by Kira Reese
“Are there any festivals going on this weekend around Sand Ridge or Schroeppel?” I asked.
She looked up in surprise and then retrieved the monthly magazine for the area. “There is a fall festival in Schroeppel. It begins Friday and runs through Sunday night. Are we going to a festival?”
“I think so. That town is where Randall Hunt lives, and we may see him again in the crowd. I’d like to visit the library over there where he does research, too.”
We had two days until the festival. I called Nick that night and told him I would be home Saturday night. We chatted a while and then hung up. There was no way I could imagine how much the festival had to offer other than arts and crafts and many food booths for our tasting pleasures.
Wednesday morning we sat on Sharon’s deck and watched fishermen on the lake. We wore jeans and I had on a long-sleeved flannel shirt. Sharon wore a bulky sweater and wrapped her hands around the hot cup of coffee. I asked her if it was too cold for her out there, but she said it wasn’t. She enjoyed sitting on the deck with coffee most mornings. I got up to refill our cups when her cell phone rang. I topped off our coffees and returned to the deck. She ended the call just as I arrived.
“That was Officer Checkers. He told me they have evidence that other thefts occurred at Goff and Sons before burials. He told me they had quite a racket going on.” Her eyes dimmed with unexpected tears. “How could anyone do something like that? It just tells me they had no respect for the people in their final care at all.”
I hugged her tightly. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sharon,” I said. “I am so sorry.”
I watched the sparkles on the water and compared the beautiful world before me to the ugly actions of those entrusted with bodies of loved ones. Something told me that John Goff had no idea jewels were stolen from bodies once he placed them in the caskets. Nothing proved he was innocent, but I felt he must have discovered what was happening and confronted whoever was doing it.
“Do you recall exactly when Randall left the Goff and Sons Mortuary?” I asked Sharon.
“I don’t know the exact date. I only know he left before John’s murder.”
“I’m wondering if John had even one close friend. Do you know if he did or not?”
Sharon sat still thinking. “He may have had a close friend or two, but I can’t think who they could have been. He always struck me as a loner. I don’t recall him and Vickie ever attending any community event together.” Sharon’s laugh was short. “I think the only socialization John had was at the chamber of commerce meetings and when dealing with bereaved families.”
“I think it’s time to see Janice Scholten again. I’ll call and make an appointment this time. Maybe if she knows she doesn’t have to give her time for free, she will open up more.” I thought a moment and then continued, “I think she has had time to think about our visit.”
***
The psychic’s voice had a lilt in it this time. I had the feeling she wanted to get some things off her chest. We set the time for ten-thirty. Sharon and I quickly showered and dressed. I drove and parked on the side of the street next to her house. The melodious doorbell tune chimed and the door opened right away. The bleached blonde wore the usual unnecessary makeup on her face. Her smile of welcome was genuine. We sat down in the small sitting room again.
“Did you know that Sean and Vickie were having an ongoing affair?” I asked.
She nodded. “I knew it. The thing about Sean was that he always came back home to me. That was the important thing.”
Really? “Since Vickie’s death, are you aware he is seeing someone new now?”
She laughed a little too harshly. “I’m not surprised. After all, he isn’t keeping that apartment in the city to use by himself. She must be the young blonde I keep picturing in my head.”
“We saw him sitting with someone of that description last night while at dinner at the West Pier Restaurant in Schroeppel. How well does he know Randall Hunt?”
“He knows Randall very well. The Hunts and the Scholtens were next-door neighbors when Sean’s family first moved to Sand Ridge years ago. Randall is the oldest brother of Sean’s childhood friend, William Hunt.”
“Sean, the blonde, and Randall all dined together last night,” I said.
Her eyebrows lifted. She closed her eyes and then said, “The blonde may have been Randall’s girlfriend.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?” I asked. “I understand he is married.”
“Yes, he is married. I’m trying to reach a state of denial. You are right in thinking it is someone Sean has taken up with. I feel sure of it. I doubt Randall would risk his reputation by being seen in public with a beautiful young woman over his wife. I understand they have a solid marriage.”
“Can you think of any reason they may have met last night?”
Janice stood and went to the kitchen. I heard water running, and a few minutes after she returned, the teakettle alerted us the water was hot. We suggested our tea preferences and when she returned, she set a silver-plated tray on the coffee table. Three cups of hot tea were poured, and she offered delicate wafers to us. Sharon took one and I declined with a thank you. The lemon verbena fragrance of the tea wafted to my nostrils, and though rarely did I drink hot tea, it was very soothing.
“Every once in a while Randall Hunt has asked Sean to appraise jewelry pieces here and there. Sean told me he does that when he wants to buy a piece for his wife on special occasions. I suppose he doesn’t want her to think he is too cheap by getting something of lesser quality.”
Forty minutes had passed. I felt I had more to go on than when we came in. I reached in my purse for a check made out to Janice, but the amount was not filled in yet. When I asked her what I owed her, she waved her hand and told me she doubted she gave me much help. I insisted and she finally determined her usual hourly charge. I wanted to keep things on a business level.
As we left, a young woman, who appeared to be in her twenties, rang the bell.
Chapter 10
Inheritors
“Did you get much from all of that?” asked Sharon.
We were back in the car, and I told her I thought Janice gave us plenty. “I found it interesting that Randall Hunt, mortician, kept in touch with a gem appraiser. I’m not saying he is the one who stole from dead bodies, but it makes one wonder if he had a part in it. Maybe John Goff found out what he was doing and that is what caused the big breakup between them.”
“But they separated in their business in-between my mother’s death and the murder of John,” said Sharon. She slapped her head. “He was there part time when my mother died. He could have been the one to see her last before the lid closed on her coffin.”
Sharon had something there. We rode in silence and I sorted out things that Janice Scholten had told me. There had to be a connection between Randall and her husband, Sean. Of course, the fact of appraising gems could be the connection missing. Something told me it may not be anything to do with Randall Hunt at all. I questioned myself as to why I leaned toward excusing the man.
“Tomorrow we will go to Schroeppel for the festival,” I said. “We can have a good time while I snoop around and find out what I can about Randall Hunt.”
The next morning proved a bright and sunny one. The light wind caused the need for jackets and we started for the nearby town. Music could be heard coming from the bandstand in a large gazebo. A crowd gathered to hear banjos playing bluegrass. Numerous craft booths lined the walkways and we browsed a few of them. My eyes scanned the area in hopes of seeing Randall Hunt and his wife. I knew it was a long shot since it was Friday and he was probably working.
I noticed the crafts booths switched to business ones. Representatives explained insurance plans and several advertised health organizations. In the middle of that row I spotted the Schroeppel Library booth. The display described children’s programs for the fall season. A stack of new-release books were set on one end of the long table. A man and woman were in ch
arge of the exhibits behind the table. One person was Randall Hunt. I made a quick decision.
“Mr. Hunt, I am Candace McCauley. Do you have a minute to talk with me? I won’t take up much of your time.”
He glanced at the woman next to him. “Go ahead, Randall,” she said. “I’ll take care of things here.”
Randall walked with me and Sharon to the edge of the lawn. A few people passed by, but we mostly had privacy.
“I want to know what caused the breakup between you and John Goff,” I said. He looked at me with a curious expression. “I am a private investigator and have the police blessing to ask around. I know you partnered with him at Goff and Sons.” I showed him my credentials.
Randall hesitated before he spoke. “We were business partners. John was not easy to be around. Don’t get me wrong. He was very professional in his work. It was with personal relationships where he failed. It became more difficult to work with him. We didn’t see eye to eye on things.”
“I can understand that from what I have heard about John. How well did you know Vickie?”
“I talked with her more after John’s murder than ever before. She spent time in his office trying to figure out what the business was all about. Catherine helped her sort things out, but she called me for more help.” His eyes rested on mine. “I did not know her well at all. John rarely asked her to come into his office to help out. He had Catherine and depended on her completely.”
None of us spoke for a few seconds. “Do you have any idea who could have killed John and Vickie?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It is a terrible thing. I have thought a lot about it all, but I have no idea who could have done something like that.”
The more I talked with him, the more I felt he was sincere. I asked him about the blonde woman we saw with him at the restaurant. He again shook his head and told me he knew we were there that night. The encounter was completely innocent. The blonde was someone Sean Scholten took up with.
“He asked Susan King to meet him there as well as me. He asked me to find a table and get seated because he was running late for dinner.”
“Why did you and Sean meet?”
“My wife’s birthday is tomorrow. I call on Sean to give me an honest appraisal before I purchase any jewelry for her. She has a weakness for fine jewelry. Once she decides on a piece she wants, I tell her to go and buy it. I saw both of you in Beverly’s shop the day we came in. My wife was exasperating me. We had been to every shop on the street before she found what she wanted.”
“What did she pick for herself?” I asked.
“It was an unusual necklace and earring set. Beverly told her it had just come in. It is an opal medallion set in the center of pearls. The earrings matched. I brought it to the restaurant for Sean to have a look at it. We went to his car where he keeps his tools of the trade. He assured me the set was top quality.” He chuckled. “My wife will be the death of me yet. Every time we think about getting away for a good vacation, the money goes for her jewelry.” I thought his choice of words interesting. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I enjoy seeing her enjoy her passion.”
He glanced toward his booth. “I’m sorry. I really need to get back.”
I thanked him, then we sauntered along the cobbled walkway and discussed Randall Hunt. I told Sharon I felt sure everything he told us was the truth. If Sean Scholten were involved then he must have had someone help him steal valuables in the morgue. Vickie Goff came to mind, but if John did not allow her in, how would she have had access to the bodies at the last minute?
The two files I took from Goff and Sons were in my locked briefcase in the car where I put them. I told Sharon it was time to take them back. I had made copies of her mother’s file and decided to let Tom Pemberton take his father’s case on his own. I felt sure he was looking into it all, but the paper file needed to go back where it belonged. I was happy that Catherine didn’t question the fact I walked out with either file.
When we walked in, Catherine was not in her usual spot. She came from John’s office when she heard us. Her eyes darted back and forth briefly and she asked if she could help us. I handed her the files and thanked her for her assistance. When she took them she looked at us.
“I want to ask you a question or two,” I said. “What will happen to the mortuary now that John and Vickie are both dead?”
“I will finish up the books here, and I suppose it will be sold. There is no family left to continue the business. Randall Hunt is occupied full time in Schroeppel.”
Never once did she meet my eyes. “When John was alive, who was with him just before the coffins were closed for the last time?”
Eyes swerved, fingers laced in and out. “I suppose John was the only one. He took care of that part once the coffin was ready to go into the hearse. Of course, the pallbearers carried it from the mortuary into the hearse. Why do you ask that?”
“I ask that because someone was stealing jewelry and other items from the coffins just before burial.”
She jerked her head and this time looked squarely at me. “That can’t be,” she said. “John was completely professional and honest in this business. He would never have done such a thing.”
“That means someone else had access to the coffins from the time John closed them and they were put into the hearse. Who could that have been?”
“My mother was supposed to be buried with a precious brooch,” said Sharon. “That did not happen.”
Catherine focused on Sharon. “I am very sorry to hear that. How do you know that happened?”
“I know it because I found it in a local antique jewelry shop. Someone stole it from her, sold it, and it ended up in the shop.”
Catherine spread her hands open. “I do not know how that happened. As far as I knew, John was the last person to see the bodies before closing their coffins.”
“Perhaps Vickie was with him at those times.” I made it a statement. “Maybe she and John were in it together. Maybe John stole and handed things over to his wife, who then sold them.”
The look on Catherine’s face was one of horror at the thought of what I said. “Vickie and John did not get along at all. I doubt very much they would have worked together on something so underhanded together. The marriage was a sham. Vickie carried on affairs, and John seemed not to care.”
“Then perhaps you played a part in it? Did you and John work together on stolen items?” I asked. “You seem to have access to everything that went on here.”
“I certainly did no such thing,” said Catherine. Her face flushed and indignation flooded her eyes. “I would never have participated in something like that. The families go through enough at the time of their loved ones’ deaths. That would have been reprehensible, and I would never have participated. I don’t believe John did that, either.”
While we talked, a young man in business attire came through the door. “Excuse me, this is the comptroller. He is here to go over the books.”
I thanked her again for her time.
“I have to find out where Beverly’s vendor gets his wares,” I told Sharon.
That was our next stop.
Chapter 11
The Meeting
Beverly gave me the name and contact number for her vendor. “He told me he is working with the police regarding the source of his products,” she said, “but I’m sure he will talk with you, as well.”
By the time we got to Sharon’s house, we were bushed. Sharon put a large pizza in the oven and I dialed Zach Phelps. When he answered I introduced myself and asked to meet him someplace to talk about the items he sold to Beverly. He agreed and asked if I could meet right away.
“I will be out of town for the next week, beginning tomorrow,” he said. “Can you meet me at the pavilion at the other end of the lake?” He told me he lived a few miles from Sand Ridge and was familiar with the spot he chose. I told him I would see him in half an hour.
I took a piece of pizza and ate a chunk of fresh vegetables and
mozzarella that melted over the side. “You don’t have to go with me, Sharon. It shouldn’t take long, and I know where he is talking about. You look bushed.”
Sharon laughed. “I have to admit this detective work wears me out. I’ll save the pizza for you.”
I drove to the designated spot. The sun had set and it was in-between day and evening. A few stars began to show up above me and I wrapped my arms around myself. The wool cardigan felt good. I sat on the bench under the pavilion and waited for Zach Phelps. A few birds called out and the waters lapped lazily against the bank. After fifteen minutes, I looked around the park to see if I may have been in the wrong spot. There was no sign of Zach Phelps. A man and woman walking headed for their parked car and got in. The early evening grew quiet, except for wildlife that emerged and called back and forth. I listened to their conversations and picked up on a few that sounded like they held a real tête-à-tête between them. I was so engrossed in their chatter that I failed to see the man who approached the table where I sat. He was tall and even in the near darkness I could tell he had a dark complexion. My first assessment was he was of Native American descent. He stood across from me and did not speak.
“Are you Zach?” I asked. He slowly shook his head. “Where is he?”
“Zach won’t be here. I’m here to warn you against going any further into your investigation of stolen goods from dead bodies. You will do well to heed my advice.”
His voice was throaty and he coughed a couple of times. The stale odor of cigarette smoke permeated the air between us. I veered thoughts away from my head that we were the only two in the park that I knew of.
“Why isn’t Zach here? He was the one who set the time and place,” I said.
The massive form leaned across the table. I heard the faint sound of wood creaking beneath his weight. He grabbed my wrist, and I felt the blood leaving my arm and hand. He opened his mouth to say something when a car approached. The cop slowed when he saw us. The large man threw my arm on the rough wood and disappeared into the wooded area beyond the lake. My legs felt like water when I stood up. The cop car stopped and the officer got out.