by Terry Odell
“I’m so sorry, but I’m alone today.”
“What about Mr. Lipsky?”
Her bulldog jaw dropped. “The editor? I couldn’t… I mean, he’s the editor. I can’t bother him. Not at home.”
“Ma’am, I’m Gordon Hepler, Chief of Police. If Mr. Lipsky is the only person who can help me, then why don’t you give me his number and I’ll make the call.” He didn’t wait for an answer but pushed past the classic wooden gate that separated the front of the office from the working space and sat behind the closer desk.
“Oh, my. Of course it’s all right. You’re the Chief of Police.” She read off the digits and he punched them into the phone.
Sometimes it’s good to be the Chief. After three rings, Lipsky answered.
“Mr. Lipsky, this is Chief Hepler. I need to get into the archives from 1975, and your new assistant doesn’t know how to help me. Can you fill me in over the phone? Tell me where to look?”
“Seventy-five?”
“Give or take. I’ve got a picture from the Internet. Looks like a hunting competition where Fred Easterbrook bagged an impressive buck.”
“Before my time, I’m afraid. The archives are in storage in the basement at City Hall. I could meet you there. Twenty minutes?”
“Ten would be better. I’ll be waiting.”
Gordon thanked the flustered receptionist and drove toward the station. Basement at City Hall. Right under his feet. Who knew?
Less than thirty minutes later Gordon dumped two file boxes onto his desk. Colfax hardly flinched. Gordon opened the top box, labeled, “Photos, 1975.” Lipsky had assured him that because of their filing system, it would be faster to find the picture he was looking for and then cross-reference it to the right edition of the paper rather than the other way around.
Stacks of yellowed, oversized clasp envelopes filled the box. He lifted the top one, accompanied by a whoosh of dust and a musty smell. He was going to need more room. He hefted the box and told Colfax he’d be in the multi-purpose room as he headed down the hall.
Laurie snagged him as he passed.
“Chief, I got the results of the search for that corporation.”
He rested the box on her desk. “Shoot.”
“The executives are Roger Ignatius, which we knew. There are three others. Clark Osterback, and Suzannah and Benjamin Lowenthal.”
The light bulb went off. “Lowenthal. Suzannah and Benjamin. Suben. As in Benny and Zannah.”
“What?” Laurie said.
“Nothing. Some names I got from the Kretzers.”
“I have the addresses, although they’re not current. The corporation went defunct in nineteen ninety-two.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “I’ve emailed it to you as well. And I have copies of annual reports. Do you want those, too?”
“Please.”
She handed him a thick file folder. “They’re faxes. Can’t say much for the legibility of some of them, but it’s all I could get.”
Gordon flipped through the first few reports. A lot of hype, but if he could cut through the glitz, he might be able to glean something. “Definitely worth thirty dollars. Thanks.”
So, Benny and Zannah were officers in the corporation that sold Sam and Rose their property. Could it be significant? Leaving the box on Laurie’s desk, he took the paperwork to his office. “Got more names.” He dropped the paperwork in front of Colfax and wrote the names on the white board. Colfax had also added a few more names and filled in a few more points along their timeline, but they all had large question marks beside them.
“See if you can dig anything up on these two.” Gordon tapped Benny and Zannah’s names. “The Kretzers knew them, and they were instrumental in getting Sam to buy the land where the bones were found.”
“And all this?” Colfax pointed to the new stack of paper.
“Annual reports from the corporation. At a glance, the corporation dealt in real estate. Lots of real estate. All over Colorado, including a hell of a lot of Mapleton property. Might be significant.”
Colfax didn’t respond beyond a quick bob of his head. They both knew the devil was in the details, and those details often showed up in unexpected places.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” Gordon said. “And figure out what to report I’ve been doing, since of course I’m not working on this case.”
“Hey, you need me to vouch for you, I’ll be happy to swear you’ve done absolutely nothing.”
Gordon resisted the urge to flip Colfax off and retrieved the file box from Laurie’s desk.
Setting up on a large table in the multi-purpose room, Gordon removed the contents of the first envelope. Eight-by-ten glossy black-and-white photos. Arlo Guthrie popped into mind. No circles and arrows, but there was a paragraph on the back of each one explaining when and where it had been taken. The names of any people appearing in the picture were also listed. What he didn’t see was whether or not the picture had been used in the paper.
He leafed through a few dozen more, paying more attention to the back than the photo itself. Maybe they saved every damn picture and only marked them if they’d made the cut. Or maybe there were separate envelopes for those. Or maybe Lipsky didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.
Quelling his frustration, he spread the photos on the table, face down, concentrating on the dates. All were between April first and the fourteenth. He took a mental step back. He didn’t need to look at all these photos. Progress. The picture he was looking for must have been taken during hunting season. He didn’t know if the regulations were different back in seventy-five, but he didn’t think they’d be more than a month off in either direction. The buck was mature, and not in velvet. Had to be fall.
He shoved all the pictures back into the envelope, wrote the appropriate dates on the outside and set it aside. Tempting as it was to take the time to look at the pictures—and a glimpse into the past—Gordon opened envelopes and checked dates. Between September and November were his best bets.
“Need help Chief?” Laurie appeared at his side. “Anything I can do while you’re with the mayor? You’ve got about twenty minutes.”
“You sure you have time?”
“Can I take them to my desk?”
“Don’t see why not. These envelopes seem to have pictures organized by date, but they’re not labeled. I need the ones with dates between September and November.”
“Seems straightforward enough.” She reached for the box.
“Thanks, Laurie.” Gordon picked it up and carried it to her desk. And then went off to face the mayor.
Chapter 29
Megan slipped into a back booth at Daily Bread, setting her laptop case beside her on the vinyl bench. Focusing on her work gave her something else to think about—and if her project was going to get off the ground, she couldn’t neglect it any longer. Sam and Justin were capable of handling everything on the hospital front. She’d promised to be back with Rose’s glasses and had a list from Sam of what he needed for a few days away from home. Justin was leaving tomorrow, so she’d finish packing his things and get back to the hospital after Rose had dinner.
To make sure she didn’t miss any updates, she shifted her cell phone from her purse to her pocket where she’d feel it vibrate and be more likely to hear it ring. After one final check to make sure she had the sound on and the volume at max, she scanned the room for Angie, but her friend wasn’t out front. Megan took her laptop from the case and booted it. She figured she had enough battery left to take care of checking her email and reviewing her project notes.
The aroma of grilling burgers, fries, and barbecue sauce filled the room. Megan glanced around and took a minute to regroup. The diner was over half-full, and almost everyone had empty plates or half-eaten meals in front of them. Right. Lunch rush. As the thought registered, her stomach rumbled. When a waitress who looked barely out of her teens approached with a menu and a pitcher of water, Megan asked for the pulled pork sandwich.
“Great choi
ce,” the girl said with a perky smile.
As if she’d have told me otherwise. “Is Angie here?”
The waitress hesitated as she filled Megan’s water glass. “She’s in back. Is there a problem?”
“No, but would you let her know that Megan Wyatt is here, and if she has a chance, I’d like to talk to her.”
“Sure.” The waitress wrote on her pad and headed for the kitchen, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking as she walked.
Megan moved her place setting aside, replaced it with her laptop, and opened her email program. As always, the first thing she did was make sure nothing had slipped into her spam folder by mistake. Somehow, that gave her the feeling that she’d accomplished something, even if it was only trashing notices of the fortunes she’d won in international lotteries. After opening her inbox, she scanned the list of messages and her eye caught on one from the bank. Her heart fluttered. Dare she open it here, where bursting into tears or shrieking with delight would send heads turning? Staring at the screen, her finger trembling on the mouse button, she was barely aware of someone approaching.
A plate clunked onto the table and someone slid onto the bench across from her. “Hey, girlfriend. You wanted to see me?”
Megan looked up into Angie’s smiling face. She shoved the laptop aside and dragged the plate closer. Although Rose could outcook just about anyone, anytime, anywhere, she’d never make pulled pork. Rose didn’t keep a kosher kitchen, but she drew the line at anything that came from a pig. Megan inhaled the spicy aroma.
“Don’t let me keep you from your lunch,” Angie said. “What’s up? I take it Rose is doing better, or you wouldn’t be here, and you wouldn’t be eating.”
Megan practically inhaled the first huge bite of sandwich, nodding, lifting a finger, signaling Angie to wait. She savored the next bite, then set the sandwich down. “That is so good. You have a minute?”
Angie nodded. “For you, anytime.”
After what had happened the last few days with Rose, having Angie on board had dipped down the chart as a make-it-or-break-it part of the program. Megan’s nerves and dread had vanished. She needed to make her case, accept whatever Angie said, and move on.
“I quit my job,” Megan began.
Angie gave a knowing smirk. “I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. Don’t tell me you’re looking to work here. If the new kid doesn’t work out, there’ll be an opening.”
Megan noticed her waitress at a nearby table, chatting and smiling. The patrons were smiling back. “I doubt that’ll be necessary. She seems friendly and efficient.”
“Yeah, I’ve had an eye on her.” Angie leaned forward and whispered. “Do Rose and Sam know you quit?”
Megan nodded and busied herself with another bite of sandwich.
“What are you going to do?” Angie asked.
Around another mouthful, Megan outlined her business plan, leaving out the parts about her boss, and the details she hadn’t shared with Justin. She would let Angie know about that another time. Over wine. Lots of wine. She finished eating, pushed her plate aside. “I’ve got the email from the bank. I haven’t opened it yet. Before I do, I have a question. A big, serious question.”
Angie’s expression grew solemn. “Ask it. If you need help, you know I’ll do whatever I can. Money’s tight, but I can find a way. I know you’ll be good for it.”
“No, I’m not looking for your money. I’m looking for a partner.” Megan held her breath.
Angie’s blue eyes went saucer wide. “A partner? Are you asking me?” She swiveled in her seat, looking around the diner, as if there might be someone else Megan was talking about.
“Yes, I’m asking you, but it wouldn’t be instead of working here. It would have to be in addition to, at least at first. I know that’s asking a lot, since you’re already doing so much, but I hope you’ll think about it before you make a decision. In the beginning, it would be more like a side catering business. I’d hire service personnel, and manage the events. What I need from you is your food. And Daily Bread’s reputation.
Megan plunged forward with the arguments she’d prepared weeks ago. “Daily Bread’s name would be featured on any event where you provide food. It should widen the visibility of the diner, and should attract more customers, which means you could afford more staff. And you can keep my menu limited. I’d want you to do what you do best, and do what you’re comfortable with. I know it’s asking a lot, but—”
Angie’s hand cut Megan off. “Okay, slow down. This is a lot to digest, especially coming out of the blue. I mean, it sounds like you’ve really thought this through, but I’d have to look at it from my standpoint. Kitchen space, extra help, longer hours, food costs.” She cocked her head. “I don’t come cheap, you know.”
Megan’s spirits lifted. At least it hadn’t been an automatic no. “How about I open the email from the bank. If they say yes, then we can look at more details.”
“I can’t imagine they’d say no to you. Wait.” Angie clasped Megan’s hands and closed her eyes. “I want to channel my feelings for this one.” After a lengthy moment, Angie opened her eyes. “All right. It’s going to be good. Go for it.”
Fingers shaking, Megan did. A grin spread across her face. “Start thinking about my proposal.”
Outside, sirens blared. Megan stretched her neck and looked beyond the customers out the large front window. Two fire engines and an ambulance sped by. Megan’s first thoughts went to Rose, Sam, and Justin. But it couldn’t be about them. They weren’t in Mapleton.
Chapter 30
Collecting his thoughts as he climbed the curved staircase to the mayor’s office, Gordon paused outside the door. No need to be confrontational. Since it wasn’t a forthwith, it couldn’t be a dressing down. When the mayor chewed ass, he didn’t want anyone to have time to think. Gordon dragged his fingers through his hair and adjusted his sport coat, which he’d put on at Laurie’s suggestion.
“He’ll be wearing a suit,” she’d said. “The coat will show him you take your job seriously, without looking like you’re trying to be his equal.”
“I could wear my uniform.”
“No, he knows you only wear it for official occasions. That might send the wrong message.”
“You know, that’s worse than politics.” But he shrugged into the garment all the same.
She smiled and straightened his collar. “With the mayor, everything is politics. Play his game. If he’s happy, you’ll be happy. Or happier, anyway.”
“Did I ever tell you—”
She cut him off. “Not nearly often enough.”
Showtime.
Gordon twisted the knob and stepped onto the plush carpet. This time, he paused at the receptionist’s desk. “I have an appointment.”
“Have a seat. He’ll be with you shortly.”
Ah, so the mayor was getting back at him for not dropping everything as soon as he got the summons. Gordon plopped himself into one of the leather chairs against the wall. He wished he’d brought something to do. Something to keep busy, but, more importantly, to show the mayor that he didn’t have time to twiddle his thumbs. He pressed a hand to his belly. He wished he’d had time to stop for lunch. He’d missed his usual ten o’clock Daily Bread cinnamon roll, too. And Angie.
He pulled out his phone, tempted to call, just to touch base. But she’d be working, and that’s what he was supposed to be doing, too. Knowing how much the mayor disapproved of interruptions during private meetings, Gordon silenced the ringer. He pretended to be engrossed in checking messages as he tried to come up with connections between the bones, Rose and Sam, Doc Evans, and Roger, Suben and Clark. If there were any, they were damned elusive. He wondered how Colfax was doing.
“You can go in now.” The receptionist’s voice broke into his thoughts. She stood and opened the door to the mayor’s private office.
Gordon clipped the phone to his belt, rose, and went to meet his fate.
The mayor had a phone to his ear, but
wasn’t saying anything. Gordon wondered if there was actually someone on the other end, or if it was all part of the man’s “keep him waiting” game. After a gruff thank you into the receiver, the mayor replaced the handset and narrowed his eyes in Gordon’s direction. “Sit. Please.”
Gordon sat.
Silence stretched out for several long seconds. Laurie’s words echoed in Gordon’s head. Play the game.
“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Gordon said. That was enough. He wasn’t going as far as thanking the man for adjusting his schedule.
The mayor walked his fingers down a stack of file folders, stopping at one near the top and sliding it from the pile. He set it in front of him and fixed his gaze on Gordon for an uncomfortable moment, as if saying, I’ll bet you’re dying to know what’s in here. Slowly, he opened the folder and removed a sheet of paper. He lifted it, almost taunting Gordon with whatever it had to say. He leaned across the desk. “What are you doing about this surge of home invasions?”
Gordon’s jaw went slack. “Sir?”
The mayor flapped the paper. “There were five of them the other night. I repeat, what are you doing about it?” His gaze bored into Gordon, almost burning a hole in the wall behind him. “Or are you too busy trying to turn some buried bones into a high-profile case to get your name in the paper?”
Clearly, the mayor was projecting his own agenda here, because being in the limelight was so far down Gordon’s list of personal goals it wasn’t even on the page. He clenched and unclenched his fists before speaking. “Sir, I don’t understand. There were no home invasions. We had some broken windows, but no homes were entered.”
Gordon eyed the scanner on the mayor’s credenza. Off. Did he have another one at home, Gordon wondered again. Because those calls came through in the wee hours, and Gordon didn’t get the impression the mayor was a man who stayed up all night listening to sleepy Mapleton police radio traffic. Then again, maybe he was an insomniac who used the scanner to put him to sleep.