by Maggie Pill
“I don’t know,” I told her. “But it will be diabolically clever.”
“I’ll help,” she said. “I can be diabolically clever, too.”
***
Rory was out of the office when I dropped in, which I’d known ahead of time. When no one else was nearby and the buzz of other conversations covered ours, I asked the secretary casually if anyone she knew of seemed particularly angry with Rory.
Janet’s eyes narrowed as she thought about it. “A guy called after they hired Patrick last summer, demanding to know why he didn’t get the job. I explained I have nothing to do with hiring, but he wouldn’t shut up. Finally I said I had work to do even if he didn’t, and I hung up.”
“Did he blame Rory?”
She chewed on the end of her pen for a moment. “He did ask what the chief had against him. I told him Chief Neuencamp isn’t like that, but he wasn’t about to believe me.” She paused as things came together in her head. “You do know the calls about Rory slacking on the job are made by a woman, right?”
“Yes, but that could be to throw us off.”
“You think we might have an angry pair, working together?”
“It’s possible.”
Janet had come to know me pretty well. “Who is it, Barb?”
“I have a lead on the man. No idea who the woman is.”
“It would be great if you could stop them.” Janet brushed overlong bangs away from her eyes. “Why are people like that?”
“Maybe they blame others for their failures because they don’t want to blame themselves.”
Janet nodded agreement. “So are you going to tell the chief you know one of the people who’s trying to sabotage him?”
“I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’d appreciate it if you keep this to yourself for now.”
“Not a problem,” Her dark eyes flashed. “I have a feeling you can handle this jerk—and his jerkette, too.”
***
When I returned home the landline phone was ringing. “Smart Detective Agency.”
“Stan Wozniak here. I need to speak with Ms. Evans.”
“This is Barb Evans. What can I do for you, Mr. Wozniak?”
“You can explain why you asked Enright Landon those questions the other day.”
His tone made my hackles rise. How much paranoia did the man hold in his cramped little soul? Apparently, because of a few questions he’d become suspicious of his new employee.
I cleared my throat, banishing the snotty response that first arose. “You heard everything Landon and I said. Is there a problem I’m unaware of?”
“I didn’t get where I am today by blindly trusting others, Ms. Evans.” Without skipping a beat he asked, “Are you currently investigating a case?”
“Several, actually.” Several is vague enough to mean two.
His pause was brief. “But you multi-task, right? Isn’t that what the modern woman is noted for?”
“You know what they say. We have to work twice as hard to be considered half as good.” Especially by men like you.
His next words surprised me. “Can we meet somewhere? I’d like to run a problem by someone familiar with the criminal mind.”
Was Wozniak losing it, or did he know something I didn’t? Only one way to find out. “Where would you like to meet?”
“There’s a diner on 12th and Main. Do you know it?”
“Yes. When?”
“Now if you can manage it. I’m already there.”
How like him to assume I’d dance to his tune. He was clever, though, because I was intrigued enough to meet him. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
Fall in Michigan is a time when each day—sometimes various parts of a day—requires a different coat: light, medium, rain, wind, or heavy. I’d walked to Rory’s office earlier, so the question I had to ask myself was which coat I’d left my car keys in the last time I drove somewhere. Faye came into the office as I was checking pockets.
When I told her where I was going, her eyes widened. “Really? Stanley Wozniak?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”
***
Wozniak was sitting at a table in the classic Wyatt Earp position: facing the room, back to the wall. Before him was a platter, empty except for stains of egg yolk and toast crumbs. He rose as I approached. “What would you like, Ms. Evans?”
I spoke to the waitress. “Coffee, please.”
He tried to interest me in a pastry, but I refused. Taking his platter, the woman went off to get the coffee pot.
Wozniak regarded me with his usual direct gaze, so I looked right back. He was a few years older than I with gray hair cut GI short and a lean body that hinted at either an exercise regimen or high metabolism. From Retta I knew Stan had been married three times and was known nowadays for temporary liaisons with women who were physically attractive but not terribly smart.
“You’re wondering why I asked you here.”
“It sounds to me like you distrust the man you recently hired.”
The waitress returned to pour my coffee and refill Wozniak’s. It smelled good, and I smiled at her in thanks. Wozniak waited until she was gone before he spoke.
“Shortly after you came to the office, a woman from the human resources office at Landon’s last place of employment called. He was out at the quarry, so I took the call. She wanted to ask him something about his 401K, and I told her what time she could call back later and speak to him.” Stan sipped his coffee. “Since your visit was fresh in my mind, I asked the woman if they’d ever had any questions as to Landon’s character.” He paused to give me a lesson in business. “They all write glowing reference letters, but they never tell you what they left out.”
“Hard to get rid of an unsatisfactory employee if you admit he’s unsatisfactory,” I agreed.
“Yes. Well, this woman assured me Landon was an excellent engineer and a hard worker, uninspired but honest. The only hiccup came when the company credit card he was given got charged for a bunch of cash withdrawals he couldn’t have made.”
“Couldn’t have?”
“While Landon was at work, someone visited multiple ATMs and took the maximum amount from each one.”
“Stealing from the company?”
Wozniak shrugged. “It wasn’t Landon. He was at the plant on the days it happened, and the card was in his wallet.”
“Identity theft, then.”
He nodded. “The police found security camera footage of a young man in a hoodie with lots of facial hair and tattoos making the withdrawals, but they never located him.”
“So Landon was never a suspect.”
“No.” Wozniak seemed certain. “The card was used repeatedly over a month’s time. It wasn’t until the bookkeeper reconciled employee record sheets with the credit card statements that the theft was discovered.”
“And steps were taken to stop it.”
“Of course.” He shifted in his chair, setting his elbows heavily on the table. “The authorities were alerted and the card was flagged, but it was never used again. The police believe the thief was a lone wolf who seized an opportunity and made the most of the information until discovery of his withdrawals became likely.”
“How much did the company lose?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
I set my cup down on the coaster with a soft ceramic clunk. “The thief must have been pretty busy for a while.”
“That’s why I’d like to hire you to check on Landon—discreetly—and see if he’s the type who might have taken some fast cash from his employer.”
Remembering the shy engineer’s demeanor I asked, “Do you suspect he isn’t what he seems to be?”
Wozniak grinned mirthlessly. “It’s hard for me to believe anyone is as mild-mannered and self-effacing as Enright Landon. If I said I wanted him to personally get Lake Huron water samples from a mile off-shore, he’d nod that big old head of his and start wading.” He shrugged. “I suppose it could be an act.”
I considered his offer. “I’m not sure if we can help you. If the case we have now should connect to Landon, we’d run into a conflict of interest.”
As I said it, my brain took that idea a step further. What if Stan himself was behind this? He had the money to buy the properties, he had the resources to build a bottling plant, and he was always looking for ways to expand WOZ Industries. Had he hired Landon with an eye to diversifying into bottled water?
Then why would he want me to investigate him?
That answer came quickly: to keep his finger on the pulse of our activities. If Wozniak wanted to know what the Smart Detectives were up to, our best way to learn what he was up to might be to agree to his proposal.
He was waiting, and it felt like those gray-blue eyes were reading my thoughts. “Tell you what. If something we learn points to the possibility that Landon is dishonest, I’ll make sure you’re made aware of it.”
I didn’t say how he’d be made aware. He might learn of it when the police came with a warrant to search his offices. If Wozniak was involved in property crimes, elder abuse, and possibly murder, he’d get no sympathy from me.
“Fair enough.” He set his cup down and slid it off to the side, as if closing the topic. Looking over my shoulder at nothing he said, “I see her sometimes.”
The abrupt change of subject caught me by surprise, and I stared at him blankly.
“Brooke. We get together whenever I’m up here.”
It took me a second to recall that Brooke was the granddaughter he’d rejected, believing her father was a murderer. “She’s a good kid—got all A’s on her last report card.” His voice took on a wistful tone. “She looks just like my Carina did at that age.”
“I’m sure that’s a good thing—for both of you.” Sliding out of the booth, I took up the jacket I’d laid on the seat and pushed my arms into the sleeves. It had been my intention to remain aloof, but the fact that Stan was trying to be a grandfather to Brooke earned him a modicum of respect in my eyes.
“If what I learn about Landon has anything to do with his job at WOZ Industries,” I told Stan, “I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Faye
While Barb met with Mr. Wozniak, I called a couple of contacts who’d promised to do some digging for me. A friend at the county records office had researched the current ownership of the Clausen property. “It was purchased by a corporation called S&S Incorporated,” she reported, “but I couldn’t find a single human associated with it, just a law office out of Detroit.”
Sherry, who ran a local print shop, had a friend in Lansing knowledgeable enough to navigate the layers of government bureaucracy and locate paperwork making its way through the system. “A usage request has been made,” she reported. “The owner of a property on Sweet Springs asked for an assessment, and it’s scheduled for November 18th. The property owner is—some corporation.” As she paused to check her notes I supplied, “The S&S Corporation.”
“You’ve heard of them?”
“Not till a minute ago. Any people named on the application?”
After a few seconds she said, “Sydney Mellon is the contact person. Is that a name you recognize?”
“Nope.” I shuffled through my notes on the case, but I was pretty sure that name hadn’t come up.
“Then I guess what I found doesn’t help much.”
“We know there’s interest in the water at Sweet Springs.”
“I was out there once,” Sherry said. “It would be a shame to build a plant next to all that natural beauty.”
“I agree.” Knowing Sherry was an active member of the Allport grapevine I asked, “If I give you some names, will you tell me what comes to mind?”
“Sounds like a fun game.”
Unwilling to tip my hand too easily, I started with two Allport city councilmen. Sherry’s answers were predictable, and I tried the name of a man who considered himself an entrepreneur.
“Nobody likes George,” she said. “Avoid him like the plague.”
“How about Gail Sherman? She’s a realtor at—”
“I know of her,” Sherry interrupted. “They say she goes through men like the Kardashians go through eyeliner.”
“So who’s the current man?”
“Some tourist. That was last week, so it might be old news.”
Barb’s current location flitted through my mind. “How about Stan Wozniak? Did Gail ever date him?”
Sherry searched her memory, humming a little. “Can’t say yes for sure, but she’s definitely his type: big boobs, big eyes, limited comprehension of words of more than two syllables.”
“She’s dumb?”
“Not when it comes to making a buck, but she couldn’t tell the truth about a property if somebody tattooed it on her arm.”
“So, not crooked but definitely bent a little.”
“That’s about right. Come to think of it, Gail might be seeing Stan. Her car was at WOZ last week when I delivered stationery.”
“You’re sure it was her car?”
“She’s got one of those magnetic signs that says So-Rite Realty. If the Asian guy is in her past, she might go after Stan. She’d have to move fast, since he isn’t around much anymore.”
“The Asian guy?”
“The tourist. Can’t think of his name—”
Rick Chou. Gail was dating—or had been dating—our client and Retta’s new friend. How much had they talked about water bottling, elderly aunts, and the Smart Detective Agency?
The door opened just then and Barb came in, along with windblown dirt and leaves. Eager to know what she’d found out, I thanked Sherry and told her I’d catch up with her soon.
I turned to Barb expectantly. “What’s with Mr. Wozniak?”
She frowned, making deep lines between her brows. “He wants us to check on Enright Landon, he says, but I’m wondering if he’s got ulterior motives.” She took out her phone. “I turned off the ringer during our meeting, and on the way home I saw I’d received this.” She held out her phone so I could read the message. Rory wanted her to call him at the police station as soon as possible.
“Sounds serious.”
Barb made the call. “Hi, Janet. It’s Barb Evans returning Chief Neuencamp’s call.”
She waited briefly then said, “Rory? What’s going on?” Her expression changed as she listened. Finally she said, “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
We both turned as the door opened and Retta came in. “I was right behind you. I thought we’d—” She stopped as the look on Barb’s face registered. “What’s wrong?”
“Gail Sherman’s body was found floating in Sweet Springs this morning. Sheriff Brill called Rory, and he let me know.”
***
News came in bits and pieces, some of it reliable, some typical of the small-town telegraph, overblown and edging on the ridiculous. Gail had been raped and strangled. Not true. She’d drowned saving a child but couldn’t save herself. Also fiction. A passing motorist had seen her fall into the lake from the main road but couldn’t get to her in time (geographically impossible).
I was reminded of when Dale got hurt. I’d learned afterwards that according to town gossip, I’d moved the fallen tree off him myself, powered by love and adrenalin, like the Cajun Queen who saved Big, Bad John in the song. Way wrong, though if I’d been there, I certainly would have tried.
The truth of Gail’s death, Rory reported half an hour later, was that Fred Marsh had been at his grandfather’s house and noticed something white floating near Clara’s dock. Since the night had been windy, he’d thought a tarp might have blown into the lake. On his way home he’d stopped to fish it out but instead discovered Gail’s body. “There’s a wound on her head,” Rory sa
id over the speakerphone. “The coroner will have to determine if she was struck or hit her head when she fell into the water.”
“According to both Fred Marsh and Clara, Gail was afraid of the lake,” I told him. “She wouldn’t go near it.”
“I guess we’ll know more when the autopsy’s done.”
After ending that call Barb mused, “If Gail had a partner, as Faye suggested, he might have begun to see her as a liability.”
“Because we started looking into her activities?”
“Right.” Spinning slowly left and right in her chair, she laid out a possible scenario. “Let’s say Gail meets Mr. X, who’s smarter than she about business but unaware of Sweet Springs. When Gail mentions her aunt’s property, this person sees possibilities. Still, he knows local objections can delay projects like that and even derail them. Gail knows the Clausen place is for sale, and she says she can talk Aunt Clara into selling. He offers financial backing, and they form a partnership.”
“Right,” Retta said. “The corporation that bought the Clausen property is probably Gail and the partner, whoever he is.”
“Or she,” I put in.
Retta turned to me, one brow quirked. “It has to be one of two people, either Enright Landon or Stanley Wozniak. Enright has the technical know-how to deal with a water plant and Stanley has the business sense.”
“And the drive to make a big profit,” Barbara put in.
“Exactly.” Retta had a new idea. “Maybe the corporation is actually Gail plus Wozniak and Landon.”
“Which one of them murdered Gail?”
“We’re not sure anyone did, Retta.”
“Oh, come on, Barbara Ann. The woman was terrified of the lake. Why would she go down to the dock and just fall in?”
Barb shrugged. “There could be a dozen reasons. We need to deal in facts.”
“But we should think outside the box, too.”
“All right, let’s do that. Are there other reasons why someone would want Gail dead—assuming she was murdered?”
We all thought about that for a while. “It depends how far the scheme to get the properties went,” Retta finally said. “If Gail and her partners killed Caleb Marsh and burned the Warners’ house down, one of them might have wanted to get back at them.”