Sleuthing at Sweet Springs (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 4)

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Sleuthing at Sweet Springs (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 4) Page 21

by Maggie Pill


  “He told me he’s a night owl. Why don’t you call now?”

  I did as he suggested, though I dreaded doing it. As I waited for him to answer, Cramer’s remark about wishing he weren’t so good with computers came to mind. Maybe he’d suspected it was April all along.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Faye

  The phone rang so early Monday morning I was surprised, and it was even more of a shock when I saw the caller I.D.

  “Cramer, you’re up early—or is it the opposite?”

  “I had some things on my mind, so I couldn’t sleep.”

  “What’s up, hon?”

  He told me the story of the night’s activities. Retta had acted quickly, but Lars’ presence was a golden opportunity to end the harassment Rory had been suffering. When Cramer said Retta wanted me to tell Barb the situation had been handled, I pictured her casually dropping it in at the end of their conversation. Retta knew Barb would be angry about her interference, so I got to be in the middle, as usual.

  I had to hand it to her for solving the problem, though. “You’re sure Lars scared them into giving up?”

  “Yeah, he did. Gager is leaving Allport completely.”

  “That’s good. What about the woman?”

  “That’s why I didn’t sleep last night. The woman is April.”

  “Oh, no, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  He blew out a breath, and my hand tightened on the phone in sympathy. “Aunt Retta thinks April will behave herself knowing the FBI is paying attention. She’s supposed to call the city offices today and apologize.”

  “Anonymously, I assume.”

  “Right. She thinks Lars and Retta are the only ones who know it was her. Retta thought I should know, and I—” He gave a dry chuckle. “—I wanted to talk it over with my mom.”

  There wasn’t much I could say. Mothers cannot criticize spouses, even ex-spouses, without creating trouble. If we agree that a woman is worthless and cruel, our sons might conclude we think they’re poor judges of character. And too many times, the cleft in the relationship is mended at some point in the future. Then you’re the mom who said terrible things about the woman your son loves.

  I said the only thing I could say, though it was repetitious. “I’m so sorry, hon.”

  “The funny thing is that I knew—at least I sorta knew. When I was researching Gager and found out he worked at the Ugly Bar, I thought, ‘April works there.’ I didn’t let myself go on from there, at least consciously, but I think I knew right then.” His voice sounded strained as he went on. “You think you know the person you married, you know?”

  Recalling Dale’s belief he’d ruined my chances at a good life, I said, “Sometimes you don’t, even after decades of marriage.”

  “People always say I’m a nice guy.” Cramer made it sound like a curse. “That’s what some women look for, I guess, a nice guy with a steady paycheck—until they find one they like better.”

  “If it helps, you aren’t the first man to be taken in by a pretty face, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

  His answering murmur indicated intellectual understanding, but it had to be tough to comprehend with his heart. “I’ll feel better when she admits to everyone that the stuff they said about Chief Neuencamp isn’t true. I’d appreciate a call when you hear, so I know April did the right thing.”

  “I’ll text you. Now go get some sleep.”

  “Thanks, Mom—Oh, one more thing. Aunt Barb told me about the case you’re working on out at Sweet Springs.”

  I wondered briefly where he’d seen Barb. Apparently Cramer had had more conversation with his aunts in the last few days than he’d had in a year.

  “She mentioned that Stan Wozniak out at WOZ Industries might be involved, so I did a little checking. Someone out there has been emailing the Clear-Cold Water Company. I didn’t read the emails,” he said as if to reassure me. “I just looked at their sent list.” After a pause he added, “I can open them if you want me to.”

  My mind was making connections all over the place. Someone at WOZ Industries could be Stan Wozniak, could be Enright Landon. One of them was trying to connect Sweet Springs with a bottler. And my son was snooping into WOZ emails, which was undoubtedly illegal. I sat down in my chair with a plop, trying to think.

  After a moment I said, “We should do this the legal way if at all possible. Then what we uncover, if anything, can be used against whoever the criminals are out there.”

  “I don’t get the whole water thing. Why’s the water at Sweet Springs so important?”

  “I have a theory. Now that bottlers have sold most of America on bottled water, they’re taking the next step and marketing lines of “better” water. Spring water is supposed to be healthier, so they can charge more for it.”

  “I see.” He didn’t see, but then Cramer had probably never paid for water in his life.

  “You’ve been helpful, and Barb and I will get on this right away.” I wanted to add, “Don’t do it again,” but I bit my tongue.

  “I tried to call Aunt Barb all day Saturday, but the phone kept going to voicemail. Then I tried you and Aunt Retta. Same thing.”

  “We were in Canada, the three of us,” I told him.

  “That’s cool. Was it a good trip?”

  I wiped a film of perspiration off from my upper lip with a tissue. “It’s really too soon to tell.”

  “I should have told Aunt Retta last night, but I kind of forgot about it when she called and said we were going to sting the people who were harassing the chief.” He’d begun to sound less stressed. I guess talking things over with your mom can be helpful, even if the things you tell her make her shiver. “It was kind of fun helping Agent Johannsen, even if—” He’d reminded himself of his ex-wife’s low standards.

  “I’m sorry April did what she did, but she got what she deserved. It can’t be fun to face Lars Johannsen when you’re guilty and he knows it.”

  Cramer’s sense of humor returned. “Don’t forget Aunt Retta. I bet she didn’t cut April any slack, either.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  Barb

  Faye and I acted on Cramer’s information immediately. I put in a call to Cold-Clear and, with some fast talking, got an appointment with their resource development director. Since Cold-Clear was headquartered in Bay City, it meant a long drive for me, but I doubted they’d reveal company business over the phone. Face-to-face I could use my lawyer skills to elicit information. Even if they wouldn’t give me a name, I could perhaps read between the lines.

  Antoinette Nash was round-faced, stocky, and direct. Her office smelled of roses, and I saw a bouquet of at least two dozen on a table to one side. A gift for Sweetest Day, it appeared. I always wondered who observed that made-up holiday.

  I liked Ms. Nash right away, and she seemed to respond to me as well. We spent a few minutes discussing our backgrounds, recognizing without stating outright that we’d fought for our positions in a world dominated by men. I had retired from the field of corporate battle, but she seemed capable of holding her own in hers.

  I explained that we’d “stumbled” on the company’s name as we investigated a case. Figuring Cold-Clear wouldn’t want to associate itself with shady dealings, I told her our theory that a person or people was attempting to buy up the Sweet Springs properties in order to gain complete water rights. “One name we’re pretty sure of is Gail Sherman.”

  Frowning, she opened a folder on her desk, flipped quickly through several sheets with a moistened finger, and scanned one near the bottom. “I have no record of anyone with that name.”

  I breathed an inward sigh of relief when she answered. We weren’t going the “Contact our lawyers” route, at least not yet.

  “Ms. Sherman was a real estate agent who might have been working with someone acquainted with the bottling industry—combining their talents, as it were.”

  She picked up on the verb tense. “She was an agent?”

  “Ms. Sherman’s b
ody was found in the springs last week.”

  Nash sucked in a breath. “That’s terrible.”

  “You can see why we’d like to know with whom she might have been working.”

  “We can’t reveal details of an on-going negotiation.”

  That was what I’d expected. “I understand.” After a pause I said, “Perhaps you could confirm some of what we know.” When she hesitated, I added, “Ms. Sherman was probably murdered. There was another suspicious death, an arson, and an innocent woman who is confined to a nursing home, all so someone can get control of this property.”

  That information dismayed her, so I went on quickly. “You can simply nod your head to let me know we’re on the right path.”

  After a moment, she nodded once.

  “All right,” I said. “Someone contacted you recently with an offer to sell Sweet Springs to Cold-Clear.”

  When she merely looked at me, I revised the statement. “Someone wants to lease Sweet Springs to Cold-Clear.” That time I got a nod.

  “Last week you sent one of your engineers to test the water.”

  Another nod. Retta had told Faye, who’d told me, that she’d been out to the springs last week and seen two vehicles leaving the area. What Retta had been doing out there I didn’t know. Faye had convinced me it was best not to ask.

  If bottling was the issue, which it seemed to be, people with scientific know-how would be poking around the springs, testing and devising methods for water withdrawal.

  Now I used my semantic skills. “The offer to provide water rights came by email, from an account listed as WOZ Industries.”

  Nash hesitated but finally gave a quick nod.

  “Can you provide a name?”

  “I can’t.” She sounded genuinely sorry.

  “Can you tell me if the person has visited this office?” My thought was I could check recent trips to Bay City made by everyone involved with Gail Sherman.

  Twirling her pen between her fingers, Nash thought about the repercussions of answering that question. “No.”

  “Have you spoken to the person in charge by telephone?” Maybe Rory could get a warrant to search phone records.

  Again she shook her head. “No. I spoke with a secretary to set up the appointment for testing, but that’s all. She met our technician in town and escorted him to the site.”

  I doubted any secretary from WOZ had done that.

  “Can you share the specific WOZ email address with us?”

  She hesitated. I said, “Murder, arson, and fraud, Ms. Nash.”

  Her smile was rueful. “I’ll have to check with legal. How about if I message it to you if and when they say it’s okay?”

  “That would be great.” Rising, I put out a hand. “Thanks so much for seeing me on short notice.”

  She rose too. “It was nice to meet you, but if this really is the mess it seems to be, I’d appreciate it if you kept our name out of it. We’ve done nothing except consider a proposal, so it wouldn’t be fair to associate our name with this scheme.”

  I said I’d try, knowing I had about as much control over the news media as I had over Retta.

  As I drove northward through a veritable storm of falling leaves, I considered what I knew about Stan Wozniak. Was it possible he had plotted with Gail Sherman to sell water to Cold-Clear and then killed her when they disagreed?

  As much as I disliked the man, I doubted it. There were practical reasons, such as he wasn’t living in Allport anymore and therefore didn’t have time to run around burning down houses. Of course he could afford to pay someone to do his dirty work, but that would have meant letting others know he was involved in crime. My take on Stan was that if he were willing to commit murder, he wouldn’t have shared that knowledge with anyone.

  More importantly, Stan wasn’t the criminal type. Though I believed he would skin a rival on a business deal if he could, he simply didn’t have the subtlety it would take to sneak around buying up the springs. He’d have gone to the owners, bought out those who were willing to sell, and told the rest to go ahead and sue if they didn’t like what he was doing with the water.

  Still, Stan was connected somehow. The emails had come from WOZ. On an impulse, I pulled to the side of the road, took out the business card he’d given me, and called his direct line.

  “Wozniak.”

  “Stan, it’s Barb Evans. Have you got a minute to talk?”

  “If it’s about what we discussed last week, I do.”

  “It is.” Briefly I told him about the woman from Cold-Clear’s admission they’d been dealing with someone at WOZ.

  “Someone here? Who?”

  “She’s checking with her people to see if she can get permission to tell me.”

  He paused, and I could almost feel that intelligent brain of his vibrating across the distance between us. “Cold-Clear Water, right? We don’t need them to tell us. I’ll find out who’s been e-mailing them in ten minutes’ time.”

  He called back in seven. “The email came from an account with Landon’s name on it,” Stan said. “He claims it isn’t his, and he showed me the one he uses. One is [email protected] and the other is landone@woz. He says he uses the first one and didn’t know there was a second.” His voice dropped as he muttered, “I knew the guy was too good to be true.”

  I’d been thinking as I drove, and I asked, “Could Gail Sherman have accessed Landon’s email?”

  “Sherman?” There was a long pause before he answered. “Gail, um—she was around for a while last month.”

  “You were seeing her.”

  “Not seriously.”

  I didn’t comment. Stan’s romantic relationships were neither serious nor lengthy. “Might she have used Landon’s email account?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “But she was at your building more than once?”

  “Yes. It was convenient for us to leave from my office.” His voice changed again. “At least that’s what she said at the time.” He seemed unsure what to say next. “Gail—Gail was an attractive woman. When I came north to break Landon in, she dropped in a few times with papers for him to sign. We got to talking, and one thing led to another.” He cleared his throat. “I soon found her company dull, though. She had no conversation.”

  I hadn’t heard that Stan required scintillating small talk from his women, but age catches up with all of us, I guess.

  Unaware of my judgmental thoughts, he went on. “The four of us, Landon and his wife and Gail and I, went out to dinner once.” He chuckled. “It was a disaster! Landon has no social skills, and his wife is a looker but as dumb as—Well, she’s no ball of fire, either, I can tell you.”

  Just when I started to like the man a little, he disappointed me again. “Perhaps she saves her fire for her husband.”

  He didn’t get it. “I hope so, because she’d be boring to come home to every night. No wonder En’s always willing to work late.”

  I ended the call, irritated by Stan’s double standard where women were concerned. Telling myself there was no way to change men like him, I tried instead to put together the bits of information we’d gathered. There were many possibilities. Using her access to the building, Gail might have invented a second email address for Landon and used it for her own purposes. Stan could have fooled me into believing he wasn’t the type to plot with Gail. It was possible Landon was using the second email and lying about it. Or Gail’s partner was someone else at WOZ, someone we hadn’t yet looked at.

  The only clear thing in this case was the water at Sweet Springs.

  During one of my rest stops I called Faye, who listened to what I’d learned, asking intelligent questions. Still, I thought she seemed anxious. “What’s wrong, Faye?”

  Haltingly she told me that Rory was safe from further harassment. Harold Gager had abruptly quit his job at the Ugly Bar and left town, claiming he never wanted to see Allport again. At mid-morning the mayor’s office had received a call from a chastened but still anonymous wo
man who claimed the charges against Chief Neuencamp had been a joke. The state police sergeant assigned to the case had called Rory to report a similar call, saying he was certain things would be cleared up quickly.

  Relieved but puzzled I asked, “How did this miracle happen?”

  There was a long pause. “I guess it was a group effort: Lars, Gabe, Cramer, and Retta.”

  Heat rose in my neck. “With Retta as ringleader.”

  “I was left out, too, Barb.” Faye sounded both irritated and defensive. “I was at the farm all afternoon yesterday, and Cramer never said a word about his plans for the evening.”

  “She wanted to do it without us.”

  “But it got done. That’s a good thing, right?”

  I stared out the window, hardly noticing the fallen leaves accumulating on my windshield. It was fair. I had plotted behind Retta’s back to get Lars to Michigan, so she’d plotted behind mine to solve Rory’s problem. Having spent my career as a lawyer, I knew how to accept defeat and recognize when balance had been achieved. We both should have let the other manage her own affairs. Neither of us had been able to do it.

  Realizing Faye was waiting for a response, I made a decision. “If this is the end of the interference, I won’t give Retta grief about it. When she returns from Wisconsin, we’ll just go on.”

  I felt her relaxing across the miles. “I think that’s best.”

  “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Sliding my phone back into its convenient slot in my purse, I returned to the road. To myself I decided one thing, however. Retta would not win the Battle of the Oxford comma.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Faye

  I’m a sucker for social media, though it sometimes makes me crazy. Despite the drama and comments that reveal a complete lack of understanding of government, society, and religion, there are good things, too, like sites where people share their lives with friends and acquaintances. My oldest son Jimmy lives in North Dakota, and if it weren’t for the internet, I might conclude he fell into a sinkhole somewhere. No letters, few phone calls, and on my birthday, an electronic card, usually with dancing animals. That’s it—unless he needs money, but that’s a whole other story.

 

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