Masking for Trouble

by Diane Vallere

  My face flushed. The one thing I didn’t need was for Marilyn to spread word that we were sitting pretty and putting Candy Girls out of business—not that I didn’t think for one second that Candy Girls would do it to us if the tables were turned.

  After sorting the cash from the checks, Marilyn fed it through a machine and then punched a couple of buttons on her computer. I stood silently by as she turned to the checks, systematically keying each one in. She paused halfway through the pile and looked up at Tak, who had just walked in.

  “It’s too bad about his family’s restaurant,” Marilyn said, her voice dropping lower. “I heard my boss saying the Hoshiyamas applied for a loan. If things don’t turn around soon, they’ll be part of the revolving door of restaurants in Proper. There aren’t a lot of single men your age around here. It would be a shame to lose one over money.”

  Marilyn keyed the last of the checks into the computer and fed my deposit slip through. After it printed, she fed it under the partition. “Can I do anything else for you? Maybe set you up with a CD or an interest-rich account? Right now you have all that cash just sitting in savings.”

  I felt myself color again, and I looked over my shoulder. Tak stood by the table of flyers, his back to me. If his family’s restaurant really was having trouble, he probably wouldn’t appreciate hearing how much money we were making—not that we were, but that was how she was making it sound.

  “Maybe I’ll take a couple of brochures on your different accounts,” I said. I walked to the table of flyers and pretended to peruse the different programs the bank offered. Tak set a piece of paper in front of me and walked away. I looked at the note on the margin. Sounds like lunch is on you, moneybags. I looked at his back as he walked away. He stopped when he reached the door and looked over his shoulder, flashing me a secret smile. I smiled involuntarily, and then glanced at Marilyn to see if she’d noticed. She was busy typing on her computer screen. I grabbed the note, stuck it inside the zippered pouch, and left.

  Tak was waiting for me by my scooter. “Did you mean it earlier when you said you had the day off?”

  “Sure did. My dad surprised me this morning and told me he didn’t want to see me all day. Do you have plans?”

  “My parents need me at the restaurant this morning. They’re training a couple of new chefs.”

  Hoshiyama Kobe Steak House should have been a success based on the quality of their food. Sesame chicken grilled in garlic butter, scallops that melted in your mouth, shrimp the size of a small fist, not to mention the fried rice. But what made it even more special was the show. The food was cooked on a grill in front of you while you watched. Onion rings were stacked into volcanos and shrimp tails were flipped into the air and caught in the chef’s hat or shirt pocket. Whether you came for the food and came back for the show, or you came for the show and came back for the food, you wouldn’t be disappointed. Not to mention the stunning embroidered silk kimonos that the hostesses wore. They were the prettiest costumes—I mean uniforms—I’d seen.

  I thought about the lanyard hanging around my neck. I wanted to tell Tak about it, but Bobbie had asked me to keep it secret. “I think I’m going to head to the library. See what I can find out about the Alexandria Hotel.”

  “You’re really interested in that?”

  “The other night was my first time inside. Now I hear it’s either going to be bulldozed or turned into a historical property. Can’t hurt to appreciate it while it’s here.”

  He reached out and put his hand on my arm. “Text me when you finish. Maybe I can get away.”

  * * *

  THE Proper City branch of the Clark County Public Library was about half a mile south of the bank. It sat kitty-corner to the elementary school that I’d attended growing up. I parked by the curb and glanced at the playground. The merry-go-round where Bobbie and I had spent hours pushing each other round and round was vacant. New swing sets had replaced the old ones, as had a shiny blue sliding board. A young girl, probably around nine or ten, stared out the window at me. I made a silly face at her and she laughed, and then clamped both hands over her mouth. I went into the library before her teacher could determine the distraction that had caused her outburst.

  Being a branch in a small town, the Proper City Public Library didn’t have much in terms of resources. If I had weeks, I could request materials to be sent here from the main branch, but I didn’t. But today my priorities were clear. Reserve a computer and see what was on the flash drive. Further questions could develop from there.

  I was early enough to secure one of the more private computers behind the newspaper racks. Once seated, I signed in and inserted the flash drive into the USB port. The operating system wasn’t as current as the computer at Disguise DeLimit, but after a few clicks, I had a snapshot of the file manager. I bypassed the welcome packet, assuming it boiled down to their mission of saving historical properties, and moved on to the folder that held their meeting minutes.

  It wasn’t the most exiting reading. They seemed to spend a disproportionate amount of time discussing snacks and beverages. The Alexandria Hotel was just one point of interest to them. Going back seven different meetings, I found the same list of buildings they hoped to save. The list included the original movie theater that had been built in the late ’40s; a post office in the neighboring town of Jean; the first house built in Moxie, once owned by an early copper miner; and the Alexandria Hotel.

  Reports were made about the petitions filed to secure historical status, and fund-raisers were discussed and, occasionally, implemented. I opened and closed files at random, not sure what I was looking for, but hoping I’d know it when I saw it. Worse, each file had been saved as a scanned PDF, so I couldn’t search for keywords. It was among the more frustrating ways to spend an hour.

  Each report included a list of attendees for the meeting. About eight years back, Annette’s name was missing from that list. I checked the minutes before that meeting and it was missing there too. If someone else had been president, it should have been noted. And what had Bobbie said? This wasn’t the first time one of Annette’s opponents had an accident.

  My focus redoubled. I marked the dates of the minutes where Annette had been absent and opened up the files prior to that until I found her name. There was a six month window where she hadn’t been present at a meeting. The vice president had stepped up as acting president. What had kept her from fulfilling her position?

  I disconnected the flash drive from the computer and approached the librarian. She was a young brunette in a thick blue sweater with a rainbow on the front. Glasses hung on a chain around her neck, and her hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. I couldn’t have designed a better librarian costume if I’d tried.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I hope so. I’m looking for articles from a few years ago. Is there a way to search the library database?”

  “Sure. Go to CCPL.org, sign in with your library card, and click the link that says Research and Homework. That’ll take you to the different databases that you want to search: government documents, newspapers, photo archives, you name it. Click off the ones you want and you’re in.”

  I thanked her and returned to my cubicle. It took a few attempts to find the screens she mentioned, but once I did, I clicked Newspapers and ran a search for Annette Crowley. The resulting articles mentioned her position as president of the Clark County Conservancy, but nothing seemed to point to her six month absence.

  After returning to the search terms screen, I tested “Clark County Conservancy” and “Alexandria Hotel.” Aside from an articles about the dark days when the hotel had been ground zero for a drug smuggling ring, I found nothing suspicious. I was about to give up when I got a new idea. I typed in “Historical Landmark Status.”

  Bingo.

  Peppermint House Receives Historical Status

  The article was da
ted eight years ago. It described the petition to grant historical status to a Victorian house on the outskirts of Proper. The building had come to be called Peppermint House in the late ’50s because of its red and white color scheme. But it wasn’t the novelty of the Peppermint House that caught my attention. It was a mention at the very bottom of the article.

  The change in historical status was not a given. Until recently, Haverford Venture Capital, the financial group that held the property title, had plans to demolish the building and use the property for retail space. Despite the noble efforts of the historical society, the lawsuit with HVC made the battle for preservation too costly to fight. If not for the sudden illness of Paul Haverford, the Peppermint House might not be standing today.

  Chapter 13

  I REREAD THE last paragraph several times to make sure I was reading it correctly. And every time, I reached the same conclusion. Haverford Venture Capital had been the owners of the last house that Annette Crowley had fought to save. Haverford became ill, his venture capital group stopped fighting the historical society, and Annette won the battle. And then she vanished from the board of directors for the next six months.

  I returned to the librarian’s desk. “I found the article I needed. Is there a way to print it?”

  “Normally, yes, but our printers are broken today. We expect a technician this afternoon but I can’t guarantee anything.” She checked the clock on her computer. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you, there’s an hour limit to the computer usage. I wouldn’t enforce it but today we have a line of people waiting.”

  I couldn’t leave without that article. Before logging off, I took a screen shot and e-mailed it to myself. The librarian approached. I yanked the flash drive out of the USB port and hung it around my neck, picked up my keys, and left.

  It was close to ten thirty. I texted Tak. All done at library. You?

  His reply came immediately. Wait there.

  I spent the next ten minutes debating whether or not to tell him what I’d found out. It was too big a piece of information to ignore, but it would be too hard to explain how I’d happened to be researching that information to begin with. I didn’t want to implicate Bobbie in my mess. No, I’d have to keep it to myself until I talked to her. And after I convinced her to see things my way, we’d take what we had to Detective Nichols.

  About ten minutes later, Tak’s RAV4 turned onto the street. He drove past me, turned the SUV around, and pulled up behind my scooter.

  “Want to take a field trip?”

  “Where?”

  “The district attorney’s office. I thought you might like to poke around, see where I used to work.”

  “Do you think I could see the plans for Havetown? Can you swing that?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’m in.”

  Tak put my scooter in the back of his SUV and we left. It was a short drive to the Clark County DA’s office, and we arrived by eleven. He parked in a visitor’s space and led me inside.

  It was quickly evident that Tak had been well liked. Every person we encountered stopped to chat with him. We reached a sign-in desk, where he introduced me to a guard and explained that I was curious about some public records in Proper City. The guard asked me to sign in too and handed each of us a visitor sticker. A familiar voice called out behind me.

  “You really are following me, aren’t you?”

  I turned around and saw Tak’s friend Cooper. They shook hands in the way male friends do, and then Cooper looked at me. “And you brought me a visitor. Nice to see you again, Margo.” He let go of Tak’s hand and reached out for mine. When I grasped it, he sandwiched his other hand on the outside and held it gently. “I see you finally warmed up,” he said tenderly.

  “I would have brought your gloves, only I didn’t know we were—”

  Tak cut me off. “She didn’t know if you’d be here. I should have called ahead to find out if you were working in the office today.”

  “Now you have an excuse to come back and see me again,” Cooper said, still holding my hand. He smiled at me as if I was the only other person in the room. Tak cleared his throat. I pulled my hand out from between Cooper’s and adjusted my hair band.

  “Margo has taken an interest in the old Alexandria Hotel,” Tak said. “The paperwork on that came through when I was still here, didn’t it?”

  Cooper looked at Tak, surprised. “Sure did. I filed all of it away last week.” He looked at me. “Why the interest in that building?”

  “It’s where Halloween was supposed to take place. I had a chance to see a little of the inside the other night . . .” My voice trailed off.

  “The night of the murder,” Cooper finished. “Nothing’s going to happen with that building now, it seems. Haverford and his team of investors were gung ho on the idea of leveling it and designing a new Proper, but there were enough people fighting him to see that it didn’t happen. Construction was supposed to start six months ago but the conservancy filed an injunction. He’s been fighting the preservationists ever since.”

  “Wait. The injunction was filed by the Clark County Conservancy?” I asked.

  Both men looked at me. “How do you know about the injunction?”

  “I met Annette Crowley last night and she mentioned it.”

  “It’s ironic if you think about it. Haverford bought the property and planned to wipe it out, but because of his murder, he’s ensured that it’s going to remain exactly as it is. The one thing he didn’t want.”

  “So it’s true. He was going to obliterate the entire west end of Proper even though there’s a danger in building out that way.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” Cooper asked.

  I thought back over the people I’d talked to in the past few days. “I think it was the seismologist. Francine Wheeler.”

  Cooper and Tak looked at each other and laughed. “Is she still making trouble?” Tak asked.

  “That woman lives to make trouble,” Cooper said. He turned back to me. “I don’t think she’s missed a city council meeting in the past ten years.”

  “She said there were active fault lines that ran under that whole end of Proper, and if Havetown was built, the construction might trigger an earthquake.”

  “Margo, how long have you lived in Proper?” Cooper asked.

  “Most of my life.”

  “Have you ever felt an earthquake?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. There wasn’t any risk. I saw the quaternary map myself.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” I said.

  “It would be easier to show you than try to explain.” Cooper put his hand on my elbow and gently guided me toward the elevators. He pushed the Down button. I turned around and saw Tak still standing by the check-in desk.

  “Are you coming with us?” I asked.

  “Hey, Tak, you should go say hello to everybody in planning. They’d be happy to see you.” Cooper pressed the Up button too. The Up arrived first. Cooper held the doors open and waited for Tak to get inside. “You can meet us down in the map room when you’re finished.” He let go of the doors and they closed over Tak’s serious expression.

  The Down elevator arrived next and Cooper guided me in. He pressed LL and we headed down. A few moments later, the doors opened on an unoccupied floor. He got out first and waved me forward. “It’s okay. This is where we keep the archives.”

  I followed him into a long hallway filled with large taupe metal filing cabinets. We reached a closed door at the end. Cooper pulled two pairs of white gloves out of a box that sat next to the door and handed one to me. “I seem to be obsessed with giving you gloves. I wonder what that means.” He grinned. “There are some old documents in here. We wear gloves to keep the finger oils from tainting the paper.”

  We took a moment to pull the gloves on and then went into the room. A large w
ooden table sat in the center. More metal storage cabinets lined the left wall, but the drawers were wider and less deep. Cooper went to the second cabinet and pulled the fifth drawer open. A flat map was inside, covered with a wide sheet of what appeared to be parchment paper.

  “Is the table clear?” he asked.

  “Just about.” I picked up a couple of abandoned pencils and a protractor and set them in a cup that lay on its side. The cup was the type that came with vintage board games and was used to shake the dice. “Now it’s ready.”

  Cooper transferred the flat map to the table by setting it on a large wooden paddle and then setting the paddle on the table. “Same thing they use to pull pizzas out of the oven,” he said.

  “It is not.”

  “Okay, it’s not.” He laughed. “Just testing you.”

  Once the map was in front of us, I could make out the California/Nevada border and the general location of Proper. Green, orange, and yellow colored the map, and a network of red and purple lines spidered through it. I bent down to get a better look. “What did you call this? A quarter map?”

  “Quaternary. It’s a map of the active fault lines in Clark County.”

  “So this shows where there’s the potential for an earthquake?”

  “Yes. Notice how the lines are all dull purple, whereas the lines in California are all bright red? That’s because ours are dormant. There’s little risk of construction triggering an earthquake here. California has more to worry about, but even most of their fault lines are deep enough that the activity involved in building construction wouldn’t trigger a quake.”

  Cooper moved closer to me. His head was just to the left of mine. He put his right arm around me and pointed to a network of pale purple lines on the map. “See that?” he asked. His voice was soft in my ear. “That’s where Havetown was going to be built. The biggest concern they were going to have was drilling into the hard soil in Proper City.”