Part 26 (1/2)
”I can only guess that Bunny left the store and hightailed it to the Brunelles' shop. Whether Jake overheard her conversation with Betsy or somehow ran into her and got suspicious is anyone's guess, but make no mistake: Bunny was murdered because she knew too much.”
”And the frame?”
”Unrelated to the murder,” she shrugged. ”Either Maggie found a way to engineer the heist, or someone, like a maid or a housekeeper, realized what it was worth and took it.”
”Someone who can recognize a Baroque silver-leaf picture frame?”
”Maybe there's another explanation, but I don't see how it could have anything to do with Weston's death.”
”Me neither. So what do we do about Jake Brunelle? I know we have no solid evidence, but if the guy killed Bunny because she might turn him in, wouldn't he do the same thing to his wife if he thought she suspected him?”
”I was just thinking the same thing. We have to get Mills over there, and quick.”
She pulled the cell phone from her back pocket and began to dial before noticing that she had no signal. ”Grrr ... outhouses, no cell phone service, no electricity, and a killer on the loose. Where the h.e.l.l did we move to, Nick?”
”I don't know, but we'd better take the car and try to call Mills from the road before it's too late.”
CHAPTER.
19.
NICK DROVE AS fast as safely possible down Route 4 while Stella monitored her cell phone for the slightest hint of reception. ”I thought Mills said we got service on this road,” she complained.
”He meant the road outside our house, not the camp,” he corrected as he stepped on the brakes. ”We're stopping. Why are we stopping? What the h.e.l.l is this?”
Ahead, a coach bus marked as being part of Happy Trail Bus Tours turned on its yellow flashers and crept along the two-way highway.
”Can you go around them?”
”I can't see what's coming, and it's a double-lined road.”
A set of red lights came aglow as the bus ground to a halt in the middle of the traffic lane.
”What the-? Oh, come on! Why are you stopping?”
”Oh, Nick, we have to go around them somehow!”
”Don't worry, I'm on it.” He swerved onto the shoulder of the road and began to accelerate in an attempt to overtake the bus from the right-hand side.
As the front b.u.mper of the Smart car reached the back of the bus, the larger vehicle opened its doors, issuing forth an army of camera-toting senior citizens onto the dusty shoulder and outward into an adjacent field.
Nick slammed on the brakes.
”Leaf peepers,” he and Stella said in unison.
”I can't believe it. The bus stopped in the middle of the road and is blocking traffic so that a bunch of tourists can take pictures of leaves.”
”Let me handle this.” Stella hopped out of the pa.s.senger-side door and fought her way through the crowd that had a.s.sembled alongside the bus.
”Hey,” the pa.s.sengers shouted as she walked in front of their camera lenses and b.u.mped shoulders with everyone in her path.
”How rude,” one woman could be heard remarking. ”If this is what the locals are like, I'm glad we're staying in New Hamps.h.i.+re tonight.”
”Believe me, lady, the state of Vermont heaves a collective sigh of relief as well,” Stella replied as she stepped onto the bus through the open doors. There she found the driver, a heavyset man in his mid-thirties, sweating profusely and munching on a bag of Fritos.
”Sir? Sir, we need to get around you. Would you mind pulling onto the shoulder?”
”Ma'am, I'm not allowed to move this bus until every pa.s.senger is inside and safely seated.”
”But this is urgent-a matter of life and death!”
”I'm sorry, ma'am, but those are the rules.”
”How about flagging us past? Can you do that?”
The driver shook his head and kept on munching. ”Those yellow flashers mean you can't pa.s.s.”
”That's just for school buses. These are grown adults who should know better than to cross a busy roadway without looking.”
”Ma'am, I'm sorry. If you have an issue, you'll have to take it up with the bus company-” he started, but Stella had already gotten off the bus and was standing in the lane of oncoming traffic.
”Come on, honey,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. ”It's clear!”
Nick revved the engine of the Smart car, causing the senior citizens in the nearby field to gape at him in horror. s.h.i.+fting quickly into reverse and then into drive, he navigated around the bus and back into the right-hand lane before pulling to a complete halt at Stella's feet.
She opened the pa.s.senger-side door and jumped inside. ”Don't think I've ever seen this car move so fast.”
”Don't think I've ever heard you shout so loud when you weren't angry.”
Nick pressed the accelerator, sending the vehicle speeding down the road at full throttle and reaching the Brunelles' shop five minutes later.
Stella and Nick stepped out of their respective sides of the car and quietly shut their doors. ”I don't see the Brunelle Construction truck parked around here,” Stella noted, ”so maybe we're in luck and Jake's not home.”
She led the way through the open front door of the building. Downstairs, the office and shop area were devoid of both light and people, but above them, they could hear the sound of country music and the creaking of floorboards.
Nick picked up the receiver of the front desk telephone and handed it to his wife. ”First things first.”
With a nod, Stella dialed the Windsor County Sheriff's Office and asked for Mills. Her call was directed to his desk, but alas, it was an automated voice mail system, and not the sheriff, that answered.
”Hi Sheriff Mills, it's Stella Buckley. We're at Brunelle Construction. Please come out here as soon as you can. We have reason to believe that Jake Brunelle is the killer.” She hung up the phone and drew a deep breath.
”Maybe we should wait until he gets here?”
”And take the chance that Jake will come back in the meantime? No, we need to get to Betsy and warn her. I'll go upstairs and talk to her. You stay here and keep a watch for Jake. While you're watching, see if you can't find something around here that ties him to the murders.”
Nick nodded in agreement and watched as Stella set off through the darkened shop. With one eye trained on the office window, he flipped through the stack of papers that were piled on Betsy's makes.h.i.+ft desk, only to encounter page after page of unpaid invoices.