by Gail Oust
The nameplate on the counter read: HAZEL BLESSING. “Hey,” I said, donning a smile I hoped would erase the frown from the woman’s face. “You must be related to Precious. I’m her friend Piper.”
Her expression cleared as she rose from her desk to greet me. She was slender, half the size of Precious, with streaks of silver in her short dark hair. “You must be the spice lady my sister-in-law keeps going on about. The one who’s always playing detective. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Prescott.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Hazel, and call me Piper. Which one of Precious’s brothers is your husband?” I knew the Blessing family had had five boys until Precious came along, thus the reason her mother named her baby girl Precious.
“Married Levi. He’s the eldest. Excuse the mess my predecessor left behind.” She flung out her hand to indicate the chaos. “I’m trying best I can to get it organized, but my assistant’s out on maternity leave. Now, what can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if I could see the record for a recent sale. My friend Dr. Doug Winters called from Chicago and asked if I’d make sure that the deed for his practice had been properly filed. Seems his lawyer is questioning the efficiency of transactions south of the Mason-Dixon Line.” As lies went, that was a whopper. All it lacked was a sesame-seed bun.
“Hmph!” Hazel sniffed angrily. “Dr. Winters can assure his big-city lawyer that even though we can’t compare with the likes of Chicago, we strictly adhere to local, state, and federal laws.”
“I’m sure you do, Hazel, but I’m only doing a favor for a friend. One quick peek and I’ll be out of here.”
“Deeds are a matter of public record.” Hazel went to her desk and came back with a thick, black three-ring binder. Flipping it open, she rifled through the pages until she found what she was seeking. “Here, see for yourself.”
Follow the money. My ears buzzed; my chest felt tight. I sensed I was on the brink of something; whether disaster or success I would soon find out. I drew a calming breath—in through my nose, out through my mouth—then studied the page Hazel Blessing indicated.
I stifled a gasp of surprise, blinked, then reread the document. The amount Doug had quoted for the sale of Pets ’R People and the amount on the deed didn’t jibe. The recorded deed reported a considerably higher dollar amount than Doug had stated. According to this, Creekside Savings had agreed to a loan in excess of the purported selling price.
And Zach VanFleet had been the mortgage loan officer.
“Find what you’re searching for?” Hazel asked. “You’re looking a mite peaked.”
“I’m fine,” I told her, but I wasn’t fine. Not really. Shirley’s name had appeared on the papers Doug had signed. She’d prepared them before her untimely demise. I could only draw one conclusion: Zach and Shirley had been in cahoots. They were co-conspirators in a mortgage and real estate fraud that had culminated in Shirley’s death.
“You be sure to tell Dr. Winters no need for him to lose any sleep. The deed and title are in good order.”
“I’ll do just that.” I thanked Hazel for her time and left her office, dazed by what I’d discovered. I returned to my car and then sat there, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to process everything. Was the discrepancy on a single document enough to prove my theory? I felt certain that if it happened once investigators would surely find similar discrepancies.
What had I stumbled across? This was more than a simple misdemeanor. Probably a crime on a federal scale. The proper authorities would have to be notified and an investigation initiated. Eventually, charges would be filed and one of those would be for murder. I was willing to bet that Zach VanFleet killed his partner in crime.
Now what? I wondered. Who should be contacted first? Acting chief of police Beau Tucker? The notion of Beau, on the one hand, taking me seriously was laughable. McBride, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. He was smart, savvy, competent. All the things Beau wasn’t. McBride would know what to do next. He’d be able to advise me on an appropriate course of action and, what’s more, I trusted his judgment. Before leaving the courthouse’s parking lot, I called Hoyt to inform him I’d been further delayed.
“No sweat, darlin’. Your shop’s in good hands. If you’re not back by closing time, I’ll see to it that it’s locked up so tight not even Houdini could get in.”
Hoyt had turned out to be a diamond in the rough. I made a mental note to make it up to him with a basket of barbecue seasonings. I shifted into reverse, the transition fairly smooth as I was still reacquainting myself with a stick shift, and maneuvered out of the lot. In spite of a few jerky stops and stalls, Caleb had been right about remembering how to drive a car with a manual transmission.
Usually I enjoyed the five-mile ride in the country, but not this afternoon. I paid scant attention to the budding trees or the daffodils growing by the roadside. Clouds had been gathering all day, and a light rain was beginning to fall. Groping along the dashboard and steering column, I located the switch that activated the windshield wipers. Soon the wipers lazily swished back and forth as though exhausted from the effort.
I knew something was terribly wrong the instant I turned into McBride’s drive. He had visitors—visitors of the official variety. One squad car was parked alongside McBride’s Ford F-150, a second one close behind. Though I didn’t see McBride, I spotted Officer Gary Moyer crouched near the open passenger door of the pickup. I quickly got out of the loaner and approached him, mindless of the rain.
“What are you doing?” My question was superfluous since the brush he held in a gloved hand gave me my answer. “Why are you fingerprinting McBride’s truck?”
Moyer didn’t look up from his task. “You’ll have to talk to Sergeant Tucker.”
My heart pounding furiously, I turned and started toward the house just as Beau and McBride emerged. “Figures you’d show up,” Tucker grunted at seeing me.
“What’s going on?”
His face impassive, McBride jammed his hands into the pockets of his navy blue windbreaker. “Tucker received an anonymous tip to search my truck.”
“That doesn’t make sense. What could they possibly expect to find?”
“This.” Beau Tucker triumphantly held up a plastic evidence bag. All his announcement lacked was a drum roll.
Brushing wet curls aside with one hand, I squinted through the rain at the round plastic container inside. “Birth control pills?”
“More specifically, Shirley Randolph’s birth control pills.” Tucker gloated, pleased as punch. “Finding them in the glove compartment of McBride’s truck links the pair as a couple and not just friends My only mistake was not getting a warrant for the truck same time we searched the house.”
I jabbed a finger at the evidence bag. “I’ve seen those pills before, but not in McBride’s glove box.”
“Yeah, sure!” Tucker snorted. “You’d say, or do, anything to save your boyfriend’s butt.” He must’ve read my surprise at his comment, because he continued, “It’s all over town you two were palsy-walsy at the prom and that you spent the night his place.”
I desperately longed to wipe the complacent look off Beau’s chubby face.
“It’s all right, Piper,” McBride said, sounding the voice of reason in a world gone mad. “We’ll get this sorted out eventually.”
“Get a move on, McBride. You’ve got some ’splainin’ to do—down at the station.” Tucker prodded McBride toward the patrol car.
I watched feeling utterly helpless as McBride visibly forced himself to relax. Running after them, I grabbed Tucker’s sleeve, but he shook it off. “I’m telling you those birth control pills were planted in McBride’s truck. Probably by the person who made the anonymous phone call. They’re the same ones I saw in Shirley’s medicine cabinet before her funeral.”
McBride ducked his head as he slid into the rear of the police vehicle behind a heavy-duty mesh screen—a place reserved for prisoners. “Save your breath, Piper,” he said, his tone flat
, his mouth a grim line. “Tucker’s already got his mind made up. Nothing you can say will change it.”
“You’ve got the wrong man!” I yelled after the departing patrol car. I was angry, scared, and so frustrated, I stomped my foot in the gravel drive like an angry two-year-old. Moisture streamed down my cheeks. I didn’t know if it was raindrops or tears. I brushed the wetness from my face with a trembling hand. Then, digging into my pocket for my cell phone, I did what I always did in time of tribulation—I dialed my BFF.
CHAPTER 31
I FOUND REBA Mae sweeping up hair clippings at the Klassy Kut. “I’m all yours, honeybun. Just finished my last cut and blow-dry.”
I automatically ran my fingers through my unruly red locks, which the rain had turned into corkscrew curls. While the Little Orphan Annie style might be adorable on street urchins, the same couldn’t be said of a woman in her forties. “‘Houston, we have a problem,’” I quoted, slumping down in one of the styling chairs.
Reba Mae set her broom aside and took the remaining chair. “You were pretty mysterious over the phone. What’s up?”
I swiveled my chair until we faced each other. “Unless we do something, McBride is about to be arrested. So listen up.”
I outlined everything that had transpired that afternoon starting with my visit to Brig Abernathy and ending with McBride being hauled off in a patrol car. When I finished, Reba Mae let out a low whistle. “Looks like you found some hanky-panky goin’ on—and not the romantic sort. Orange might be the new black, but I think Shirley would’ve wanted more variety in her wardrobe.”
“Agreed.” I nodded. “I’m positive Zach killed Shirley when their get rich scheme hit a snag, but not sure how to prove it. I’m afraid no one will believe me until it’s too late. By the time the truth comes out, Zach will be long gone and McBride will be up the proverbial river without a paddle.”
Lost in thought, Reba Mae fiddled with a dangly earring while I twisted a lock of hair around and around one finger.
“What if I pretended I wanted to sell Spice It Up!…” My voice trailed off. “Nope, won’t work without a buyer and a seller. It could take years before I had a legitimate offer.”
Reba Mae nodded thoughtfully, then suddenly sat straighter. “I have an idea. One that involves both a buyer and a seller.”
I regarded her skeptically. “Out with it, girlfriend. We’re not getting any younger.”
“I’ve been savin’ up to make an offer on Cloune Motors. Reckon it’ll be a good investment with Caleb in charge. I ran my plan by Hoyt the other night. He sold a successful business and retired early, but now he says he’s gettin’ bored. He’s always been interested in engines and stuff and is open to the becomin’ a silent partner in ownin’ a garage.”
My mouth dropped open at hearing this. I stared at my friend in amazement. “I don’t know if I should be angry at you for holding out on me or proud as all get out.”
“I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.” Reba Mae dismissed my words with a flick of the wrist. “Save the angry or proud for later, honeybun. Right now, we’ve got our work cut out for us. Cloune Motors has been an albatross around Diane’s neck ever since Dwayne went away, but she hasn’t had any nibbles. I know her askin’ price, but not how much the bank is willin’ to finance. What do you say we play dumb and find out?”
Her plan held promise, and since I couldn’t come up with a better one, I was willing to give it the old college try. Then another thought occurred to me. “What if Zach insists we see Vicki first, tells us that he’s not a real estate agent?”
“Call on your actin’ chops, sugar. We’ll tell Mr. Loan Officer that since Vicki is new to the real estate game, we want advice from an expert. I’m lookin’ to learn how much Creekside Savings is willin’ to lend, how big of a down payment I’ll need, and what about those monthlies?—and I need to know before my silent partner suffers a change of heart.”
“It’s almost five o’clock.” I went for my cell phone and handed it to Reba Mae. “Let’s see if we can catch Zach before he leaves for the day.”
We were in luck. I listened, impressed, while Reba Mae explained her intention to make an offer on Cloune Motors. Zach told her that though most of the bank employees had already left for the day, he’d be more than happy to wait and answer any questions she might have. She neglected to tell him a friend would be tagging along, but, then again, he’d find out soon enough.
Her call completed, Reba Mae sprang out of the styling chair and grabbed her purse from where she’d stowed it in a cupboard. “What are you waitin’ on, honeybun? Like you said, we’re not gettin’ any younger.”
“I’ll drive.” Energized, I hurried after her.
* * *
The light rain had turned into a steady drizzle by the time we pulled up at Creekside Savings and Loan. Although it was only a few blocks away, we’d elected to drive because of the weather—and a burgeoning sense of urgency.
I shut off the engine but made no move to get out of the car. “What if Zach is really a cold-blooded killer? Think he’ll try any funny business?”
“One of him, two of us. Safety in numbers, they say.”
I patted my purse. “I’ve got pepper spray.”
“I’ve got a healthy set of vocal cords.”
I nodded. “Ready?”
“Let’s roll.”
Zach must have been watching for us, because he met us at the side door and held it open. His smile dimmed fractionally when he saw Reba Mae wasn’t alone. “You just missed the bank manager. I told him I was doing a special favor to accommodate a workingwoman.”
“Don’t mean to impose,” Reba Mae said, “but appreciate the personal attention.”
“If you ladies step into my office, you can explain in more detail how I can be of service.”
He ushered us into a glass-walled cubicle with barely enough space for a dark walnut desk and two metal guest chairs with faux leather cushions and motioned for us to sit.
“I’ve put some money aside and want to set my son Caleb up in business,” Reba Mae began.
“That’s very commendable.” Zach bobbed his head in approval. “While I don’t know how much Mrs. Cloune anticipates receiving from the sale of Cloune Motors, I can guarantee it’s probably more than the garage is actually worth. Sellers often have unrealistic expectations on their properties’ worth. Care to give me a ballpark figure of how much you’d like to offer as a down payment?”
Reba Mae quoted an amount that made my jaw drop in amazement. She hadn’t been joking about financing a business for Caleb.
“The bank is very conservative in the amount it lends. Taking into account the location and how long Cloune Motors has been on the market, the actual price is likely to be much lower than Mrs. Cloune would like; however…”
I half listened as Zach prattled on about things such as subprime, adjustable rates and annual percentage rates. Per usual, he was dressed like an ad in GQ in a lightweight taupe suite and paisley necktie in subdued colors. His dark hair had been slicked back and moussed to withstand a typhoon. He didn’t seem the type to dirty his hands—hands that were now neatly folded on his desktop. I noted a flesh-colored bandage on the meaty part of his right palm. I also noticed he kept a smartphone on his desktop within easy reach.
I purposely diverted my gaze. I practically had to sit on my hands to keep from snatching his phone and scrolling through his recent calls. If my hunch was right, Zach had been the anonymous tipster who informed the police about the birth control pills. Not only had he killed Shirley, but he also was trying to frame McBride for her murder.
“Don’t know about Reba Mae, but all that information sounds pretty complicated,” I said. “Do you have any literature we could take with us to read? And throw in some pamphlets about opening a savings account, will you? Oh yeah, add some about the different types of checking accounts, too.”
Zach looked perplexed by my request. “I thought you already had an account with us
.”
“I do, but my daughter will be getting money for high school graduation gifts. Knowing Lindsey, if she doesn’t deposit it the money will be spent before college even starts.”
“Fine, I’ll be happy to round up whatever materials you need. Our customer service rep keeps those types of brochures in her office.” He rose to his feet. “Anything else you ladies need?”
“How about a couple of them coffee mugs the bank was givin’ new customers?” Reba Mae asked.
“Sure. I’ll check the supply room to see if there any left.”
“And while you’re at it, maybe throw in two or three of them koozie cups. My boys can never seem to find one to keep their beer cold.”
“Be right back.” A put-upon expression on his face, Zach hurried off.
The second he was out of sight I grabbed his cell phone, clicked on recent calls, and presto! There it was. Sure enough, Zach had placed a call to the police department that corresponded with the time it would have taken for Beau to obtain a search warrant for McBride’s pickup. “Just as I thought,” I murmured. “He did it.”
“Did what?” Zach VanFleet asked calmly from the doorway. He had returned empty-handed and in stealth mode.
His phone dropped from my nerveless fingers. “You’re the one who planted the birth control pills in the glove compartment of McBride’s truck.”
His smile was as sinister as that of a crocodile about to enjoy its next meal. “I knew this meeting would spell trouble the moment I spotted you getting out of your car.”
Reba Mae darted a nervous look at me, but I recklessly persisted. “What happened to your hand, Zach? What’s with the bandage?”
In one swift move he ripped off the adhesive and held up his palm to show a row of teeth marks. “Your mutt has a bite worse than his bark.”
“Too bad Casey had his rabies shots.”
Zach chuckled but without mirth. Casually reaching into his suit pocket, he brought out a pistol and aimed it at my chest.
“Guns are dangerous.” Reba Mae shoved to her feet, her face chalk white. “You oughta put it down. Every year people get killed when they go off accidentally.”