by Paul W Papa
“Excuse me?” Mayer said, more than a little taken aback.
“That’s quite enough,” a female voice said. It was a voice Mayer had heard before, one that belonged to Vera’s gatekeeper, Peg Westburg. “You may go now, Buster.”
Buster nodded. He picked up his bucket of dandelions and turned to leave, but before he did, he lowered his cheaters and winked at Mayer.
“What was that about?” Mayer asked Vera Krupp’s secretary.
“Nothing of significance,” she said, giving the pair the once over. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Mayer?”
“I, that is we, Miss Reyes and I, came to see Mrs. Krupp.”
“Have you an appointment?” she asked through tight lips, clutching a stack of folders to her chest.
“We do not,” Mayer admitted, then added, “But she said I could come back.”
“That was two days ago.”
“I’m no good with time.”
Krupp’s secretary gave Mayer stern eyes. He didn’t mind.
“We only have a few questions,” Cassi offered.
Peg Westburg turned sharply. “Cassi Reyes,” she said, more as an accusation than a statement. “Reporter for the Las Vegas Morning Sun?”
“Yes,” Cassi admitted more sheepishly than needed.
“Are you here on official business?”
“She’s not here to write an article if that’s what you’re getting at,” Mayer offered. “She’s helping me with my case.”
“Ah, yes. The one for which Mr. Pierce hired you.”
Peg Westburg was proving her worth as a gatekeeper, but Mayer was running out of patience and he was about to let her know it, when she said, “Wait here and I will see if Mrs. Krupp is willing to entertain you. If not, you will be expected to leave.”
She didn’t wait for a response, but marched up to the house and disappeared inside. Mayer and Cassi waited.
“What do you think Buster meant?” Cassi asked.
Mayer jerked a thumb toward the door Peg Westburg had just entered. “I think he meant her.”
“Really, Mayer!”
Cassi likely would have said more if Vera’s gatekeeper hadn’t appeared at the door and waved them in. “Mrs. Krupp will see you.”
Mayer guided Cassi through the door with a hand and tipped his hat to Peg Westburg as he entered. Vera Krupp was waiting for them in the front room. It was quite a sight. Timbers supported an exposed ceiling atop sandstone walls. A large, well-used, brick fireplace with a plain wooden mantle and built-in alcoves on either side occupied an entire facing wall. Rough-hewn logs were stacked to one side. Above the mantle rested a painting of cattle, similar to the ones Mayer had seen on his previous visit. Likely a commissioned piece.
A small corridor opened up just to the right of the fireplace wall. A staircase on his right led to what Mayer assumed were upper rooms. What passed for a kitchen rested against the left wall. It looked original to the house, before Lauck added on to the place. Vera stood by a pair of matching chairs that faced off a couch of opposing fabric; a coffee table acted as a referee between them. She wore a pink-and-white-striped, long-sleeve blouse, white slacks, and the kind of boots cowboys wore. The pink silk scarf wrapped around her neck was held in place, offset to the right, with a smart brooch; the long ends draped down the front of her blouse. The lobes of her ears were decorated with bright bobbles, and bearing down on the finger of her left hand—the one used to indicate wedded bliss—was the largest diamond ring Mayer had ever seen, one that likely weighed more than a small child. Alfried marking his territory for the world to see.
Cassi noticed the ranch’s namesake as well.
“Come in, Mr. Mayer. I see you’ve brought a guest,” Vera said.
Cassi stepped forward, not waiting for introductions. “Cassi Reyes, Mrs. Krupp. Very pleased to meet you.” She extended a hand, one Vera took.
“What a pleasure to meet you as well,” Vera said. “Please have a seat. I have read several of your articles in the paper. You have quite a way with words, my dear.
Cassi smiled and thanked her.
“I have coffee brewing on the stove. Or would you prefer tea?”
“Coffee’s fine,” Cassi said and took a seat on the couch.
Mayer took a seat next to her, though he turned his body to the side, uncomfortable with his back to the door. “I’ll take tea,” he said and placed his lid on the coffee table.
Cassi eyed the hat and wrinkled her nose. Mayer half expected to hear Diogie growl at him.
“Very well,” Vera said and went to the kitchen. Once her back was turned, she added, “You may place your hat on the rack by the door.”
Mayer rested the envelope on the couch next to Cassi then stood. He picked up his lid and hung it on one of the hooks of the coat rack, then went over to the corridor at the end of the fireplace wall. Just to the left of the staircase was an ornate grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging steadily to and fro. To the left of the clock was a portion of paneled wall and to the left still, an expansive built-in bookshelf filled mainly with photographs, knick-knacks, and a small number of books. Something about the space between the bookcase and the clock caught Mayer’s attention. While the paneling matched that above the bookcase along the wall, something seemed out of place—a space wasted.
He stepped closer and was about to extend his hand to touch the wall, when one of the photographs on the bookshelf caught his attention. He picked it up for a closer look. There in the photo was Vera all dolled up in her wedding dress, Alfried by her side in a swallowtail tux. The couple was standing together, hand in hand, in a ridiculously elaborate room, all smiles. Behind them were shelves heavy with trinkets—plates, statues, awards, and the like—and on one of the shelves, just above Vera’s left shoulder, resting on some type of stand, was the Seal of the Seven Archangels.
Twenty-Seven
VERA RETURNED WITH a tray on which were set three flower-themed cups with saucers, a bowl of sugar, and a matching creamer. She laid the tray down on the coffee table and offered one of the cups to Cassi. “Coming, Mr. Mayer?” she asked.
Trying to appear as casual as possible, Mayer quickly returned the photo to the shelf, and rejoined the group, taking his position on the couch. Vera handed him the cup of tea; a metal chain hooked to the handle. He assumed an infuser was connected to the other end and wondered if, like Theo, Vera intended to read the leaves.
“Please help yourself to sugar and cream,” Vera said, motioning to the tray. She took the remaining cup of coffee, along with two sugars, cream, and the chair in front of Mayer, crossing her legs as women do. “It seems you’re a man who cannot be trusted,” she said, giving the coffee a polite stir.
“I was just . . .”
“We agreed you’d come back to speak with Bessa, my housekeeper,” Vera said, cutting him off. “You were supposed to come yesterday. You were expected.”
“I was detained,” Mayer said.
Vera pursed her lips. “I imagine you were,” she said, then motioned to his face, pointing at it with the spoon and making a small circle. “This have something to do with your detainment?”
“Something,” Mayer said.
“I suppose you’d like to speak to her now?” She placed the spoon on the saucer, and raised the cup to her pink lips.
“If I could.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Vera said, with more than a hint of smugness. “She suffered an unfortunate incident and I gave her the week off.”
“Incident?” Mayer questioned.
“She was dusting the very bookshelf with the photo you were just admiring when she fell from the stool, poor dear. Injured her arm and neck. I watched the whole thing happen. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told her to leave those top books be, but she was determined. She wanted to keep working even after the accident, but I told her she needed to rest. A fall like that at her age, she could have broken a hip.”
“Oh, my,” Cassi said.
“When did this happen?” Mayer asked.
“The day you were supposed to call.”
Vera sipped her coffee, holding herself like the actress she once was, patiently waiting for Mayer to make the next move. “And yet, you still agreed to see us,” Mayer said.
“Call me intrigued. Something tells me there’s more to all of this than your desire to question my housekeeper. Had that been a top priority, a man like you would’ve found a way to keep the appointment.” She took another deliberate sip of coffee, then looked at Mayer intently. “Let’s not let’s pretend, Mr. Mayer. Why don’t you just tell me why you’re really here?”
Mayer placed the cup and saucer on the coffee table and retrieved the envelope he’d taken from Pierce’s house. “Maybe you’d like to explain these.” He opened the flap and poured the contents out onto the table.
Vera leaned forward and eyed the photographs. “How did you come across these?” she asked, coldly.
“Found them in Pierce’s desk,” Mayer said. “I was hoping you could tell me how they got there and what you were doing with the very man who’s project you were trying to stop.”
Vera glanced at the photos as casually as she would an advertisement for tissue paper, but Mayer knew better. He watched as her eyes darted from photo to photo, biting her lower lip, then bringing the cup to her mouth to buy time as she devised an appropriately clever response. Having attained a certain stature in life, Vera Krupp wasn’t a woman used to being questioned, never mind being caught off guard—especially by the likes of Mayer.
He waited.
Vera uncrossed her legs and placed her cup and saucer on the table next to the photographs. She picked one up and examined it closely. “These photographs have been taken from a distance,” she said. “No doubt by a person of unscrupulous character.” She looked up at Mayer. “Perhaps a private detective, such as yourself.”
Mayer let the slight pass and reached into the inside pocket of his coat, producing the cigarette case. He placed it on the coffee table.
Vera’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?” she asked quickly, then, realizing herself, regained her composure. “It’s quite unique,” she added, casually. “Very decorative.”
“Boy,” Mayer said, “you’re good. I can see why you did so well in pictures. The only problem is, geliebte, I know where this particular cigarette case came from, or should I say I’m pretty sure I know who it came from.”
Vera’s face turned serious. “You’re an interesting man, Mr. Mayer. I’ll give you that. What is it you intend to do with these photos?”
“Me? Nothing. I just want the lowdown. What was going on between you and Hawthorne and why did it bother Pierce so much that he hired a private peeper?”
“How should I know?” Vera said.
“If not you, then who?” Mayer countered.
Vera remained stoic. She leaned back in the chair and recrossed her legs, then rested her hands gently on her lap, giving no hint to the truth. But Mayer was determined. “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” he said. “With you and Hawthorne.”
“All right,” Vera said. “Richard and I were seeing each other, there’s no crime in that. He was single and I had already filed for divorce—though my marriage had ended long before I met Richard. We’re both consenting adults.”
“On opposite sides.”
Vera brushed the fingers of one hand lightly across her lips. “Yes,” she said. “I did not agree with his project and I tried to get him to stop.”
“By pitching woo to him?”
“Mayer!” Cassi exclaimed. “That is completely uncalled for. You apologize right now.”
Vera held up a hand. “Men like him don’t apologize, my dear,” Vera said to Cassi. “They mistakenly believe crassness is part of their charm. A man like Mr. Mayer here will always believe that the only weapon a woman possesses to influence a man is her body.”
Mayer ignored the two women. “Listen sister, maybe I’m not pulling a full wagon, but these two men put more than a hundred thousand dollars into their project, and you expect me to believe that everything was wine and roses between you two and that the project, which you took him to court over, didn’t put a crowbar in your relationship? It’s time to get square, Mrs. Krupp. Two men are dead, two others almost lost their lives, and you seem to be right in the thick of things.”
Vera took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, as she straightened a shirt cuff that didn’t need straightening. “Very well, Mr. Mayer,” she began. “It was the project which brought us together and it was the project that split us apart. When they were just starting out, I invited both Richard and Mr. Pierce over to the ranch, with the hopes of helping them to understand that while the land was available, it was sacred and had been stolen from the local Paiutes and they should not build upon it.”
“And how did that go?”
“Not well,” Vera admitted. “So I tried a different tactic. I invited each man over separately to a private meal.”
“Divide and conquer?”
Vera smiled.
“Didn’t you think they’d tell each other?” Cassi asked.
“My dear, men are not that bright. When they see something they want, they keep it to themselves.” She turned back to Mayer. “It was my intent to persuade, Mr. Mayer. Nothing else.”
“But it didn’t pan out that way, did it?”
“No. I guess it didn’t. Richard would come to the ranch after work and sometimes we would ride; other times we would just sit and talk. We’d have a meal, then he would leave.”
Mayer raised an eyebrow.
“You can lower your brow, Mr. Mayer. Holding hands, talking, and an occasional kiss is as far as it went. Not that it’s any of your business. Richard and I had a great deal in common. I enjoyed his company and, I guess, I hoped that over time he would see things my way.”
“And did he?”
Vera looked at the floor and straightened her cuff once again. “No, he didn’t,” she said softly, then looking up at Mayer added, “You are correct. My court proceeding did place a strain on our relationship.”
“That why he offed himself?”
Vera’s face tightened. “I assure you I was just as surprised at his suicide as anyone else. He gave no indication to me that . . .”
She didn’t finish her sentence.
“Do you have any idea why he would leave you his part of the project?” Cassi asked.
Vera shook her head.
“And you gave him this cigarette case?” Mayer asked.
Vera admitted that she did and as she told the story, it began to click in Mayer’s head. Why Pierce had hired a man to tail them. Why he had spoken so poorly of Hawthorne. The significance of the cigarette case and why it had been so important to both Hawthorne and Pierce—so much so that Pierce could not bear to see it destroyed. Then the ghostly echo suddenly came back to him, “I know what you did, William, and I know why you did it.”
“Pierce was in love with you,” Mayer said.
The statement caught both women off guard. “Excuse me?” Vera said.
“Pierce was in love with you, but it was unrequited love. Wasn’t it?”
Vera brought her hand to her mouth. It was the first time Mayer had seen her nervous. He remained quiet, allowing that nervousness to fester until a stale stillness filled the house, one that proved too much for Vera to handle. “Do we have to do this, Mr. Mayer?”
“He made a pass at you, didn’t he?”
Vera’s eyes turned to steel. “Yes, Mr. Mayer, he did. Is that what you want to hear? Mr. Pierce made a pass at me, one that was not returned, I assure you.”
“But he didn’t take it well, did he? He wouldn’t let it go.”
Vera shook her head, slowly. “No, he wouldn’t. I had to threaten him with the sheriff.”
“So why did you go see him the other night?”
Vera looked genuinely surprised. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
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“You didn’t go over to his house and tell him you were going to donate your portion of the project to the Paiute Tribal Council?”
“I certainly did not!” Vera said, forcefully. “Quite the contrary, he came to the ranch trying to talk me out of stopping the project all together. I informed him it was my intent to donate my portion and ordered him off my ranch.”
“Why would you do that?” Mayer asked. “Donate your portion of the project, I mean? What’s in it for you?”
“Is that how you think, Mr. Mayer, only about what there is to gain from something? Only about how an action can benefit you? As if you’re the only one that matters?”
“It’s been my experience everyone thinks that way.”
“And no one does anything just for the good of it? It’s not possible for me to simply want to protect land sacred to another group of people?”
“Oh, it’s possible,” Mayer said, “but I don’t see it. If you wanted to protect the land, why didn’t you just buy it outright in the first place? There’s enough sugar on that finger alone to buy half the county.”
Vera gave Mayer cold eyes and a tight mouth to go with it, and, for a moment, he thought he might suffer the same fate his client had when he last came to the ranch. But then the lips relaxed and the eyes went back to cordial.
“The land was not for sale when Pierce and Richard bought it. They talked the owner into selling and the deal was done before anyone could intervene.”
“Interesting,” Mayer said. “Then why didn’t you offer to buy out either man’s share?”
Vera smiled. “Aren’t you the clever one?”
With that, Mayer understood that Vera Krupp had indeed tried to buy them out, but it didn’t take, which was likely why she switched tactics. “I only have one more question, Mrs. Krupp,” Mayer said. “May I use your phone?”
Twenty-Eight
MAYER PICKED UP the receiver and dialed. After three or four rings, the shaman answered. “I’ve got Cassi with me,” Mayer said. “Mind if we come out to your place? I need to speak to Pierce.”
“You’re welcome to come, but Pierce is no longer here.