The Last Sister (Columbia River)(6)

The animal had definitely been shot.

He tied the bag and grabbed a nearby hose to clean off the porch. Uncertain where to take the remains, he left the black bag at the corner of the house.

After scrubbing his hands, he was seated at a table in a run-down kitchen with a cup of coffee at his fingertips. He’d expected a large, modern kitchen with all the bells and whistles to match the outside splendor of the mansion. Instead the room was small and the appliances were old. Again he wondered about the cost of maintaining the gigantic home.

His hostess’s name was Vina, and she sat across from him drinking tea. Her color was better, and her hands had been confident as she passed him his cup, but she appeared distracted.

After a few moments of polite small talk, her countenance changed and her eyes narrowed. “Can I be honest with you, Agent Wells? I don’t think an animal left that creature on our porch.”

Zander waited. He had not mentioned the nearly severed head or bullet wound.

“It’s happened a few times, and I’ve always suspected teenage punks. We have our share in Bartonville. There’s not much in town to keep them occupied.”

“So they kill animals for entertainment?”

“Something like that. I’ve reported it to the police, but I can understand how an old woman’s complaints about occasional dead vermin is far down their priority list.”

Zander suspected she hadn’t shared all her speculations about the raccoon with him. “I thought most small-town teenagers liked to drive aimlessly up and down the main streets and steal their parents’ beer to drink with their friends.”

“We have that too. Lots of it.”

He paused. “There was a bullet hole in the raccoon.”

She sighed, a look of understanding on her face. “Idiots.”

“Do you suspect some particular teens?”

“No.”

Her answer felt a little too quick.

“Are you being harassed in any other way?” he asked quietly. “I know you don’t have a local police department, but the county sheriff should hear if you’ve had trouble.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Some people see the house and assume we’re rich.” Disappointment filled her eyes. “But truthfully this house is a burden. The cost of maintenance is insane, and outside of Social Security and what we bring in from the diner—which isn’t a gold mine—we have no other source of income. Five people live here. We have no other place to go.”

“I’m sorry.” Having his suspicions confirmed turned his mouth sour.

“At one time, the Barton family sat at the top of everything. We helped build the school, the city hall, and we employed a large part of the population at the mill. When the town needed something, they came to us.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “Politics, the economy, competition, ego. A little of each.”

“You mentioned a nephew. Does he live in the home?”

“No. Rod lives on the other side of town. We call him when we need a bit of muscle around the house. He keeps the mansion mostly shipshape.”

“Who lives here with you?”

“Two of my sisters, Emily, and her younger sister, Madison. My third sister was their grandmother, but she passed years ago. Those girls have always been like grandchildren to all of us.”

Zander couldn’t help but like Vina Barton. She was direct, confident, and polite.

He set down his cup and leaned forward, holding her gaze. “Vina, this morning Sheriff Greer mentioned Emily’s father had been hanged.”

She blanched. “Why on earth would Merrill bring that up?” Anger flashed. “I don’t know why he has to stir up painful memories.”

She doesn’t know.

“Vina.” Zander paused, debating the necessity of telling her. “Sean Fitch was hanged.”

Her teacup clattered as she lowered it to its saucer. She thrust both hands into her lap, her face pale again. “What?”

He waited. Vina had heard him; she just needed a moment to process. He studied her facial reactions.

Shock. Disbelief. Then acceptance. She looked nauseated.

“What happened to Emily’s father?” Zander asked quietly. “I don’t even know his name.”

“Lincoln Mills.”

Vina stared out the window past Zander, her thoughts in the past, her eyes sad. She was quiet for a long moment. “Lincoln was dragged out of his house and hanged about twenty years ago.”

“They caught his killer,” Zander stated.

She turned a questioning look on him. “Yes. It sounds like you already know the story.”

“That’s the extent of what I’ve heard.”

“Then you know most of it.”

“Why did the killer do it?”

“Who knows? Chet Carlson was his name.”

A chill raced through Zander’s nerves.

“But they had the evidence to convict,” Vina said. “We’re all positive it was him.”

“Did you know the man who was murdered this morning?”

“I knew who Sean was. I know he taught at the high school and that his wife worked at the restaurant. Can’t say I ever had a conversation with him.”

“Any idea why someone would want to hurt either of them?”