The Other Path
Chapter 41
As Kate settles into as comfortable a seat as the airline provides, she politely declines the offer of Champagne. "A glass now won't compromise you," Rick points out. "Counting the stop in Atlanta, it will take us four hours to get to Yeager. And the drive to Fayetteville will be more than an hour on top of that. You can relax while you have the chance."
"I know. I'm just trying to work out the elements of this case. All the politics muddied things up. But if your theory holds true, Menkin's death didn't have much to do with his politics."
"Unless you count stealing Marion's money to fill his campaign coffers."
"There is that," Kate considers. "Still, if you're right, Menkin was being the same first-class jerk in his private life that he was in his political career."
"No argument there. But if someone killed off all the jerks, I wouldn't have anything left to write about – not that I can write about this case anyway."
As much as her seat belt allows, Kate turns to study Rick's face. "But you're hatching a plan inside that twisted mind of yours. I can see it."
"More like incubating than hatching, but I have been thinking about something. You know that for years I've wanted to write a great American novel."
"Martha brings it up on a semi-regular basis. So what does this have to do with this case?"
"If it turns out the way I think, practically nothing. That's the point," Rick adds. "Politics, the politicizing of what should be impartial media, and behind-the-scenes machinations won't be substantial factors in this case. But they make great fodder for a book.
"Menkin, or a Menkin-like character, would be corrupt from the get-go. Along with everything else, I've been researching him. His power grab in the Senate is only the tip of the iceberg. And he wasn't just draining money away from Marion, Petal, and Violette. Do you know what paid for his yacht? The man owns a company that sells the waste from mining the dirtiest form of coal. The waste is even dirtier. Yet, when he was in the state legislature, he jiggered things so that they mandated a power company buy his garbage. And on top of that, burning that crap costs more than burning regular coal and causes more pollution. It's a win for Menkin, but it's a lose-lose for his constituents. He gets rich, and residents of one of the poorest states in the union get even poorer. And don't even get me started on his obstruction of health care for the miners who got sick making him rich. He has the makings of one hell of a villain, Kate. I just have to spin a well-textured yarn about what brings him down. But don't worry. It won't be the denouement of this case, or at least not so close that Simmons can jump on it."
"So we need to solve Menkin's murder to figure out what you can't write?" Kate teases.
"I suppose you could look at it that way," Rick concedes. "But having the book as a goal will add to my joy in working with my extraordinary wife. And if the aforementioned spouse has no interest in alcohol, I believe that elevated – pun intended – snacks are a perk of paying exorbitant rates for the flight. I heard a whisper somewhere about chocolate truffles. Shall we inquire?"
"Sounds promising."
Except for the ramp and handrails leading up to the front door, Petal Guillebeaux's home appears much like the other modest houses on her street. Kate knocks, and she and Rick listen for sounds of movement. From inside, tired footsteps make their way to the entrance.
Petal peers out over a chain. "Whatever you're selling, I don't want it. And I already have a church."
Kate holds up her badge. "Ms. Guillebeaux, we just want to talk to you. It's about Marion Menkin."
Petal starts to close the door. "I don't know who you're talking about."
"She could be in trouble, and I think you can help her," Kate adds.
"What kind of trouble?"
"We think she's been accused of something she didn't do," Rick responds. "We're guessing you know what happened."
Metal rasps as Petal releases the chain. "Come in." She leads the way to a small living room. A young woman engrossed in listening to something through headphones sits in a wheelchair. Petal waves Kate and Rick to a well-worn couch and sits in an old-style wing chair. She gestures at the woman whose eyes are closed in rapt attention. "That's my daughter Violette. When she's listening to her music, she isn't aware of anything else. What about my – Marion Menkin?"
"Were you about to say 'your mother?'" Kate asks. "You are her daughter, aren't you?"
"Even if we hadn't been able to piece together the records, you have her eyes and chin," Rick notes.
"All right, she's my mother," Petal admits. "You said I could help her. I know that sonofabitch Buck Paulson accused her of murdering my slime of a father. But what do you expect me to do?"
"Did you kill Joe Menkin, Petal?" Kate asks.
"I wanted to." Petal inclines her head toward Violette. "But I can't leave her for more than the hour or two when I can get a friend to stay with her. Most of the time, I'm the only one who can understand what she's saying or what she wants. But when I heard that asshole was taking the money I'll need for Violette, I pictured myself putting him through the kind of pain Violette would feel without her therapy. And it's bad enough even with it. Whoever put that spear in that bastard let him off too easy."
"Do you know who that was?" Kate probes.
"No," Petal answers too quickly.
"But you have your suspicions," Rick suggests. "Petal, who stays with Violette when you have to go out? Who knows what she goes through every day?"
"Jeffrey, Violette's uncle."
"The brother of Grover Evans, Violette's deceased father?" Kate prompts.
"Yes. But Jeffrey's a wonderful man like Grover was. He wouldn't hurt anyone," Petal protests.
"I'm not saying he did. But he knows Violette. He could be connected to the murder somehow or know someone who is," Kate insists. "If we're going to clear your mother, we need to follow every lead, likely or not. Where can we find Jeffrey?"
"He lives only a mile away. But he's probably at work right now. He has his own business. He's a gardener."
"Where?" Kate queries.
"Different places. Jeffrey has a lot of customers. I don't know most of them. But if you want to talk to him, he should be home tonight. He can't do much after sundown. I'll give you his address."
Rick ushers Kate back to the truck they rented to blend in with the surroundings. "You know, if we can't talk to Jeffrey Evans until tonight, Petal will have plenty of chance to warn him we're coming. He could have a story put together by then."
Kate climbs up into the driver's seat. "I know. That's why we're going to find him now. Can you run a search for a local gardening service owned by a Jeffrey Evans?"
Rick pulls out his phone. "My fingers fly at your command. Fayetteville, West Virginia, businesses, gardening and landscaping. Booyah! Evans' Landscaping. There's a number."
"Great. We'll call him and ask if we can discuss a job."
"Where?" Rick asks. "It's not like we have a house here. Although if you give me a few hours, I could probably rent one."
"No need. We'll just tell him we can meet him at a job site to see his work. But we should do it fast before Petal gets to him."
"You want to make the call, or should I?" Rick queries.
"The caller ID on my phone flags me as a cop. You do it."
Rick punches in a number. "Calling Jeffrey now!"
