Well-Offed In Vermont Part 8

7.

APPROXIMATELY A HALF mile away from the white clapboard shops and well-heeled tourists of Main Street stood Teignmouth's industrial area. Separated from the rest of town by the tracks of the Vermont Rail System, the district consisted of a body shop, a feed store, the town waste disposal site, and Jake Brunelle's shop. Given the nature of its tenants, the section was more trade-oriented than truly industrial; however, that didn't prevent the town board from designating the neighborhood as Teignmouth Business Park.

Farther down the railroad tracks and just beyond "the park"-as the locals called it-stood the Wiley Campgrounds. Prior to the establishment of the park and before the revitalization of Teignmouth's town center in the 1970s, the campgrounds were a popular stop for road-weary families looking to enjoy Vermont's fresh air and breathtaking mountain views. Today, the campgrounds had become a mobile home park that acted as home to approximately seventy families and was administered by the Vermont Department of Housing and Community Affairs as part of their low-income housing initiative.

At the end of one of Wiley's many dead-end streets, twenty-two- year-old Josh Middleton sat on the wooden steps of a dingy gray trailer that overlooked the town garbage dump. Clad in a green camouflage T-s.h.i.+rt, ripped gray jeans, and a pair of black Chuck Taylor Converse hightops, he drew a long puff from his unfiltered cigarette before flicking the b.u.t.t onto the patchy brown front lawn. "Are you some kinda detectives?"

"No," Nick said. "We just bought the house where Allen Weston's body was discovered."

"Oh yeah? Bet your place is crawling with cops. Probably as sick of them as I am."

"Not yet," Stella replied, "but we're getting there. It wouldn't be so bad if they'd just let us move our stuff in and get settled."

"They won't let you move in? Why not?"

"They're afraid we'll muck up-that's the polite term-potential evidence. The place is off-limits to everyone until they figure out what happened to Weston."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does. The way they're acting, you'd think we were the ones who shot him," Nick casually remarked.

Middleton raised a tattooed arm and scratched the back of his closely shaved head. "Shot? Paper said he was found in a well."

"He was, along with the bullet wounds that killed him."

"So that's why you're here." Middleton's brown eyes grew steely. "You think I had somethin' to do with it."

"I don't think anything at the moment, except that you might have had a very good reason for wanting Weston dead."

"Wantin' him dead ain't the same as killin' him."

"You're right, it isn't. So why don't you tell us everything that happened?"

"Yeah, right. So you can go to the cops and say you don't believe me? Nah, I ain't telling you nothin'." Middleton leapt from the makes.h.i.+ft stoop and reached for the screen door of the trailer, inciting the black Labrador chained in the backyard to bark madly. "I don't know why you think I'd talk to you."

"Because we're not the police. Unlike your friends at the sheriff's office, we don't think you stole Weston's truck."

Middleton paused, his hand on the doork.n.o.b. "Quiet, Luke," he shouted to the Lab. With a small whimper, Luke obeyed and lay down in front of his doghouse. "What makes you so sure I didn't steal that truck? You don't even know me. Maybe I'm as bad as everyone says."

"Maybe you are," Stella agreed. "But we can tell that you're not stupid. And that's what you'd have to be to have stolen that truck."

Middleton sat back down and stroked his chin. The reddish- blond goatee beginning to sprout there did little to diminish the youthfulness of his round face. "That's for sure. Parking it right in front of my mom's trailer. What kind of idiot do they think I am?"

"The kind of idiot who would do anything to have some fun at his boss's expense," Nick rationalized.

"I didn't have to steal a truck to do that. Besides, I liked my job. Mr. Weston could be a real d.i.n.k at times, but I never saw him unless I stopped by the shop."

"And you never thought of getting even with Weston for being a d.i.n.k?"

"Hey, I know where Mr. Weston lived. Great big house on a private road and a garage full of cars-expensive ones, too. If I wanted to get even, I could have broken in and taken his TV or stripped one of his cars for parts. Even at the shop, I could have walked outta there with any tool I wanted. Any of those things would've made more sense than stealing a truck full of"-his eyes slid toward Stella-"you know. Point is, if I had a mind to, I could have robbed Mr. Weston blind and he'd never have known it were me."

"The cops would argue that maybe you wanted him to know it was you."

"Where's the fun in that?" Middleton guffawed. "The best part of getting even with Mr. Weston would have been watching him go nuts. I'd have loved to see him pull his hair while he tried to figure out who ripped him off, but, like I said, I liked my job and didn't want to lose it. Couldn't afford to, neither."

"How long did you work for Weston?"

"Little over two years. Worked hard for him, too. No one ever had complaints about me."

"So it's safe to say that you were one of his best employees," Stella put forth.

"There were other guys who did an okay job, but they weren't as particular as me. I always made sure things were done right. Not so much for Mr. Weston's sake, but because my name was on it."

"Sounds like you were a valuable a.s.set. Did Weston let you take his vehicles home on a regular basis? As a courtesy for your hard work?"

"h.e.l.l, no. Never needed them. Got my truck right there." Middleton pointed to the rusty blue-and-white pickup parked on the left-hand side of the front lawn. "Needed a new starter a few weeks back, so my mom drove me to work 'til I could get around to fixing it over the weekend. Had a parole meeting my mom couldn't take me to, so I asked if I could borrow the truck overnight and bring it back after my meeting Friday mornin'."

"And Weston agreed?"

"Yep, 'til that night, when he changed his mind and sent the cops knockin' at my door."

"I don't understand," Nick confessed. "If Weston let you borrow the truck, why did he later report it as stolen?"

Middleton pulled a cigarette from the pack in his front s.h.i.+rt pocket and lit it. After taking a long drag, he replied, " 'Cause he wanted to get rid of me."

"If you were a good worker, why would he want to get rid of you?" Stella asked. "And if he did want to get rid of you, why didn't he just fire you?"

"You don't get it. He didn't just want me off the job. He wanted me out of the way and back in jail. That way it would look like I couldn't be trusted. Like anything I had to say was a lie."

"Why?"

" 'Cause I was gonna testify in the Hank Reid case."

Stella recognized the name from Alma's story. "Hank Reid? Was that the house with the floating septic tank?"

"Yep. Back in the spring, right after the ground thawed, it rained 'bout five days straight. All that water mixed with the snowmelt to make for some pretty big floods. Me and another guy went out to Hank's to put in a new tank. Minute we got there, I knew we should wait. Half the yard was under two inches of water, maybe more. I called Mr. Weston from Reid's house and told him I couldn't do the job."

"How'd he react?" Nick questioned.

" 'Bout as good as he usually reacted to those things," Middleton grinned. "Started cursin' and swearin' and yellin' at me over the phone. Even ol' man Reid could hear him, and he weren't anywhere near the phone."

"Why would he be so angry?" Stella asked. "Didn't he realize you were trying to save him from a lawsuit?"

"Didn't matter. All he worried about was that he'd promised a golf buddy of his that we'd work on his tank the rest of the week. If we pushed Reid's job back, we'd have to push Mr. Weston's friend's job back too, or we'd have to leave in the middle of it to take care of Reid since he couldn't go much longer with the tank he had."

"Don't tell me: this golf buddy was probably someone wealthy or influential who'd be unhappy if you didn't show up when scheduled," Nick guessed.

"Yep, you got it. I even told Mr. Weston that I'd come back and dig up Hank's old tank on my own time, but he wanted it done right then and there. Warned us that if we didn't get the job done, we'd both be fired.

"Like I said before, I didn't wanna lose my job," Middleton continued, "and the guy I was workin' with, his wife was about ready to have their second kid, so he couldn't afford to lose his."

"What did you do?"

"Couldn't do much else except empty the tank and start diggin'. Didn't take more than a few turns with the backhoe 'fore the hole filled with water and the tank came floatin' to the top."

"What happened then?" Stella prodded.

"I called Mr. Weston and told him the tank had come up and all the connections most likely needed replacin'. He was madder than all h.e.l.l. He said to get outta there as quick as we could. I didn't like leaving ol' man Reid with that mess, but I figured Mr. Weston was gonna send over another crew or even come over to fix it himself. That's what I would have done if it were me. I had no idea he'd write it off the way he did."

"He didn't make the repairs?" Nick said in amazement.

"Nope. Ol' man Reid had to call in Jake Brunelle to drain the hole, sink the tank, and fix the connectors. Cost him thousands to get the system up and runnin' again. Jake let him slide as much as he could, but with Mr. Weston at his back, he couldn't give his time away for nothin'. That's when Mr. Reid called a lawyer."

"Seems logical that he'd sue Weston."

"Yep, and I was glad he did 'til ..."

"Until when, Josh?" Stella gently asked.

" 'Til I found out Mr. Weston meant to blame the whole thing on me. I was supposed to take the rap. I-I couldn't let him do it ..."

"I understand why you'd be angry; I'd be angry too. But even if he blamed you, it was still Weston's company," Nick rejoined. "He'd ultimately be responsible for the damages."

"I know, but it's more than that. I do good work-work I'm proud of. I don't want my name mixed up with that whole deal. I weren't the greedy one. I tried to stop it."

"But Hank Reid knows that, doesn't he? You said he overheard the conversation."

"Yup, that's why his lawyer asked me to make a statement."

"And, naturally, you agreed. So Weston set out to discredit you."

Middleton nodded. "Wanna hear somethin' else? When I finally got 'round to workin' on my truck, I found out someone had messed with the starter. I figure Mr. Weston did it so I'd miss my parole meeting. He didn't 'spect me to ask for the truck. But when I did, he got an even better idea-framin' me."

"Do you have any proof?"

"That the truck was messed with? Or that Weston did it?"

"Both."

"The wires to the starter were cut. I don't know who else'd have reason to do it besides Weston."

"But you didn't see him do it."

"Nope. But I know it was him."

"And now that Weston's dead, where does that leave you?"

Middleton became oddly silent.

"Come on, man. I'm sure you already spoke with your lawyer. What did he say to you? If you don't tell us, we'll go look him up."

"He said I still have to go to trial," his voice cracked, "but without Mr. Weston around, the charges prolly won't stick."

"And the Reid civil suit?"

"I dunno. I didn't ask. Sounds bad, I know, but I was more worried about going to jail."

"Which you've luckily avoided."

"Look, I know what you're gettin' at, but you're forgetting somethin' important: how'd I know Mr. Weston was gonna be at your house?"

"I'm sure you have friends who still worked for Speedy Septic. Besides, Weston was driving one of those bright yellow well service trucks the day he died. It wouldn't be very difficult to follow him to our place."

"I didn't. I swear I didn't."

"Where were you yesterday?"

"Work."

"Where are you working?"

"Nowhere. No one will hire me with the truck thing hangin' over my head. I've been doin' odd jobs here and there."

"And yesterday?"

"I was up on the mountain cuttin' firewood for a friend."

"You were there all day?"

" 'Til it started raining. Then I packed up and came home."

"And this friend can vouch that you were there?"

"Yup. I'll give you his number if you want."

"Save it for the cops. They'll want to speak to the person who can give you an alibi for the day. This friend was with you the entire time you were there, right?"

Middleton's face grew red. "N-no ... he was at work all day. That's why he had me cut the firewood. He ain't got the time to do it himself."

Nick frowned. "Hmm."

"Look, I know what you're thinking, and I ain't no murderer!" Middleton rose to his feet again. "If you're looking to hang someone, check out ol' man Reid. When I got arrested, he lost his best chance at getting even with Mr. Weston. If that ain't motive, I don't know what is."

Amidst the barks of Luke, Josh Middleton stormed into the trailer and slammed the aluminum screen door behind him.