“I’m afraid so.”
“Too bad.” She grinned. “Doing business with you has been more fun than a barrel of monkeys.”
Chapter 39
On Monday of that week, Twink headed back to Anchorage while Father Jared and Nitz sat down and sorted out Chris’s final arrangements. He had supposedly been on his way home to Ohio when he’d disappeared a dozen years earlier. Now he was finally making that trip. In death his body would be returned to his mother’s hometown of Monroe, Ohio, where his funeral would be held, and he would be laid to rest next to his mother in the Hinkle family plot. The timing on all that was up in the air, but Nitz had agreed to go there for the funeral, which hopefully would give Jimmy a chance to finally meet his great-grandmother, Annie Hinkle.
A local mortuary had been brought into the picture to make arrangements for transporting the casket once Professor Raines released Chris’s remains. In the meantime the mortuary would host a small memorial service on Friday afternoon, with Father Jared officiating. I placed a discreet call to the owner and made it clear that I would be handling all charges related to Chris’s final expenses.
The service was being hastily organized, but it was no problem getting out the word. Chris Danielson’s long-ago murder was now headline news all over Alaska, and I was sure his memorial in Homer would be well attended. Siegfried Norquist had come forward and offered to close Zig’s Place to the public for the afternoon in order to host a post-service reception at no cost to the family.
I wasn’t planning on hanging around long enough to attend. I’d done as much as I could for Sue Danielson’s family. Now I needed to pay attention to my own. Mel was still hurting, and I wanted to be home with her where I belonged.
On Tuesday morning Shelley Loveday Adams, a former Miss Alaska who had once won the Miss America swimsuit competition, showed up at her arraignment in Homer wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, after a short stay in the Kenai Correctional Center. She was escorted into the courtroom by uniformed members of the AST.
What happened next was incredibly gratifying. Shelley ended up pleading not guilty to one charge of murder in the first degree in the death of Chris Danielson and one charge of attempted murder and another of elder abuse against Roger Adams. She also pled not guilty to fifteen counts each of fraud and theft based on her shoddy real-estate dealings. Despite her not-guilty pleas, the prosecutors thought they had a good case. Their request to try both cases together was granted. Not only that, claiming Shelley was a flight risk, they also asked for and were granted no bail, meaning Shelley would remain in custody while awaiting trial. All I can say to that is bravo!
Roger was still in recovery mode—physically at least. Mentally he was still lost in the woods, and his confusion persisted. Despite being told that Shelley was in jail, he kept asking for her and wondering why she didn’t come to the hospital to see him. I suspected the poor man would be living with a certain amount of mental impairment for the remainder of his life. Fortunately for him he now had Nitz to watch over him.
Speaking of Nitz, while trying to get a handle on Roger’s financial situation she’d gone through the desk in his home office, where she discovered a hidden compartment containing a handwritten revised, signed, and properly witnessed will. It was dated the same day as the change of beneficiary on his life-insurance policy. It specified that any properties not held in common with Shelley were to go directly to Danitza. Shelley must have somehow gotten wind of that arrangement and launched her scheme to liquidate as much of Roger’s solely owned real estate as possible. Fortunately, there was still a good deal of it that she hadn’t managed to unload.
On Tuesday night Jared, Danitza, Jimmy, and I had a farewell dinner together at Zig’s Place. The evening special was beef Stroganoff. The food was delicious, and the company was even better. On Wednesday morning, as I packed to leave town, I was tempted to abandon the boots in my room at the Driftwood Inn, but in the end I wore those home and packed the shoes I’d brought with me.
After that I drove from Homer to the airport in Anchorage, where I dropped off my rental, cleared security, and arrived at my gate in plenty of time. My flight left at eleven thirty. I had booked a first-class ticket, meaning I qualified for lunch, but as soon as that was over, I wrapped myself in a blanket and went nighty-night. I’d been in Alaska for a solid week, from Wednesday to Wednesday, but it felt like forever. Although I could give myself credit for a job well done, I knew that the case had taken a lot out of me. I was tired. I wanted my wife, my dog, and my very own bed, but most of all I wanted to be rid of those damned boots.