“Yes, thanks. But the horsey people could be the Brannigans, or any of the other three families?”
“That’s what I’m tellin’ ya.” He was annoyed.
She pushed through the glass double doors and saw that Guy wasn’t at the reception desk. Hallelujah. It was Saturday, and a young woman named Claudia was at his post, so September wouldn’t be subjected to all Guy’s rigmarole. “Do you remember anything about the Wrights?” she asked Mamet. “The other name on the list?”
“Nope.” He was shutting down.
“Why did you evict the RVers?”
“Didn’t much like ’em.”
That didn’t sound like legal grounds for eviction, but maybe he just hadn’t renewed their lease. Before she could formulate another question, he put in, “Now I’ve told you all I’m gonna tell you. You have more questions you keep ’em to yourself. And I don’t care if you’re the police, the Pope, or God, I’m through talkin’. You got that, missy?”
“Loud and clear,” September responded.
Her answer was a click in her ear.
Claudia buzzed September right through with a quick nod of recognition. Thank God for small favors.
September set her messenger bag down at her desk and pulled her notebook out of it. She shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of her chair, then sat down and wrote down her conversations with Tommy, Grace, and Elias Mamet, as close to her recollection as she could come. Then she looked up the phone numbers and addresses for the four names she’d zeroed in on. The Pattens’ current phone number and address were in Hood River, about an hour and a half from Laurelton in good traffic. The Wrights had moved to Tacoma, south of Seattle, and the Brannigans now lived in Portland, on the east side of the river. They were the closest, except for the Kirkendalls, who were still in the Laurelton area but apparently had no phone. Or none that September could discover. But she had their address, so it was just a matter of catching them at home.
No time like the present, she decided. She was stuffing her notebook back in her bag and was about to leave the near empty squad room when her cell phone buzzed. Seeing it was Wes Pelligree, George’s partner and one of September’s favorite people, she answered with a smile. “You caught me. I’m working. For free, so don’t tell anyone.”
“I just got a call to come in, but I’m with my mother, who’s taken a turn for the worse.”
“Oh, Wes, I’m sorry.” Wes’s mother had been in the hospital for several weeks with an internal infection that wouldn’t clear up.
“George is on another case, but dispatch called me. The Sheriff’s Department found a body in the Quarry quarry. Her ID was with her. She’s Tracy Farmgren, twenty-five, and it looks like she was dumped there. She lived in Laurelton, so we’re going to be working with Winslow.”
Quarry, Oregon, was serviced by the Winslow County Sheriff ’s Department. “You want me to call them?”
“Yes. Thanks. The deputy’s name is Barb Gillette.” He gave September the number.
“I hope your mother’s going to be all right.”
“Me too.”
September phoned the Sheriff’s Department and was put through to Detective Gillette. When she explained who she was, Gillette said, “The body’s at the morgue and it looks like it was thrown over the lip of the quarry. We’re working the ridge above, hoping someone saw the doer. It’s kind of a lover’s lane, but so far we’ve drawn blanks. We’re also short-staffed, so we thought maybe you guys could check with her place of work? It’s in Laurelton.
“Be glad to.”
“She was a receptionist at Sirocco Realty on Third and Londale.”
September had been writing down the name in her notebook but now froze in mid pen stroke.
Gillette went on, “Tracy worked there about two years. I spoke with one of the principal brokers, Kitsy Hasseldorn, who’s at the office today. That’s Kitsy with an s, not Kitty. She’s the one who’ll be expecting you.” There was a pause. “You got that?” she asked a bit impatiently, when September didn’t immediately say anything.
“I recently met Kitsy Hasseldorn.”
“You did?”
“Not related to this.” At least it didn’t seem to be . . . “What’s the cause of death?”
“Strangulation. Killer wore gloves. Okay, then, call me back after the interview.”
September’s mind was whirling. It was an odd coincidence that she’d just seen Tracy and now the girl was dead. Killed.
She put a call in to Gretchen, who didn’t pick up, so she didn’t leave a message. Her partner was known for late nights when she wasn’t on duty, so she’d probably turned her cell off.
Sliding her jacket off her chair again, September headed for the door. What the hell. She’d check things out by herself.
And it looked like she might be getting that overtime after all.