Eccentric Lady

by Curry, Edna

  “Oh.” Why didn’t he want me on the job?

  Patti went on, “And Arnold looked surprised to get this house, as well. Lulu seemed flabbergasted.” She laughed at the memory. “I’m sure she won’t want to live here, so he’ll sell it, which is too bad.”

  “Well, you could buy it if you wanted to,” I suggested.

  “No,” Patti said with a long sigh. “This house holds too many bad memories now. And my business is in Chicago, so I’d rather buy something there. Maybe I’ll buy a condo so I don’t have to worry about yard work.”

  “You could find a gardener, like Agnes did,” I suggested.

  Patti laughed wryly. “Chicago’s not like a small town, Lacey. It’s hard to find someone like Jack Kent. And yard services that know their business charge a fortune.”

  “Oh. I wonder what Agnes wanted Mr. Anderson to tell the sheriff?” Again I wondered if it had to do with Roscoe’s death or the file she’d made about it. If so, would Ben poo-poo Mr. Anderson’s concern like he had mine?

  Patti shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope it’ll give him some info about who had a reason to kill her. Maybe solve this case. I’m tired of being Ben’s only suspect.”

  “Did you know Lulu has been in Minnesota for the past week?” I asked.

  Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? Why?”

  “I have no idea. I plan to ask her when I get a chance.”

  “I’m going to head back to the hospital to check on Corey,” Patti said.

  “One more question before I head home,” I said. “Did you know that Millie was playing that stock market game with you?”

  “No,” Patti said, looking thoughtful. “That was a surprise. I wonder where she got enough money to buy stocks? It was my impression she got nothing from her divorce and had to start working to support herself. And that she wasn’t trained to do much, so started doing housekeeping.”

  “Really?” I asked. So where did Millie get the money to start buying stocks and all those expensive knick-knacks at her apartment?

  Chapter 10

  Sheriff Ben returned to his office and dealt with a couple of phone calls. Then Mr. Anderson arrived and stood at the door of Ben’s office, his portly frame filling the doorway.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Anderson,” Ben said, waving a hand toward the chair opposite his desk.

  “All right, but just for a minute. We’d better be on our way,” Mr. Anderson said, taking the chair Ben had indicated. He held a padded manila envelope on his lap.

  Ben’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “On our way where?”

  “Agnes didn’t exactly tell me what she wanted me to tell you,” Mr. Anderson said. “She said if anything happened to her, I was to give you this envelope and take you to the bank just down the street. It closes in an hour.” He handed the padded manila envelope across Ben’s large, scarred desk.

  Ben looked at the envelope. It had his name and ‘to be opened after my death’ and Agnes’ signature handwritten on it in a large black script. Ben tore it open and a flat key fell out. He looked inside the envelope, brought out a single sheet of paper and read:

  “Ben, if you’re reading this, I’m probably dead by someone’s hand other than my own. But I want to make sure that person doesn’t get away with it, as it seems they did with my father’s death. I don’t believe my father killed himself, but I can’t yet prove it. All the information I’ve got so far is in this safety deposit box. Here’s the key. And I’ve updated my will as well. Mr. Anderson is trustworthy, as far as I can tell. I’m not sure who else is, thus the elaborate secrecy. Almost no one knows that I have much money, but someone now suspects that I’m questioning my father’s ‘suicide’ and so I’m afraid they’ll try to prevent me from finding out the truth. I’m quite sure Dad was killed to cover up the embezzlement of funds from his law firm. As you’ll see from the financial reports, my father was not broke, nor was he despondent over money problems or his divorce from my mother. I talked to him about that shortly before he died and he said the divorce was a mutual decision. He was okay with it and definitely not despondent.

  Please, please, reopen that case and know that I was killed because I was investigating his death. Agnes Simms.”

  Ben regarded the lawyer who regarded him back soberly, his glasses sliding down his nose as usual. This changed everything. He needed to rethink his whole investigation of Agnes’ death. And add more people to his list of suspects. But he didn’t have time to think about that now.

  First, he wanted to see what else Agnes had found for him. He put the envelope in his desk drawer and locked the drawer, then picked up the safety deposit box key. “Let’s go,” he said, rising from his chair and picking up his hat.

  They strode down the street to the bank Agnes had designated. At the bank, they asked a teller for the manager. She pointed them to an office in the rear of the bank and picked up her phone to announce them as they headed to the office. Large glass windows allowed the manager a view of the whole bank, yet gave him sound privacy.

  The manager met them at the door and they introduced themselves and stated their business. The lawyer showed him Agnes’ death certificate and the key and requested to open Agnes’ safety deposit box.

  The manager looked from one to the other, then led the way to their safe room, using his key to open the heavy iron gated door. Using his master key and the key Agnes had left, they pulled out the long metal box and took it to the private viewing room the manager showed them.

  Inside Mr. Anderson and Ben found the originals of the same papers that Lacey had shown the sheriff and that he’d already seen at Agnes’ house and dismissed as unimportant. Also, Agnes had included Roscoe’s personal diary and the letter Roscoe had written.

  After signing the necessary papers for the bank, they took the information back to Ben’s office. There, sitting across from each other and drinking coffee, they read the documents carefully.

  “I’ll have to read the diary later when I have more time. But what do you make of what you’ve seen so far?” Ben asked.

  Mr. Anderson shrugged, pulled out an already damp handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead and nose, then pushed up his glasses again. “I didn’t know Agnes very well. But from what I saw of her, I’m inclined to say she was smart and level headed. I don’t think she was the kind of person who gets excited about nothing. I think she hid these documents in this safety deposit box and made multiple copies of everything and kept them in different places because she was afraid someone would steal them from her and destroy the evidence.”

  “Not to mention the fact that she’s been murdered, just as she feared,” the sheriff added dryly. “I’d say that proves she was on the right track. Or, at least, someone was pretty sure she was close.”

  “But who?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting here, jawing. I’d be out arresting him. Or her,” Ben said grimly. “I think it’s time for an audit of Harold and Roscoe’s business affairs.”

  Mr. Anderson nodded. “Agnes talked to me about that when she came to make her will. I warned her that starting the process might alert the perps that she suspected criminal activity and thus put herself in danger. But she insisted on doing it anyway. I’ve already started the legal process to get that done.”

  “Harold is quite incapacitated with Alzheimer’s now, so I doubt he’ll object or even understand what’s going on. Their former accountants are another story. How will you be able to do that without them knowing? Or Rolly? I believe he’s working alone in this office though he might be using outside accountants, maybe even the same ones they used in the Twin Cities.”

  Mr. Anderson smiled. “No, I checked and he’s not using the same firm, so don’t worry. I’m sure his former accountants have long since taken other jobs and think the Billings firm is a closed case. As for Rolly, by the time the auditors swoop into his office, it will be too late for him to hide anything.”

  Ben grimaced. “You mean, anything they haven’t
already destroyed or hidden.”

  “True. You’re assuming, of course, that Rolly knew about the embezzlement or shared in it. That may or may not be the case. He was, after all, just out of law school at the time.”

  “Hm. You may be right about that. How will we ever be sure?”

  Mr. Anderson smiled. “Remember that a lot of their legal affairs are filed somewhere, either with the IRS or the courts as part of some case or another. Employee payroll records, tax forms, probated wills, court awarded judgments, insurance settlements, personal injury awards, etc. It will take time to sort out, but I’ve engaged a firm that specializes in this. That should give us a pretty good picture of their past finances, even if Rolly claims to no longer have copies.”

  “Very good,” Ben said.

  “I’ll let you know when we are ready to audit the Billings’ firm’s current files. It should be within the next few days. I’ll want your presence when they move in, just in case of trouble.”

  “With pleasure,” Ben agreed. “In the meantime, I’ll read Roscoe’s diary and go through the old file on his suicide and see if I can find anything my predecessor missed.”

  ***

  I called Patti to see if she had any news of Corey’s condition.

  “He’s still unconscious,” Patti said. “I’m still at the hospital. They don’t know when he’ll wake up.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

  “The sheriff posted a deputy at his door.”

  Yikes. That could only mean Ben was taking the attack on Rolly and the fire at Agnes’ house as an attempt on Corey’s life. Did that also mean he was ruling Corey out as a suspect in Agnes’ murder? I wished I knew. I wasn’t so sure Corey wasn’t involved. To me, he seemed a more likely suspect than Patti.

  “Let me know if he comes to and can talk about the fire,” I said.

  “Sure,” Patti said.

  Next I went back to my computer. Somewhere in this mess, I felt sure, the answer lay, waiting for me to discover it. I wanted to know why Agnes had changed attorneys. What led her to drop her father’s partner and seek out another Minneapolis firm instead? And what had she told Mr. Anderson to see Sheriff Ben about? Damn Ben anyway for always wanting me to share info I found, but seldom sharing what he knew with me in return.

  Hours later, I gave up and decided to go to the hospital to see if Corey had woken up yet. Maybe Patti would have some new info or would like to join me for some dinner at a restaurant.

  It was raining again and I grabbed an umbrella before locking my door and dashing out to my little red Chevy. I shivered against the chill wind that whipped around my house and threatened to take the umbrella out of my grip. Spring in Minnesota is that way, gorgeous and sunny one minute and cold and chilly the next. April showers bring May flowers as the children’s ditty goes.

  I drove the ten miles or so to the hospital and parked, then braved the rain once more. I got Corey’s room number from the receptionist and took the elevator to the second floor. The clean, but acrid smell of antiseptic and floor cleaner met my nose.

  I saw a deputy in uniform sitting in a chair outside a room before I got close enough to read the number beside the door. I hadn’t met this woman, and had to show my ID.

  “Sheriff Ben knows me. I’m a Private Investigator hired by Corey’s sister, Patti Jones,” I told her.

  Even so, she eyed me suspiciously and phoned the sheriff to verify I could see Corey. She was young, pretty and dark haired, but looked very professional and had a no nonsense attitude. Her name tag read Joan.

  “Where’s Patti?” I asked as she finally got an okay and strode inside with me.

  “She went to get some dinner at the restaurant down the street,” she said, her tone letting me know she was reluctant to share any information with me.

  She stood guard inside the door while I stepped closer to Corey. He was definitely still out. Wires and tubes seemed to be attached at every opening I could see.

  A nurse bustled in and said, “Time to take his vitals,” and all but shoved me aside to put a blood pressure cuff on his arm.

  I stepped back to watch, and asked, “How’s he doing?”

  “You’ll have to ask the doctor that,” she said. She did give me an apologetic smile as she took his temp and pulse and wrote down the results. She took off the cuff, stowed it on her cart and hurried on to the next room.

  With a shrug, I followed the nurse out. I thanked Joan who returned to her post.

  My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten in hours so I decided to see if I could find Patti at the restaurant. I drove down the street, found a parking space and saw Patti’s blue Honda and Arnold’s rental car in the lot as well. So I’d found the right place. A sign outside said it served good family food. I grabbed my umbrella and hurried inside, managing to only get a little wet.

  The place was crowded, and smelled of French fries and burned toast. I wrinkled my nose wondering which families that appealed to.

  I spotted Patti and Arnold at a rear table, looking flushed and angry. Oh, oh. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. I folded my umbrella and was about to grab another table far from them, when Patti spotted me and stood to wave me over to join them. So, now I had no choice.

  Smiling, I wove my way between the tables, greeted them both and took the chair she indicated.

  “I was about to call you, Lacey,” Patti said.

  “Oh? What’s up?” I asked. “I stopped by the hospital just now and saw that Corey’s still out.”

  “Yes, he is,” Patti said. “But I had a call from Sheriff Ben. He says he’s reopening Grampa Roscoe’s case.”

  “I see,” I said, carefully. “So that’s what Mr. Anderson wanted to talk about?”

  Patti nodded. “Apparently Agnes found evidence that made her sure Roscoe wouldn’t have committed suicide. She was sure he was murdered.”

  “And I’ve just been telling Patti that that is ridiculous,” Arnold put in, his face red with fury. “Agnes doted on Dad and always wanted to think he was perfect. She believed what she wanted to believe. Dad didn’t have any enemies. Who would have wanted to kill him?”

  He snapped his mouth closed and sat back as the waitress appeared holding a coffeepot and refilled his and Patti’s cups. She glanced at me and asked, “What would you like?”

  “Bring me a mariner’s salad with French dressing and hot tea,” I said.

  She wrote it on her pad and retreated.

  I tried to make small talk by asking Arnold, “Where’s Lulu?”

  He shrugged. “She went shopping at some mall or other in the cities.”

  “Oh.” I hesitated, then asked, “I was wondering why she came to Minnesota a week ahead of you?”

  Arnold’s jaw dropped. “How’d you know that?”

  Patti put in, “She told me her mother lives in Minneapolis and she came to see her. It just happened to coincide with Arnold coming for Agnes’ funeral.”

  “I see,” I said, ignoring Arnold’s question of how I knew when Lulu had arrived in Minnesota. How convenient. I really hate coincidences. Most of the time, I find they really aren’t so coincidental after all. Was that the case this time?

  Arnold turned back to Patti, returning to his earlier question before the waitress had interrupted us.. “Who’d have wanted to kill Dad?”

  “I don’t know who’d want to kill him,” she said. “I’m just telling you what the sheriff said. “I can’t tell him what to do, Arnold. If he wants to reopen Roscoe’s death, he will. And he said he wants to talk to both of us again and also to Corey when he wakes up.”

  Arnold turned to me. “You see how ridiculous this is, don’t you? Patti and Corey were only teens at the time. Their parents, Kelvin and Jolene, had been killed in a car accident a couple of months earlier and they were living with Agnes in her apartment.”

  I frowned and turned back to Patti. “I don’t remember hearing about your parents’ death, Patti.”

  She sighed. “I
guess I didn’t mention it. It was a head-on crash on icy roads. They were coming back from taking Roscoe to the airport for some trip or other, and apparently one of the cars started sliding on the ice. They were all killed at the scene, so no one was really sure what happened.”

  “People told me Roscoe blamed himself because they wouldn’t have been out in bad weather if they hadn’t been giving him a ride to the airport,” Arnold said.

  I frowned. “You weren’t living here then?”

  “No,” Arnold said. “I was already living in California then.”

  “So did you come back for their funerals?”

  “No,” Arnold said. “I didn’t have any vacation time built up in my job. Besides, I was broke. So I didn’t come back.”

  “But you must have talked to your dad about this?”

  “Sure, I talked to him. Dad sounded fine on the phone, so I didn’t realize there was a problem.”

  The waitress returned with my salad and tea. I busied myself making the tea and putting dressing on my salad. “So Agnes took her niece and nephew under her wing?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Patti said. “I was a senior in high school and Corey had two years left. She left a good job in the Twin Cities and took an apartment here because she thought it was important that we finish school where we were familiar with the kids and teachers. It would have been really hard to have to change schools on top of losing both parents at once.”

  “I know,” Arnold said, patting Patti’s hand. “She was wonderful to help out that way.”

  “Then after Roscoe died and left her his house, we all moved there until we went off to college. After that Agnes was alone. I’ll really miss her,” Patti said. Tears ran down her cheeks and she grabbed a napkin to wipe them away, then sipped more of her coffee.

  “This is all just too much,” Arnold said. “I can’t believe Dad was murdered, too. It’s like the sheriff thinks there’s an epidemic of trouble in our family. It just can’t be true.”

  “Maybe it isn’t,” Patti said, patting Arnold’s hand. “Maybe he’ll investigate and it’ll just come to nothing.”