The Taking of Libbie, SD (Mac McKenzie #7)

“Mike knew who was knocking on his door or he wouldn’t have opened it. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“It was a pretty girl come to call.” I gestured with my head more or less up the hill toward the Quik-Time Foods van. “Mike liked pretty girls.”

“Do you believe Ms. Neske might have had something to do with this?” the sheriff said.

“I have no idea, but if she had knocked on my door, I probably would have opened it, too. Wouldn’t you?”

“Not if I had Ms. Blake in the bedroom. Certainly something to consider, though.”

“Tell me that you haven’t already considered it.”

The sheriff’s smile was faint, and it didn’t last long.

“That’s what I thought,” I said. Big Joe Balk was a crime dog, Icould tell.

“How well did Ms. Blake and Mr. Randisi know each other, can you tell me?” the sheriff said.

“As far as I know, they spoke for the first time yesterday afternoon.”

“Didn’t take long for them to hook up.”

“They were both lonely people.”

“Yeah. There’s a lot of that going around. Do you believe that Mr. Randisi was involved with your Imposter?”

“He said he wasn’t, and I believed him. Of course, I’ve been lied to before.”

“Haven’t we all.”

I was surprised when the sheriff sat on the grass next to me.

“Let me run this by you,” he said. “Mr. Randisi is in on the scam. His accomplice discovers that you went to see him. The accomplice becomes nervous. He goes to Mr. Randisi’s house to discuss it. They quarrel. One or the other grabs the gun. It goes off, killing Mr. Randisi. Ms. Blake hears the commotion, goes to the kitchen to see what it’s about. She’s shot simply because she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I never liked that phrase—in the wrong place at the wrong time. It implies that the vic put herself in danger, that she was at least partially responsible for her own murder.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“As for the rest, it’s all speculation until your people go over the crime scene.”

“Very true, but I’d like to get a head start if I could. Any suggestions?”

I had to take a good hard look at the sheriff’s face. It’s not often that cops, even my friends, seek advice from civilians.

“Are you asking me?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Thank you. I do have one suggestion. Your ME said the murders took place between 2:00 and 6:00 a.m.?”

“That’s his preliminary estimate.”

I pointed across the highway. Sheriff Balk followed my finger to Grandma Miller’s bar and grill.

“When is closing time in South Dakota?” I asked.

“Two.”

“I’d start there. Look for someone who was drinking alone.”

“Good idea.”

“Something else. Chief?”

Chief Gustafson was standing behind us. He now moved to where we both could see him.

“Chief,” I said, “how did you know that Tracie and I came out here to see Mike?”

The chief answered in a flat, nearly monotone voice as if he were expecting the question and had already prepared an answer.

“She told me last night around dinnertime. I called to ask about your progress looking for the Imposter—”

“Why not call me?”

“She reported on everything you did.”

“Chief?”

The chief said, “I know your next question, McKenzie.” He was looking at the sheriff when he answered it. “Yes, Tracie and I had been seeing each other. Our affair ended a couple of weeks ago. I am the one who ended it. I ended it when my wife, Nancy, learned about the affair. We spoke about it again at some length last night or, I should say, early this morning, after she came home from work. She came home at about two fifteen, and we talked until sunrise. Nancy said she expected better from me, and I promised that she would get it. I suspect you might have had something to do with that, McKenzie, encouraging her to speak up.”

God, I hope so, I thought but didn’t say.

The sheriff grabbed a couple of tufts of grass, tossed them into the air, and watched the wind take them like a golfer contemplating his next shot. I had no idea what he was thinking, which was probably the way he wanted it. He stood, brushing his uniform pants with both hands.

“Well, I have work to do,” he said. “In the meantime—”

“You’re not really going to tell me not to leave town, are you, Sheriff?” I said.

“Nah. Being an ex-cop and all, you know I have no legal right to say that. On the other hand…”

“Yes?”

“You don’t want to go anywhere it’ll trouble me to find you.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“One more thing. You can prove you were in the Libbie Medical Clinic all last night, right?”

“From about nine thirty until well after eleven this morning.”

“How convenient.”

“Wasn’t it, though?”

Sheriff Balk turned and started walking back toward the house. He called over his shoulder, “Chief, a word?” Chief Gustafson scurried after him, leaving me alone on the grass with thoughts of Tracie Blake and Mike Randisi swirling in my head.