“Horseshoe Falls, where nature is nurtured and so are you,” she sang into the receiver.
“Bernie. It’s Mia. Where was that cab headed?”
“Let me see.” Papers rustled on her end. “Do you need an address or a name?”
“No. Neither. I mean, why is it here?”
The rustling ceased. “Oh, cabs take people to the airports.”
I pressed my palm hard against my temple. “I always see limos or car services doing that.”
“Most residents use those. Some just call Yellow Cab.”
I bounced in my seat a little. “Will I see you at the meeting?”
“Of course. I’m covering it for my blog.”
“Be careful.” I disconnected and hurried back to my desk, considering taxis with each pull of my feet. I could count the number of times on one hand that I’d taken a cab, excluding vacations. Cabs weren’t part of exurban Ohio life.
Assuming the killer didn’t live within jogging distance, which I’d already dismissed as a probability, he could’ve drowned Dante, exited the gate, called a cab and been home in half an hour. I just needed to know which cab had picked him up and where he went. Thanks to technology and business records, that should be a cinch.
I grabbed my trusty keyboard and opened a search engine. There were only a few cab companies in my county. If one of them had picked up a jogger dressed in black, near Horseshoe Falls, on Friday night between eight and nine, I was going to find him.
Chapter Fourteen
The big room was packed by eleven with standing room only inside the doors and a handful of residents positioned in the hallway.
I wiggled around the crush of bodies at the sweets table, silently rehearsing the main points of my presentation and trying not to knock anyone over with my laptop. “Excuse me. Hello. Pardon me.” I took the empty seat beside the podium and opened my laptop’s lid.
Marcella lifted the microphone. “Welcome. This meeting has two rules.” She lifted a finger into the air. “Only one person is permitted to speak at a time—” another finger went up “—and everyone is treated with respect. I know the squirrels are a sudden point of contention among you, but we’re here to find a path of peace, not start a war.” She turned to face me. “Mia.”
“Thanks.” Feedback from the mic screeched through the room. I adjusted my stance and plugged my laptop into the podium ports. The PowerPoint presentation I’d created while researching local cab companies appeared on the screen behind me.
I peered into the sea of unhappy faces. “Hello.”
They stared and grunted, as if to say, “Why is she standing there? Why isn’t she making me happy?”
“Hi.” I started again. This time, I pressed the button on my laptop and moved on to the slideshow. “I’m Mia Connors. I know many of you. For those I haven’t met, I’m the IT manager here. I’m the one who set up the community Wi-Fi.”
A deep rumble swept through the crowd.
I powered on. “As you’re aware, my attempt to improve life at Horseshoe Falls through technology failed briefly.” I dragged hair off my burning neck.
Marcella passed me a bottle of water. Condensation ran down the sides and over her fingers, as if she’d pulled it directly from an ice bucket.
“Thanks.” I cleared my throat repeatedly before cracking the lid and taking a few easy sips. I set the drink aside and rubbed wet palms on my skirt. “I recently installed a new Wi-Fi network throughout the community. It’s called a mesh network, and it sends signals from place to place until the whole area is covered in Wi-Fi. It worked beautifully until—”
“Squirrels.” A man in fatigues raised one fist in the air. Outdoor Sportsman was embroidered on his ball cap.
“I was going to say ‘the main network cable was damaged,’ but ‘squirrels’ might also be correct. The technicians at Ohio Wiring believe local wildlife had a hand in bringing down the network. They suggested that squirrels chewed through the cable, ending the signal and disabling the network before many of you had a chance to enjoy it.”
A woman in the front row stood with a jolt. She smoothed her skirt against the backs of her thighs. “What are you going to do about it?”
The crowd grew restless. It was the question of the week. The reason we’d come together carrying bad attitudes and picket signs.
I took another sip of water. It was harder to swallow this time.
Fifi stepped onto the stage. “It’s your community. What do you want?”
I recoiled. Wrong question. I stepped back, positioning Fifi in front of me in case a food fight broke out. “Bad idea,” I whispered. “You’re going to cause a riot.”
As expected, dozens of arguments broke out and rose to a crescendo.
“Hey!” I beat the mic against my palm until half the room covered their ears. “Hey!” I hollered into the device. “One at a time. Remember? Respect one another.” I lifted my hand. “Show of hands. Who wants the community Wi-Fi?”
They turned red faces on me.
“I should’ve polled you before I installed the new network. There are a number of things I would do differently if a TARDIS was available, but I have to move forward since I can’t time travel, yet.” The last word slipped out, but no one took notice. “Wi-Fi is important to me. I installed it as a surprise, expecting you to feel like me about it, and that was, in hindsight, an error, but like I said. I’m late on this exercise, but better now than never.” I stretched my arm higher. “Who wants the Wi-Fi?”
Fifi stepped forward, hand raised. “I want community Wi-Fi.”
Hands went up around the room. Almost everyone.
“Okay.” I inched my shoulders away from my ears. “Good. That’s great. I can give you that.”
A man near the refreshment table jumped to his feet. “I won’t allow it at the expense of my squirrels.”
I adjusted my glasses and gave him a hard look. His squirrels. “Mr. Peters?”
He lifted a bushy white eyebrow over round wire-rimmed glasses. “Yes. Have we met?”
“No, but your reputation for dedication to the local squirrel population precedes you.”
His neatly pressed black slacks and cream Mr. Rogers sweater were telling of his age and poor circulation. The fact he’d made a living at studying animal behavior said he’d likely been well respected in his field at one time or another. Surely, he would see reason, or at least be useful in ending the residential standoff.
I left-clicked the pad on my laptop for a new slide. “I’ve done some research, not as much as you, I’m certain, but I’ve taken the issue seriously and found a number of noninvasive measures for removing and/or discouraging squirrels.”
I pointed to the screen at my back and pushed play with my clicker. A little video came to life. A monkey like the one from Stephen King’s book cover banged its cymbals. “This is a child’s toy. There’s a sensor to make it move. I’ve ordered a box of these for the boathouse attic, where we believe the animals are nesting. According to my research, toys like these make good deterrents.”
A long pause followed the video.
“No!” Everyone was on their feet, outraged but united in agreement. “Those are terrifying! My grandchildren will never come to see me! Those toys will ruin our peace and quiet! You’ll scare the squirrels to death! No! No! No!”
A new idea sprang to mind. “What if we aren’t dealing with squirrels? A gamekeeper mentioned the possibility of raccoons. What if I install night vision cameras for a week to confirm it’s a squirrel problem before we go any further?”
Angry expressions turned to stink faces.
The woman from the coffee shop twisted on her seat. Her Black Squirrel Festival shirt looked like a target for haters. “Raccoons got into my attic once and it cost me nearly ten thousand dollars to repair the d
amage.”
I nodded. “Can we agree on positioning a few motion sensor cameras for a week?” I asked. “Strictly for the purpose of clarifying the problem. I’ll remove them immediately afterward.”
Mr. Peters lifted pale wrinkled fingers overhead.
“Yes?” I asked.
He shifted his gaze around the room and rolled his shoulders back. “You might not need to set up new cameras.”
My heart thudded. “What? Why not?” Better question: Why had he said new cameras? There weren’t any old ones.
He made a pinched face. “As you’ve heard, I’ve been tracking the squirrel population here for years. I know how the squirrels are related, who sired who and which family lines are longest.”
I left the mic on the podium and headed into the room. “You have cameras out there?”
A gasp rocked the big room.
He backpedaled as I drew closer. “I don’t always record. Mostly, I view live feed during the day or when I’m up at night.”
I stopped in the aisle at his side. That story was all bull. I knew scientists. Scientists didn’t do anything casually, especially not research. They obsessed. Peters had recorded footage. With any luck, he had footage from Friday night.
The crowd turned in Peters’s direction, and the questions began anew. “You have cameras out there? You’ve been taping us?”
He confirmed with one stiff jerk of his chin. “One camera in the willow.”
By the lake. I patted his shoulder and adjourned the meeting until further notice.
I’d put a hold on the discussion until we could find a way to remove the raccoons or incite a spontaneous relocation of the squirrels. I had my hopes set on raccoons, which no one seemed motivated to defend.
Most important, Peters assured me access to his recordings.
Back at my desk, I started making phone calls.
By five o’clock, I’d spoken with three local taxi companies and a half dozen cabbies. Shift managers provided the contact information of on-duty cabbies from the night Dante died. It took some coaxing and one moderate bribe to get what I needed. My life would’ve been a lot easier with a badge. Without call transcripts or service logs, I had to call every cabbie and leave messages. Now all I could do was wait and hope they returned my calls. In hindsight, I probably should’ve pretended to need a ride, then questioned them in person.
Next I contacted the joggers from Bernie’s email. All five answered their phones. None recalled anyone joining along last week. Three admitted to blasting music through earbuds and fantasizing they were somewhere else entirely. One recalled the meal she’d planned in great detail for three point one miles, knowing all the time she’d have her usual grilled salmon and greens. The final jogger was a new mom and local CEO. She confessed to crying for at least a third of her run.
I tossed my pen onto the desk and dropped my head back.
My phone’s alarm went off. Time to grab a Guinevere gown and meet Bree at Congress Lake before the Faire.
I fielded return cabbie calls all the way to the shower venue. No one had picked up a man fitting my description within six blocks of Horseshoe Falls that night. I pulled into the parking lot ten minutes late and crossed the callers off my list. There were only three cabbies left. I considered expanding my perimeter to ten blocks, but unless the killer was also an actual jogger, no one walked ten blocks on purpose. There weren’t even sidewalks.
Bree rapped on my driver’s side window and I screamed.
She jumped back and grabbed her bump.
I flung open the door. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you walk up.”
The bodice of her pink dress heaved in time with her rapid breathing. “Holy shit, Mia!” She smacked my arm. “Are you trying to start my labor?”
Yes. This was all about her. “Sorry,” I repeated. “You surprised me.”
“What were you doing? Why are you late?”
I gave my future niece or nephew a look before dragging my gaze to meet Bree’s. “We’re having trouble with the community Wi-Fi.”
She relaxed. “Oh, Grandma mentioned that. I’m sorry about the squirrels.”
“It’s okay.” I beeped Stella locked and followed Bree down a beautiful flagstone path through lush flora and around tiny ponds and stone benches. She cooed at every fountain and fish.
Grandma swung the door wide as we approached the regal-looking hall. “This place is fantastic. Maybe I don’t want to go to Vegas for my wedding.”
I grabbed the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you, too.” She raised a quilted bag between us. “I’m wedding planning. Do you know how many magazines and websites are dedicated to this nowadays? I thought the staff here might have some advice. Your parents agreed to man the booth.”
Bree breezed through the incredible space. Polished wide-planked floors were outlined by a wall of windows and capped in soaring wooden beams. A balcony at the rear of the room led to a wide staircase, perfect for a bride’s entrance, not so perfect for Bree’s new balance issues. “This is gorgeous.”
Grandma spread her binder on the nearest table and made notes. “I’m going to need a wedding planner.” She looked pointedly at me.
I did my best to look honored but unworthy. “Bree’s been through it. She’s got experience.”
Grandma wrenched upright and cocked a hip. “Weren’t you her planner?”
Dang it. “Maybe.”
“Besides, Bree will have a new baby soon, and she already has a toddler, grant and husband to contend with. What are you doing?”
I splayed my fingers on my face. Was that a serious question?
A man in a white chef’s coat appeared, pushing a wheeled silver cart. “Menu sampling and cake testing.” A woman and two men followed, each with their own cart.
Dinner!
I cleaned my tiny white plate several times before we finished the tasting. I’d need a muscleman to tighten my corset before fitting into my Guinevere gown. I walked the space, praying for speedy digestion and giving Bree room to interview the chef and manager.
My phone beeped with an incoming text from Nate. A diamond solitaire ring filled the screen. A line of text came next. What do you think?
I skittered back across the room for privacy and typed a stupid response. About what?
The phone dinged. About the ring.
What’s it for? I tapped the phone to my forehead. He and Fifi had only been dating six months. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t propose. It was too soon. Wasn’t it?
I checked his response with one eye closed.
I’m going to ask her to marry me. This is important. Will she like the ring?
Holy crap. Nate was ready for marriage, and I was lucky to see Jake without a crime scene between us. I blew out a slow breath and responded. Yep.
Nate and Fifi were getting married? If she said yes, but of course she would say yes. And Grandma. Two weddings.
Bree’s reflection drew nearer in the windows as I processed Nate’s intent. “Why are you pacing?”
I froze. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Something’s wrong. I can feel it. I know it. We’re twins, remember.” Bree thought we had a mystical connection. I thought she was nosy.
Grandma arrived next. “Is this about Dante? Do the Archers have any leads?”
“It’s not about Dante. I was texting with Nate.”
“What’s happening with Dante’s case?”
“I’m not sure. Jake asked me to keep my distance.”
Bree shot me a droll look. Grandma raised an eyebrow.
“I’m working on it from a distance.”
Grandma tipped her head over one shoulder. “Safely, I hope. I don’t want you getting into harm’s way for me. I shouldn’t
have asked. I got carried away in the shock of things. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m safe, and I don’t mind asking questions.”
Her apologetic expression turned curious. “Do you have any new leads?”
“Not really, though I could contact some of the people who’d sent angry emails.” None of them had seemed mad enough to kill, but who was I to judge?
“Have you made a list of people who stood to gain from his death?” Grandma asked.
“Not yet.”
Bree shifted foot to foot, stroking her belly. “Or a list of who would be hurt by his life?”
They exchanged looks.
I resolved to look into both. First, I had obligations to family.
I turned the phone over and sent a more enthusiastic and supportive text to Nate. Congratulations! She’ll love it.
I gave Bree an awkward side hug. “This place is perfect. Your shower will be legendary.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Absolutely.”
She laid her head against my shoulder, happiness radiating from her.
“Come here. Grandma.” I pulled her into our group hug and ignored my belly protesting all the sample foods.
This was my life. Encompassed by wedding plans and baby showers and a killer on my six. I needed a massive antacid.
Chapter Fifteen
I tapped my fingernails on the kitchen counter, regretting another hasty decision. Propelled by instinct, as usual, instead of caution, I’d made a risky move and emailed Josh Chan, Dante’s angriest client. I’d linked his office phone number to the texts from That Guy in Dante’s phone. After rereading every correspondence file I’d copied from Dante’s laptop, I’d decided Josh was the only one who seemed truly upset with Dante. The other senders were run-of-the-mill impatient, self-important CEO types. Their snippety and demanding dispositions came with the titles. Their hostility wasn’t directed at Dante.
Josh Chan, on the other hand, was a headhunter turned entrepreneur who’d recently signed a contract with the Shop At Home Network for over three million dollars, and he was ticked. It didn’t make sense. I wanted to know why, so I asked if we could meet.
A Geek Girl's Guide to Justice (The Geek Girl Mysteries) Page 16