Autumn Secrets (Seasons Pass Book 4)

by Susan C. Muller

  The dog cocked her head to one side.

  “Don’t worry. The doctor says she’s going to be fine. It’s her tachycardia. She’ll be home tomorrow.”

  Sweet Pea wiggled down and stood by her food bowl. So much for her concern over their friend.

  Noah fed his dog, then pulled the butcher-paper-wrapped bar-b-que from the fridge. It was cold, and the grease congealed, but he ate it straight from the package, standing over the sink.

  Was eight thirty too late to call Laurel? He’d like to let her know what happened. Explain why he hadn’t had time to work on Tom Meyers’ mystery after all the help she’d been.

  Especially since it was likely to be several weeks before he could get back to it. Monday morning the answers would start dribbling in on the Killing Field Murders.

  If that FBI agent was worth his salt.

  A positive ID on even one of the victims would be nice. How long did it take to check dental records? And how would he explain having a copy of that file at home if it came back positive?

  Info on the owner of the apartment complex or the vacant lot would give him another direction to look. Meanwhile, he and Conner would start searching out the money order in Katy and then any business that had ever owned any part of the apartment complex.

  He stared at Laurel’s number on his phone and tapped it before he could change his mind.

  “Hi, Noah.” Her voice held an upbeat tone. Did that mean she was glad to hear from him?

  “Hi. I wanted to make sure you got home from Austin okay.” Geez. That sounded lame even to him. He’d always checked on Betsy or Rachelle when they were out, but that didn’t give him a right to check on Laurel.

  “Thanks. Traffic was a pain, but that’s to be expected on a Sunday night. I’ve been home long enough to unpack and start a load of laundry. You?”

  “I got home about eleven, but I wasn’t able to work on that information you were so helpful with. My neighbor got sick and I had to take her to the hospital.”

  “Oh no. What happened?”

  “Her heart decided to do the River Dance. Apparently that’s happened before. The doc increased her pills and wants to put in a pacemaker, but with her husband gone, one son dead in Afghanistan, and the other working on a ranch in Wyoming, that will have to wait until Christmas break when her daughter-in-law can come down.”

  “She’s lucky to have you.”

  Not as lucky as I am to have her. Noah toed off his shoes and leaned back, the first time he’d relaxed since he woke up. “Anyway, it may be a few weeks before I can start trying to trace down that information you gave me. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care.”

  “My boss is going out of town for the week. Monday I’ll be busy, catching up for missing Friday. After that, I have to answer the phone, set up appointments and stuff, but I won’t be overly busy. I had planned to take a book to keep myself occupied. Why don’t I see what I can find out about the relationship between Jeffery Landers and Tom Meyers? I’ll email you anything interesting.”

  She’d do that for me without even knowing why? Well, she knew it was for a friend, and she knew Tom Meyers was Conner’s lawyer, so she probably figured out part of his problem.

  He had to be careful. He’d seen she was smart, but every time he was around her, he became more aware how sharp, how quick she was.

  Not that he planned to lie to her, but parts of his work were confidential. And then there were his secrets.

  He had a couple of doozies that no one left alive knew. Rachelle thought she knew, but she was only half right.

  Betsy had known. He never considered asking her to marry him until he made sure she realized exactly what type of man she was getting.

  Conner strolled into the office, set a coffee on the edge of his desk and one on Noah’s, then pulled out his chair. “How was your weekend? Do anything interesting?”

  “Same old, same old. You?” Noah kept his head turned toward his computer, never looking at his partner.

  Uh oh. Not again. Something was wrong. After Betsy died, Noah had avoided him, kept secrets. The main one, Conner felt certain, was his plan to join Betsy on his own time schedule. Not until someone tried to do the job for him had Noah lightened up.

  The last few months he’d caught glimpses of the old Noah. He’d thought that foolishness was past, so he’d let his guard down.

  Did he need to start worrying again?

  They were hip deep in the biggest case of their careers, the biggest case the city of Houston had ever faced. They wouldn’t see daylight for weeks, months. He couldn’t work that way and deal with Noah’s moods.

  If he couldn’t trust his partner, maybe it was time to step away. Now. Before he was sucked in any deeper. So a new partner could start at the beginning.

  Noah closed his computer screen before Conner could get a look at it and swung his chair around. His smile wasn’t the best Conner had seen, but it didn’t scream fake. “I hate to admit this, but you actually look pretty good. What’d you do, ditch Jeannie and the baby and go to a hotel for a decent night’s rest?”

  “My mother-in-law came for the weekend. She slept in the room with Betsy and I…slept. That’s not all. I don’t want to jinx this by saying it out loud.” He knocked on the fake wood of his desk. “But I think Betsy might be outgrowing her colic. She only cried half as long last night.”

  “Wow. That is good news. I hate to see my Goddaughter suffer.”

  Conner eyed Noah over the rim of his coffee cup. “What about your partner? Doesn’t he count?”

  “He can take care of himself, although I do worry about his wife. She has to live with him and a sick baby.”

  Maybe he’d jumped to conclusions. Noah’s smile was genuine and his eyes bright. But then any discussion about his late wife’s tiny namesake made him smile.

  “Ready to get to work?” Noah’s voice brought him back to the crowded squad room. “I printed off the address on the money order and a list of the businesses involved with the condemned apartment. Want to work together or split up?”

  “Have we heard anything back from the Feds?”

  “Not a solitary fucking word. So much for Special Agent Lincoln Montgomery, the FBI’s wonder boy and our supposed white knight.”

  “Then we might as well work together. You tell the Lieu where we’re going and I’ll call down for a motor pool car. If we’re going to spend the day together, you might as well tell me what you did this weekend. You know I’ll get it out of you.”

  “Drove my next-door neighbor to the hospital and ran into Laurel Bledsoe at a restaurant. Only she’s Laurel Newcomb now that her divorce is final.”

  Conner didn’t answer. His voice would have given away his excitement. Glory Hallelujah. No wonder Noah looked sheepish.

  “Did the two of you…?”

  “No!”

  “Did you at least…think about it?”

  Noah groaned. “Obsessively.”

  Conner let out a laugh. There was some hope his partner might develop an actual life.

  The October temperature was mild, so the air conditioner on the motor pool car was able to keep up while blocking the worst of the exhaust smells and traffic noises from the ever-busy Katy freeway.

  Conner drove and Noah used his phone to find the address printed on the first money order. He leaned back and let Siri give the directions. For grins, he set her to an Australian accent because he knew it would dive Conner crazy.

  In 500 feet exit right onto Fry Road, then turn left onto Fry Road.

  Conner shot him a dirty look but kept driving.

  From Fry, they wound around onto Park Row Drive where they found a strip center that had seen better days.

  So had the owner of Assad’s Jiffy Stop.

  The man was fifty-seven according to the fact sheet Conner had printed out. But they must have been fifty-seven hard years.

  He was missing half a leg, three fingers, and part of an ear. His nose wasn’t looking any too healthy.
>
  Noah and Conner hung back while a biker-type paid for his cigarettes and lottery ticket.

  As they approached the counter, Noah eyed a glass dome of hot dogs, rotating slowly like a Ferris Wheel containing strips of leather cut from an old boot and smelling like yesterday’s underwear. “Mr. Assad?” he asked.

  The owner nodded and his face lit up, but fell just as quickly when he saw Noah’s badge.

  Conner placed a photo copy of the document he’d taken from the Chicken Lady on the counter. “Did you sell this money order?”

  Assad pulled on a pair of quarter-inch thick glasses and peered at the photo. “This isn’t very clear.”

  “You can see the check number and the date right here.” Noah tapped the upper right corner.

  “This is from ten years ago. We don’t even use this form anymore. I can’t issue a refund on something this old.”

  “We’re not asking for a refund. We’re looking for information on the person who purchased it.” If Noah had to stand next to those hot dogs much longer, he was going to lose his appetite for lunch, dinner, and tomorrow’s breakfast.

  “I wouldn’t keep records that old in the store. I’m not sure I have it at all.”

  “If you do have it, where would it be?” Why was digging information out of people always so hard?

  “I used to keep old papers and receipts and stuff, some in boxes in the store room and some in my garage. A few years ago, when I had this surgery,” he leaned on one crutch and pointed to his missing leg, “my son came home from college and spent the summer helping out around here. He cleaned up and “organized” things. He threw out a lot of stuff and put the rest in the attic. If I’ve got it, that’s where it would be, but I’m not in any shape to get it down.”

  “Do you have any neighbors or friends who’d help you?” He didn’t look like a real friendly guy.

  Assad shot him a yeah-right-my-neighbors-would-love-to-climb-around-in-my attic look. “If I bribe my son with a home-cooked meal he might come over, but we’d have to wait until it was convenient for him. Then he’d bring his girlfriend. My wife would looove that. She calls her ‘That little tramp,’ because she dyes her hair. Of course, my wife’s at the beauty salon dying her hair, but that’s to cover the gray, not turn it pink.”

  Noah handed Assad a card with his cell number and the photo of the money order. They had another copy back at the office in the murder book—the detailed file they kept on every case. They could make more copies if they needed to. “Call me as soon as you’re able. We need this information yesterday.”

  He started for the door, but glanced back in surprise as conservative Conner pulled out a five and bought a mega-bucks lottery ticket.

  “What? Babies are expensive. By the time Betsy’s ready for college, it’ll take this million to send her.”

  Shit. He knew the combination of legal and medical bills were taking a toll on Conner. He needed to get on the Tom Meyers problem ASAP and get that much off Conner’s plate.

  The pool car started on the first try, something Conner considered a minor miracle, and he let it idle as he turned toward Noah. “Where to next, Oh Mighty Navigator?”

  “Siri says Jumbo Trucking is only three miles from here.”

  They drove in silence until Conner’s irritation got the better of him. “We had to buy something at that store or he’d never bother to look through his records. Everything in that place was covered in a layer of dust. I wasn’t about to buy anything edible, even something in an air-tight package.” The lie sat heavy on his conscience.

  “Those hot dogs were left over from the Regan administration. I was afraid I’d get food poisoning just from standing next to them.”

  He couldn’t blame Noah for being shocked at his actions. He’d never bought a lottery ticket in his life and knew well the price of one ticket wasn’t going to change the man’s mind about cooperating.

  But he had bills, both now and in the future, and the investment of five dollars was a small price to pay. One day he’d turn around and Betsy would need braces, and a dress for the prom, and she’d want to go off to college, and maybe, when she was thirty-five or forty, a wedding.

  And he needed to start saving for those things. As soon as he got today’s bills paid off.

  Your destination is on the left in 200 feet.

  That was Jumbo Trucking? Looked more like a salvage yard to him.

  A corrugated fence sagged between posts and a gravel driveway led to a dilapidated trailer. The hand-lettered sign over the door was faded, but he could make out Jumbo’s in what was once red paint.

  A click sounded as Noah unfastened his seatbelt. “What’d ya’ think, partner? You have a good feeling about this place?”

  “I think we’d have had better odds going to Assad’s house and climbing around in his attic.”

  “Me too, but his wife was at the beauty parlor, getting her hair dyed.”

  Conner stepped out of the car cautiously, keeping one eye out for a junkyard dog. He and Noah hadn’t gone more than five feet when the trailer door slammed open.

  “We’re not open,” a voice boomed out. A mountain of a man stood in the doorway, blocking any ray of light that might have tried to seep past him.

  And if they were open, what did they sell? Wrecked cars? Broken down trucks? Something more sinister?

  “Is this Jumbo Trucking?” he called out, keeping his distance.

  “Not anymore. Now scram. We’re closed.”

  Conner held out his badge, but kept one hand loose, near his weapon. Beside him, Noah did the same.

  “I’m Detective Crawford. This is my partner, Detective Daugherty. Are you the owner?”

  “Yep. I’m Jumbo.”

  You certainly are.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding a company you did business with about ten years ago.”

  “Hell, I don’t keep records that long.”

  He and Noah took a few steps closer when barking erupted from inside the trailer. The sound was more of a yip than the woof of a large dog. A ball of matted fur that might contain a Shih Tzu squeezed between the man’s legs and he bent to scoop it up, revealing a bowling ball-sized head devoid of hair in the front and sporting a long, graying ponytail in the back.

  Had he rubbed half his hair off on the top of the doorframe?

  “This here’s Princess. She don’t like strangers coming around.”

  No wonder he didn’t have any business if customers weren’t allowed on the property.

  Noah edged closer. “I know you’re busy—”

  Doing what? Conner could hear the strains of a soap opera coming from inside.

  “—and we don’t want to take up any more of your time than necessary, but we’re looking for information on a contractor who built an apartment complex near the ship channel. You were listed as one of the suppliers that didn’t get paid.”

  Jumbo barreled out of the trailer and down a set of wooden stairs. The trailer rose several inches and the stairs sagged into the dirt. “Those fucking sons-of-bitches. You find ‘em for me and I’ll squeeze the money out of their useless hides. I didn’t get enough from them to pay for gas, much less pay my drivers. You know what happens when you don’t pay your drivers? Word gets around and you can’t hire any drivers. Then you’re up shit creek and the bank repossesses your trucks. ”

  His voice was loud enough to rattle window glass and Conner’s heart did a back flip. If the guy came after them, he and Noah together couldn’t stop him.

  Conner held up both hands, palms out. “I understand, sir. That’s why we’re trying to find these guys. Any information you have would help. The records we’ve uncovered go back seven or eight years, when the lawsuits were filed. Can you give us a more precise date?”

  The guy had slowed down some, but was still agitated, hopping from one gigantic bare foot to the other. “Hell, I don’t remember today’s date, much less more’n a year ago. I do know it was back when I had a full head of ha
ir and could still see my toes.”

  “Do you remember any names? Anyone specific you dealt with?”

  “Nah. I never had any names. Just different corporations that disappeared along with the money they owed me.”

  “What about your drivers? If you could give us their names, maybe they could help.”

  “Well…the thing is…. I didn’t hire the type of guys you kept track of or paid with checks. That’s one of the reasons I dropped the lawsuit. I didn’t have any records.”

  Another dead end.

  Back in the car Noah twisted toward him. “We learned one useful thing from Mr. Jumbo.”

  He had no idea what Noah was thinking, but he’d bite. “What’s that?”

  “If we find the scumbag who killed all those women but we don’t have enough evidence to convict him, we can give his name to Jumbo and let him take care of it for us.”

  No doubt his partner was blowing smoke, but Conner had to admit, the idea did have some merit.

  Noah and Conner stopped at the next business on their list only to find it was now Fuji Massage and Spa. Soft music and the smell of incense greeted them as they opened the door.

  The woman who stepped out to meet them was the polar opposite of Jumbo. All of four foot eight, she had jet black hair pulled into a neat bun on top of her head. She wore a blue silk, form-fitting dress with a high collar, gold embroidery, and a side slit about three inches higher than was decent. Long, red-lacquered nails completed her outfit.

  When she saw Noah’s badge, her face twisted. Twin laser beams of hate filled her eyes. The first words out of her mouth were, “Do you have a warrant?”

  Why the hell would they need a warrant to ask if she knew what happened to the previous business? “We’re looking for Sabine Accounting. They used to be located at this address. Do you know what happened to them?”

  “No one here when we moved in five years ago.”

  A bing-bong sounded as the front door was thrown open. Noah swung around with his coat still hooked back, showing his badge. A heavy-set middle-aged man, his smile frozen as he glanced from Noah to the petite dragon of an owner and back, began to stutter. “Uh. Um. I think I have the wrong address.” He was outside and in his car before the door had time to close.