Part 5 (2/2)
”Why do you want to know all this, Mrs. Buckley?” Sheriff Mills challenged.
”I don't know. I guess I'd just like to get to know the man who died in my well.”
”He was from Jersey, for a start.”
”Jersey?” Nick spoke up. ”Huh, somehow I got the impression that he was a local.”
”Nope. Moved here ten years ago or thereabouts. Divorced, I think.”
”Yep, he was divorced,” Alma confirmed. ”No children though.”
”Weston started the pump company right away. It was just him in those days. He ran the office and did the work. No employees. He weren't a friendly sort, but he showed up on time and always answered the phone-when you've been here longer, you'll realize how rare that is. It weren't long before business picked up to the point he was able to hire few men. A little bit after that, he bought out Mack Lawson's trash removal business, and then, a few years later, Speedy Septic.”
”Mack Lawson? Any relation to Maggie Lawson?” Nick asked.
”Maggie's husband. Now deceased.”
Stella had taken a bite of her scone, but this bit of news caused crumbs to spew from her mouth. ”Maggie-the person you called Crazy Maggie-was married ?”
”Yup. Mack was pret' near crazy as Maggie. A h.o.a.rder. He'd pick through his customers' trash, looking for things that might be valuable.”
”He swore someday he'd be on one of those antique shows on TV,” Alma added with a loud cackle. ”The trailer Mack used for an office looked like the set of Sanford and Son. I can't even imagine what their house looked like.”
”Mack had always sifted through people's trash, looking for treasure. For years, he'd pick up the trash in the morning, bring it back to his office, and sort through it before dropping it at the dumps. But then he got the bright idea that it was quicker to sift through the bins while they were still outside his customers' homes. As you could imagine, that didn't go over well.”
”A lot of Mack's customers were second homeowners-owned big ski lodges and condos up on the mountain,” Alma explained. ”They had no idea that Mack had been picking through their trash.”
”And when they caught wind of it, they gradually left,” Mills went on. ”Weston was able to buy the business-trucks, office, dumpsters, everything-for a song. In fact, he got the whole thing so cheap, he bought Speedy Septic later that year.”
”Mack was never the same after he lost the business,” Alma concluded. ”He pa.s.sed away shortly afterward.”
”Sounds like Maggie had a reason to hold a grudge against Weston,” Nick said.
”Yes, but once again we're back to Weston the businessman,” Stella argued.
Alma's face grew hard. ”Because that's the only way Weston could relate to people. He didn't socialize, and he only took part in community events if they offered him publicity. He could be charming when he needed to be-very charming. But otherwise, he was a cold man. Cold and calculating.”
”Yup, Weston made sure he always got what he wanted. And if he didn't,” Mills's eyes slid to Alma, ”he took it.”
Before Stella could comment, a short, heavyset man entered the shop and approached the register. He reached a stubby, callused hand to the visor of his red trucker's hat in greeting. ”Two coffees to go, Alma.”
”Sure thing.” Alma nodded and set to work filling two tall cardboard cups.
”Well, if it ain't Jake Brunelle,” Mills welcomed.
”Mornin', Charlie. Surprised to see you here. Thought you and your boys would be busy fis.h.i.+n' Allen Weston out of a well.”
”Guess you saw the paper, then.”
”Nope. Clyde at the store told me. What happened? Someone give him a shove?”
”In a manner of speaking. He was shot.”
Jake Brunelle's darkly bearded face registered neither horror nor surprise. ”Hmph. Prolly a hunter going after black bear or someone shootin' deer when they ain't supposed to.”
”Probably right. But either way it's manslaughter.”
Alma plunked the two cups of coffee onto the counter and covered them with plastic lids.
Brunelle thrust a plaid-covered arm into the pocket of his stained denim overalls and extracted a fistful of bills. ”Well, it weren't me, if that's what you're getting at. I was putting in a septic tank over at the Upjohn's farm. You can give 'em a call if you want.”
”Thanks, Jake. I will. I didn't want to have to ask you where you were, but knowing just how much you like bear meat and how much you hated Weston, I couldn't help but wonder.”
”Good thing I set that straight, then.” He selected a few wadded dollars from the wrinkled pile and slid them across the counter to Alma. ”See you at camp next weekend, Charlie?” he asked as he picked up the coffee cups.
Before Mills could reply, a pet.i.te woman in her mid-forties rushed through the door. She was dressed in a trendy but inexpensive purple gabardine raincoat, a paisley scarf, and a tight-fitting pair of skinny jeans finished with a pair of high-heeled ankle boots. Her shoulder-length brown hair, although neatly trimmed and styled, sported blond highlights of so many shades and thicknesses that it was apparent the color originated from a box and not a salon. The layers of foundation, powder, and mascara she had applied to her face were a bit heavy for daytime wear. Yet, despite her ill-chosen attempts to retain her youth, it was obvious that this woman had been, and still was, quite pretty. ”Jake! What's taking you so long?”
”I was just talking to Sheriff Mills here.”
”Oh, h.e.l.lo, Sheriff. I'm sorry. I didn't see you sitting there.”
”Mornin', Betsy. How are you?”
”Okay, thanks, but in a bit of a hurry.” Betsy turned to her husband. ”We'd better get moving if we're going to make it to that estimate by eight o'clock.”
”Yeah, I know. I'm comin',” Jake rolled his eyes. ”See ya, Charlie.”
”See ya, Jake. Bye, Betsy.”
The couple hurried from the shop, their presence immediately replaced by a pair of young girls who took the two stools at the far end of the counter.
Following the Brunelles' lead, Nick pulled his wallet from his jeans' back pocket and slid the 10 percent coupon toward Alma.
”Oh, no,” she pushed the coupon back. ”This one's on the house. Least I can do for making you sleep on that bag of coils last night.”
”If it weren't for that bag of coils, we'd have nowhere else to spend the night,” Stella stated.
”Tell you what, you can use the coupon tomorrow morning. How's that?”
”We'll be here,” Nick promised.
”Wait! I almost forgot.” Alma rushed to the cash register and returned with a piece of paper that she promptly pa.s.sed to Nick. ”These are the directions to get from here to my house. I printed them off Google. Never did that before-I'm so proud of myself.”
”You should be. Um ... do we need a key?”
”Nope, it's open. Always open. Just go in, get cleaned up, watch the TV if you'd like. Make yourselves at home.” The sleigh bells on the front door heralded the arrival of three men dressed in work jackets and baseball caps. ”I'd best get to my customers. See you tomorrah.”
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