by David Bishop
Linda held the plate of crackers and spread out to her. “No,” Hildy said. “Unfortunately, I can no longer eat these things. If you don’t mind, I’ll just watch you eat them. As for me, I eat an uninteresting diet supplemented by these damnable pills.” Her stiff wrist turned enough to allow her index finger to motion toward the side table. More precisely, toward a group of medicine bottles sitting next to a glass of water on the table next to her rocker.
“Are you okay? I mean, are you fighting anything serious?”
“Define serious.” She snorted, her mind as sharp as ever. “I take the one nearest you for arthritis, another for my eyes, a third for high-blood pressure, and, of course, one for cholesterol. Oh, and a multi-vitamin. And that one on the far end, I can never remember how to pronounce the damn thing. It helps me sleep. I call it Mel Torme. It’s a supplement too. I use it instead of a prescription sleeping pill.”
Linda glanced at the label: “Melatonin.”
“That’s it. For the life of me my mind won’t keep track of that name. It starts with Mel and, in our last years together, my husband and I used to listen to the singer, Mel Torme, to help us fall asleep. Somehow my head makes that association and when I think of that pill, Mel Torme is all that will come to mind.
Linda smiled. It was a sweet and romantic memory. It made Mrs. Caruthers seem more human, less a giant. More like someone named Hildy. More like someone Linda would be satisfied being like when she got to Hildy’s age.
“These are wonderful. I love pimento spread and frankly I haven’t had it for years. . . . Hildy, why did you want to see me?”
“You don’t believe just for old-time sake?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. You spoke of wanting to gather some more data before we met. What kind of data?”
“You asked the attorney, Mr. Austin, to look into who owns the house where Billy Cranston runs his gambling den and that other address where he . . . employs his harlots, right?”
Linda’s facial expression must have shown the shock of her learning attorney Austin had betrayed her confidence.
“Denton Austin did not violate his fiduciary duty to you, my dear. My window faces the door to Denton’s building. He was one of my students as well. He graduated even before Billy Cranston. I saw you go in the other day. Another former student who works in the office where they keep the property records told me Denton’s secretary had stopped in to peruse the records that spanned the properties in which those two nefarious businesses operate. A little Holmesian logic let me conclude you may have asked him to check. You probably haven’t heard from him yet.”
“I have an appointment with him Monday, late afternoon.”
“Let me save you some time. I did the same research myself, months ago. I’ve tweaked my grapevine to keep me informed of any inquiries regarding either of those properties. That’s why I learned of your asking about it.”
Linda picked up another cracker and spread on more pimento cheese, then looked at Hildy.
“Both properties,” Hildy said, “are owned by a corporation. I checked the Kansas Corporations Commissioner’s office to learn that corporation had been set up by Billy Cranston’s law firm in Kansas City. The owner of that corporation was in the public record. The owning corporation has but one shareholder, your schoolroom best friend, Vera Cunningham.”
“No. No,” Linda protested. “I doubt Vera could afford to buy those two homes. And, in any event, Vera would never rent to Billy.”
“I checked,” Mrs. Caruthers said, “Vera has taken out no mortgage on her home and shop. Even if she had, I agree it would not raise enough to buy even one of those houses, let alone both of them. She bought both houses with 100% cash. There are no mortgages in the public records for either property. There’s also this, Vera’s tax returns for the years in which each of those properties were bought showed substantial gambling winnings, enough to provide the funds to buy those properties, plus enough to cover the tax impact of all that with a healthy amount left over. Her returns for the years prior and after show no gambling winnings. There appears to be no other explanation for how Vera could raise that amount of cash other than through Billy Cranston. This is, admittedly, conjecture, but the logic is further supported by the fact that Billy Cranston runs the illegal businesses that operate in those two properties.”
“So, you believe Vera owns these properties and rents them to Billy or one of his front organizations?”
Hildy nodded. “Financial need drives many decisions in life, my dear. Vera’s shop allows her to only scrape by. This arrangement with Billy Cranston allows her to travel a little and plan for her retirement.”
Linda said, “Vera told me she has a small additional business that only takes a few hours a couple evenings a week. So, she primarily depends on Vera’s Threads.”
“Her little phone business has nothing to do with her arrangement with Billy. Other than he leaves her alone to run it without interference or objection.”
I wonder how many more citizens of Cranston know about Vera’s telephonic oasis for lonely men.
“Well,” Linda said, “back to the matter of these two houses. You sound certain about this rental setup with Billy.”
“Fact: Vera is the only shareholder of the corporation that owns those two properties. Fact: Billy Cranston is widely known to be the “off the books” owner of the two businesses. But yes, conjecture is the glue that secures the connection. I expect that the paper trail back to Billy would be very difficult to follow except by a district attorney after bringing an indictment against Billy and using the subpoena power to obtain books and records. These legal steps can never happen as long as Billy has the local judge in his pocket. I’m guessing Billy has a front man who shows up as the lessee on those houses. Then again, even the existence of leases is conjecture as leases are not routinely recorded in the public record as deeds are. If such leases do exist, Vera and Billy may have the only copies, other than Billy’s lawyer. This could mean there are no leases or other formal documented arrangements.”
“I still can’t believe it.” Linda took a long drink of cherry coke. “Not Vera.” She shook her head. “Not for Billy.”
“People often grow up to be quite different than they were as children.”
Linda kept shaking her head. “Not Vera. Not this.”
“I know you’re very fond of Vera. As a child she was a bit of a wild thing with the boys, but, other than that, I didn’t see any great weakness in her character. Frankly, I like her. Let’s wait to see what your attorney reports to you on Monday. He is, I admit, better at this kind of research than yours truly.”
“There must be another explanation. I can’t believe that Vera . . .” Linda let her words die unfinished.
“Don’t trouble yourself further, my dear. Come by after your appointment with Mr. Austin. I’ll be here waiting.”
“May I ask why you’re tackling this matter? You don’t need the grief.”
“You’re right, my dear, I don’t. Still, I’ve been sitting around observing since I retired, since Mr. Caruthers died, waiting for this town to somehow wrestle itself free of Billy Cranston and his hooligans. I’m tired of waiting and can think of nothing more worthwhile to focus on in whatever remaining time the good Lord will allow me. I hope to live long enough see his foot off the neck of our people.”
“Is there anything else, Hildy?”
“I’ve finagled a contact in the U.S. Marshal’s Office to see if they have anyone in their Witness Protection Program secreted in Cranston, Kansas. Not who, just if they do.”
“And?”
“One reply. It came yesterday. The Marshal’s office has no witnesses squirreled away in our community.”
“You’re speaking of the federal witness protection program that gives new identities to people who agree to later testify against crooks.”
“That’s the one.”
“What made you think such people could be living on the sly in Cranston?”
; “Let’s save that for our next meeting, Linda. I’m a bit tired, and I hope to be able to better discuss that possibility in a few more days.”
Linda decided not to push her now. However, what Hildy said about the U.S. Marshal’s Office followed right along with what Dix had told her at his home. Linda was certain Hildy had gotten to see Vera’s tax returns through Dix. Hildy just didn’t have knowledge that Dix had confided in her. She would discuss this with Dix and the three of them would talk together later.
“Thanks for contacting me, Hildy. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave Cranston without seeing you.”
“I understand you’re Carol Benson and, for the time being, I will respect your charade on that.”
Chapter Twenty-one
My work is what I do. Not who I am
SUNDAY EVENING
Linda rang Dixon’s front door bell just as the evening sun ducked behind the detached garage at the back of his property. After about a minute he opened the door.
“Lin . . . Carol. It’s great to see you. Why are you here?”
“I need to confide in you and hope you’ll do the same with me.”
Dix pushed open his screen door. “I just scooped out some chicken salad, will you join me?”
Linda nodded. “That would be nice. I have no plans for dinner, but I’m hungry. Do you have enough?”
“I usually make a batch big enough to last for days. I nibble on it now and again.”
Five minutes later they each carried a bowl of chicken salad and a beer to the table on his deck out back.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I think it’s time we see what kind of hand we have when we combine our cards.”
He nodded. “Let’s do it.”
“I met with Hildy Caruthers earlier. I’m guessing you know about that.” He nodded, but didn’t say anything. “I assume she’s one of those you referred to last evening as willing to help.”
He nodded again, then said, “Having Hildy’s help is a big deal,” Dix said. “She knows everybody around here and is the closest thing to a saint living in Cranston. She even meets with Billy about once a month.”
“Really. Why would they be meeting?”
“Billy uses Hildy as a gauge of the temperament of the town. In return, Hildy uses those meetings to push Billy to back off on one thing or another. She was his teacher, you know, and remains the only person in town, to my knowledge, Billy listens to at all. Sometimes, she can intercede on behalf of some member of the community who gets tangled up in something Billy is doing or proposing to do. It keeps her current.”
“Hildy says my friend Vera Cunningham owns the houses where Billy runs his gambling and whoring operations. Do you know about that?”
“I do and Hildy has that right. I don’t think Vera has any involvement beyond being the front to own the property in return for some cash flow. Her corporate tax returns show rental income, and deductions for property taxes, not much else. The rent seems low and with depreciation expense claimed on the two structures, she shows a loss and owes no tax. My guess is Billy gives her additional cash. Despite your history with Vera, it wouldn’t be a good idea to confide in her about any of this. She has skin in the game, so she may feel a need to pass our interest on to Billy.”
“Regrettably, I agree. I came back to Cranston thinking Vera would be the only person in town in whom I could confide. I don’t like putting her in the column of people with whom I can’t.”
“Obviously, Vera hasn’t told Billy who you are. That speaks in her favor. Still, if she learns of anything that might threaten her income from those two properties, she may feel compelled to tell him everything she knows.”
“If Billy ever finds out who I am, he’ll know Vera knew and didn’t tell him. That won’t be good for Vera. She has kept my identity to herself, so I still consider her a friend.”
Dix nodded with raised eyebrows. “It’s a mixed bag, I admit.”
Linda sat still for a minute or so. “This chicken salad’s great. Thanks for sharing it. I’ve never had it with grapes in it.”
“I put seedless black or red grapes in to help keep it moist without having to overdo the mayonnaise.”
“It’s very good.”
They both sipped their beers before Dix said, “You need to ask Hildy about Billy and Vera –about their relationship.”
Linda didn’t know exactly what Dix meant. She chose not to ask. She would do as Dix suggested and ask Hildy. Either that or she’d confront Vera who’d freely spoken of her bad feelings toward Billy.
Linda left Dix’s at ten. She would see Hildy tomorrow after leaving attorney Austin’s office. Dix said he knew about that meeting and he’d be there. They hugged. More than that seemed too heavy for what was weighing on them.
* * *
MONDAY
When Sheriff Blackstone walked into his office, the officer on desk duty told him that Creswell had called and requested that the sheriff call him back immediately.
“It can wait. Even the sheriff gets a day off now and again. I’m going fishing.”
“He sounded frazzled, Sheriff. Something’s up. He wouldn’t tell me. I think you’d best call him before wetting your line.”
Blackstone huffed, went back to his office, closed the door, and picked up his phone. Five minutes later he opened door and rushed out, telling his desk officer to call Billy Cranston.
“Tell Mr. Cranston I’m on my way to pick him up. Say its code one. He’ll know what that means.
* * *
By noon, Sheriff Blackstone and Billy Cranston were sitting across from Carson Creswell in his office at the casino.
“What the hell do you mean my money was stolen?”
“Just what I said, Mr. Cranston. And thank you for coming here. This way I can show you where he stood, all that kind of stuff. The guy cleaned out the safe, the house money to cover wagers and my current, ah, stipend to you for being able to hide in your town.”
“And you don’t know who did it?”
“Just what I said to the sheriff on the phone.”
“Repeat it to me.”
“He was waiting in my office. The last of the staff had left. He’d already opened the safe. How, I don’t know. He took it all. He knocked me out and tied me up. I couldn’t get free. My staff untied me this morning. I called Reggie. Here you are. That’s all of it in a nutshell.”
“And you got no idea who?”
“I didn’t know the voice and never saw his face. He was bigger than the average guy, but not mammoth. He was amazingly cool. Not rushed. He’s trouble, Mr. Cranston, and my read on it says his crosshairs are on you.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The sky was an orange creamsicle, sullied by the morning gray smeared across the horizon.
MONDAY, SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER
Linda’s cell phone rang at five o’clock. The ambient light confirmed it was morning. The caller ID showed not available. She picked up and said, “Carol Benson,” in the clearest sleep-speak she could muster having just woken.
“It’s Dix. I need you. My place. It’s safe, but come now, please.”
His voice struggled to start some words while leaving the last syllable off others. Linda knew he was hurt. “I’ll have my cell phone with me. Should I call for an ambulance?”
“No.” He said it emphatically and immediately moaned. “But I need help. Drive normally. Don’t bring attention to yourself.”
“I’ll leave right away.”
“My door’s unlocked. Let yourself in.”
Linda hung up, rushed into some clothes in less than three minutes, brushed her teeth, and rushed a different brush through her hair. Within ten minutes of his call she was pulling out of the hotel parking lot. It took another five or six to get to his place. There was no traffic, but, as Dix had cautioned, she kept her foot light on the accelerator and made all the appropriate stops.
Her heart raced. But she kept a firm hold on her mood to keep it short of panic.
How badly is Dix hurt? Should I call an ambulance even though he said not to?
She parked half way up his side driveway in the blossoming shadows next to the house. The sky was an orange creamsicle, sullied by the morning gray smeared across the horizon. She dashed through the front door to find Dix lying on the couch. He saw her and tried to get up. She wasn’t sure if he could, his head flaccid on a throw pillow. She put her hand on his chest. He moaned. She crouched next to him. Questions would have to wait while she assessed his condition.
His face was bloody. His lips split. One eye open, the other swollen closed. That part was immediately obvious. At least she hoped that swelling was the only problem with the one eye. Two of his fingers were twisted enough to make it obvious they had been broken. She got a bowl, some warm water, and a washcloth. After bathing his face several times, the bloody look was replaced by the appearance of raw unformed hamburger. One cut wouldn’t stop bleeding, requiring pressure to stem the flow. It extended about an inch beyond the corner of his lips, as if his lower lip had been pulled down to the point where it tore.
She pulled the floor lamp closer and clicked the setting up to the highest on the three-way bulb. Her fingers gently eased open his swollen shut eye.
“Close your other eye.”
He did. Linda held his puffy cheek and swollen eyelid out of the way. He said, “I can see you.”
With the emergency somewhat addressed, it was time to ask, “When did this happen? Who did it?”
“A few hours after you left last night, there were three men. They wore masks. I knew their voices. Well, the two who did the talking. The third I wasn’t sure about.”