an ancient Ford pickup for the second time. “We’ll find something the police missed.”
“Neil must have had someone he could ask for help.”
She pulled in just as the passing lane came to an end, and I tried not to cringe. “What if Neil traded cars with someone and had him leave the truck where the police would find it?”
“But then he’d have the other person’s vehicle.”
“The guy picks it up later.”
“Then that person would know where Neil went.”
“Initially, but Neil severs contact, maybe takes a bus from wherever he leaves the car.”
“Could it have been Meredith?”
“I doubt it. It sounds like Brown didn’t want his baby sister involved in his troubles. Besides, she’d have told us. If she wants to find him, she has to be completely honest.”
“So we find out who his friends were.”
“Right. Especially his best friend. That’s who he might have turned to.”
Chapter Five
Barb
Back in Allport, a call to Meredith gave us three names. “Neil called them his Musketeers,” she told me. “Amos, Portly, and Hairless.” She chuckled, explaining. “Amos is Amos Carroll, who worked with Neil in construction. Portly is John Mason, who is a little . . .”
“Portly?”
“Yes. The last guy, who is of course bald, is Rick Waller, who’s in real estate. They played ball in school and stayed connected like guys do: softball, poker, and golf foursomes.”
“Who would Neil call if he needed someone he could trust to keep his mouth shut?”
Meredith considered it for only a second. “John is a guy who’d take your secret to the grave. But the police really put him through the ringer, and they got nothing.”
“I’ll start with him. Are they all in the book?”
“Yes, but there are a dozen John Masons. Neil’s friend owns the Party Stop on Main.”
I called the number listed for the Party Stop and got John. When I explained my purpose, the voice changed from cordial to distant. “I’ve got nothing to say about Neil.”
“Mr. Mason, Meredith hired us to find her brother and try to prove he’s innocent of killing his wife and brother-in-law.”
“Shouldn’t be hard, because he is innocent. I told the police that at the time.”
“They didn’t believe you?”
“They weren’t looking for the truth. They swallowed everything old man Wozniak said.”
“What might the truth be?”
Mason paused. “I don’t know. But Neil wouldn’t kill anyone, especially Carina.”
“He still loved her?”
Mason seemed uncomfortable with analyzing emotions. “He’d never hurt her.”
“Do you mind if I stop by, so we can talk in person?” I wanted to see Mason’s face when I mentioned Buck Lake, wanted to watch his expressions as he talked about Neil.
“There’s nothing I can tell you.”
“Probably not, but I have to do what I can for my client.” I figured he couldn’t refuse to help Neil’s little sister, and I was right. He gave me directions to his store.
Fifteen minutes later I pulled up alongside the Party Stop, a cement-block building with products listed on every conceivable surface: the windows, the roof, the side wall, and even a movable posting board out front. It was the usual mix of goods: beer, fishing licenses, hot pretzels, ice, and, of course in a town on a large lake, bait. I noted with approval that everything was spelled correctly. No midnight visit from the Grammar Police needed here.
The store was claustrophobia inducing, with shelves along every wall and even overhead, like looming eavesdroppers. The aisles were filled with objects, some of them dusty from long occupancy. Coolers lined one whole wall, giving off an eerie, bluish light. The sales counter was at the back, a mistake in my opinion, but I soon saw the reason. In a room behind it, a television flickered. Mason probably spent a lot of time there between customers. At least he’d had the sense to install convex mirrors in the corners and two strategically placed surveillance
“Neil must have had someone he could ask for help.”
She pulled in just as the passing lane came to an end, and I tried not to cringe. “What if Neil traded cars with someone and had him leave the truck where the police would find it?”
“But then he’d have the other person’s vehicle.”
“The guy picks it up later.”
“Then that person would know where Neil went.”
“Initially, but Neil severs contact, maybe takes a bus from wherever he leaves the car.”
“Could it have been Meredith?”
“I doubt it. It sounds like Brown didn’t want his baby sister involved in his troubles. Besides, she’d have told us. If she wants to find him, she has to be completely honest.”
“So we find out who his friends were.”
“Right. Especially his best friend. That’s who he might have turned to.”
Chapter Five
Barb
Back in Allport, a call to Meredith gave us three names. “Neil called them his Musketeers,” she told me. “Amos, Portly, and Hairless.” She chuckled, explaining. “Amos is Amos Carroll, who worked with Neil in construction. Portly is John Mason, who is a little . . .”
“Portly?”
“Yes. The last guy, who is of course bald, is Rick Waller, who’s in real estate. They played ball in school and stayed connected like guys do: softball, poker, and golf foursomes.”
“Who would Neil call if he needed someone he could trust to keep his mouth shut?”
Meredith considered it for only a second. “John is a guy who’d take your secret to the grave. But the police really put him through the ringer, and they got nothing.”
“I’ll start with him. Are they all in the book?”
“Yes, but there are a dozen John Masons. Neil’s friend owns the Party Stop on Main.”
I called the number listed for the Party Stop and got John. When I explained my purpose, the voice changed from cordial to distant. “I’ve got nothing to say about Neil.”
“Mr. Mason, Meredith hired us to find her brother and try to prove he’s innocent of killing his wife and brother-in-law.”
“Shouldn’t be hard, because he is innocent. I told the police that at the time.”
“They didn’t believe you?”
“They weren’t looking for the truth. They swallowed everything old man Wozniak said.”
“What might the truth be?”
Mason paused. “I don’t know. But Neil wouldn’t kill anyone, especially Carina.”
“He still loved her?”
Mason seemed uncomfortable with analyzing emotions. “He’d never hurt her.”
“Do you mind if I stop by, so we can talk in person?” I wanted to see Mason’s face when I mentioned Buck Lake, wanted to watch his expressions as he talked about Neil.
“There’s nothing I can tell you.”
“Probably not, but I have to do what I can for my client.” I figured he couldn’t refuse to help Neil’s little sister, and I was right. He gave me directions to his store.
Fifteen minutes later I pulled up alongside the Party Stop, a cement-block building with products listed on every conceivable surface: the windows, the roof, the side wall, and even a movable posting board out front. It was the usual mix of goods: beer, fishing licenses, hot pretzels, ice, and, of course in a town on a large lake, bait. I noted with approval that everything was spelled correctly. No midnight visit from the Grammar Police needed here.
The store was claustrophobia inducing, with shelves along every wall and even overhead, like looming eavesdroppers. The aisles were filled with objects, some of them dusty from long occupancy. Coolers lined one whole wall, giving off an eerie, bluish light. The sales counter was at the back, a mistake in my opinion, but I soon saw the reason. In a room behind it, a television flickered. Mason probably spent a lot of time there between customers. At least he’d had the sense to install convex mirrors in the corners and two strategically placed surveillance
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