by Dale Mayer
Chapter 12
Friday Dinnertime …
That was a good way to end a conversation, and it wasn’t a bad hook. But, in ways of getting Mack riled—well, Doreen probably couldn’t have picked anything better. He slowly—ever-so-slowly—walked toward her.
“What did you just say?” His tone was low and ominous, but his glare burned with a dark fire.
She tried to backtrack and lighten the suddenly electric atmosphere. “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“There’s no other way you could mean it,” he stated. “Do you think you’re in danger from this guy?”
She sank on a kitchen chair and seriously thought about it. “I don’t think so. While I don’t see him as the running kind, I’m not sure I see him as violent either. I think you guys were right in the sense that he’s a paper pusher.”
“Paper pushers can have hidden depths,” Mack said in a hard tone. “Don’t you dare go by that stereotypical assessment. He’s a big man, and it wouldn’t take much for him to overpower you if he wanted to.”
“With a gun, he wouldn’t even need to do that, would he?” Then she winced as she watched Mack’s face bubble up with more rage. “Look. I don’t think I’m in any danger,” she said in a hurry. “I do need to go through his file though, to see if anything in there could particularly worry him.”
“You already found that picture with him and Penny.”
She just shrugged.
He didn’t look reassured, but he went back to doing whatever he was doing with the pork chops.
“I’m missing my cooking lesson.” She bounced off her chair and set her phone to video. “You’re supposed to tell me what you’re doing,” she cried out. “You’re not supposed to just cook for me. You’re here to help me learn!”
“In order for that to happen,” he said, some of his good humor returning, “you have to be here to watch.”
“I’m watching now,” she said. He reached for something, and she caught him wincing. “How is your shoulder? You took quite a blow getting run off the road.”
“I didn’t get run off the road,” he corrected her patiently. “I know that’s how you want to see it, but I did turn to avoid that.”
“Sure, but I imagine the whiplash was terrible even if you hadn’t avoided a direct hit. Shoulder injuries aren’t so bad.”
“Shoulder injuries aren’t so great either,” he said sourly.
She nodded. “I saw you wince.”
At that, he glared at her; so she shrugged and subsided. Like all men, he hated having things he was trying to hide pointed out. He led her through the process of what he was doing, which seemed to be dipping the pork chops into the egg and then the grated parmesan cheese.
She sniffed the air. “It smells wonderful, and they’re not even cooked,” she said. “How does that work?”
“It’s the richness of the ingredients.” Swiftly, he placed everything on a cookie sheet and into the oven to bake.
She continued to record as he brought out veggies, which he then made into a big salad. “I do love my salads,” she murmured.
“Good thing, considering that’s probably what you eat a lot of.”
“I eat a lot of them because I like them,” she said. When he was done, she said, “So there’s still some stuff in that living room, but there’s something even more important I need your help with.”
He gave her a weary look but washed his hands and said, “Lead on.”
She headed to the closet. “Remember this mess?”
He looked at it, nodded, then whistled. “Who knew this was such a deep closet?”
“Exactly. Anyway, I took out the shelves.”
At the mention of shelves, he picked up the nearest one.
“No,” she said. “What I need is that.” She pointed to the ceiling inside the closet.
His eyebrows shot up. “But you’re under the stairs here.”
“I know, but boxes are up there, and I need them down here.”
“Do you know what’s in them?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not tall enough even on a step stool to reach them.”
On that note, he snagged a kitchen chair, put it inside the closet, and climbed up. “Looks like five or six boxes,” he said. He shuffled toward the edge and carefully stepped down. It was a delicate retrieving process, and it took him six trips.
“This is an interesting little hidey-hole,” he said afterward. “But it’s pretty hard to access.”
“Impossible for me,” she said.
“Which also means impossible for your nan,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
At that, both of them stared at the boxes. They were covered in dust, yet looked to be holding firm without any mice holes or droppings around them, but who knew what was in them? They were so covered in dust that she grabbed the vacuum, plugged it in, and vacuumed off their tops and sides.
When she was done, she asked, “Would you mind putting the shelves back up?”
While he did that, she put away her vacuum. Then, as if realizing something, Mack looked at the rest of the stuff on the living room floor, outside of the boxes and the kitchen stuff, and asked, “Did all that come out of this closet?”
She gave him a wry look. “All of it. And I haven’t gone through any of it yet.”
He shook his head. “Wow. But let’s open the boxes and see what’s in them first.”
She walked over to the first one, flipped it open, and stared. White paper covered whatever items were in the box. She pulled out what looked to be very old china saucers and plates. “Dishes,” Doreen announced.
“I wonder who from,” Mack said as he reached into the box too. “Too bad this packing paper isn’t newspaper so we could get a date.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m not sure if all these boxes hold dishes, but, once I open each one up, I’ll take some pictures of it and see what it’s worth.”
Mack laughed. “You could have a nice set of dishes here.”
“I could,” she said. Just then she spied a piece of newspaper at the bottom. She worked the pieces up and out so she could unwrap another cup of the same set. They ignored it and spread the newspaper on the floor.
“It says 1896,” Mack said with a whistle. “I didn’t even know they had newsprint back then.”
“They did obviously,” she said. “But it certainly helps narrow down a possible date when these were packed.” She stared at the boxes. “There’s no identifying mark on any of them, and were cardboard boxes around back then?” He pulled out his phone and did a quick search. “Believe it or not, corrugated cardboard was invented in 1895, one year earlier. Wow. I did not know that,” he said.
Doreen went to the kitchen, grabbed a paper towel, and rewrapped the cup that had been in the newsprint and replaced everything in the box. Then she went to the next box. It had more dishes. This time it was a plate that had the newsprint, which was of the same year. She shook her head. This looked like somebody’s Sunday-best dishes.
On the third box, she opened it up and was surprised to find linens carefully packaged in some soft material. She pulled it out and whistled. “Wow, these are gorgeous.”
Mack sat back and said, “Well, they look like linen to me. Pillowcases and sheets.”
She nodded. “But they’re hand-embroidered. And beautifully done.” She looked at everything, then smiled. “You know something? I wonder if this wasn’t the contents of a hope chest. Maybe somebody needed the actual chest itself and repacked everything into the boxes.” She thought for a moment. “Did we get rid of a chest?”
“There was one with a rounded top and one with a flat top in the basement.”
She nodded. “I’ll have to ask Scott about that. I wonder if any of them are back from this age.”
“Doesn’t mean they have to be. They could have been repacked multiple times,” Mack said. Then he asked, “What do you mean by a hope chest?”
She gave him a beaming smile. “In the olden days—
maybe not even all that long ago—it was a tradition. Young girls collected everything they would need for when they got married, and it was all kept in a big chest. Usually they were kept at the foot of their beds and were called hope chests. They included hand-embroidered tablecloths, bed linens, and dishes—things like that—so, when she moved from her parents’ home to the home of her husband, she would have what she needed.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I could see something like that going on here. You’ve got dishes and linens here.”
“Along with that, there should be cutlery and anything else she might have wanted or saved that was special.”
They went to open the fourth box, and, sure enough, they found cutlery and more dishes. This time there were serving dishes and the utensils to go with it. When they got to the fifth box, Doreen couldn’t help but squeal.
“These are all hand-stitched nighties!” She lifted one and held it up for him. It was long and made of the softest material she’d ever held, and it was simple, demure, and completely innocent looking.
“Can you imagine the young woman making these?” Doreen asked with a smile.
“I can,” he said. “Of course, the husband’ll rip that off her the first night.”
Doreen shot him a look as he chuckled. “Let’s not ruin the moment, shall we?”
His chuckle turned into a full and loud laugh. She ignored him and went through the other items. Indeed, they were all underclothes—from nightclothes to petticoats and garter belts and stockings.
“This is a fascinating inside look into somebody’s life,” Doreen whispered.
“Did you consider the fact it’s all in storage and maybe that woman never got married?”
She sagged in place. “Wouldn’t that be sad?”
“What else would be a reasonable explanation?”
“I don’t know, but it would be fascinating to find out.”
“Well, there you go. Another mystery to keep you busy for a while.”
“You mean, keep me busy and out of your cases for a while. That’s what you’re hoping for.”
His grin was slow to start, but it would surely split his face. He acknowledged it with a laugh. “Is that too much to ask?”
“No,” she said as she pulled up the sixth box. “I wonder what’s in this one.”
When she opened it, she found it full of letters. She lifted a bundle tied up with red ribbon. “Oh,” she said. “What’s this?”
“I’m suspecting this is the correspondence with the eventual husband, and either it didn’t happen because he found someone else, or maybe he passed on.”
She opened the first one and smiled. “It’s definitely a love letter from a Nadia to a Tom.” She shook her head. “And yet, there are no last names.”
“Any envelopes in there?” Mack asked.
Doreen looked in the box and said, “I’m sure there is, but the box is literally stuffed full with paperwork.”
“That might be all you need to sort out your mystery,” he said.
“I wonder if Nan knows anything about this.”
“Good question. Maybe it’s one of the things she bought in a case lot.”
“Why put it up there though?” Doreen asked thoughtfully.
“That’s for you to sort out,” he said, getting to his feet. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s dinnertime.”
She looked up at him. “Already?”
“Already,” he said. “Pork chops don’t take long, particularly if they’re baked. These weren’t too thick either.”
She followed him as she turned her video on again. Sure enough, the pork chops were golden brown and crispy. “Oh my,” she said. “They look divine.”
“Let’s hope they taste that way.” He stopped and looked at the kitchen table, then looked outside. “Where do you want to eat?”
“Outside, please,” Doreen said as she dashed to the kitchen door and propped it open. Then she set the outside table while he served. She looked at the salad and the pork chops. “That doesn’t look like it’s enough for you though.”
“I didn’t cook any starch,” he said with a shrug. “But then I had a really big lunch with the guys. Lots of pizza, so I’m totally okay to have rabbit food for dinner.”
At that phrase, she chucked. “I eat rabbit food regularly. It hasn’t hurt me yet.”
“No, and neither has it slowed you down,” he said with a mock sigh. “Wouldn’t it be nice if it did?”
“Hey, you’re grateful for all I do,” she said. “Even though I’m probably a pain in the butt, and I make you endless amounts of paperwork.”
“Yes, but I won’t admit it.”
“That’s okay,” she said with a grin. “I know the truth.”
He rolled his eyes.
“So, what will we do about Steve?” Doreen asked.
Mack glared at her, then pointed back to the living room. “That’s your cold case. It’s got nothing to do with my cases.”
She nodded. “You might want to question Penny about her relationship with Steve though. Although I believe it’s a case of Steve wanting more but her heart was with George. George likely wasn’t impressed if Steve tried to get too close.”
“That’s what the photo implies. Did you get me a copy of that by the way?”
“I will,” she said. “I’m also sending you everything in Steve’s file.”
“Good, but just because he may have lost a gun in somebody’s backyard doesn’t mean he committed a crime.”
“He entered my property with a gun in his hand, obviously intent on doing something criminal,” she argued.
“And yet, you didn’t report it to the police,” Mack said, narrowing his gaze at her.
“I so did,” she said, narrowing her gaze right back. “I told you.”
Chapter 13
Friday Late Evening …
After dinner, they cleaned up. Then Doreen recovered all the papers from the scanner and stuck them in the folder.
Mack snagged the folder from her hand and said, “I made dinner, so you make coffee?”
She raised her eyebrows, thinking about it before speaking. “Fair deal.”
She put on coffee but watched as Mack sat outside and went through the folder. He appeared to be locked into reading the journalist’s summary first. Maybe he’d make better sense out of the corporate things mentioned there. But maybe not. She focused on the coffee.
When she returned, Mack intently read another set of summaries she hadn’t seen. “Where’d you get those?”
“In the folder,” he said, distracted.
She waited but realized there was no point. She might as well do the dishes. Not only had he cooked and showed her how to cook, but he had also done it multiple times now. So she did the dishes, and, when the coffee was ready, she brought two cups outside. He was still distracted. Now she wondered what she’d missed.
When he was done, he stared at her with a look she didn’t recognize.
She frowned at him. “What’s the matter?”
“Steve has been working for the Devil Riders,” he said, his voice harsh. “And that is some seriously bad news.”
“The biker gang? I heard they were a big group in this town.”
“They’re everywhere,” Mack said. “And it was one thing for him to work with the legitimate business side, but it was another thing to work with the other side. It appears Steve, in his corporate legal side, deals with them almost exclusively. At least according to the notes.”
“I didn’t see that before,” Doreen complained.
“You were so busy making a copy of it and being afraid I might steal it,” he said, cracking a smile, “that you didn’t get time to read it.”
“True. So what does this mean?”
“It could mean Steve disappears—whether willingly or not—or, if he is afraid that something like this folder comes out, and he sticks around, he’ll be facing bigger problems.”
“Is this like a Mafia thing? Will the gang beat hi
m up if this information gets out?”
“Yes,” Mack said. “As much as they’ve tried to legitimatize the gang, there’s still an offshoot where they believe they’re above the law and can do what they want.”
“Are they still into drugs, sex-trafficking, prostitution, and all that nasty stuff?”
He looked at her. “You come across the darnedest things.”
“I’ve done a lot of research on these old cases recently. Of course, I’ve come across all kinds of fascinating tidbits. I also knew this biker gang was an element here, but it never occurred to me how bad they were.”
“I’m not sure it’s a bad gang in that sense, but Steve’s been working with them for a long time. They may not even be currently involved in anything we’re concerned about, but Steve may know of something from their past. And, if he’s afraid you’ll mess things up for him, that’s a problem.”
She shuddered. “Him being their lawyer doesn’t mean he’s doing anything illegal, right?”
“No, not at all, but, depending on how much research is in here,” he said, “the journalist may very well have uncovered some illegal activities. According to his summary, he suggested the gang was laundering money through their corporations, while buying and selling properties all around the province.”
“And so he’s been using the corporation to help facilitate that?”
“Yes.”
“And presumably,” Doreen said, “they’re laundering their own illegal money from drugs and prostitution?”
“Exactly.” He handed her the summary she had not read yet.
She nodded and went through this summary, then put the pages inside, closed the folder, and shoved it toward him. “Then take him down,” she said calmly. “And you’re welcome.”
He stared at her. “It’s not that easy.”
“I know. You’ll tell me it’s for a completely different department in the RCMP, won’t you?”
His lips twitched. “We do all work together. But, yes, there are specialized crime divisions.”
“So maybe don’t handle this one all on your own,” she said. “Instead, hand it off to the right people.”