“What kind of records?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously, just like in the movies.
I couldn’t meet his eyes. I stared at the front page.
“Mavis . . .”
“Huh?”
“What kind of records?”
“Oh. Some deed records and tax records. They want me to find out the record owners of some property.” I stabbed a waffle and dropped it on his plate and got one for myself.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I have to go to all the courthouses at the county seats surrounding Harris County.” I poured syrup in circles on my waffle.
“For what?” There was a note of distrust in his voice.
“I told you,” I said, glancing at him before I cut into my breakfast. “They want me to locate the owners of some property.”
“For what, Mavis? What do they want you to locate the owners for?”
“It’s resort property they’re interested in,” I said, pouring syrup on his waffle.
“That’s no answer.”
“Why are you giving me the third degree?” I asked. “I’m just trying to make a living.”
“Because I know how you are.”
“Thanks a lot.” By this time I couldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re always so suspicious. Want more syrup?”
“Does this have anything to do with the Lawson case?”
“Why would you think that, Ben?” I stuffed about a quarter of the waffle into my mouth.
“Does it?”
I pointed at my mouth. Why couldn’t he let it drop? Sometimes I thought he was a control freak. I chewed vigorously and washed the food down with some hot tea. “I’m going to check out the record owners of some resort properties, little cabins in the woods—that sort of thing. Why would you think that it has to do with the Lawson case?”
“Does Mrs. Lawson own some of these properties?”
“Not that I know of. I don’t know who the owners are. I’m supposed to find properties that have improvements on them and get the names and addresses of the owners, that’s all. Want some bacon?”
He scraped a couple of pieces onto his waffle and shoved the plate of bacon back at me.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the plate from him and munching a piece. I grinned. “You’re such a good cook. These waffles are wonderful.”
“I want to know where you’re going,” Ben said and stuffed a piece of waffle into his mouth.
“Conroe, first. Margaret’s going, too, only she doesn’t know it yet.” I continued eating.
“What are you going to do in Conroe?” he asked after he’d gulped down some coffee.
“Jesus. You’re so suspicious. Okay, here’s the blow by blow. First we’ll look at one of those big maps they have in the county clerk’s office, trying to locate the best places for cabins and such. Then we’ll look further and see if the good spots are platted or whatever you call it. Then we’ll go a step further and see if the plats have been sold, then the tax records to see who the record owners are of the ones that have the tax values for improvements. We probably will call any local owners to see if they’re interested in selling and if so, advise them that they’ll be contacted by a prospective purchaser.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why would I lie about something as stupid as that? Ben, the people want to know if any of the improvements are good enough for people to stay in without a lot of expense. It’s an investment thing, see.” I crossed my legs under the table. I would have crossed my fingers, but he would have seen.
“That is the stupidest thing I ever heard of. Anyway, if that’s all you’re going to do, why can’t you go see Captain Milton first?” He scrutinized me as if I were a prisoner in custody. I was only glad he didn’t start jumping up and down on my kneecaps.
I shook my head at him while I swallowed more orange juice. “It’s not stupid, and I promised I’d start first thing this morning. It’s important to my client.” That part wasn’t a lie. I drank down the rest of my juice.
“I’ll take off and go with you then.”
I’m afraid I spewed so much juice out that it splattered all over the front of his robe.
“See.” He pointed his finger at me. “I knew you were lying.”
I was coughing—choking—and he was sitting there pointing, an accusatory look in his eyes. He wouldn’t even get up and come pound me on the back. No way I’d marry a person that wouldn’t try to save me from choking to death.
After many minutes, and after I’d dried my eyes, nose, and mouth, and Ben was still watching, waiting for me to defend myself, I said, “I wasn’t lying. It just went down the wrong way, that’s all.”
“You’re going to see the Captain, Mavis.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
I shook my head. “Am not, and you can’t make me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Our relationship seemed to be degenerating again. Ben got angry and left without finishing his breakfast, which was okay by me, though he did tuck some hot waffles into his pocket when he unplugged the waffle iron.
I did not intend to go see Captain Milton. I wanted to find those kids and the truth about Arthur Woodridge before someone beat me to the punch. I might even figure out who killed Harrison Lawson along the way, since it seemed clear now that the police and ME thought he hadn’t died of natural causes. I kept telling myself that no one had hired me for that onerous task, but myself kept replying that it could do no harm to my reputation if I solved it first. The murderer could be Kelby McAfee, but I’d be willing to bet the cops had no conclusive evidence. It could be anyone at this point.
Since I was running a little late, I called Margaret and told her to meet me at the office as soon as possible so we could get on our way. She said Annette Jenson had called late the evening before and left her number. I tried it but got no answer so I called National Insurance Trust.
When I got her on the phone, Annette spoke in a whispery voice. “Is this Mavis Davis?”
“Yes, I said it was,” I said.
“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Can you meet me?”
“I’m sorry. Not for lunch. How about later?”
“I didn’t want lunch. We can’t be seen together. How about your place this evening?”
“My office? Sure. What time?”
“No. Not your office. You might be watched. What about your house?”
No way. I didn’t have a long standing policy of never bringing my problems home with me from the office, but I was going to start one. “How about we meet someplace else? You have a favorite bar?”
“I don’t drink,” she said, her words clipped.
“Good, then no one will expect to find you in a bar. Meet me at Lana’s on Westheimer and Fondren. What time is good for you?”
“Miss Davis, this is important.”
“I appreciate that. Lana’s is secure. She keeps a shotgun and a baseball bat under the counter.” I could picture her expression. She had appeared to be a proper lady.
“All right. Would nine be too late for you?”
“Nine is fine.” The courthouses closed at five, and Margaret and I were sure to be back by then. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”
“Just make sure you aren’t followed,” she said and hung up.
First Ben, and then Annette Jensen. Everyone was getting melodramatic today.
That done, I dressed, but when I opened my door to go pick up Margaret, who should be sitting on the stoop and stuffing an Egg McMuffin into his face but lumpy Lon.
“The captain ain’t as dumb as you think he is,” Lon said, his full mouth revealing its contents. The big lout lifted his lard off my steps and grinned at me. It was not a pretty sight.
“Okay,” I said, resigned to my fate. “Let’s go.” The idea of a ride downtown with Lon was not a pleasing one, but what could I do? If I ran, they’d think I was up to something, which I was, as we all know.
When we got to Captain Milton’s office, he hadn’t arrived, so Lon stuck me in a corner to wait. Watching the shift change, I nodded at some of the men and women that I knew as I sat and wished I’d never quit smoking. If ever I needed something to assuage my fears, to fill the void of empty time, or to just plain make me feel better, it was then. I knew I was an addict, but before the morning ended I didn’t much care. I would have gladly knocked over the nearest convenience store for a smoke.
When Captain Milton showed up, he took one look at me, said, “Be with you in a minute,” and disappeared behind his door for an hour.
I was steamed. After the first half hour, I called Margaret on my cell, advising her to meet me downtown. Finally, Milton opened the door and beckoned to me to come inside.
“Good morning, Miss Davis,” he said as he rounded his desk and dropped into his huge easy chair.
“Is it?” I was not about to be any more polite than absolutely necessary.
“Never mind. I want to talk about the Lawson murder.”
Alleged Lawson murder, I thought, as I stood silently before his desk.
“Sit down.” He gestured at one of the lightly padded chairs that by design discouraged long stays.
“Thank you, but I prefer to stand.”
“You’re gonna get awfully tired.”
“Aw c’mon, Captain. I’ve got work to do. I can’t hang around here all day.” I could visualize those kids and something happening to them while I went around and around with him. If only I knew for certain that Woodridge wouldn’t hurt them.
“Just tell me what I want to know and you can go, so long as you’re not investigating the Lawson thing.”
“Which Lawson thing?”
“Any Lawson thing.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Give me a blow-by-blow of how you got on the case and up ’til the time Lon showed at the house.”
I sat. I told. I cringed inwardly.
“Did Mrs. Lawson tell you that she thinks her husband did it?”
“Her husband, sir?”
“Ex-husband.” He frowned in my direction.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you didn’t call me?”
“I understand that you spoke to her after I did.”
“That’s not the point. If you have knowledge that would be helpful to the police, you have an obligation to spill it.”
“I didn’t have any hard evidence, sir,” I said. I’m afraid my tone of voice was not what he was accustomed to hearing.
His fist slammed down on the desk. “That’s what I’m talking about. If you want to get along as a PI around here, you’re gonna have to cooperate. Just like that other thing. You never told us about all that stuff in Fort Worth.”
“I tried to tell Lon, sir, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Dammit, Davis. Next time, call me. I can’t help it if I inherited people like Tyler. Listen, it’s not only that you’re interfering in an active police investigation, but it’s for your own safety.”
“Would you be concerned about my safety if I were a man, sir?” I grabbed the edge of his desk and glared into his eyes. “Look, I expect to get the same cooperation out of you that I get out of every other decent PI in this city. The only thing is, you’re a woman. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” His expression grew fatherly, dumbfounding me.
“Is that all, sir?” I stood. A surly tone invaded my voice in spite of my best efforts to rid myself of it. “I don’t want to be protected. I want to be treated just the same as anyone else, okay? Sir.”
“No, it’s not okay.”
I stood there, bug-eyed. Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have let Ben help me wrap up my first murder case. They probably thought I couldn’t have done it without him. Well, I was going to show them. This time, when it was all solved, I’d let them in on it. Maybe no one had hired me to find the killer—the alleged killer. Maybe Tommy had only paid me to find his sister. Maybe Hilary had only hired me to find both kids. I didn’t care. I moved toward the door.
“Sit down!” The captain jumped up and strode around the desk, sticking his big face in my own before I could find shelter. So I sat down. It was stupid, I know, because then he could hover over me and use psychological tactics to try to make me feel bad.
I crossed my arms about my chest and glared at the man. I didn’t care if he was a captain. Nobody tells me what to do.
“Listen, Davis. We’re doing all we can to find those kids.” He stood over me, like before, shook his finger in my face, and tried to stare me down. “I’ve already sent a man to try to locate Arthur Woodridge’s relatives, if any, to try to figure out where he could be hiding. There’s a SWAT team on call for when we locate them in case he tries to hold them hostage. My men are contacting the authorities in every county surrounding ours, giving out descriptions and photographs, trying to find out if they’ve been seen. There’s nothing for you to do.”
“Are you checking the deed records, sir?”
“The what?” My question caught him off guard. He relaxed and rested his buns on the front of his desk.
“The deed records, the tax records. I was going to check them to see if there was a record showing his family owned any property in the outlying counties.” I hadn’t intended on saying anything, but I didn’t want to get into permanent trouble with the police. I might need them sometime.
He gave a little. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said in a milder tone. “I’ll put some men right on it.”
“Let me do that, Captain Milton. Let me do something.” He gave me a look that said he was considering it. I grabbed at my chance. “I could search the records just as efficiently as your men. Maybe more so. I’ve done this type of work before, for attorneys.” I stared at him, no anger and defiance now.
“I don’t know, Davis.”
“I would report back, sir. I promise. I’ve already done some research. I could leave now, start with Conroe—Montgomery County—”
“It’s police business, Davis, and from what Mrs. Lawson said, he could be very dangerous. He’s already killed one man.”
I couldn’t believe it. He’d already tried, convicted, and injected the man. “What happened to McAfee?” And what had happened to the presumption of innocence?
“We had to let him go. All we had was a fingerprint, and he had a reasonable explanation for that. Besides, he didn’t have a strong enough motive.”
Not to mention they’d picked him up before they knew about Woodridge, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I said, “So you think Woodridge did it?”
“Mrs. Lawson thinks so, poor woman, and who would know him better?” He shook his head. “I don’t want anything to happen to you or those children.”
“But I won’t be anywhere around them, Captain. I’ll be at the county courthouses in the county clerks’ offices in the dusty, moldy, old deed record sections, unless, of course, they have everything on computer or microfilm, in which case—”
“Okay.”
“I promise I’ll call you as soon as I find something. I may not find anything. Your men may turn up something before I do, why waste your men when I could do the same job? After all, I am slightly better educated than most of them and know what I’m looking for.” Stopping then, I hoped I hadn’t overstepped my bounds.
“Okay, I said.” He stared at me, his lips pursed.
I studied his face. Deep horizontal lines creased his forehead. His chin rested on his chest, giving him the look of a fat man, which he wasn’t. He had a handsome face—for a cop—when he wasn’t mad or anything. I remembered when I’d first heard of him, I thought he’d be an ogre, but since then I’d heard some good things. Like he was honest. Supposedly unprejudiced. Fair, but strictly by-the-book.
“Can I trust you not to run off if you locate them?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t know, Davis. I shouldn’t let you do it, but I suspect that if you don’t have something to do, I’ll be sor
ry later.”
I grinned.
“I know how you are. I’ve checked you out. I know you’re hard-headed and independent. And I remember the first time I saw you.”
“What?”
“Years ago.” He smiled. “At a political convention.”
“I don’t remember you from back then.”
“You were at a microphone, trying to get some crazy, liberal resolution passed and arguing with the county chairman about some rule.” He raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling into three deep grooves.
“You were there? Which convention?”
“I’m not sure. It was many years ago.”
“That was my wild and crazy political phase,” I said, shrugging at the memory.
“Well, I remember—”
“You’re not going to let a little thing like that make a difference now, are you?”
“I told you I checked you out,” he said, solemn-faced. “I know how you can be.” He pointed his finger in my face again. “I’m telling you, if you screw up, if you don’t report back to me, this is the last chance you’ll ever get. I’ll make you so sorry that you’ll have to seek another line of work.”
The Sweet Scent of Murder Page 11