Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Box Set

by S. W. Hubbard

“Did he ever mention a boy named Tristan Renfew, who died at the school in Utah?”

  “No.”

  Lorrie didn’t seem to be holding back. Frank supposed she and Jake hadn’t spent their time together having long philosophical discussions. “Jake knew Steve Vreeland from his days at the Langley Wilderness School, right? How did they get along?”

  Lorrie rolled her eyes. “That Steve creeps me out. Jake made fun of him behind his back, talking in that robot kind of voice.”

  This time Lorrie didn’t realize that she’d once again narrowed the field of friends who could’ve helped her on the night of Heather’s death. It wasn’t Paul or Steve. Ray had been a friend of Chuck’s when Lorrie had been married, so Frank couldn’t imagine Lorrie would call on him for help in setting up her romantic getaway. Of the men on duty that night, that left only Randy Ohlandt and Oliver Greffe. And Frank was pretty sure which of them a woman in need would turn to.

  Frank rose abruptly. "It’s almost morning. I’d better take you home so you can get some rest. The state police will want to talk to you today. And I suggest you call Reid and let him help you out with this custody thing.”

  Lorrie looked amazed. “My friend’s not in trouble?”

  Frank smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Chapter 29

  Sleep was impossible after all the coffee he’d drunk with Lorrie. The information he’d gleaned from her and Dawn Klotz filled him with the urge to get working, but he had to at least wait for the sun to rise. He went home to shower and make a plan, but was back in the office as the first rosy glimmer touched the eastern sky. Before the sun had cleared the top of the Verona Range, Earl walked in.

  “You’re at work early,” Frank said.

  “I heard you found Lorrie last night. I heard it was Penny who was helping her.”

  Ah, he’d forgotten that this meant he owed Earl an apology after all.

  “Earl, I—”

  Earl held up his hand. “It’s okay, Frank. No one could’ve known that it was Penny.”

  Frank stared at his desk. Nothing was more unnerving than Earl’s generosity of spirit. “You gave me your word that you weren’t helping her. I should have trusted you.”

  Earl shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I suspected some of my own family. I thought one of them was lying to me. Anyway, she’s found now. What’s going to happen to her and the kids?”

  “I guess that’s up to Chuck—he could persuade the DA not to press charges.”

  “Ha! That'll never happen.”

  “I told Lorrie to talk to Reid. Maybe he can broker a deal.”

  Earl shoved his hands in his pockets, making his pants droop even more than they normally did on his skinny hips. “So, what are you doing here so early?”

  Frank brought him up to speed on all he had learned from Lorrie and Dawn. Reviewing it for Earl helped him see the case more clearly in his own mind. “Here’s my goal,” he concluded. “To know these three things by the end of the day.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “If Oliver Greffe let Heather out of the isolation room. Why Dawn Klotz is covering this story. And what the hell happened to Justin Levine.”

  Earl glanced at his watch. “Are you going out to the academy now?”

  “No. I’ve had it with MacArthur Payne. Every time I talk to that man, he skews the facts to fit some new theory. And Meyerson’s got his mind made up already, no matter what new information comes in. I’m doing everything from here.”

  Earl looked dubious.

  “I can talk to Oliver when he comes to town later today to give Matthew his organ lesson. And now that I know a little more about Justin Levine, I have a hunch who might be helping him hide out.”

  “Who?”

  Frank shook his head. “It’s just a guess. I’ll let you know if it pans out. In the meantime, I have a project for you.”

  Earl seemed eager to have something to distract him from his concern for his cousin. “What can I do?”

  "I want you to find out everything you can on the public record on Dawn Klotz: where she was born, went to school, when she got married, when she divorced, her work record.” Frank nodded toward the computer. “You can start that now. I’m going to wait until it gets a little later and call Reiger’s sister again. I want to see if she knows the names of the women Reiger was involved with.”

  “Why?”

  “Think, Earl. Reiger was a good-looking guy who couldn’t stay away from the ladies. He left Utah because of trouble with a woman. Dawn Klotz is a beautiful woman who divorced her husband when she lived in Utah. She reported on a story at the school where Reiger worked. What are the chances that they knew each other?”

  Earl grinned. “In the biblical sense?"

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  Frank left Earl poring over vital statistics Web sites and drove out of town toward High Peaks High School. A quick stop at the school office told him the girl he needed to speak to would be leaving homeroom for biology in a few minutes.

  Frank stood in the hall and waited until the ringing of the bell unleashed a torrent of teenagers. Rachel Portman, with her cascade of dark wavy hair, was easy to spot.

  "Good morning, Rachel. Can I speak with you for a minute?”

  Alarm clouded her pretty, dark eyes. “What is it? Did something happen to Ernie? Was my dad in an accident?”

  Frank laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Nothing to worry about, your family are all fine.” He steered her gently toward an empty classroom. “I wanted to talk to you a bit about Justin Levine.”

  He felt her shoulder stiffen. Rachel slipped away from him and stood with her back to the frame of the classroom door, unwilling to step across the threshold.

  “I believe you were with the group who met Justin a few times on the big rock by the creek at the academy?”

  "So? We haven’t been there since ... since what happened with Brad and the fire.”

  “No, I know the group hasn’t been there. But you’ve been there, haven’t you?”

  Rachel moved her right foot backward, but there was no place further for her to edge away from Frank. “How would I get there? I’m only sixteen—I don’t have my license yet.”

  “No, you don’t get that piece of paper until you turn seventeen, but you know how to drive, don’t you?” Rachel bowed her head over the stack of books she clutched in her arms.

  “It’s been a bother for your dad, being the only one in the family who can drive, hasn’t it? He can probably hardly wait until you pass your test. He only agreed to let Matthew take organ lessons because he could walk up to church for them on his own, right? But when the weather’s cold, I bet you help your brother out, don’t you, and give him a lift to the end of your road. I bet your father even says it’s okay, as long as you don’t drive on the main road.”

  Rachel looked up from under the screen of her long hair. “How do you know that?” she whispered.

  Frank conjured up an inscrutable smile that he hoped conveyed he possessed all sorts of mysterious knowledge.

  Somewhere in Doris's endless prattle she had imparted the fact that Matthew got a ride as far as Route 12, but that his father couldn’t be bothered to drive him all the way to the church for his lessons. “So it didn’t take that much more nerve to borrow your dad’s truck at night and use it to get out to the North Country Academy. After all, it wasn’t just for a joyride, it was to help a friend.”

  She lifted her head and met his eyes now, and there was a flash of fierce defiance there. “Brad chickened out. When that teacher at the academy saw them the night of the fire, Brad was afraid to go back. So I took the camping gear to the big rock.”

  He had Rachel pegged, all right. She was the nurturer, the caregiver. With Mrs. Portman dead, she had to take care of her brothers and sister, but he suspected she’d taken on that role even before the crash that killed her mother. Rachel had never known a time when she hadn’t had to take care of Ernie. From her first awareness, he had always been the
re demanding attention, protection, help. Giving those things was second nature to this girl. No wonder Justin Levine, with his dark good looks and insinuating charm, had been able to persuade her to come to his rescue.

  “Justin was in danger at the North Country Academy and no one would help him—not his dad, not the state police . . .” Rachel squared her shoulders, gathering some courage now. "Not you.”

  Well, he deserved that, didn’t he? Rachel’s bold response said it all—he was the man who’d let Heather LeBron die; he could hardly be trusted to protect Justin Levine or anyone else at the school, for that matter.

  “Look, Rachel—I need to figure out what’s going on at the North Country Academy. But whether the school stays open or not, I think everyone will agree it’s not the right place for Justin. His dad is worried about him; he wants him home safe.”

  “Really?”

  He could see how much she wanted to believe this. It wouldn’t take much more to persuade her.

  “I think his dad regrets ever sending him to the academy. He was just mad at Justin about the trouble he got into at his other school.”

  “What trouble?”

  “Justin was expelled for selling drugs. He never mentioned that?” Rachel was kind and generous, but she wasn’t a fool. Frank waited and watched as the information he delivered perked through her mind. He could see doubt beginning to creep into her eyes.

  “It’s getting colder every day, Rachel. You know Justin can’t camp out all winter. He wants you to drive him to Albany so he can hop a train, doesn’t he?”

  She flinched as his question struck home. The class change over, the halls of the school were silent now. “I’d have to drive on the Northway,” she whispered.

  “Where your mom had the accident. I think we both know that’s not a good idea.” Frank took Rachel’s elbow and guided her to a chair in the empty classroom. “Take me to the spot where you meet Justin tonight, Rachel. I’m going to need you to help me persuade him to come in.”

  Rachel searched his eyes, looking for some assurance that she could trust him. “You promise you’re not going to arrest him or send him back to the academy?”

  “I promise. It will all work out for the best.”

  Frank returned to the office and found Earl waiting with an eager-beaver expression that must mean he’d accomplished all that had been asked of him.

  “Whaddaya have?”

  “Dawn Klotz, born 1975 in Westerville, Ohio,” Earl read from his notes. Graduated high school in 1993; graduated New York University with a BS in communications in 1997. Worked for one year on the Sanborn, Ohio, Sentinel, then moved to Utah where she worked on the Utah Guardian from January ’99 to February 2004. Got married to Anthony Trefedi in 2000; got divorced in December 2003. Went to work for the New York Beat in March 2004 and has been there ever since.”

  "Great work, Earl.” Frank held out his hand. “Let me see your notes.”

  Frank studied the time line. “The timing of her divorce would be about right for her getting involved with Jake Reiger. The story about the Langley School was breaking early in the last year of her marriage.”

  Earl cleared his throat. “I, uh, went ahead and called Reiger’s sister in Utah. I remembered last time you talked to her it was before she left for work. You were gone so long, I thought you would miss her.”

  Frank glanced at his watch. “You’re right, I would have. What did she say?”

  “She said she didn’t remember Jake dating a woman named Dawn, Trefedi or Klotz, but she says he had so many girlfriends she couldn’t keep them all straight. She seemed to recall that there was one who was some kind of writer, but she thought she was a poet, not a reporter.”

  Frank frowned and continued to scan Earl’s notes, willing something pertinent to jump out at him. “What is this word?” he asked, pointing to a scrawl that looked like “Uzbekistan.”

  “University.” Earl pointed to the line above. “She graduated New York University in 1997.”

  “New York University—NYU. Isn’t that where Katie and Paul Petrucci went to school?”

  “Yep. Katie got a full scholarship, and that’s where she met Paul.”

  “How old are they, exactly?”

  Earl immediately began the elaborate process that allowed him to calculate the age of anyone in town. “Let’s see... Katie started out in the same grade as my cousin Donald’s older sister, but she skipped a grade, so that would make her...” Earl ticked off the years on his fingers. “Thirty, or maybe thirty-one.”

  “And Paul must be about the same age if they met in school,” Frank said. “Dawn Klotz was born in ’75. That makes her thirty. Could she and Paul have known each other in college?”

  Earl shrugged. “Isn’t NYU, like, a really big place?”

  “It is. But Dawn was just telling me that I ought to believe more in coincidence. Maybe she's right.”

  FRANK PULLED KATIE Petrucci out of the class she was teaching at the nursery school she ran in the Presbyterian Church. Drained of the passion she brought to every task, Katie looked drawn and haggard.

  “Did Paul get his undergrad degree at NYU as well as his master’s?”

  Too exhausted to inquire why he wanted to know, Katie simply nodded. “Yes, in communications.”

  Dawn Klotz’s major. Now he was getting somewhere. “What year did Paul graduate?”

  “Ninety-seven. Why?”

  “Dawn Klotz graduated NYU with a degree in communications in ninety-seven. They must have known each other. Do you remember her from those days?”

  Katie frowned. “I seem to recall there was girl named Dawn in his study group.” Her eyes got a faraway look as she tried to conjure up the memory. “They used to meet in Bobst Library. There was Paul, and Ted, Carlos, Jillian, and—yes, it is her! She had brown hair then and she was about thirty pounds heavier, but it’s the same woman. Dawn Klotz was the fifth person in the group.” Katie’s eyes opened wide and she took a step back from Frank. “What does this—? She’s, she’s the woman he’s been sneaking out to see, isn’t she? Oh my God, I can’t believe that’s what he wants—”

  Frank touched her arm lightly. “I suspect it’s not quite what you think.”

  Chapter 30

  Frank heard the music from out on the flagstone walk, even though the church doors were closed against the freezing air. He slipped inside the narthex and sat in an usher’s chair, listening. There was no need to interrupt Matthew’s lesson.

  “That was fantastic,” Oliver said. "You’ve obviously been practicing.”

  “You think T.J. would like it?”

  “I think T.J. would love it.”

  “What about that spot at measure 157?”

  Frank waited impatiently while they discussed some technicality involving key changes. Now that the music had ended, he was eager to start talking to Oliver. Finally Matthew emerged from the sanctuary with his backpack over his shoulder. The narthex was so dimly lit, he didn’t even notice Frank in the shadows and went out the door.

  Frank popped his head around the corner and saw Oliver with his head bowed over some sheet music. He spoke softly to himself. The notes on the page were obviously as riveting to him as the words of a best-selling novel. Estelle had read music in just that way.

  Frank knew he would startle Oliver, but there was some advantage in that. “Working on something for your own repertoire?”

  The sheet music flew out of his hands. “Geez, you scared me! How long have you been standing there?”

  “I caught the end of your lesson with Matthew. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  Oliver bent to retrieve the music. “Then you heard how good he’s getting. It's a pleasure to teach him.”

  “Takes your mind off what’s going on at the academy, huh?"

  Oliver’s head emerged from under the organ bench. "What is going on, Frank? Yesterday evening they announced that Paul Petrucci had been arrested for Heather’s murder. That can’t be right, can it?”

>   “You tell me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What happened when you went to let Heather out of the isolation room that Thursday?”

  Oliver seemed to stop breathing for a moment. His eyes flicked back and forth, glancing at the door, the pulpit, everywhere but Frank’s face. “Lorrie’s back?” he whispered.

  “Yes. So why don’t you tell me everything from the point when you agreed to help Lorrie meet her boyfriend.”

  Oliver turned his back on Frank and began picking out a tune with one hand on the organ keyboard. “I felt so bad for Lorrie. She worked hard and never had a chance to enjoy herself. When she was on duty in the rec room in the boys’ dorm, we would talk a little. She used to sing in the church choir here when she was a kid. She has a nice alto voice.”

  Frank almost smiled. Typical that Oliver would be won over by a woman’s ability to carry a tune. Some men let their dicks lead them astray; Oliver let his ear do it.

  Oliver continued the story of how he'd agreed to cover for Lorrie while she slipped away early that night. His version matched hers in every detail.

  "Heather being in the isolation room kind of complicated things, but Lorrie gave me the key and I figured I could let her out at ten without anyone noticing.” Oliver’s long slender fingers endlessly picked out the same ten or fifteen notes as he spoke. “If Heather said anything about it, we figured no one would believe her since she had such a reputation for lying.

  “But when I got there, the door was ajar. I opened it up, saw the blood, saw the room was empty.” Oliver shuddered but his fingers kept playing. "I didn’t know what had happened.”

  That tune was driving Frank crazy. He reached out and removed Oliver’s hand from the keyboard. “You didn’t call for help?”

  Finally Oliver looked at him. “I know it sounds crazy. I still can’t believe I didn’t. But I panicked. I was worried about Lorrie and about myself, too. I knew we’d both be in trouble. Neither one of us could afford to lose our jobs, but especially not Lorrie. I thought I’d wait to do anything until I could talk it over with her. But then she never came back. I didn’t know what to think.”