Scam Chowder

by Maya Corrigan

  “And easier for her to lose us.” Val wouldn’t mind if Lillian eluded them. She’d never intended to spend this long following the woman. “People always tell me I’m dogged, but you’re even more persistent, Bethany.” Like Muffin refusing to let go of the cap.

  “If you teach first graders, you learn persistence.” Bethany turned onto the highway and zoomed into the left lane. “I’ll have to go fast to catch up with Lillian. You keep an eye out for her car.”

  They passed two white sedans, neither with the distinctive yellow ball atop the antenna. A moving van moved into the left lane in front of them and blocked their view of the vehicles ahead in all the lanes. When the truck moved back into the right lane and Bethany passed it, Val spotted Lillian’s sedan. “She’s in the right lane up ahead. If you get in front of the SUV, that’ll put us two cars behind her.”

  “Okeydoke.” Bethany turned on her signal light and maneuvered into the right lane. “One of the residents at the pet-a-pet session who knows Lillian says she’s always complaining about the food at the Village.”

  “She told Granddad her late husband was a gourmet cook.” And from that tiny seed, the Codger Cook sprouted.

  “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I guess that applies to women too.”

  “Anyone who thinks the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach flunked biology.” Case in point—Val’s ex-fiancé who passed up her amazing dinners to “work” with a paralegal who had an amazing body. But an older woman would have different priorities. A man who could cook and owned a big house might sustain her interest, but for how long? Possibly only until a better catch showed up. “I wonder if Lillian hangs out with any men in the Village.”

  Bethany shrugged. “Ned says a lot of men in the Village would like to get to know her better, but she prefers your grandfather to them. She spends time with the older folks who can’t get around well, the ones who don’t have many visitors. That’s a point in her favor.”

  “Maybe she hopes they’ll make out a will in her favor.”

  Bethany’s jaw dropped. “Wow. You really don’t like her.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” Val had forgotten the lesson she’d learned from her foray into sleuthing last month—to set aside her prejudices and not attribute the worst motives to people she didn’t like. From now on, she’d try to give Lillian the benefit of the doubt. Doubt was better than cynicism. “Did anyone say if Thomasina and Lillian are pals?”

  “I don’t know about pals. I heard they’re rivals at the Brain Game. Some of the residents call them the Brain Queens and even bet on which one will come out on top each week.”

  Val had an unexpected brainstorm. “I read a notice that this week’s session is canceled. Can you convince whoever’s in charge to let me substitute as the Brain Game moderator? I used to run a bar trivia game in New York.”

  “I’ll talk to the activities director. Why do you want to do that?”

  “Sometimes the facts people know tell you what’s important to them. You find out things they don’t think to mention.” Or prefer not to reveal. Val suddenly realized how long they’d been on the highway. “We’re almost at the Bay Bridge. Why don’t you look for a place to turn around? We don’t have to keep following Lillian.”

  “I hate to give up after we’ve gone this far. Let’s at least go over the bridge and see which way she goes. On a clear day like this, you’ll have a great view of the Chesapeake.”

  Val couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed that view as a passenger. She’d driven over the bridge regularly in the last fifteen years, but as the driver, she couldn’t stare at the water.

  Today the vast expanse of sparkling bay mesmerized her all along the four-mile length of the bridge. Everything from freighters and naval vessels to yachts and sailboats glided in the water. From high above, it looked like a world in slow motion. For the first time in two days, Val felt calm.

  With the bay behind them, the pace quickened. The traffic grew heavier around Annapolis. Bethany’s hands tensed on the wheel. Val’s mental wheels rotated back to her preoccupations of the last two days—Granddad’s finances, Scott’s death, and Gunnar’s ex-fiancée.

  Gunnar! She was supposed to play tennis with him this afternoon. She looked at the dashboard clock. “Oh no. I was supposed to meet Gunnar ten minutes ago at the club.” She pulled out her phone, paged through her contacts for his number, and called him.

  “Hi, Val. Did you forget our tennis game?”

  “No, but I had to do something, and now I’m stuck on the road.”

  “We can start a little late.”

  “We’d have to start a lot late. I’m an hour away.” Or even more, judging by the eastbound traffic toward the tollbooths.

  “Okay. I’ll see if anyone’s hanging around looking for a tennis game. If not, I’ll go use the workout room. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Did she hear a hint of sarcasm in his thanks? “Sorry. Can we reschedule for later this week? . . . Gunnar, are you still there?” No answer. He’d hung up. She clicked her phone off and wished she’d never spotted Lillian leaving the Village.

  Bethany looked sideways, frowning. “You stood him up with his fiancée trying to get together with him again?”

  Val pressed her lips together to keep from saying what she was thinking. She would have met him for tennis if Bethany had listened to her about turning back earlier.

  Unfair, Val’s inner voice protested. She was behaving like Granddad, blaming someone else when the fault was her own. She shouldn’t have forgotten her date with Gunnar. Usually, she controlled her impetuous streak. Today she’d given in to a whim and followed Lillian for no good reason. “I think it’s time to turn around, Bethany. Get off at the next exit.”

  “That’s exactly what Lillian’s doing. We can’t give up now. We’re close to the finish line.”

  Val sighed. She’d created a monster by suggesting they follow Lillian. She only hoped Lillian wouldn’t make a cross-country trip.

  They lost sight of the white sedan in the narrow streets of Annapolis, but the yellow ball on Lillian’s antenna served as a beacon that helped Val spot the car as it turned onto a side street.

  Bethany made the same turn and followed Lillian’s sedan, leaving a gap of half a block between them. They drove along a residential street with older houses and brick sidewalks, the historic district near the Naval Academy. As Bethany approached a stop sign, Lillian pulled into a narrow driveway in the block ahead.

  “Stop here.” Val pointed to an empty space at the curb, just shy of the intersection. From that vantage point, she watched Lillian walk to the front door of a brick Colonial house and let herself in with a key. “Hmm. I expected her to ring the bell. I want the address of that house, but we should wait a bit before we drive by it. She may be on the lookout for your car if she noticed it behind her during this odyssey.”

  “I’ll take Muffin for a walk.” At Bethany’s words, the dog roused from her nap.

  “But don’t go too close to the brick house. Even if Lillian never went to a pet-a-pet session, she might have seen you in the Village with Muffin. I’ll watch the house from here.”

  Bethany clipped a leash on the dog. “Come on, Muffin, we’re walking in the ritziest neighborhood you’ve ever been in.”

  Val pondered possible explanations for Lillian letting herself into a house in an expensive neighborhood. If the house belonged to her, why was she staying in a tiny apartment at Ambleside Village? Maybe the property belonged to a relative or a friend who trusted her with the key.

  When Bethany returned, she drove slowly past the brick house, and Val jotted down the address. With that information, she could look up the property records online and find out who owned the house.

  It was almost seven when Val climbed out of Bethany’s car at the club. She searched for Gunnar’s Miata. No red sports cars in the club lot. She approached her Saturn and smelled something foul. The putrid odor turned her st
omach. She sniffed around for the source of the stench. It was strongest near her car.

  She peered in the side window. On the passenger seat lay a fish with a dull, milky eye. Yuck.

  Val had left the windows cracked open three inches to keep the heat from building up. Someone had shoved the fish through the gap. Luckily, it was half-covered with brown paper, the kind used at the supermarket’s fish counter. Val pinched her nose and opened the car door. Touching only the butcher wrap, she put the fish on the ground.

  A man with salt-and-pepper hair emerged from the pickup truck parked three spaces away from her Saturn. He carried a tennis racket. “What’s that stink?”

  “Rotting fish.” Val held her breath, darted past the pickup truck, and gulped air. Not sweet-smelling, but better than the air near her car. “Someone tossed a croaker into my car.”

  “Nasty.” The man walked with her toward the club entrance. “I teach biology. I can tell you where the smell comes from. Fish amino acids break down into the compounds cadaverine and putrescine.”

  Val could do without that bit of trivia. Even the words made her feel queasy. “I wonder how long it will take to get rid of the smell.”

  “Once you clean the spot where the fish was, you’ll probably have to keep the windows down for a few days.”

  “One dead fish came through a window cracked open. Wide open windows might net me a school of them.”

  The man laughed and opened the glass door to the club for her.

  Val went into the café and gathered what she’d need to get rid of the fish and its smell. Latex gloves, plastic bags, and rags. Water, white vinegar, and baking soda.

  Back outside, she made a bandit bandanna from a rag, using a double thickness of cloth over her nose. She shoved the fish into a plastic bag, put the bag inside two other bags, and tossed the package in the Dumpster. While scrubbing the upholstery, she needed frequent breaks for fresh air. The stench lingered after the cleaning, but it wasn’t as strong as before, or maybe she was just getting used to it.

  She called her grandfather and blamed her lateness on the rotting fish. “It smells so bad! I may have to drive home with my nose out the window like a dog.”

  “Activated charcoal might help, the stuff you use to filter water in fish tanks. Harvey’s got an aquarium next door. I’ll see if he can spare some charcoal for your car. What about dinner?” Rough translation: what would she make him for dinner and when would she do it?

  “We can have pasta with pesto if you harvest the basil leaves from the garden. I need two cups.”

  “Good. I’m in the mood for noodles.” He called any form of pasta “noodles.”

  “Me too.” Comfort food. “I’m on my way.”

  Half an hour later, she filled the food processor with basil leaves and chopped garlic, welcome aromas after the stench of decay. She’d already made the salad and boiled the water for the pasta.

  Granddad came into the kitchen. “I put the charcoal Harvey gave me in your car. It should help absorb the odor. Teenage high jinks, throwing a fish in a car.”

  “I’d agree, except that the fish was bought, not caught. It was wrapped like fish from the supermarket. I don’t think kids would buy a fish for a prank.”

  “You’re right. They can catch fish easy enough around here.” He rubbed his chin. “Whoever stank up your car has money to throw away and no fishing gear. A lot of folks at your racket and fitness club fit that bill.”

  She turned on the food processor and dripped oil into the chute as the basil, garlic, and pine nuts whirled around. “I can’t imagine anyone walking through the club parking lot with a package of fish, hoping to find a car with open windows. I think someone targeted my car specifically.”

  Granddad set the table in the kitchen. “Someone you know?”

  “Not necessarily. The cameraman from the Salisbury station filmed me in my car this morning. Junie May showed that clip on the noon news and identified me as working at the club. Anyone who saw the news report could have guessed my car would be in the club lot. It’s bright blue and easy to spot.” Her decade-old Saturn stood out amid newer models, most of them neutral in color.

  “Nah. You’re paranoid after last month’s murder and Scott’s death.” Her grandfather poured himself a beer and her a glass of wine. “Vandalism’s usually random. Just be thankful you got a fish in your car instead of a cinder block dropped from an overpass.”

  She nodded. “Cadaverines and putrescines are better than smithereens.”

  Her grandfather frowned. “What?”

  “I can explain over dinner, but trust me, you don’t want to know.” She drained the linguini, mixed it with the pesto, and dished it up.

  He tucked into the pasta. “Nothing like fresh basil straight from the garden. Too bad I had to wait this long to eat.”

  That gripe led to others about the miserable day he’d had. It took him hours to type his newspaper column with two fingers. Then he’d printed it, found mistakes, and had to correct them. Each time he printed, he found new mistakes. He barely got his column turned in by the deadline.

  Val had finished most of her meal before his litany of complaints ended. “Did you talk to Chief Yardley today?”

  “No time for that. I’ll call him tomorrow.” He put his fork down and watched her eat. “I have something important to tell you.”

  She dreaded what he would say. That he was going to ask Lillian to marry him? That he’d lost his life savings to a swindler?

  Chapter 10

  Val usually sipped wine, but anticipating bad news from her grandfather, she downed the wine that remained in her glass and reached for the Chianti bottle. “What’s going on, Granddad?”

  “After pecking away at a keyboard all day, I needed fresh air. I took a long walk and ended up on Main Street around six-thirty. I saw Gunnar there with a woman.”

  Val refilled her glass. “I’m guessing she’s his real estate agent. He’s been looking for places to rent or buy here.”

  Granddad picked up his fork and speared a lettuce leaf. “Agents these days work in hot pants?”

  Probably not. “What did this woman look like, apart from the hot pants?”

  “Tall, blond, curvy.”

  Gunnar’s former fiancée. So much for the hope that she’d come to Bayport only for the weekend. “What were they doing when you saw them?” Val asked.

  “He was parked in his car with the top down. She was on the street with her arms resting on the driver’s-side door. She was wearing one of them noodle strap tops, leaning way down, and giving him a good view. He’s two-timing you, Val.”

  Val twirled linguini around her fork. “Gunnar and I are just friends.”

  “I’ll bet he isn’t just friends with that blonde.” Granddad took a swig of beer. “I understand why he wants to be friends with you. You’re like the girl next door. What I don’t understand is why you want to be friends with him.”

  “You haven’t liked him since the day you met him.” Last night when Gunnar came to dinner, her grandfather had hidden his dislike well. She even thought he’d gotten over it. Apparently, he hadn’t.

  “I just don’t want you hurt again. You trusted your fiancé in New York for years, and he was cheating.”

  “As you often remind me. That doesn’t mean every man I talk to after Tony is no good.”

  “It means you gotta be careful because your taste in men stinks. Smart women, foolish choices. Isn’t there a saying like that?”

  “It’s a book title.” But she knew a saying that applied to his relationship with Lillian—no fool like an old fool. She swallowed the words and washed them down with her wine.

  Granddad pointed his fork at her. “You should read that book.”

  “I could have used it before I got involved with Tony. Now that I’m living here, I don’t need it because I have you to tell me about my foolish choices.”

  “It doesn’t help. You pay no attention to me, but you believe Gunnar’s story about some a
unt who passed on enough dough for him to quit working. He coulda left his job under a cloud. He coulda been fired for something illegal.”

  She laughed. “Do you know how hard it is to fire a government worker? A month ago, you tried to convince me he was a murderer. Now he’s a corrupt bureaucrat. I suppose that’s progress.”

  Granddad waggled a finger at her. “Make fun if you like. Just remember, I’ve had a lot of experience with people. There’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way.”

  She knew what that something was. Her grandfather was suspicious of any man who paid attention to her. A voice inside reminded her that her attitude toward Lillian resembled his toward Gunnar. True, but unlike her grandfather, Val didn’t have a lifetime of savings and a big house. Low financial assets had a silver lining—protection against gold diggers.

  She pushed the linguini around her plate. The pasta she’d eaten with such gusto until now had lost its appeal. As long as Granddad was giving her advice, she had some for him. “I ran into Ned today at the Village. He’s—”

  “Why did you go to the Village?”

  To grill your girlfriend seemed like the wrong answer. “Bethany takes her dog there and invited me along. I was curious about the Village. You never asked me to go with you.”

  “I didn’t figure you’d want to. At your age, you don’t have to think about living in a place like that. It’s the last stop for most of the people there. Me, I’d rather make this house my last stop.”

  He’d joked about his age occasionally, but never mentioned the nearness of death until now. She stood up and refilled her water glass, blinking back tears. She would do her best to make sure he stayed at whatever last stop he chose for as long as possible.

  She went back to the table. “I talked to Ned for a while, Granddad. He was hurt that you didn’t invite him to the dinner party.”

  “I had a good reason.”

  “I know that, but he doesn’t. He thinks you left him out because you like your new friends better than your old ones.”