “Not guilty is not innocent.”

  Something glittered deep in his eyes. “I never claimed to be innocent.” He let a beat pass, then, “Except when it comes to murder.”

  “Murder’s what we’re talking about. And I know you’re neither innocent nor not guilty.”

  “Know.” He rolled it over on his tongue. “Based on?”

  “Evidence.”

  “A jury didn’t agree with you.”

  “That particular jury.”

  “You think there was something peculiar about that jury?” This was a different glint in his eyes. Humor? Malice? He seemed to be dangling the possibility there had been something peculiar about the jury.

  Dangling it in front of her like candy to lure a child away from the main path, into the woods.

  “That particular hometown jury,” she clarified without actually answering, “bought the hard-scrabble upbringing story Dallas pitched.”

  “They told you?” Offhand interest was the best she could describe his tone.

  “They told Ed Smith.”

  “What did they tell you?”

  “Nothing.” She left the post-trial interviews to Ed.

  “Might have been interesting.”

  “Why would you care? You got off.”

  “Curiosity.”

  “Well, I’m not curious. Not about that. They went with the illogical view that someone who’d bettered himself according to some incalculable scale, couldn’t murder. The sentimental view that someone they knew who was reasonably attractive couldn’t murder. Some juries look for a slavering maniac, preferably from another county, caught on tape committing the deed. Anything less they consider open to reasonable doubt because — What?”

  “I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”

  She reviewed what she’d said. Reasonably attractive.

  “I could have sworn you did consider me a slavering maniac. Since you don’t see me as a slavering maniac and you base your beliefs — excuse me, your knowledge — on evidence, we’ll get along fine.”

  He lengthened his stride, making her aware he’d been letting her set the pace. Once ahead of her
, he grasped the doorknob to Monroe & Associate, but didn’t turn it.

  “Before you send your assistant on more chases, Doranna’s son, Trent Ruskin, has been in the Air Force since we graduated high school. He’s married, with two kids. Loves his wife. I know, I know that means nothing, not by way of evidence, but there’s this, too. He was stationed in Japan when Pan was killed, and he’s in Germany now. Wasn’t on leave either time. His cousin, Ralph, did die in a car accident. Ben Everly is gay and he’s been in the Seattle area since college. Hank Berkin’s teaching at Michigan State and the only time since high school he’s been here was when he testified as a character witness at my trial. You might remember him. The rest of us you know”

  She said nothing.

  He swung the door open. “After you…”

  “Maggie!” Dallas called. “Is that you?”

  “Yes.” She walked into his office. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” His smile was broad, his eyes sharp as they cut from her toward the doorway. “Missed you at breakfast.”

  “I wanted to get work done before we start.” Dallas opened his mouth, but she kept talking. “We’ll head to Rambler Farm first, to question Charlotte Blankenship again. She must know more than she said yesterday. But first, let me tell you what Doranna Rushkin had to say.”

  Dallas lowered his eyes, the creased lids hiding his expression, as he listened.

  At the end, he said. “We will require your chauffeuring skills once more. My vehicle remains incapacitated.”

  “Fine.”

  * * * *

  It wasn’t that simple.

  Dallas received a phone call. His grimace and exaggerated shrug indicated it wouldn’t be short.

  Carson left and she heard his office door close.

  She hadn’t touched anything. He wouldn’t know she’d been in there unless Scott told him. Still, while she retreated to the hallway to email Nancy, she kept an eye on his door.

  It remained closed. She called the sheriff, filling Gardner in on what Doranna Ruskin had said.

  “If Laurel was seeing someone in secret…” She let it hang.

  Carson? He could have learned a lesson from courting Pan publicly. He could have persuaded Laurel Tagner to be discreet.