“But don’t you see? What if she is Dale Handy’s daughter?”
“Who?”
“Dale Handy, the guy who Travis pushed out of the business. What if this is his daughter and she came back for revenge?”
“You know, there are probably quite a few people with the last name of Handy. There is nothing saying she is this guy’s daughter.”
“Doesn’t it seem like too much of a coincidence?”
Harry shook his head and handed the cards back to her. “I’m not buying it. Tera Rierson has been known to show up at the chiropractic luncheon every year. Travis Shatner has been at all those events. Why would she wait around until now before killing him?”
“Maybe she didn’t know the truth about her father until now?”
Harry groaned and sat down at his desk. “I’m sorry, Bert, but it just won’t hold water.” Patting her arm, he gave her a nod. “It was a good try, but this time you’re wrong.”
“Harry,” she argued quietly.
“I’m sorry, Bert. We have our man. Now, why don’t you go get a nice cup of coffee or something and relax?”
Sighing, she shoved the cards haphazardly into the top of her purse.
“Once I’ve cleared all this paperwork up, maybe we can grab a bite to eat together.”
CHAPTER 13
* * *
Feeling a little more than defeated, Bert left the police station. It seemed, unlike the other homicide cases she’d helped with, there was nothing she could do with this one. It seemed Sean was the man they’d pegged as the murderer and there was nothing that was going to change it.
She was dreading having to break that news to Carla.
She was letting her best friend down.
Bert decided to not let it consume her thoughts, since worrying wasn’t going to help anyone, and headed for the Green Room to pick up the serving trays she’d left there the day before.
Pulling around into the river side parking lot, she let herself in the back door, having found it open. The kitchen was dark, and she had to fumble for the lights to turn them on. A light clinking sounded accompanied the flash of fluorescent lights as they came to life, filling the room with a low hum.
Taking a quick glance around, she didn’t easily spot the dishes.
“Hello? Can I help you?” came a voice as the door opened.
Bert instantly recognized the janitor from before. “Oh, hi. I’m Bertha Hannah. Do you remember me?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. Of course, you’re here to pick up those trays you left behind.”
“That’s right,” she smiled.
“I have them in the janitor’s office.” He waved for her to follow.
“Great.”
“You’ll have to sign for me that you came and picked them up if that’s okay. It’s just a preliminary measure the owners take so they don’t get in trouble if someone claims we tried to steal from them or something.”
“I completely understand,” she agreed, following him out into the hallway and then into the closet.
Sitting behind the desk, he pulled out the form in question from the top drawer. “I sign as well to witness that I saw you take them,” he said, scribbling in one of the boxes at the bottom of the page. “Now, while you fill that out and sign it, I’ll go find where I put those trays.” Sliding the paper across the desk toward her, he stepped up to the cage and unlocked it, stepping inside.
Bert began the short process of printing her name, writing down the item she was picking up, and the date.
Moving the pen to the bottom of the page, she prepared to sign it when her eyes fell on the janitor’s signature. Dale Handy.
Her hands went cold, and her eyes widened at the all too familiar name.
This was a day for coincidences, and this one was a doozy. She was standing in the very room with the man whom she had thought could be the murderer.
Quickly scribbling her own signature, she pushed the paper back across the desk and stood up straight. As she did, her eyes fell on the metal shelf full of cleaning supplies. Boxes of disposable rags, bottles of glass cleaner, jugs of bleach all filled up the space.
However, there was one thing there that caught her attention.
Smack dab in the middle of it all, hidden in plain sight from the police, was a box of acupuncture needles with the lid partially ripped open.
“Here we are,” Dale announced, emerging from the caged area with the trays.
“Oh, t-thanks,” she said, taking them off his hands.
He paused, looking her in the face. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine, really,” she said, determined to get out of that small enclosed room with a murderer in it.
“Are you sure? Maybe you should call someone to come pick you up. You look like you might pass out.”
“No, no. I’m fine.” Trying to hold onto the trays and adjust the weight of her purse, she lost her grip. The trays clattered to the floor and her purse flopped down onto the tile, spilling some of the contents . . . including the business cards.
“Let me help you,” he offered.
“No. Don’t,” she insisted, but it was too late.
Hunched down over the bag, he instantly spotted the business cards. Gingerly picking one up, he examined it.
“Oh, those are just from a young woman I know. I noticed you both have the same last name. Any relation?” Bert asked, trying to act casual.
“As a matter of fact, there is.”
“Oh?”
“She’s my daughter,” he said, standing up straight to look at her.
“That’s nice. Well, I better be going.”
“Don’t go,” he said gently, squeezing in between her and the doorway.
“I should really get back to the shop.”
“How do you know my daughter?”
Bert, flustered for an answer, only shrugged. “Well, I don’t know her. Not really. I just ran into her on the street today. Her card says she’s an activist of sorts.”
An odd smile crossed his lips. “Something like that.”
“Yeah, I guess she’s pretty passionate.”
“And why shouldn’t she be? After all, the chiropractic community ruined her life.”
Bert swallowed hard, knowing she was in trouble. “How is that?”
“Well, you see, there was this woman who started spreading rumors and making accusations about me, untrue accusations.”
Bert immediately remembered Sharon’s comment about her regrets.
“You see, her husband put her up to it. In the end, I lost my entire livelihood, my wife left me, and my only child went with her.”
“That’s too bad,” Bert admitted, glancing around the room for a weapon.
“I’ve spent most of my life hopping around the country trying to find other means of work, but I always end up leaving or getting fired, you see. That never stopped me from writing my daughter though. You see, I lit a fire under her at a young age. I told her how corrupt Travis Shatner was.”
Now things were starting to make sense. It was the reason why Tera was always at the luncheons and conferences where Travis attended. “Why are you telling me all this?” she asked.
Licking his dry lips, his smile grew. “You see, I know my daughter pretty well at this point. I’ve kept tabs on her, even if she doesn’t know what I really look like or anything. However, I do know that she’d never talk to anyone who was associated with a chiropractic function like the luncheon. She even goes as far to boycott the businesses that cater these events. That’s how passionate she is.”
“You must be very proud,” Bert muttered.
“So, why would she talk to you unless you were trying to track her down for information?”
“You’re very smart,” Bert pointed out. Her hand brushed her jacket pocket, reminding her it was heavier than normal. There was something inside.
“However, to clinch this whole thing, I saw you staring at those acupuncture needles back
there.” He pointed at the shelf. “At first, I thought nothing of it, but when I saw these cards, I knew you had to be onto me.”
Bert slowly moved her hand to her pocket, so he wouldn’t notice. “I know he ruined your life, but why wait so long to kill him?” she asked, trying to buy time.
“I hadn’t planned on it. I moved here for this janitor job only a couple months ago, right after the new year. You see, my goal was to see my daughter again face to face. Not just letters. I felt that enough time had gone by and I wanted to see her, to hold her close to me, like a father should. However, then Travis and the board booked this venue for the luncheon. I made a goal to try to not see him, but it was inevitable.”
“He came in here and stole your magazine.”
“He didn’t even recognize me after all these years. Something in me snapped. It was the last straw. So, when he came backstage to prepare for his speech, I strangled him from behind. The rest was to show everyone, including my daughter, that he got what he deserved.” He shook his head. “You seem like a nice lady, and you don’t deserve to die.”
“You’re right. I don’t,” Bert pleaded, putting her hand into her pocket and gripping the box cutter.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice.” Without a hint of emotion, he leaped at her, arms outstretched.
At the same moment, Bert whipped out the box cutter and slashed at the air. Catching him in the arm, she jumped back from her attacker. He cried out in surprise, gripping the wound.
Seeing her chance, Bert picked up one of the trays and used it as a shield to barrel through him, pushing him out the door and onto his back. While he was still winded from the fall, she ran for the back door and out to the parking lot. Once safely inside her car and driving out of the parking lot, she called Harry.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
“Well, you did it again,” Carla praised her friend, lifting a glass of wine as they sat around the table in the apartment above Christmas in July. The dinner table was laid out with a red and white cloth and a big box of steaming pizza sat between them all.
Both Carla and Bert had glasses of wine, but Sean had a beer.
“I only figured it out on a fluke, you know,” Bert admitted. “If I hadn’t gone back to pick up those trays, I would have never realized who the killer was.”
“Well, I for one am glad you did,” Sean said, sipping his beer.
“And if he hadn’t been so jumpy, he might have never admitted it,” Carla added.
“He was jumpy, that’s for sure. He was ready to kill me on the idea that I just might be onto him.”
“I guess murder makes you crazy,” Sean said.
“Or murderers are just plain crazy already,” Carla laughed.
“I’ll agree with that,” Bert said, sipping from her glass and setting it down.
“And Tera Rierson had no idea?”
“The story checks out, that’s for sure. She had no idea her father was in town. In fact, she hadn’t seen him since she was a little girl. Her only contact with him was through letters.”
“That’s so sad. After years of not seeing him, the next time she sees her father is as a murderer in the newspapers,” Carla commented, pouting a little at the depressing prospect.
They were all quiet for a moment, taking in the last few day’s events. Finally, Bert broke the silence. “Well, are we going to eat this pizza or just let it get cold?”
“I agree. I’m famished,” Sean said, reaching in and grabbing a slice.
“Me too,” Bert agreed, but before she could grab a slice of her own, her phone rang. Digging into her pocket, she pulled it out.
“Who is it?” Carla asked.
“Harry.”
“The detective?” Sean groaned.
Hitting the green button to answer, Bert excused herself from the table. “Hello?”
“Hey, Bert. I just wanted to call and say thanks for your help on this case.”
Bert let her mouth hang open a second before replying. “Detective Mannor is thanking me, a lowly citizen?”
“Don’t let it go to your head now. It’s off the record.”
“Well, a thank you is a thank you, I suppose.”
“You were on the right track from the beginning.”
“I know,” she smirked.
“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go and get that bite to eat we talked about.”
Glancing back at the pizza on the table, she apologized. “I’m sorry, Harry. I already have dinner plans tonight.”
There was a pause. “It’s with Sean, isn’t it? I knew it. I knew there was something going on.”
Bert couldn’t help laughing out loud, finding it funny that the detective was honestly worried over Sean’s presence. “Would you like some pizza, Harry? We have plenty if you want to come over to Carla’s and eat with us.”
There was a pause. “Pizza?”
“Yes. I even have some leftover pie in Carla’s fridge for dessert, if you’re interested.”
“I’ll be right over,” he said. “See you soon.”
“See you.” Hanging up the phone, she smiled, glad that he would be joining them.
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