Unaccounted For

by Nan Willard Cappo

  She spotted them. Milo pointed down the street to show where she could park.

  She hurried up the sidewalk. She’d made good time since his call, especially with a shower thrown in. Her damp hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  “What happened?” she cried.

  “What does it look like?” Milo stood up. “And Titan’s dead.”

  “No. Oh, no.” Ellie stared at the remains of the shop. She whispered, “Was it an accident?” As though she was afraid of the answer.

  Their silence spoke for itself. She glanced at Zaffer and then, wincing, at Milo. “Do they know who did it?”

  “We haven’t told them yet.” Zaffer spoke in a hard, flat tone.

  Now the alarm Milo had been watching for sparked in Ellie’s eyes. “What d’you mean?”

  “How’d Gordon Pearce know the flash drive was in there, Ellie?” Milo asked.

  “He didn’t! He couldn’t—what are you saying? You think I told Pearce about it?” She looked from him to Zaffer. “Is this why you called me?” She shoved Milo in the chest, hard. He knocked her hands away, and she whirled on Zaffer. “Is that what you think, too?”

  Zaffer hesitated. “It’s arson, Ellie. It must have been him. How’d he find out?”

  Ellie sank down on the bench and threw up her hands. “How should I know?”

  “Did you tell anyone?” Zaffer asked. “Anyone at all?”

  She looked straight ahead. When she finally spoke it was in a low, rushed voice.

  “Last night my dad came home all wound up. He said we should celebrate, I was now the daughter of the president of the Wolverine railcar division. They’ll announce it Sunday at the fireworks.” She glanced up at Milo. “That’s where he was Thursday, when we…he was so late. He wanted me to understand why he missed dinner. And then he said they were making Gordon Pearce president at Wolverine Motors.”

  “Pearce!” Zaffer exclaimed.

  “I know!” Ellie said, seizing on this shared revulsion as a gesture of support.

  “So then you said…” Milo prompted.

  “I had to tell him! That company is his life! I said, Daddy, Gordon Pearce is a thief. Maybe even a killer.” Now she was talking directly to Milo. “I know you think so. That he killed your dad over gambling money. How could I let them make a public announcement? It couldn’t wait!”

  “What did your father say?” Milo felt surprisingly calm, as though he really was the story writer he’d pretended to be with Keyes, and had only an author’s curiosity to hear his work performed.

  “He wanted to know what I meant, of course. But I didn’t tell him everything. Just what we know for sure: that it looks like Pearce robbed your house, because of the matches and the work van. And how he owns that bar in Ypsilanti—I didn’t tell him about the trash, I made it sound like we just stopped there one night and the hostess recognized Milo. That she’d seen your dad there the night he died. Which is why we think Pearce is the ‘fellow from work’ your dad was meeting.” She cocked her head. “I thought he’d be more…I don’t know. Surprised.”

  Milo exchanged a long glance with Zaffer. Good thing they’d never told Ellie how her father thought Milo’s father was an embezzler. Or about the tax records in the shed. His instinct to keep Ellie Farnon at a distance, to not assume her loyalty would be to him—he should have listened to it. She was unpredictable. Sex did make you stupid. Last night must have been the longest talk she’d had with her father in months; she’d have said anything to spin it out.

  She was still justifying herself. “He said he knew Gordon owned a bar, it was just an investment thing, and what else did we have? So I told him what you thought, about a bar being a good way to hide dirty money. I said, what if the dirty money is from Wolverine, Daddy? What if he’s been stealing from you?”

  Milo’s head jerked like a marionette’s. He hadn’t said that, not to her.

  “Oh, come on, Milo, you know that’s what you thought. But Daddy wasn’t convinced. He said,” and here her voice grew cool, they could hear this had angered her, “that I was letting my dislike for Pearce color my judgment. So…I told him about the flash drive. That it might have hard proof Pearce was evil, so please, please don’t name him president of anything, not till we know. I had to tell him, Milo. I had to!”

  “Sure you did,” Milo said easily. He could act, too. “But he must have told Pearce.”

  Her face was stricken. “I didn’t think of that. You know my dad, he hates to be wrong about someone he trusts.…”

  Milo did know that. I liked him, Farnon had said about Tim Shoemaker. I thought I was a good judge of character.

  By telling her father about Pearce before Milo could—Milo would have been able to convince Farnon to go to the police, he had more damning proof than she knew—Ellie hadn’t just cost them the pawnshop, or Titan. She’d jeopardized everything: Milo’s effort to exonerate his father, his campaign to rescue Wolverine itself before Pearce’s crimes sank it for good. Maybe she hadn’t meant to, but so what?

  And she’d lost Milo the chance to read the last words his father had written.

  Zaffer had sat down beside Ellie. Now she took his hand, though Milo cynically guessed it was more for her sake than his. “He must have called Pearce to ask if it was true. My dad never meant this to happen, Zaffer. He’ll be sick when he hears, he’ll make it up to your family, I’ll tell him—”

  “Can he bring my dog back to life?”

  She dropped his hand and shrank into herself. Neither Milo nor Zaffer reassured her.

  A new noise, a weak, hoarse travesty of a sound he knew well, made Milo blink. Then point. “Look!”

  A bedraggled German shepherd was limping out of the alley. One ear bled crimson against the grayish dust that coated her. The blue and gold bandana around her neck hung in filthy shreds. She headed for Zaffer like a maimed homing pigeon.

  “Titan!” Zaffer fell to his knees. He ran his hands over the dog’s legs and coat checking for injury, talking the whole time. “She got out! She found me! Where’ve you been, girl? Did you bite the bastard, Titan, did you tear his throat out? Ha! You don’t need a jazzy satellite watch, do you, you’ve got a GPS in your head, you smart—”

  Something in Milo’s memory clicked. Jazzy satellite watch.

  Jazzy. Rhymed with snazzy, a word only his grandmother used. And one other person.

  The sidewalk melted away. In a heartbeat it was last March again, and he was sitting in a leather chair beside a big executive desk, reeling from the news that his father had been a thief. Across from him, Alf Farnon, trying to soften the blow. Saying he’d envied Tim Shoemaker. Having sons, all the outdoor stuff they did together. “I’d have liked a son I could buy snazzy satellite watches for…waterproof this, shockproof that….”

  Waterproof, shockproof flash drives. Satellite watches. Neither was common, they were exotic accessories—but Tim Shoemaker had come by one of each on the last day of his life. Milo supposed it was possible he’d shown the flash drive off to coworkers at the Christmas party. That Farnon had seen it there. But the “snazzy satellite watch” that did everything but bake bread? No one at Wolverine knew about that. Tim hadn’t bought it yet. Cabela’s had marked it down just that evening, according to Janine.

  The police had questioned Tim’s coworkers. But Alf Farnon never mentioned seeing Tim Shoemaker on the night he died. Not to the cops; not to Tim’s son, two and a half months later. How could he know about a satellite watch? A waterproof drive?

  Jenny’s drowsy voice piped up in his head. “Did Thief have a helper?”

  ***

  Chapter 20

  Zaffer was asking if crime labs could get fingerprints off a dog’s fur.

  “What? Oh. I doubt it,” Milo said. “Maybe they can get teeth marks off Pearce.”

  “Yeah!” On that pleasing thought Zaffer escorted Titan up the street to a hero’s welcome.

  Milo turned. Ellie was standing, too. Smiling with relief.

  Like i
t was all right now. The dog was alive, Zaffer was cool, the smoking shell of the family livelihood a minor inconvenience. Her little lapse all forgiven.

  “That’s amazing, isn’t it?” she was saying. “Thank God she’s all—”

  “Ellie.” Milo stuffed down his rage. He sat, and patted the bench beside him. Smiled. “We need your help.”

  She sat beside him. “Sure. What can I do?” Penitent, anxious to stay on the team. Good.

  “I know your dad didn’t dream Pearce would move so fast.”

  “Of course he didn’t, he’d never have—”

  “But that’s been the problem all along, hasn’t it?” Milo continued, gently. “That your dad’s been wrong about Pearce deserving a second chance. Pearce has been taking advantage of him.”

  She nodded, a little hesitantly. But buying it. It was why she’d hated Pearce from the start. “Milo, are you all right?”

  Milo unclenched his jaw. Now that he knew the truth, he saw that her indiscretion didn’t matter. Her father would have consulted Pearce at once even if Milo had managed to get to him before Ellie. Maybe Farnon already knew, from Pearce and the flip-flop, that his daughter and Milo were spying on his vice president of finance. Maybe—an icy fist gripped his heart—if Milo had actually managed to tell Alf Farnon his “news,” show off his proof, it might be the Shoemaker house in smoking ruins. With the family of those Shoemaker troublemakers inside.

  Was this why Farnon had taken Milo to see the railcars, and made him the college offer? That didn’t make sense. That had been before Pearce suspected anything. Milo shook his head to clear it, despising himself. Even now he was shying away from the fact that Farnon had somehow used him. Even now, when his hero turned out to be his father’s killer, his vanity could be wounded. Jesus.

  Ellie was waiting.

  “I’m a little annoyed with Mr. Pearce,” he admitted. “The problem is, now he knows we suspect him. If he thinks we can connect him to this—” he gestured up the street “—he might clear out completely. We need to keep an eye on him. Can you follow him, just for today? Without him seeing you?”

  “I—sure. But where will you be?”

  “Zaffer and I will get the police. If we tell them what we know about Pearce, they’ll have to bring him in. But it could take a while. They’ll need a warrant to search his house.” This would have been a good plan, once upon a time.

  She sprang to her feet. “I’ll go right now. He’ll be sleeping this off, I bet. There’s a guy on our street whose car I can borrow, he’s been dying to drive mine.”

  “Great idea.” Milo stood too. She gave him a shy, crooked smile. She had the Farnon charm. He hadn’t noticed the likeness between father and daughter until now.

  “Don’t tell your dad,” he said. She flinched. “Wait on that, okay? Till we give you the signal.”

  “Right.” She was balancing on one foot, hesitating. He wanted her gone.

  But she threw her arms around him. “I am so sorry about the store, Milo. And the jump drive. I never meant…tell Zaffer, will you?”

  He breathed her in, one deep clean-smelling draught, before removing her hold on his neck. “Better get going.”

  She stepped back. “I’ll call you when I have something to report.”

  He watched the red car pull smoothly away. Her driving had improved. Then he put her out of his mind.

  Up the street Zaffer’s little sisters were hanging over Titan, their mother telling them yes, of course, they could all take the dog to the vet.

  “Can you get away?” Milo asked Zaffer in a low voice. “It’s important. I’ll drive.”

  “Sure.” His dog’s return from the dead had restored the snap to Zaffer’s whole bearing. He tossed the keys to his truck to one of his brothers.

  “Where’d Ellie go?” he asked, as Milo propelled them toward his car.

  “To keep tabs on Pearce.”

  “Oh.” Zaffer slowed. “Is that safe? After this…and Fatso…”

  “That was a raccoon.” Milo felt Zaffer’s glance, and took the coldness out of his voice. “She’s Alf Farnon’s daughter. Pearce isn’t crazy. She’ll be fine.”

  “I hope so.” He didn’t sound sure. “Where are we going?”

  “Breakfast. We have to talk.”

  In the car, Milo told him. The satellite watch, the waterproof gear. How Farnon should not have known those things. “He’s the killer.”

  He glanced over. Zaffer had stopped sucking his bleeding knuckles and was staring at him.

  “Alf Farnon? I hear you about the watch and all—okay, that’s weird—but Farnon? I mean, Shoe. C’mon. Couldn’t Pearce have just told him whatever he and your dad talked about, later? Casually, like at some executive meeting or something?”

  “I doubt—” Milo stopped. Executive. Executive Committee. “Christ.” He pulled out his phone while Zaffer watched, mystified.

  In his ear, Leslie’s high, carrying voice said, “Hello?”

  “Hey, Leslie. It’s Milo.” It was 9:15 a.m. Not too early, even for Saturday. “Remember yesterday, when you told Ellie and me how you met with the tank salesman? The day of the Christmas party? Why didn’t Gordon Pearce meet with him?”

  “He wasn’t here, Milo, I told you,” she said plaintively. “None of the Executive Committee was here, except Mr. Farnon, and he wasn’t in yet. Mr. Pearce, Ed Boyle from Sales, Tom Merkel from Operations—they were all snowed in at that conference. The Denver airport was closed. They didn’t get back to Detroit until the next day.” Her voice sharpened with curiosity. “Why? Is something going on?”

  “No. Just getting it straight in my head. Thanks a ton, Leslie. See you next week.” He rang off before she could ask anything else.

  Zaffer had heard. “Pearce was in Denver.”

  Milo kept his eyes on the road. There was only one “fellow from work” Tim Shoemaker would agree to meet, so late in the evening, two days before Christmas. Only one person who’d have the nerve to ask.

  What kind of nerve does this guy have, Professor Keyes had wondered.

  “He lied to me, Zaffer. Farnon sat there in his cushy chair and he lied right to my face. He pretended—” Milo shook his head, ashamed of himself. Ashamed of Farnon. “He said what bothered him more than the money was that a friend would betray him.”

  On Milo’s first day of work he’d overheard Pearce say on the phone, “Owe him! I guess that’s one way to look at it.” Milo had thought Pearce was mocking Farnon’s generosity to the son of a dead employee. But it hadn’t been that. Pearce—even Gordon Pearce, who’d served time with some very bad people—had been surprised by such twisted logic.

  “Farnon was at the funeral,” Zaffer said.

  “Because Pearce wasn’t. They’re partners. That’s what we missed.”

  Once you allowed Farnon’s involvement, it fit together like a Rubik’s Cube. His father must have stumbled on Pearce’s embezzling. That’s why he’d bought those accounting books. Why he’d told Leslie he was taking grad school courses. Not to steal, but to document stealing. Had his father even suspected the Great Alf Farnon was involved? “I’ve been blind.”

  The Joy Train was up ahead. Milo pulled into the lot and parked on the side. Only a few pickup trucks were here this early; lunch was the big meal for Joy on Saturdays.

  “Me too, pal. Me too.” Zaffer shook his head. He popped open the glove compartment. “Hang on a second, I’m getting blood all over my shirt.”

  Milo got out. He stared at the road, but if a parade had been passing he wouldn’t have noticed. Blind wasn’t even the word. He’d been…comatose. In a fool’s paradise.

  “You need to replace your sand barriers, Shoe.”

  Milo looked over. Zaffer’s voice was distinctly odd. He’d come around the front of the car and in his hand was the Altoids tin, which Milo had neglected to retape. Or restock. “Had an emergency, did we?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Because if it was Ellie—and you haven’
t looked at another girl all year—I think we need some remedial dating lessons. Some tips on the care of girlfriends.”

  He was angry, Milo saw. What was this all about? “Not now. We’ve got more important things to worry about—”

  The punch caught him on the jaw. Zaffer followed it up by jumping him and then they were down on the ground rolling in the dirt. Milo had never been able to outwrestle Zaffer in ideal conditions, and he was no match for the fury that possessed his friend now. In a moment Zaffer was sitting on him. Bits of gravel dug into Milo’s back.

  “You sent her to watch Pearce,” Zaffer said. “The guy’s a maniac. You don’t deserve her, asshole.”

  Milo tried to heave him off, but couldn’t. “Her…father’s… the killer,” he got out.

  “So what? Are you a criminal because your dad stole money?”

  “He didn’t!”

  “You thought he did. You were ashamed of him.”

  “It’s not Man of the Year stuff, is it?” Milo coughed. “Get off me.”

  Zaffer bounced on him. “But then you met the Man of the Year. Somebody better than your real dad.” He bounced again. “Didn’t you?”

  “You suck. Get off me!”

  “Farnon was a winner, he had vision—he was everything your dad wasn’t. You thought that, now say it. SAY it.”

  Milo stopped trying to buck him off. Two elderly women had come out of the diner and were staring at them from the safety of the sidewalk, obviously wondering if they should do something. “All right! That’s what I thought.”

  “You wanted to nail Pearce and hand him over to your hero. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes!” Milo roared.

  Zaffer rolled off him.

  Milo sat up and rubbed his back. He waved at the old ladies. The small one winked at him as the taller one hustled her away.