Frugal Lissa Finds a Body

by Ritter Ames

  “Oh, I’ll call 9-1-1 first, but I will call you as well, so you’ll know too.”

  “Thank you.” I gave her a careful hug. “We’ll be looking forward to the cobbler. One of us will be over later for it.”

  “Very good, Lissa.” She patted my arm. “You have a nice day.”

  “You too, Mrs. G. Don’t overdo.”

  Talking to our neighbor ate up most of the extra time we’d had when we left, but it was worth it. We had to hurry, but the boys still got to the school on-time, and Jamey and I got all of his Oobleck wares into the classroom without dumping the box along the way.

  The blue notepad was burning a hole in my pocket, I wanted so badly to look through it. Abby had brought her laptop and planned to do more internet work. When we were alone in the car with Honey, I said, “Bean Shack? Or do you want to try somewhere else?”

  “That sounds fine. Coffee will be my treat today.”

  And it was. She took her purse in to get the coffees, and Honey and I guarded our table and the laptop. More important, I was finally able to again crack open the palm-sized blue notebook and look through the pages.

  “What do you have?”

  I was startled, being so engrossed in the tiny pages and the neat blue handwriting, when Abby returned and spoke. I chewed my lower lip for a second, then said, “J.C. Carlisle’s pocket diary.”

  “It’s what?” she slammed the cups onto the tabletop and landed hard in her chair.

  In detail, and with Honey punctuating the story with barks whenever she heard me say her name, I explained how the notepad came into my possession, and what I’d found so far.

  “It includes a list of industry contacts he’s been using lately, and Elite Home Mortgage and Finance is one of them,” I explained. “I recognized the company name, and from the pages here, it looks like that’s the company J.C. Carlisle has been working with since leaving Henson, Carter and Associates. Also, I think that’s the company where he got into trouble with investors. He doesn’t have a lot of notes in here, but enough for me to conclude his legal problems likely stem from there.”

  “It would be cutting the time frame close for clients to realize they had a case and file it in a year,” Abby said, firing up her laptop. “It’s not unheard of, since one or two people may have heard and rallied the rest. But things generally take longer.”

  “What if he started working with them before he left Henson, Carter?” I asked.

  She cocked a dark eyebrow. “Or his work with them resulted in Henson, Carter terminating his employment.”

  “That’s good too.”

  “You said you recognized the Elite company name,” Abby reminded, and sipped her coffee. “How is it familiar?”

  “From Dek and my getting the mortgage on our house. The name came up in our initial interview. I didn’t think anything about it that day, but now I identify it as a red flag,” I explained. “And it was Delayne who mentioned it.”

  “Okay.” Abby nodded. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Grandma was there to help Dek and me,” I said. “All of our credit history was overseas. Only about three months tied to U.S. accounts. She went with us to the bank in case she might sign a form or something to help us, or talk to someone there. Remember, she knew everyone in town.”

  “I remember.”

  I felt pressure behind my eyes but kept on, “We’d met with Arnie, but he’d had to leave for a minute, and Delayne was in the office too. Before he left, Arnie had been talking about the different interest levels we might have to pay, given the anomalies of our credit history, but promised to do what he could to help. In his absence, Delayne mentioned Elite Home Mortgage and Finance, and said we might get a better rate through them. That they were smaller and didn’t require as many credit hurdles as the bank did.”

  “Did you fill out a form? Or get a contact name?” Abby asked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “A minute later, Arnie returned, and the president of the bank came in behind him. The president was an old friend of Grandma’s, and he came by to say hello after hearing she was in the building. She introduced us and said she was there to help her granddaughter and grandson get their first home loan. The president told Arnie and Delayne to make sure they got us the best rate the bank could offer, and to come and see him if they needed any help with our mortgage. Nothing else was mentioned after that about the other financing, but now the name appears in Carlisle’s pocket diary—with Delayne’s name and number listed as his contact.”

  “Sandra is looking less likely as a person of interest, though the fact she had this notepad is still suspicious.” Abby tapped the book.

  I opened it to one of the pages that listed contacts. “She may have gotten it when she killed him. Or she may have found it where Carlisle lost it, or the killer dropped it. I think she’s mercenary enough to kill him, but she’d be equally liable to keep the book for all the industry resources Carlisle lists in the back. And if the lawsuits Carlisle was tagged to were out of Henson, Carter instead of Elite, there may be something pertinent in here too that I don’t recognize as important.”

  “I’ve heard of real estate scams where the principals in the company pocket the mortgage payments, then do a quick sale of the properties citing foreclosure. All done quietly so the homeowner doesn’t know until their house is sold and they have to move. And the investors lose too, since they aren’t getting their cut of the payments or the property sale.” Abby turned to her laptop and started keying. “I’ll do what searching I can by using the names from the lawsuits to back into information. But if this is a mortgage scam, I really need the names of the mortgagees to search effectively, rather than just those of disgruntled investors.”

  “See what you can find before we have to turn this over to Brian,” I said.

  “Speaking of which...” Abby stopped typing and turned her laser glare on me. “We need to get that pocket notebook to Brian, or he could charge you with obstruction.”

  “I’m not obstructing anything.”

  “You’re withholding information pertinent to his case.”

  “I just haven’t had time to give it to him yet.” I sipped my cooling coffee. “I’m a busy mom.”

  “Who has had enough time to sift through the diary already and form new hypotheses of her own.”

  I nodded. “Exactly. I worked ahead, so he’ll have a better picture of everything when he does get the diary.”

  “I don’t think he’ll see it like that,” Abby said.

  “Not my fault he has a limited imagination.”

  “Something no one can say about you.”

  I grinned and tipped back my cup to get the last glorious sip. “Besides, I’m still not sure we can trust Brian. Hollywood theory or not, you have to admit the circumstantial case against him is strong.”

  “I admit nothing of the kind,” Abby almost scolded me. Then she shrugged. “And we have no choice. We don’t know any other officers personally who will check this out and not tell Brian. In fact, they’d probably be reprimanded if the brass found out any part of the case was worked behind Brian’s back. Plus, even if we got an officer to agree to help off-the-books, so to speak, it doesn’t mean the information wouldn’t be given to Brian at the next briefing. We may as well keep things as they are and stick to our regular contact. Plus, I really don’t have the same paranoid feelings you have about him.”

  “What about the points I made the other night?”

  “What about the stellar background check that came back through my sources?” Abby countered.

  I frowned. “He could have a secret life. One that makes my theory valid on him being the person at the window who ran away.”

  “Delayne or Sandra was the person at the window.” Abby drummed fingers on the table. “You had a theory, a hypothesis. A good hypothesis, but still a hypothesis. One that could be argued in court that you made to fit your paranoia. Brian has done nothing out of line to make us see him as the murderer. Your plot twist fi
lm analogy is impressive, but there’s no evidence from what we’ve seen to substantiate it. On the other hand, we have two women who also fit the hypothesis, and there is backup evidence to more strongly point to one of them being the fleeing night visitor.”

  “Okay, I give up. Call and see if he’s available. We’ll drop the pocket diary by on the way home.”

  Abby found the number in her contacts and clicked to dial, but the call went to voicemail. “Hi, Brian, it’s Abby Newlin. Wanted to touch base with you about something. I’ll try calling you later.”

  “See.” I pointed to the phone. “He’s busy with something else right now. What we’re doing will save him time later. He should thank us for it.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Abby closed the laptop and returned it and the phone to her big bag. “You want another coffee for the road?”

  “Nah, I’ve been drinking it for three hours already,” I said. “But go ahead if you want a refill. I’ll get Honey into the car while you do.”

  She stood and slung her purse strap onto her shoulder. “Are you two going to take another turn in the park first?”

  Honey looked at me and gave her Lab grin but didn’t act antsy. “No, I think we’re good until she gets home.”

  As we drove away, however, I noticed a large black SUV a couple of cars back and remembered seeing one like it sitting on the street when we were in the school parking lot and dropping off the kids.

  I mentioned it to Abby and said, “Check it out.”

  “Which one?” Abby twisted in her seat. Honey thought she was turning to pet her and licked Abby’s face. “Stop, stop!”

  She used one hand to carefully push Honey away, and I handed her a tissue from the dash-pack to wipe the slobber from her cheek and eyelid. The happy Lab watched her and grinned.

  I was doing a little grinning myself at the sight, despite the gravity of the possible tail behind us. “It’s the black Escalade. If you see it turning, you might see a thin pink slash of paint on the driver’s side door, like it might have sideswiped something. The one on the street this morning had the streak.”

  Abby kept her head low between the two seatbacks, watching the vehicle. “The side and back windows are so heavily tinted I can’t get a good enough look through the windshield to see if I recognize the person. Escalades are common enough in the Tulsa area, but the pink slash could make the difference.”

  “I just wish we knew who the driver is.” I said.

  We made a series of quick last-minute turns to see if I could shake the SUV. Minutes later, however, the truck reappeared a couple of vehicles behind.

  “Definitely following us, but your maneuvers did let me see the driver’s side, and the pink is there,” Abby confirmed, absently scratching Honey’s ear as she watched our tail.

  I kept my eyes on the road ahead, but my mind was racing. Where had I seen a vehicle like that lately? It hit me, the bank. Could it be the same one?

  “Abbs, I’m pretty sure there was a truck just like that one in the bank parking lot when I was there Monday morning. I don’t know about the pink detail though.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “And the background data said Delayne has a car loan on a late model Escalade. What do you want to bet it’s black?”

  “Sounds possible, but why is she following us? She can’t know we have the pocket diary and suspect her.”

  Abby reseated herself on the passenger side and said, “Could be that she’s heard we’ve been nosing around. After all, you started with the visit to the bank when you ran into her. She may have been on your tail ever since, just getting sloppy today because she’s been at it so long, and that’s why you finally noticed her.”

  “You think she could have been the person running away in the dark Monday night?”

  “Absolutely. And not just because I don’t like the witch either,” Abby pointed at a traffic signal turning yellow. “Run that light. Unless Delayne wants to risk getting her Escalade in a crash, we’ll be clear.”

  “If we don’t get broad-sided first.”

  I floored the accelerator and hit the middle of the intersection on red. I thought the Escalade was going to chance it. Then the sound of overworked brakes filled the air. Abby turned back around, watching, and said, “She stopped. The truck is several feet into the intersection, but it isn’t following us.

  Signaling, I made a left turn.

  “For heaven’s sake, Lissa, don’t use your signals. She’s probably watching us. You just told her which direction we’re going.”

  “Which direction for the moment,” I reminded, grinning.

  “What do you mean?”

  I smiled but didn’t answer. A minute later, we’d circled around and were cruising through the same light again, this time with the Escalade several cars ahead of us. On cue, it signaled to make the same left we’d made earlier. I hung back until the truck disappeared down the side street, then moved into the left turn lane. Abby leaned into the dash, to get a better view of the road the truck had turned onto and said, “Take a right at the end of the next block.”

  “She thinks we’re going home.”

  “Where are we going?”

  My smile broadened as I made the turn and pushed the speed limit. “How long has it been since you’ve played ‘I Spy’? Like...” The Escalade again came into view. “I spy with my little eye a light blue and white tag that reads—”

  “You’re brilliant!”

  I pulled a pen from the pocket in my door and said, “Use the car manual in the glove box to take down the plate number.”

  Just as Abby finished with the note, the Escalade’s brake light went solid red. “We’ve been made,” I said, and pulled the wheel hard to the right, shooting down another side street.

  The Escalade didn’t have the same kind of maneuverability. We found ourselves tailless again, laughing as we released the stress.

  Honey, on the other hand, made it clear she wanted to relieve her stress in an entirely different way. I tucked in behind a dumpster by the school and put a leash on my whining dog.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  AFTER PICKING UP MAC from school, we finally returned to the house. Abby again phoned Brian, asking if they could meet.

  “Sure. I’m at the station, and you can come in,” he said over the speaker. “Will Lissa be with you?”

  I shook my head and pointed at Mac eating his lunch at the table.

  “No,” Abby replied. “She’s busy with kid things today. But I have something she’s found, and information to share.”

  “Okay, see you soon,” he said.

  When she cut the call, Abby started counting off points on her fingers. “I need to bring him up to date on Sandra’s visit yesterday and how it resulted in your finding the pocket diary today, the strong evidence we’ve found for her and Delayne knowing J.C. Carlisle for more than a year, that we believe Delayne followed us this morning and why, and... Is there anything else?”

  Mac came up then and asked, “Can I paint in my room?”

  “Sure, sweetie, if you’re done with lunch,” I mussed his hair and said, “Go up and get started, and I’ll come look in on you in a minute.”

  He and Honey disappeared up the stairs.

  “Where were we?” I asked. “Oh, yeah, what you need to tell Brian. The only other thing I can think of is to tell him Delayne’s connection with Elite is a minimum three years. We know that because she mentioned it when Dek and I were getting our mortgage.”

  “Good, thanks. I forgot.”

  “Call if you have any questions or need reminders. I’ll be here,” I reassured.

  “Keep the doors locked,” she said, grabbing her purse and heading for the front door.

  “Will do.” I followed and waved goodbye to the Miata, then closed and dead bolted the front door.

  I ran upstairs to check on Mac. He was happily working at his easel, and had his watercolor set out, with two jars of water sitting steady on the side
table. Honey was napping at the foot of Jamey’s bed.

  Before I started blog work, I decided to rid myself of the guilt I felt from seeing all the dust bunnies under the sofa. I grabbed the vacuum from the closet and headed for the living room. Third time was the charm, and I was getting pretty good at moving the sofa near the middle of the room. When I looked back, it wasn’t just dust bunnies hiding underneath. A folded envelope had hidden on the end where Sandra sat the previous day. It had stayed hidden when I only swung the sofa out instead of pulling it well away from the wall this morning. The envelope showed certified stickers and was addressed to J.C. Carlisle from our bank.

  “Another nail in Delayne’s coffin,” I mused. Folded, the envelope was about the right size to have fit in the pocket diary, and it must have flown free when Sandra’s purse contents went flying.

  I didn’t want to get sidetracked now, so I put the envelope into my pocket to give to Brian later. After I’d done a little speed reading first, naturally.

  But before I started the vacuum, the doorbell rang. I looked out the window but didn’t see any vehicle—an Escalade or otherwise.

  “Could be one of the neighbors.”

  But I checked the side window before opening the door.

  “Hi, Arnie. What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve found some information on how your house likely got put into the list the murdered guy had,” he explained. He made a movement, like he wanted to step around me, but I didn’t move, and he didn’t push. Instead, he said, “I wanted to talk to you before I go further with it.”

  “Of course,” I said. “But there’s no car out front. Did you walk here?”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling. “I take a walk after I eat each day, choosing a different route every time so I can stay fit and explore the town. Win-win.”

  “But there aren’t any restaurants close to us.”

  “The taco place over on Riggins.”

  That’s two miles! Aloud I said, “The plan obviously works for you. How can I help you, Arnie?”