“We should show that to the chief,” I said. “Along with these.”
She and Dad drew closer to inspect the papers I held out.
“Bank statements,” she said. “Dating back to the nineties—Harvey’s?”
“Aristede Junior’s. He never kept a big balance. Didn’t write a lot of checks, either, usually just a handful at the end of the month. And a few days before he wrote his checks, he’d deposit enough funds to cover them.”
“Probably keeps most of his funds in another account,” Dad suggested. “A savings account, perhaps.”
“So far this is the only account of his we’ve found,” I said. “And those are cash deposits.”
Dad took a closer look.
“So they are. Not sure what it means, but it’s interesting.” I could tell from Dad’s expression that he found these financial clues rather tame compared to medical ones.
“It could mean that at least when Harvey’s father was alive, people were right to suspect he had treasure hidden here,” I said. “The bank’s staff would gossip. Although if you ask me, he probably kept the bulk of his money in another bank. He was a traveling salesman, remember? He wouldn’t find it all that convenient to use a bank with only the one branch here in Caerphilly.”
“Then why have an account here at all?” Dad asked.
“So people in town wouldn’t think he was disloyal to the local bank?” I suggested.
“More likely so people in town would know as little as possible about his financial affairs,” Judge Jane said.
“Regardless of what the real reason was,” I said, “everyone would assume he kept his money under the mattress.”
“Which would be a great motive for murder if these were current bank statements,” Judge Jane said. She stretched. “We’ve been here for three hours. I vote we close up shop for the day.”
I suspected Dad was about to object,
“Yes,” I said. “We can take these finds over to the chief. See what he makes of them.”
“Good idea.” Dad sounded much more cheerful.
Judge Jane had already loaded the papers into an empty box and was putting on her coat.
“Raining cats and dogs again,” Dad said. “Let’s find something waterproof to put over that box.”
“I’ll lock up,” I said, heading for the front doors. “Meet you there.”
The chief wasn’t bowled over by our latest discoveries.
“Interesting,” he said. “No, I mean that,” he added—no doubt remembering that Mother had trained her family to use “interesting” when we couldn’t think of any other polite adjective to use. “The letter certainly sheds light on the … strained relationship between Mr. Dunlop and his cousins.”
“Only second cousins,” Judge Jane pointed out.
“And the bank account makes it credible that at some point, people might have had good reason to suspect Mr. Dunlop’s father of hiding his money under his mattress,” Dad added.
“But it’s not exactly evidence,” I finished.
“We’ll keep looking,” Dad said.
“Though we’re going to take a break until after Christmas,” I said. “If you’re okay with it.”
“I’m fine with it,” the chief said.
Just then the power went out. The chief’s windowless office became very, very dark.
“Drat,” the chief said. “The generator should come on in a few seconds.”
We waited in silence.
The chief sighed.
“Then again, sometimes we have to call Randall so he can coax the blasted thing into—”
The lights came on again. Some of them.
“That’s better,” the chief said. He glanced up at the ceiling, where only one of the four overhead fixtures was on. “We mostly worry about the phones and the heat and the electronic locks on the jail cells,” he explained. “After that, we just need enough light not to bump into the furniture. And then—”
“Chief?” Vern had appeared in the doorway. Evidently the intercom wasn’t something they worried about. “Got a call from Aida, out on the Richmond road. Couple of eighteen-wheelers almost collided.”
“Why is ‘almost collided’ a problem?” the chief asked, although he was already standing and reaching for his coat.
“Because of what happened after they avoided each other,” Vern said. “One plowed into the power substation and knocked it to smithereens and the other fell over and is blocking both lanes of the highway.”
“On my way,” the chief said. “Vern, can you see if you can get someone to fill in for you at the desk?”
“I can watch the desk for as long as you like.” Dad sounded as if he’d actually enjoy it. “And I’ll find someone reliable to take over for me when I need to leave. You go on, Vern.”
“Thank you,” the chief said.
“What about the furniture store?” I asked. “If the power’s out, so’s the security system.”
“Drat.” The chief paused on the threshold.
Dad looked torn, no doubt wondering if he should volunteer to babysit the furniture store instead of the police station. Which would be the most exciting post?
“Maybe we could recruit some folks to camp out there tonight,” he said.
“With no heat?” the chief said. “Randall hasn’t gotten around to fixing the insulation yet. Not to mention the fact that whoever’s trying to burgle it might be our murderer.”
“I’ll bring the dogs in,” I said. “Spike and Tinkerbell. It won’t get cold enough to bother them, and the two of them should have a pretty good deterrent effect.”
“It’ll have to do,” the chief said. “Thanks. And I’ll have my officers cruise by as often as possible.”
Although we both knew that if the chief and his troops were dealing with the toppled eighteen-wheeler, the ruined power substation, and all the other complications that would arise with heavy rains and gale force winds, they wouldn’t be able to swing by all that often.
“Just lock the door between the front room and the rest of the station if you have to leave the desk for any reason,” the chief said.
We left Dad sitting behind the desk, looking excited at his new assignment.
The fact that the chief, who knew Dad’s enthusiasms and eccentricities all too well, had accepted his help so readily underlined how perilously thin the department’s resources were stretched.
I’d have felt guilty for not volunteering myself, but I had a lot to do to get ready for the overnight at Trinity. Packing a backpack for myself wouldn’t take much time. Making sure Michael and the boys were packed would take much longer. And I’d been putting off fixing anything for my contribution to the potluck supper, on the theory that by this point in the holiday season I could pull together enough food just by raiding the leftovers from all the various family festivities. Foraging would be faster than cooking, but would still take time. And then there was packing up the dogs.
I expected to find the house in turmoil, as the visiting relatives adjusted to the lack of power. But things were humming along nicely. In spite of the rain, several visiting uncles had fired up our grills and were standing around in their rain slickers, grilling or warming up things.
Inside, half a dozen relatives had found the Coleman lanterns and were quietly reading by the Christmas tree, while an aunt sat at the piano, softly playing Christmas carols by way of a replacement for the iTunes playlist that would normally be emanating from all the tiny speakers hidden in the greenery.
In the kitchen, various aunts and cousins were expertly assessing which foods needed to be eaten soon, which would keep till tomorrow, and which would be taken out to the overflow refrigerator in the barn, where they’d keep indefinitely, since the temperature out there was already at or below the temperature inside the fridge. And brewing pots of hot tea over a small one-burner camp stove.
I successfully delegated the job of gathering dinner and snacks for the boys and their friends and went upstairs to pack. M
ichael’s backpack was there, and seemed complete. Okay, mostly complete. I tucked a few things I suspected he’d miss into my own backpack.
“Hey, Mom!” Josh bounced into the bedroom, with Jamie trailing close behind him. “We figured out what we’re giving Dad.”
“Great,” I said. “Do I get a hint?”
Jamie shoved a piece of paper in front of me. A picture of a piece of electronic equipment of some sort. A rather familiar-looking piece of equipment. I peered at the text below the picture.
“A scanner.” My heart sank—I was going to have to break some bad news to them.
“It’s a very good scanner,” Josh said, rather importantly.
“According to Cousin Kevin,” Jamie added. “He knows about stuff like that.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “But your dad already bought a scanner—pretty sure it was that exact scanner, because it was the one Kevin recommended.”
“Well, we know that,” Josh said. “He got it after Kevin convinced him that it would be a great idea to scan all those old papers you have in the attic.”
“But Dad hasn’t started doing that,” Jamie said. “He hasn’t used it at all. He hasn’t even set it up, and he’s had it almost two years now.”
He was probably right. Michael’s zeal to declutter our files had suddenly vanished when he was faced with the task of actually setting up the scanner, and even if he had done the setup, I wasn’t sure when he’d have found the time to use it.
“We’re not giving him the scanner,” Josh said. “The present is that we’re setting it up for him.”
“That’s why Kevin’s here—he’s going to help us set it up,” Jamie explained. “And show us how to use it.”
“And then we’ll scan all that paper for you,” Josh said. “I think that will be a pretty cool present.”
“I think it will be an awesome present,” I said.
“Cool beans,” Jamie said. Was that still a fashionable phrase, or was he using it because he knew I’d get it?
“We just thought we’d tell you so you could stop racking your brain to think of something good for us to give Dad,” Jamie explained.
I decided not to tell him that I’d been too busy worrying about Harvey’s stuff and then his murder to do much brain-racking.
“And isn’t it nice that we thought of something that gets rid of useless stuff instead of adding to our stuff?” he added.
“It’s fabulous,” I said.
“Oh, and we thought of a good present for you, too,” Josh said. “And Dad agrees that it’s cool, so you can stop worrying about dropping hints.”
He gathered up the picture of the scanner and I could tell they were about to dash off.
“Are you all packed for the sleepover?” I asked. “And if so, could you pack up what Spike and Tinkerbell need for their own sleepover?”
“Are they coming to the sleepover?” Jamie sounded dubious, as if sure this was against the rules.
“They’re going to guard Mr. Dunlop’s stuff while the power is out,” I said.
“Awesome,” Josh said.
“Won’t they be in danger?” Jamie asked.
“Not really,” I said. “Anyone who sees Tink or hears Spike will probably change their mind about trying to break into the furniture store. So pack their food and bowls, and some dog blankets for them to curl up in.”
“Right!” They dashed out.
I hauled the backpacks down and left them in the front hall. I trekked down the long hall to the library. More Coleman lamps were set up here, and more people than ever were playing board games, role-playing games, or card games. I liberated a few of the boys’ favorite games just in case the kids needed distraction at the sleepover.
About the only person in the room who didn’t look perfectly contented was Kevin. He was sitting at one of the long mission-styled tables playing a game called Escape from Colditz. It was always a shock to see him in person and realize how much he’d changed since his pudgy adolescence. His long, wiry frame was slouched in a chair and he was hiding a discontented expression behind a long lock of his disheveled dark-blond hair. He was tapping his fingers lightly on the side of his Diet Coke can, waiting with visible impatience while the less-seasoned player whose turn it was dithered.
“You need a generator,” he said without looking up at me.
“Sorry,” I said. “Had we known you were coming, maybe we’d have taken care of that.”
He shrugged.
“Are you going into tech withdrawal?” I asked. “Because if so, you could always go down to the police station after the game and mind the front desk. The chief’s down four officers and so desperate for help that he left your grandfather doing that.”
“They have power there?” He didn’t try to hide the eagerness in his voice.
“Emergency generator,” I said. “And probably some means of communication with the outside world. For that matter, Trinity has a generator, too. You could come help with the sleepover.”
“No thanks. But I’ll go down and relieve Gramps when this game is over. Which should be sometime between now and Easter,” he added, raising his voice.
“Sorry, sorry,” the slow player muttered.
“Has the chief caught his killer yet?” Kevin asked.
“Alas, no.”
“I’m betting on the Haverhills,” he said.
“They’re low on the chief’s suspect list,” I said, and explained about the transponder evidence.
“Bummer,” he said. “Good thing I didn’t actually have money on it. Although—”
The other player finally made his move, and I let Kevin go back to the game. It was probably bad form for chaperones to be late.
Chapter 28
It was already growing dark when we set out for town. The dogs settled in nicely—especially after I checked the refrigerator and bribed them with some bits of chicken left over from the party. I left a battery-powered camping lantern on in the main room, at its lowest setting, less for the dogs than for the convenience of the deputies who’d be cruising by.
Trinity was warm and cozy, thanks to the generator. Although it only powered the essentials—the heat or air-conditioning, the kitchen, and emergency lighting—it was an improvement over what most people had at home, so half a dozen parents had decided to bring their air mattresses and join the ranks of the chaperones. Which was fine by me—we had plenty of food, and sharing the work made it more relaxing for all of us. One mother had even brought several dozen homemade pizzas, which we could heat up thanks to the generator.
And all the extra chaperones made me feel less guilty about slipping out to check on the dogs. I waited until we’d finished with dinner, the post-dinner cleanup, the caroling, the board games, and all the other scheduled activities. The kids were having such a good time that they hardly noticed the howling of the wind outside. With luck they’d be tired enough to fall asleep quickly—and if not, there were plenty of other grown-ups there to cope.
If it had been a pleasant night, I’d have been happy to walk the dozen or so blocks over to the furniture store. But the temperature was dropping, the wind was rising, and it was raining steadily. So I fought down the guilty feeling that I was being lazy and wasteful and climbed into my car.
While I was out, I dropped off half a pepperoni pizza at the police station—where I was relieved to see that Kevin had taken over from Dad at the front desk.
“This is more like it,” he said. “Power, Internet, pizza—it’s almost like civilization.”
I left before he could complain that I should have brought a whole pizza.
I parked in back of the furniture store and used my key. I was surprised not to hear barking as I drew near—was my confidence in Spike and Tink as watchdogs misplaced?
“Spike? Tink?”
Spike gave a short, sharp bark, but didn’t appear. Tink merely growled, a deep bass sound that you felt as much as heard.
Something was definitely up. I instinctively reac
hed to turn on the lights in the back room—which had no effect, of course. But the door to the main room was ajar, and I could see that the battery lantern was still on there. So I turned on my phone’s flashlight so I wouldn’t trip over anything in the back room and hurried into the main room.
First I spotted Tinkerbell standing nose-to-nose with Mr. Brimley, who had his back against the side wall, not too far from the front door. He shifted his body slightly. Tink growled, and he froze again.
“Help,” he said weakly.
I moved the beam some more to the right and illuminated Spike, who was sitting outside the bathroom door, staring at it.
“Help!” said a loud voice from inside. Mrs. Gudgeon.
Spike barked a couple of times, rounded off with a long, ferocious growl, and continued to stare at the door.
“Good dogs,” I said. “At ease, Tink.”
Tink backed a few steps away from Mr. Brimley and sat down, though without taking her eyes off him. Her nose was still nearly level with his.
“Those dogs attacked us,” Mr. Brimley said.
“You don’t appear to be bleeding,” I said. “Trust me, if either of them had actually attacked you, there would be bleeding. Just what were you doing in here, anyway? Was it too dark to read the ‘no trespassing’ signs outside?”
“I saw a light on here in the furniture store,” Mr. Brimley said. “And I looked in and saw her rummaging through things.” He pointed toward the bathroom door, so I deduced that he meant Mrs. Gudgeon.
“He’s a liar!” came the voice from the bathroom. “I saw him rummaging in here! I came in to warn him that if he didn’t clear out, I’d go for the cops.”
“Oh, listen to her,” Mr. Brimley said. “I never did anything of the kind!”
“Don’t listen to him!” Mrs. Gudgeon shouted.
Spike began barking, which didn’t drown out the sound of their voices, but made it pretty impossible to decipher what they were saying.
“Shut up!” I yelled.
Mr. Brimley and Mrs. Gudgeon obeyed, and once they were quiet, Spike calmed down, too.
Meanwhile, I was trying to dial 911, and not getting a signal. Drat. Cell phone coverage was eccentric in Caerphilly at the best of times and usually gave out entirely in any kind of bad weather. I gave up trying to call and sent texts and emails to the chief, Horace, and Aida. I’d seen that emails, especially, could sometimes go through on less signal than a call.
The Gift of the Magpie Page 23