Death By Derby 8 (Josiah Reynolds Mysteries)

by Abigail Keam

  “So what happened?” asked Franklin before biting into his sandwich.

  “We didn’t hear from Asa all summer. I was worried sick. Then we got a call from her that she was in college and to send tuition money, which we did. After that, contact was sporadic. She never came home for the summers, although she would send her transcripts. Asa’s marks were very high, so she wasn’t fooling around at school, but then other cracks started to appear.”

  Franklin leaned forward. “Yes?”

  “You are so ghoulish, delighting in my ruin. Really, Franklin, have you no compassion?”

  “Compassion is overrated. Get on with the story.”

  “I was next in line for the job of Dean over the Art Department when he retired. One afternoon he called me into his office, and said that due to extenuating circumstances, the job was going to be offered to another colleague.

  “You can imagine I was stunned. After all, I had all the credentials and seniority in the department to be in line for his job.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I had no idea why and the Dean wouldn’t enlighten me. I went back to my office, had a good cry, and then went about my duties. I wasn’t the first person to be passed over for a job, and I wouldn’t be the last, but it really bothered me.” I sat in silence, looking out the window, remembering.

  “And?”

  “I started hearing whispering and giggling in the hallways for weeks, and more than once I distinctly heard Brannon’s name. I began to put the pieces together. Since Asa’s abrupt departure, Brannon seemed discontented and was often absent from home for long periods of time.”

  “Did you ask him about it?”

  “At first. But he would get very angry, and we would end up in a huge fight.”

  “No defense like a good offense.”

  “Precisely, but I got sidelined. By that time, Asa had graduated and was working for the Secret Service. I got a call from her one night that she was going to blow the whistle to the Washington Post about some serious irregularities within her department.”

  “This is where I have some common knowledge.”

  “So does everyone. But it wasn’t supposed to be like that. Her identity was supposed to be kept a secret, but someone leaked Asa’s name as the informer.”

  “That’s how I knew who Asa was. Her face was splashed everywhere and she even made the cover of People.”

  I continued, “Asa uncovered corruption within the Secret Service. She discovered that agents were having prostitutes in their hotel rooms and doing blow when they were on duty protecting important political figures. People’s safety was seriously compromised.”

  “Why didn’t Asa go to the Director?”

  “She did and was told to keep her mouth shut. That’s when she decided to go to the press.”

  “And then the word got out who had spilled the beans.”

  I nodded. “After that, Asa was subpoenaed to testify before several televised Congressional Committee hearings. Based on her testimony, her boss and several agents were fired. The entire agency was turned upside down.”

  Frank picked up the story. “Asa becomes an overnight sensation during the hearings due to her looks and testimony. The media really played her up as some sort of savior for the agency. Then drugs were found in Asa’s car. If I remember correctly, the police said someone called in a tip.”

  I nodded. “Yes, and due to the amount of drugs found, she was charged with a felony. That’s when all hell broke loose. Someone was out to discredit Asa and ruin her life.”

  Franklin had finished his sandwich and leaned back in his chair. “You think her husband planted those drugs in her car?”

  I spat out the words, “Asa had only been married to Minor for less than a year. Minor was a company man all the way and did not agree with Asa blowing the whistle.

  “As soon as Asa was arrested, he deserted her. She did not see him again until he testified against her at the trial.”

  “I remember watching it.”

  “Yeah, wasn’t that great. Since Asa now had a huge profile with the public, the judge let the trial be televised. What a kangaroo court.”

  “But the beautiful Asa does not get convicted.”

  “Only because her fingerprints were not on the drugs. They were so stupid they didn’t even think of that.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The people she told on, the buddies of the fired guys, anyone with a grudge against women working in that field. Take your pick.”

  “I know what happened after that,” interrupted Franklin.

  “You mortgage the Butterfly up to the hilt to pay for Asa’s legal fees, you quit your job due to all the snickering and politics at work, start raising honeybees. Brannon keeps it a secret that he sold his share of his business and hides the money only to leave you for a woman young enough to be his daughter. Asa recoups and starts her own security firm while you refuse to divorce Brannon if he doesn’t cough up some dough. Meanwhile, you meet Matt, ergo me. Then Brannon has the bad taste to die of a heart attack, leaving you with no idea where all the money is, but you suspect the child mistress does. Last but not least, Richard Pidgeon dies in one of your hives, which causes an old grudge to surface in the form of the one and only Fred O’nan, who shoots Baby, me, and then eventually Matt in that order, and throws you over a cliff. Does that sum it up?”

  “Pretty much. What a soap opera,” I concurred.

  “All we need is some beer to cry into.”

  I laughed. “I don’t mean to be dramatic, but the last five years have been a bitch, to say the least.”

  Franklin laughed too. “At least you can say it hasn’t been boring.” He lifted his glass in salute. “But lady, you are still here to tell the tale,” boasted Franklin, tapping the table, “and so am I.”

  I clicked my glass with his. “To bitches everywhere, long may we reign!”

  27

  “I have recounted my tale of woe,” I reminded him. “Now give up what you know.”

  “The entire thing was a set-up.”

  “What do you mean, Franklin?”

  “I went back into the office and pumped one of the security guards. Always talk to the people low on the totem pole. The big shots will hide things to cover their fannies, but the poorly paid will always cough up the truth, especially when they see a Ulysses S. Grant.”

  “What did he say?”

  “She said that Charlie came with a new crew to help him get his balloon in position.”

  “So she had never seen them before?”

  “Correctamundo! And she said the gondola had been modified.”

  “In what way?”

  “There were tubes on the underside of the gondola and Charlie was very anxious about them.”

  “Anxious how?”

  “He was yelling at the new crew not to damage them.”

  “Did she know what they were?”

  “She thought they looked like some sort of a propellant.”

  “Did anyone in the office know of the flight plan?”

  “According to the lovely lady in the hideous security uniform, the balloon was to head north toward the river. It was never to approach Churchill Downs,” reported Franklin.

  I thought for a moment. “None of this makes any sense. I don’t understand it at all.”

  Franklin looked smug. “I think I do.”

  “Okay, give.”

  “Everything was a ruse. Charlie needed to get his experienced crew out of the way, so he sent them on a wild goose chase to the west side of town on the pretext of getting his new balloon ready for a flight.”

  “But Charlie never intended for that balloon to fly that day,” I added.

  “That’s correct.”

  “That’s one piece of the puzzle. What’s the rest?” I asked.

  “I think it’s safe to say that Charlie had his usual balloon modified. He never intended to fly north. That was another lie. I think his real intention was to fly the
balloon to Churchill Downs all along.”

  “But why?”

  “To have it explode.”

  “Why not have it explode over the Ohio River?”

  “Because there were certain people at Churchill Downs that needed to witness the balloon explode firsthand.”

  I must have looked confused as Franklin moved our plates aside and positioned the salt and pepper shakers. “The pepper shaker is the red herring.”

  “The new balloon?”

  “Yes, it was made to keep his real crew away from the modified balloon.” He held up the salt shaker. “This is the modified balloon. Charlie lied about his flight plan because he didn’t want to be tracked. He brings a new crew and takes off.”

  “Then what?”

  “Somewhere along the line, Charlie gets out of the balloon. Remember all that green space between Bowman Field and the expressway? Somewhere in there his new crew helps him out of the basket and whisks him away.”

  “How does he get out of the gondola?”

  “If he lowers the balloon enough, he can climb down the rope to the ground or the top of a building, just like we surmised. Or maybe they installed an air cushion like stuntmen use when they fall off buildings. Charlie lowers the balloon enough to jump out. The air cushion catches him and off he goes. The crew let the air out and poof, it’s gone in a truck.

  “The new crew follows with a car in which Charlie makes his getaway. Then the balloon is made to go toward Churchill Downs by remote control.”

  “What causes the explosion?”

  “A planted pipe bomb that goes off by remote.”

  “Still, Franklin, why would Charlie do such a thing when he had a horse running in the Kentucky Derby? Most people would give their eye teeth to be in his position.”

  “I don’t know the why, but Charlie needed to stage his death and he did so very cleverly. My guess is to follow the money. Gambling debts? Wanted to leave his wife? Something was not on the up and up with Persian Blue perhaps? Get your new stud muffin to do some snooping for you.”

  I frowned. “I don’t know if I’ll continue seeing Goetz.”

  Franklin feigned astonishment. “Trouble in paradise? I like to know that I’m not the only one without a prom date this spring.”

  I pursed my lips.

  “What? No catchy reply. What did Mr. No Nonsense do?” Franklin batted his eyes.

  “I caught him in a lie.”

  Franklin reared back in his chair. “Is that all? You lie all the time.”

  “I most certainly do not,” I argued. After thinking for a moment, I retracted my statement. “If I do lie, it’s because I either don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings or I’m in pursuit of information. Sometimes you have to fudge a little here and there to find out the greater truth.”

  “Is that how you justify it?”

  “We are talking about Charlie, not me.”

  “No. You started talking about Detective Goetz, whom you are thinking of shelving for telling a fib.”

  “This was something more serious. Deception on a grand scale. I caught him having a secret rendezvous with Minor.”

  Franklin’s eyes widened. “Really? That does go from modest fibbing to fetching the knife out of the drawer to stab you in the back.”

  “That’s a reassuring thing to say.”

  Franklin grabbed the tab and reached for his wallet.

  “I thought I was to get this,” I said.

  “Thought I’d pay for your last meal.”

  “Very cute.” Quick with the witty repartees, aren’t I?

  “You’re seeing a man who was partner to a cop that tried to kill you several times and now you find out that he is having a secret tryst with Asa’s evil husband at his apartment. I would say that you are playing with fire there.”

  Franklin threw some bills on the table and waved to the waitress. “And knowing you, this will be handled like a bull in a china shop.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Pack my bags and leave town.”

  “I can’t do that with Asa involved somehow. I feel that Minor is trying to drag her into a new mess.”

  “Pack her bag as well and leave town together.”

  “What are you going to do, Franklin?”

  “I am taking my own advice–leaving town.”

  “Coward,” I accused.

  “Just follow the money. This is not about sex or power. It’s about the green stuff that makes the world go round.”

  “Why money?”

  “Remember what the guy looks like? No woman would go gaga over him unless she was blind and stupid. As for power, he’s a two-bit developer with grand notions. If he wanted to puff himself up a bit here and there, no one cared because no one really took Charlie seriously.

  “Whatever went down with Charlie Hoskins went down because of that horse. I’ll bet you a hundred to one.”

  “Where shall I send your winnings?” I asked.

  “To California. I’m going to see Matt. At least in California, the nuts are friendly.”

  I really couldn’t blame him. The temptation to leave town was overwhelming.

  Maybe I could talk Asa into joining me in Europe. I was just tired of all the drama.

  A few days at the British Museum would set me straight.

  28

  “Is something wrong with your meal?” asked Goetz.

  “No, it’s fine,” I replied.

  “You’re just picking at it.”

  “I guess I’m not very hungry.”

  “When have you ever turned down a free meal?”

  I made a face. “I think I’ve cooked a lot of free meals for you.”

  Goetz put down his fork. “Geez, don’t be so touchy. I was just kidding.” He leaned back in his chair and scrutinized me. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Look, I’m eating.” I took a bite of my lobster salad.

  “You seem off tonight. Everything okay? You’re not out of money again, are you?”

  “I harvested Locust honey this week and the Butterfly is raking in money from the receptions that Eunice is booking. Frankly, I’d be on welfare if it wasn’t for that woman taking over my finances.”

  “That’s an odd thing to say. When have you ever given up control of anything in your life?”

  “Maybe I’m tired of being what I’m not. I used to think I was hot stuff, one of the go-getters in this town, but I’m just a broken-down old has-been.”

  “Oh, Lordy, let’s get out the violins. What happened to make you throw in the towel?”

  I shrugged.

  “I have never seen you so down and out.”

  “Maybe something happened to make me lose my faith in my fellow man. Maybe someone close to me is a deceiver.”

  “I told you Franklin would stab you in the back sooner or later. I never liked that guy.”

  “You don’t like Franklin because he’s gay. He threatens you, but he’s not the one.”

  “Why are you looking at me?”

  “Really? You want to play this game?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” answered Goetz, raising his voice a little.

  “What was Minor Reasor doing in your apartment?”

  Goetz looked at me, stunned.

  “Well?”

  “Holy crap! You were listening at the door. I should have known–a busybody like you.” Goetz waved at the waitress and threw a large bill down on the table. “We’re done here,” he said as he grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the restaurant.

  “You’re hurting me!” I complained.

  “Shut up, Josiah. For once in your life, take some advice and keep your trap shut.”

  “I can’t walk this fast. You’re hurting my bad leg.”

  “I’m gonna wring your neck if you don’t get in the car.”

  I glanced at Goetz’ face as he tugged me along. It was angry. Really angry.

  I felt fear. The same kind of fear I’d felt with Fred O’nan.

/>   Was Goetz going to hurt me?

  I started pulling away when Goetz swept me up with one arm and unlocked the car door with the other. I couldn’t get away. His arm was like iron.

  He pushed me into the car. “Now sit there and be quiet.”

  While he went around to the other side of the car, I fumbled for my purse in the back seat and searched for my stun gun.

  When Goetz got in the car, I brandished my stun gun and said, “Don’t you touch me again. I’m getting a cab home.”

  Goetz grabbed my wrist and simply took the stun gun out of my hand. He threw it in the back seat. “Buckle up,” was all he said.

  He drove out of the parking lot and onto the main artery, not stopping until we arrived at Goetz’ favorite burger joint.

  Goetz pulled up to the outdoor speaker and lowered his window. “Hi. We’ll have six cheeseburgers, two large fries, and a sweet tea.” He looked at me. “Do you want a frosty malt?”

  I nodded.

  “And a frosty malt. Make sure there’s lots of ketchup. Thanks.”

  He drove to the pay window and collected our food. From there we drove to a park where we ate in silence for the most part.

  While sucking on my frosty malt, I remarked, “Well, it looks like you’re not going to kill me, so what’s the plan?”

  “What I’m going to tell you is all confidential–strictly off the record. No blabbing to Asa or Shaneika.”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  “Then I’m not going to tell you a thing.”

  “I promise.”

  “Promise what? Sometimes dealing with you is like dealing with a kid.”

  “I promise not to tell anyone what you are about to tell me in confidence–cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Satisfied, Goetz settled back in his seat. “Minor and I go way back. I was an informer for the ATF and I reported to him.”

  “Did your boss know about you?”

  “No, that’s the point of being an informer–no one outside the loop knows.”

  “What would you tell Minor?”

  “All law enforcement agencies are territorial. They don’t like to share information. I would tell Minor about things I heard.”