“Possible,” Cooper drawled as BoomBoom and Susan stared at Harry.
“I think I know what comes next.” BoomBoom, no slouch, put her hands together.
“Put the lock back. Fill the safe with fake money. Maybe we can flush them out faster.” Harry beamed.
“His partner will come back to take Don's share,” Susan thought out loud. “Yeah, but how are you going to know when he comes back or if he comes back?”
“Can't we put a small surveillance camera in the shop, the kind they use in the bank? It can't be too expensive. I know Rick is worried about the budget.” Harry warmed to the task. “No one needs to be there. You'll see who it is and nab him later.”
“In the best of all possible worlds, yes, but what if he comes in with a mask? Or she? I shouldn't assume it's a man.” BoomBoom rubbed her hands together. The talk of aches and pains made her joints hurt.
“Yeah, but any picture is better than no picture and whoever this is knows no one is at Don's house. He won't even have to pretend to be a thief,” Harry sensibly said.
Coop held up her hand. “Let me run this by the Boss. BoomBoom, can you weld the lock back?”
“If you all help me, I can. It's so heavy someone has to hold it in place. It's going to take a couple of hours to do it right. You don't want the seam to show, that's a big tip-off.”
“How about Friday night? I have it off. Chinese.” Coop meant bring Chinese food.
“I'll get the food.” Susan thought this exciting. “We shouldn't park there.”
“I've got to back up and drop off the oxygen. I need help with that, too. Harry, you're the strongest.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“We can park at the high school and walk over. There's so much activity there that our cars won't be noticeable,” Susan said.
“Seven,” Cooper said, then nodded toward the building. “I've got to get in there.”
“Will you tell us later?” Harry couldn't stand not knowing something.
“Yes.”
“Boy, it must be unsavory.” BoomBoom, sensitive, felt Cooper's reluctance, as did the others.
“Uh, yes.”
Later that day, Cooper dropped by the post office to pick up her mail. She told Harry and Miranda that she had dropped off papers requesting to exhume Roger's body. Sean hit the roof. He called his lawyer and threatened to drag this case out as long as possible.
Cooper then visited Ida O'Bannon, again patiently explaining the new concern that Roger did not die a natural death. She knew this would be upsetting and she knew that Sean would call a lawyer but she hoped Ida could talk sense into him. This wasn't about violating Roger's corpse, it was about bringing his killer, if he was killed, to justice. He could then rest in peace.
Ida, tearful and shocked, said she would reason with her older son. Legally, this was her decision and she agreed to it.
“Coop, what—?”
She leaned toward Harry, Miranda leaning in, too. “I sent photographs of Wesley and Donny to Roy and Nadine's.”
Harry explained to Mrs. Hogendobber about the matchbook.
“And they recognized Don?” Miranda just couldn't believe this.
“No. The manager of the restaurant didn't recognize him but she did recognize Roger. She said he came in about once a month with a businessman named Bill Boojum.”
“Who's Bill Boojum?” Harry asked the logical next question.
“He was easy to find. He's one of the biggest car dealers in Kentucky. He specializes in high-end car rentals and does a booming business with Thoroughbred trainers, jockeys, people who make money erratically. Sometimes it's a big paycheck, sometimes not. They find it easier to rent cars than to buy them.”
“What did he say?”
“He seemed helpful enough. He said he knew Roger from college. They'd both gone to Virginia Tech. I checked that out with the alumni office. He told the truth. He said Roger was interested in getting into the racing game and he was putting him in touch with NASCAR people. He said Roger had already bought into a syndicate, a forty-thousand-dollar share.”
“Forty thousand dollars—Roger?” Harry nearly fell over.
“I checked out the syndicate, too. Based in Lexington, Kentucky. Roger was, in fact, a member. They didn't know he had died. The share passes to his mother. The lady on the phone, Mrs. Higgins, pulled it up on the computer and read it right off to me. I asked Boojum why Roger came out so often and he said he just loved Lexington. I can believe that. Who wouldn't? And he said he was besotted with racing.”
“Loved cars.” Harry rubbed her chin.
“It truly was his passion.” Miranda found this troubling, the forty thousand dollars especially.
“An expensive passion, I reckon.” Harry spoke a little too loudly, which made the animals jump. “What did Sean know?”
“He says he didn't know a thing about it. I had the presence of mind to ask him about the syndicate before requesting exhumation. He said Roger did drive to Lexington about once a month and he'd stay two or three days. Roger's reason was he wasn't having any luck with Virginia girls so he thought he'd try Kentucky girls.”
“Does Sean know Bill Boojum?” Harry asked.
“Yes, but not well. He said he met him once or twice when Roger was in college. Sean, being older, ran with a different set of friends, plus he went to the University of Virginia.”
“A sore point between them.” Miranda drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Roger in a car-racing syndicate.”
“We'd better get that lock back on soon. All this talk of money takes me right back to Don Clatterbuck,” Harry said, then told Miranda what they'd be doing that Friday night. “Oh, hell, I'm supposed to go to the movies with Fair. Coop, may I ask him to help us? He's stronger than the two of us put together and he'll never tell.”
“Okay.” Coop jiggled the handcuffs hanging from her belt.
“When do they dig up Roger?”
“Monday.”
“Wish I could be there.” Tucker wagged her nonexistent tail.
“Tucker, that is so disgusting.” Pewter wrinkled her nose, gray like the rest of her.
39
Slowly the earth drank the rainwater. The ground remained muddy, the creeks little by little subsided. The scent of new blossoms began to overpower the odor of creek water.
Mrs. Murphy hastened to the barn at dawn as the owl returned from hunting.
“Did you get a chance to fly over O'Bannon's?”
“Yes. There are lights on in the garage but the curtains are drawn.”
“Any cars or trucks parked outside?”
“No, which I thought was curious.”
“I do, too.”
“Of course, it could be someone left the light on during the day or it's been on throughout the storms,” the owl thought out loud. “Still, you'd think someone would go in there.”
“What about the caboose?”
“Your rat friend, an industrious sort, scurried from the garage to the caboose frequently. He had a bag of potato chips. When he heard me—I swooped low for effect—he didn't drop the chips and run. A rough sort.”
“If I could pour water in his hole, I bet I could get him to talk. I'd stop up the exits, of course.” Mrs. Murphy envisioned this to her enjoyment. She heard Simon snoring in his nest. He looked ratlike yet was so different from Pope Rat; two creatures could hardly be more different in temperament.
“That rat has places and loot all over the salvage yard.”
“No sounds from the garage?” Murphy hoped for more clues.
“Yes. I sat by the window and I heard human feet. I know someone was in there.”
Later as Murphy walked back to the house she wondered if someone was working late because of the Wrecker's Ball. Then again, why not park out front? And why not work in the new building where the dance would be held? If it was on the up-and-up why hide your car? Maybe Sean was in the garage. Maybe he felt closer to Roger in the garage. So many thoughts jammed into her hea
d she had difficulty sorting them out. One thing did help her focus. She certainly didn't want Harry snooping around the salvage yard.
40
Sean's assistant, Isabella Rojas, disdained Lottie but had to be nice to her. The customer is always right even though in this case Lottie wasn't a customer. Sean would fire her if she behaved rudely toward anyone. The truth was that Isabella, like many a woman before her, had fallen in love with her boss.
“He's out back, Miss Pearson.” Isabella forced a smile. “Statuary.”
“Thank you.” Lottie, with a supercilious air, swished back outside and found Sean carefully positioning chains around a massive recumbent griffin. “Sean.” She waved.
“Hi.” He held up his hand to the operator in the small crane ready to pick up the heavy object to place it on a flatbed.
“Who has bought this beautiful piece?”
“H. Vane Tempest.” He named a wealthy Englishman who owned a large estate west of town and whose symbol was a griffin.
“But of course.” Her eyes swept from the griffin to the crane to the flatbed and the large diesel semi that pulled it. “You must have a small fortune tied up in equipment. I never really appreciated how much. I guess you get quite good at leveraging your debt.”
“Hey, I'm a junkyard dealer. I have a nose for finding equipment at good prices. Take that crane there. New it would cost one hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars. I picked it up for nineteen.”
“Fabulous,” she purred. “But how do you do it?”
“Contacts and”—he stared off into the distance for a moment—“Roger. He'd give the equipment the once-over, tell me how much it would cost to bring a piece up to speed, and then I could make an informed decision. And we always looked for reliable brands like Caterpillar. You pay more but you get more. You know, Roger really was a genius with anything that had a motor in it. He even kept that old wrecker's ball in perfect working order.”
“I'm so sorry about Roger. I know I've said that before, but I don't know what else to say.” She played with the ring on her pinkie finger, right hand. “When you worked as closely as you did with Roger it must be doubly disastrous.”
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Sean replied. “At first, I was so shocked I wanted to sell the business and walk away. Mom talked sense into me. Running away doesn't solve anything. Three generations of O'Bannons sweated into this ground. With any luck there will be a fourth and a fifth.”
“I certainly hope so.” She smiled. “You can imagine yourself an old man watching your grandson move statuary.”
“By that time they'll beam it up. You know, rearrange the molecules and send it without a crane and a flatbed.”
“Maybe.” She shifted her weight to her left foot. “I heard through the grapevine that you're going through with the Wrecker's Ball and I wanted to help.”
“Thank you, Lottie.”
“I thought perhaps I could perform some of Roger's chores.”
“That's just it. I don't know the half of what he did. He'd burrow down there in the garage and I was up here. He took care of the catering. I did the decorations but there were so many things that just happened. I'm afraid I never closely examined Roger's contributions to the business, or my life. I feel so—so guilty.”
“Sean”—she placed her hand on his forearm—“nobody does. It's not you. None of us knows what someone gives to our life until they're gone.”
“Uh—thanks.” He kicked the gravel path, then looked at her. “You'll be coming to the ball?”
“Of course. Well, I didn't mean to stay so long. I just wanted you to know I was available to help.”
41
On a hunch, Cooper had sent out the mug shot of the false Wesley Partlow to all state agencies. At four-ten in the afternoon, she was sitting at her desk writing a presentation. Next Wednesday she was to give a speech at Western Albemarle High School about law enforcement as a career. Much as she loved her job, she was tired and drawing a blank.
Part of the exhaustion came from always dealing with people who were themselves under great stress. She'd received a blast from Sean about the exhumation next Monday. He was honoring his mother's wishes but he thought the request was ghoulish and would prove inconclusive.
Once he let off steam she asked him if he knew about Roger's purchase of a share of a stock-car syndicate for forty thousand dollars, a big chunk of change for a hobby, and Sean said it wasn't any of his business how his brother spent his money. He regularly visited the track at Waynesboro and it made sense that Roger would want to get involved at the higher end of the sport if he'd saved some money. Dale Earnhardt and Richard Petty were his heroes.
“You can't take it with you” is exactly what Sean O'Bannon had said.
Then Coop had to meet Don Clatterbuck's mother at the bank to open his safety-deposit box. The title to his truck, his birth certificate, a few stocks and bonds were in the narrow metal box along with the combination to the safe.
Mrs. Clatterbuck swore she didn't know the combination and thought the safe was another one of Don's finds. Sooner or later he might sell it. He liked to trade. She didn't know where he acquired that trait. Neither she nor her husband were traders.
No love letters were sheltered in the safety-deposit box.
Coop thanked Mrs. Clatterbuck, wrote down the combination, and finally returned to the office.
At four-twenty she wandered over to the coffeepot. A jolt of caffeine might trigger speech ideas. All she could think of was, “How would you like to pick up drunks, deadbeat dads, and squashed accident victims? For variety you could question a drug dealer with his jaw shot off.” She knew if she continued in that vein she'd descend into the truly morbid. She no sooner had the coffee to her lips than Sheila buzzed her phone.
Returning to her desk, Coop picked up. “Deputy Cynthia Cooper.”
“Louis Seidlitz, the bartender from Danny's.”
“Yes, Mr. Seidlitz.”
“I remembered that little puke's name: Dwayne Fuqua. It was driving me crazy.”
“When I dropped by you said he didn't come in often.”
“No, he didn't. Like I said, maybe once a month. Dwayne was on a mission.”
“Sir?”
“Girls.”
“Lucky?”
“No more than most.” Louis laughed.
“Mr. Seidlitz, do you have a fax in the office there?”
“Yeah.”
“Don't hang up. Give me the number and I'll fax you a photograph. Tell me if you recognize anyone.”
He gave her the number. She faxed the photo of Donald and Roger.
She could hear the fax machine in his office grinding out the photo.
“Deputy?”
“Yes.”
“The guy with his hands in his pockets. He'd hang out now and then. With Dwayne.”
“Mr. Seidlitz, thank you so much. You've been a great help to me.”
“Sure. Any time.”
She hung up the phone, silently berating herself for being discouraged when she had first stopped by the bar. She'd felt she'd been sloppy. Well, Louis came through. He had just identified Donald Clatterbuck.
42
. . . Cool. A beautiful fall day.” Diego described the day in Montevideo, for the seasons were reversed south of the equator.
“Raining here. When the animals walk two by two I'll worry.” Harry laughed.
“Can you believe they're talking about the weather?” Pewter wrinkled her nose.
“And you don't?” Tucker felt a craving for bacon and wished Harry would make a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.
“So much has happened since you left.” Harry didn't want to spend a lot of Diego's money on a long phone call. She had no idea how much money he really had but she certainly didn't want to waste any of it. “Don Clatterbuck was shot and killed. You might not remember him.”
“Vaguely. Virginia sounds like the Wild West. Are you safe?”
“Sure. I'm of
no importance to anybody.”
“You are to me. I hope to see you again—soon.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, her voice lifted. “What do you have to do tomorrow?”
“Thomas and I fly over to Buenos Aires, which isn't far. If you look on a map you can see how the cities sit.” A clock chimed behind him.
“Where are you now?”
“At my family's apartment in the city.”
“I heard the chimes.”
“A grandfather clock brought over from France in 1846. Oh, my father can tell you stories, but I didn't call to speak of my father. I called to tell you I will see you the weekend of the party, the ball.” He paused. “I know you have a date for the ball. I will give him a run for his money.”
“Please do.”
“What can I bring you from Buenos Aires?”
“A picture of the polo grounds, where the Argentine Open is played. And you. I'd like to see you.” This was about as flirtatious as Harry could bring herself to be.
“Sí!”
They said their good-byes, then hung up. Harry hummed to herself, then checked the kitchen clock.
“I'd better get moving.”
“Take us.”
43
What a crackbrained idea,” Pewter complained.
“Unfortunately, humans don't consult us before they go off on a toot.” Mrs. Murphy agreed with her friend's assessment of the situation. “Silly of them, I know.”
“In theory it's a good idea.” Tucker stayed on the other side of the room, away from the welding torch. The odor, the sparks, the flame bothered her more this time.
“If whoever is doing this stuff is dumb, it's a good idea.” Pewter sniffed. “But I doubt they're that stupid. They'll see the camera. It's like a bank camera.”
“We know it's up there in the corner but the thief doesn't know it's there and it might work. There's an outside chance.” Tucker remained dimly hopeful.
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