Rachel Gibson - Tangled Up In You

“It’s not funny,” she said, but at that moment, surrounded by Steve Castle’s laughter, it was kind of funny. And standing so close, with her hand in his, was kind of…nice.

The fishing at upper Payette Lake had been so good, Sheriff Potter hadn’t returned until the following Tuesday, but once he’d been given Maddie’s card he’d called her immediately and set up a meeting for the next day at his house. If there was one thing in Maddie’s line of work that she could always count on, it was cops. Whether an LAPD detective or a small-town sheriff, cops loved to talk about old cases.

“I’ll never forget that night,” the retired sheriff said as he looked at the old crime scene photos through a pair of reading glasses. Unlike the stereotypical retired sheriff who’d gone to fat, Bill Potter was still quite thin and had a full head of white hair. “That scene was a mess.”

Maddie scooted the small tape recorder closer to the baby-blue La-Z-Boy recliner where Sheriff Potter sat. The inside of the Potters’ home was a fusion of floral prints and wildlife art that clashed on so many different levels that Maddie feared her eyes would cross before the day was through.

“I’d known Loch and Rose since they were kids,” Bill Potter continued. “I’m a few years older, but in a town this size, especially back in the seventies, everyone knows everyone. Rose was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, and it was a shock to see what she’d done to those two people and then to herself.”

“How many homicide cases had you investigated before the Hennessy case?” she asked.

“One, but it was nothing like the Hennessy case. Old Man Jenner got shot in a dispute over a dog. Mostly we get accidental shootings, and those are usually around hunting season.”

“The first officer on the scene was a…” Maddie paused to look at the report. “Officer Grey Tipton.”

“Yep. He left the department a few months after that and moved away,” the sheriff said. “And I hear he died a few years ago.”

Which was just one of the many hurdles she was always coming up against in this town. Either people weren’t willing to talk about what happened or they were dead. At least she had Officer Tipton’s report and notes. “Yes, he died in an ATV accident in 1981. Did the shooting have anything to do with him leaving the department?”

Sheriff Potter shuffled the photos. “It had everything to do with it. Grey had been really good friends with Loch, and seeing him shot like that haunted him so bad he couldn’t sleep.” He held up the photo of Rose lying beside her dead husband. “It was the first time any of us had seen anything like that. I’d responded to plenty of automobile accidents that were bloody as hell, but they weren’t personal.”

Since there would be no trial to write about, Maddie had to get as much personal information as possible. And since the Hennessys weren’t talking, she had to rely on other sources.

“Grey had such a hard time with it. He had to quit. Just goes to show you that you don’t know how you’ll deal with a situation until you’re knee-deep in blood.”

For the next hour, they talked about the crime scene. The photos and reports answered the who, what, where, and when, but the why was still fuzzy. Maddie changed the tape in the little recorder, then asked, “You knew both Loch and Rose. What do you think happened that night?”

In every case like this, there was always a catalyst. A stressor was introduced that pushed the perpetrator over the edge. “From what I’ve heard and read, Alice Jones wasn’t Loch’s one and only affair.”

“No. She wasn’t. That marriage had been like a roller coaster for years.” The sheriff shook his head and removed his glasses. “Before they moved into that farmhouse right outside of town, they used to live down by the lake on Pine Nut. Every few months I’d get a call from one of their neighbors and I’d have to drive over there.”

“What did you find once you arrived?”

“Screaming and yelling, mostly. A few times Loch’d have his clothes torn or a red mark on his face.” Bill chuckled. “One time I got there and the front window was busted out and a skillet was lying in the yard.”

“Was anyone ever arrested?”

“Nah. Then the next time you’d see the two of them, they’d be all lovey-dovey and happy as pie.”

And when they weren’t lovey-dovey, they pulled other people into their messed-up marriage. “But once they moved into the farmhouse, the calls to your office stopped?”

“Yeah. No more neighbors around, you know.”

“Where is the farmhouse now?”

“Burned down…” He paused in thought and deep grooves wrinkled his forehead. “Must have been about twenty years ago. One night, someone went over there, doused it with kerosene, and lit it up good.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No one lived there at the time.” He frowned and shook his head. “Never did find out who started it. Always had my suspicions, though.”

“Who?”

“Only a couple of people wanted that house gone bad enough to do such a good job. Kids just playin’ around with matches don’t torch a place like that.”

“Mick?”

“And his sister, although I could never prove it. Didn’t actually want to prove it, if truth be told. Growing up, Mick was always in trouble. A constant pain in the ass, but I always felt bad for him. He had a real hard life.”

“Lots of children lose their parents and don’t turn to arson.”

The sheriff leaned forward. “Lots of kids don’t live the life Rose Hennessy left behind for her kids.”

That was true, but Maddie knew a bit about that life. She flipped a page in her notebook and said, “Alice Jones lived in the Roundup Trailer Court. Do you know a woman by the name of Trina who may have lived in the same trailer court in 1978?”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound familiar.” He thought a moment, then leaned forward. “You might talk to Harriet Landers. She lived in that trailer court for years. When the land was sold to a developer, she had to be practically hog tied and carried away.”

“Where does Harriet live now?”

“Levana,” he called to his wife. When she appeared from the back of the house he asked, “Where is Harriet Landers living these days?”

“I believe she lives at the Samaritan Villa.” Levana looked at Maddie and added, “That’s a retirement center off of Whitetail and Fifth. She’s a little hard of hearing these days.”

“What?” Harriet Landers yelled from her wheelchair. “Speak up, for pity’s sake.”

Maddie sat in an old iron chair in the small garden at the Samaritan Villa. Looking at the old woman, it was hard to gauge her age. Maddie would guess somewhere between one foot in the grave and fossilized. “My name is Maddie Dupree! I wonder if I might be-”

“You’re that writer,” Harriet interrupted. “I heard you’re here to write a book about them Hennessys.”

Wow, news traveled fast even on the nursing home circuit. “Yes. I was told that you once lived at the Roundup Trailer Court.”

“For about fifty years.” She’d lost almost all of her white hair and most of her teeth and she wore a pink housecoat with white lace and snaps. But there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her mind. “I don’t know what I could talk to you about.”

“How about living at the Roundup?”

“Humpf.” She raised a knobby and gnarled hand and swiped at a bee in front of her face. “Not a lot to say that anyone wants to hear. Folks think that people who live in trailer houses are poor trailer trash, but I always liked my trailer. Always liked having the option of packing up the house and moving the whole damn thing if I wanted.” She shrugged a bony shoulder. “Guess I never did, though.”

“People can be very cruel and dismissive,” Maddie said. “When I was little, we lived in a trailer, and I thought it was the best.” Which was true, mostly because the trailer had been such an improvement over the other places she and her mother had lived. “We certainly weren’t trash.”

Harriet’s sunken blue eyes gave Maddie the once-over. “You lived in a trailer?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Maddie held up the tape recorder. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

“What for?”

“So that I don’t misquote you.”

Harriet put her skinny elbows on the arms of her wheelchair and leaned forward. “Go ahead.” She pointed at the recorder. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you recall the summer that Alice Jones lived at the Roundup?”

“Sure, although I lived down the road from her and not next door. But I’d see her sometimes as I was driving past. She was a real pretty thing and had a little girl. That little girl used to swing all day and half the night on the swing set in her front yard.”

Yes, that part Maddie knew. She remembered swinging so high, she thought her toes touched the sky. “Did you ever talk to Alice Jones? Have friendly conversations?”

A frown pulled at the wrinkles in her forehead. “Not that I can recall. That was a long time ago and my memory isn’t so good these days.”

“I understand. My memory isn’t always in the best of shape either.” She looked down at her notes as if to remind herself of what to ask next. “Do you recall a woman by the name of Trina who may have lived at the Roundup at that time?”

“That would probably be Trina Olsen. Betty Olsen’s middle girl. She had flaming red hair and freckles.”

Maddie wrote down the last name and circled it. Do you know if Trina still lives in Truly?”

“No. Betty’s dead, though. Died of liver cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why, did you know her?”

“Ah…no.” She put the cap back on her pen. “Is there anything else you can remember from around the time Alice Jones lived at the Roundup?”

“I remember lots of things.” She shifted a little in her chair, then said, “I remember Galvin Hennessy, that’s for sure.”