I patted the wall until I found the light switch. “If you come then, the only one you’ll be showing the bike to is Gus. I’m at my church getting ready for our Christmas program this weekend.”
“You’re in a program, and you didn’t invite me? Sissy, you break my heart.” He let out an exaggerated moan.
“I can tell.” I dodged two lawn mowers and found the shelves that contained at least twenty cans of paint in varying colors. Someone had labeled the lids with the room in the church where the paint had been used. “You’ll probably never recover.” I spotted the plastic-wrapped package of red, yellow, blue, green, and orange paints and set it on the concrete floor.
“Never make light of man’s ability to die from a broken heart.”
That should be Life Lesson #105. I choked back a laugh as I set the brown paint next to the multicolored package. No sense in encouraging him. “If you and Preston want to come, Mom and Dan will be here Friday night. At seven.”
Nice Georgia.
The invitation was a small win in the kindness department, but it was too early to pat myself on the back for successfully navigating this conversation.
“Will your boyfriend be there?”
He’s not my boyfriend—yet. “On Saturday night.” I pushed a can of Blushing Beauty, used in the ladies’ room, aside. Where was the ebony paint?
“You made up with him?” He performed an encore of his kissing noises from the other night.
“Yep.” I scooted aside a can of Lullaby, a pale blue-green shade used in the nursery. “Do you want to come or not?” My resolve to be nice had vanished, and I walked away from the paint shelf, so I could focus on extricating myself from this chat without hanging up on him.
“I hate being an afterthought.”
“It never crossed my mind you’d be interested.” At least he’d moved on from Cal.
Austin chuckled. “I’m not. I have a date Friday night—and Saturday.”
“Same girl?” That question slipped out before I could stop myself—which was one of my biggest problems.
“No way. I’m not ready to settle down. Unlike you, I’m still young.”
Jesus, help me. I jerked the phone away from my ear, and my finger hovered over the red button, itching to hang up. Instead, I put the phone back. “How. Much. Do I owe you?”
“I’ll tell you when I swing by the church this afternoon. Catch you later, sissy.”
I scowled and shoved my phone into my pocket. Dan or his first wife had to have dropped Austin and Preston on their heads.
Turning my attention back to the paint shelf, I shoved away cans of River Stone, picked up a smaller can, and examined the writing on the lid. Electric Tangerine—Zach’s office.
A wave of sadness rolled over me.
Zach must’ve liked vivid colors since he’d been wearing a bright blue jacket the day he died. I swallowed over the lump in my throat and put the can on the shelf, but an extra clatter caused me to stop. I picked it up and shook. This time there was no mistaking the rattle, so I pried off the lid.
A flash drive rested in the can.
Chapter Thirteen
I bit my lip as I examined the flash drive. The letters ZJM had been scrawled in permanent marker on the side.
Zach’s initials? I pulled out my phone and typed Zachary Mishler obituary into the search engine.
A second later I had confirmation. His middle name was James.
Why would he have put a flash drive in a paint can? Did Doug know anything about it? He was the only one who accessed the barn on a regular basis. Had he hidden it?
I needed to give it to Cal as soon as possible, in case it was evidence, but I wanted to look at what was on it first. Judging from the amount of work left to do on the set, I’d be trapped at church all day, and it’d probably be at least nine o’clock before I made it home after choir practice.
Even if I invented an excuse about needing to use Mona’s computer, it didn’t seem like a bright idea to use one of the church’s to snoop. I’d just say I was going home to let Gus out at lunchtime—which wouldn’t be a lie. Though I hadn’t had time to replace the computer that’d been stolen, I had my old college laptop stashed away in a closet. Hopefully, it’d still work.
I finally located the ebony paint and locked the storage shed. On my way back inside, I stopped at my truck, stowed Zach’s can under a blanket in the back seat, and returned to the church to paint the time machine.
“Sissy!” A couple of hours later, Austin stood at the back of the church auditorium with his hands lifted in the air as if he were praising Jesus.
The other people working—Ruby, Doug, Mona, and Carsyn—turned and stared at my stepbrother.
I put down the brush that I’d been using to paint the door of the inn, and conviction washed over me at the thought of Jesus and Austin. My stepbrothers annoyed me so much that I’d never given a thought about where they stood spiritually.
I needed to keep that thought in mind as I interacted with Austin and Preston—starting immediately. I wiped my hands on a rag and stood. “How’d your showing go?”
He put his hand on his heart. “Awww. You care.” He shook his head. “This old married couple has been looking at houses for five years and can’t agree. Their last agent retired before they could decide, so they got passed on to me.”
“Lucky you.”
He shrugged. “Makes life interesting. They didn’t dig this house either. Big surprise.”
We went outside to Austin’s black SUV, which was parked next to my truck. He opened the hatch and motioned toward the bike. “What do you think?”
“Mom will love the aqua color. It’s pretty.”
“That’s what Preston said. It has all the fancy stuff for Dad, but Jill would care most about the color. Presty somehow remembered her favorite is blue.”
As if that could’ve been hard. Mom had used it all over their house when they’d redecorated. “What do I owe you?”
“One hundred twenty-five.” He took the receipt from his pocket and gave it to me. For a second, I was proud of him for producing it without a battle.
I did the math in my head. “Looks good. I’ll send the money to you by the end of the week.” I returned the receipt.
“I’d be thrilled to take your money since I have dates this weekend, but Preston put it on his card. That goody-goody insisted I bring the receipt and show you.” He smirked.
I should’ve known I’d given Austin too much credit.
I was about to say good-bye and make a getaway when a commotion next to the church caught my attention. Cal, Detective Kimball, and a couple of deputies from the sheriff’s department were entering the building.
“Whoa,” Austin said. “They mean business. You in trouble?”
I knit my brows. “No.” Now that Cal was here, any excuse to hold onto the flash drive had been obliterated. I had to act fast before I did my duty and handed it over. I stepped behind Austin’s SUV. “Do you have your laptop with you?”
“Yeah. Why?”
I cringed inwardly. “I need you to be my sidekick. Again.”
His eyes lit up. “Don’t be messing with me.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I couldn’t take it.”
“I’m serious.” I punched the keypad on my truck and unlocked it. Throwing the blanket aside, I retrieved the paint can.
“You hid paint under a blanket? That’s weird—even for you, sissy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Someone hid a flash drive in here.” I shook the can. “I want to see what’s on it before I turn it over to Cal. I found it this morning when I was searching for paint, and it might have something to do with Zach’s murder because it has his initials on it.”
I expected a snide comment about me painting, but Austin opened the door on the driver’s side before turning to me. “What are you waiting for? Get in!”
I jogged around the vehicle and shut myself inside. It smelled like a mix of stale French fries and Austin’s cologne. Otherwise
, it was spotless, as if he’d had it detailed.
He reached into the back seat and took his laptop out of the case. “It better not put a virus on my computer.”
“Don’t you want to see what’s on it?”
“Duh. I just don’t want to destroy my computer.”
I pulled a glove out of my coat pocket and put it on before I took out the drive and shoved it into his computer. A list of two JPEG files and a movie file showed on the menu.
Austin opened the first file—a real estate listing for a two-story colonial in Richardville.
“Boy. We’ve stumbled onto a real terrorist plot here.” Austin chuckled. “Maybe Zach was looking for a house and was comparing prices.” He pointed at the date on the screen. “This place sold a month ago, and somebody got a good deal.” He slid his finger down to the purchase price compared to the website’s estimate of the property value. “Way below market value.”
“What’s the other picture?” I asked.
The photo showed four tiny houses on wheels grouped around a pond.
Weird. “I’ve never seen a tiny house camp around here.”
“Me neither,” he said.
I pointed to the screen. “Let’s watch the video.”
Austin clicked play, and a room painted seafoam green came into focus. Hanging on the wall was a large white anchor with a distressed finish. The camera panned left to right, revealing a circle of empty chairs.
“What is this?” Austin asked.
“The wall decoration makes me wonder if it’s a meeting at the Anchor Recovery Center in Richardville. They have group meetings for people with gambling addictions.”
“Aren’t those meetings supposed to be anonymous?”
I looked at him. “You’re right. Why would they allow a camera?”
“Because they didn’t know. The person filming was probably wearing a hidden camera. I may or may not have a friend who has a hat camera.”
I didn’t even want to think about what he and Preston had used that for, but I tucked that fact away. It might come in handy someday.
I focused on the video. Had Doug filmed a group therapy session? If so, why? “Is the sound on?
He checked. “All the way. A lot of those cameras don’t record audio.”
I snorted. “Is that what your friend told you?”
His eyes gleamed. “Yep.”
A young couple holding hands entered and sat. A woman wearing a chunky beaded necklace entered, and a guy with dark-framed glasses and a prominent nose followed. They all greeted each other, and from what I could tell, there was small talk. At last, a man with a bushy beard entered, and I took a good look at his face.
It was Tristan Phillips—Jim’s brother who volunteered at Solid Rock Mission. Was he a group leader at Anchor Recovery Center? The group stood and joined hands. Tristan spoke, and they appeared to be repeating what he said.
“I wish I could read lips,” Austin said.
“Me too.”
When Tristan finished, they let go of each other’s hands, and he went around the circle, greeting each person. Tristan made it to the person filming, and I watched his mouth carefully, hoping he’d say the person’s name, but it looked like he said, “Welcome.”
The video cut to a new scene—a small office with a bright red laptop sitting on a desk. Sitting next to the laptop was a certificate. The person filming moved closer, but I felt like I was on a theme park ride when the camera whipped around.
A scowling Tristan stood in the doorway. He pointed out the door, and the camera moved up and down. The view changed to the hallway.
“That person is totally wearing a hat camera,” Austin said.
The recording ended, Austin and I groaned—in unison—which was completely disturbing.
“Back it up and see if you can catch the name on the certificate.”
He went back to the desk view and zoomed in. “It’s pretty blurry, and I can’t see what the rest of the certificate says, but I think the name is Jody Chatfield.”
“Yeah, I agree.” I gnawed my lip. “Obviously someone was snooping in Tristan’s office. But why? And is Jody Chatfield important?”
“Good questions. Since I’m your devoted sidekick, I’ll give them some thought, but I’ve got to get back to the office. Let me copy these files real quick.”
When he finished, I put the drive back in the paint can. “Thanks for your help.” I hopped out of the SUV.
“Any time, sissy.” He cranked the engine.
I waved as he screeched out of the parking lot. As soon as I entered the church, I walked into chaos.
Ruby rushed up to me. “Your boyfriend’s here with a search warrant. Oh, it’s simply terrible timing. What’ll we do if they’re still here when it’s time for rehearsal?”
“Practice while they’re searching.”
“Oh, it will be a dreadful distraction.” She rested her hand on her forehead. “We’ll never be ready. The show will be a disaster. A disaster, I tell you.”
I guided Ruby toward her office in the greenroom. “How about some water?”
“Please.” She pointed to her desk drawer. “Get me some Teddy Grahams too. My sugar’s dropping.”
Thankfully, she was too distracted to interrogate me about the paint can I was toting, but not wanting to press my luck, I produced her snack quickly and went to look for Cal. I found him in the library, along with Detective Kimball and two deputies who were conducting a search of the books.
“What’s going on? I step out to see the bike my stepbrother bought our parents, and I come back to…this.”
Cal set his jaw. “We have a search warrant. We received a tip this morning.”
“Are you looking for something in particular?”
“A flash drive that may’ve been hidden in a book safe.”
“Here.” I opened the paint can and held it, so he could see inside. “I found this on the shelf in the storage barn this morning. It rattled when I put it away. I was going to turn it in to you as soon as I had a chance because it had Zach’s initials on it, but we’ve been busy and—”
“Have you looked at it?” His tone held a note of sternness as he took the can.
Detective Kimball gazed at me. I opened my mouth to answer truthfully, but Cal held up his hand.
“Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Probably just as well,” I said. “Who gave you the tip?”
“I’m not going to say.”
I’d find out anyway because after Evan’s weird behavior the night before, I had a pretty good idea where to start looking. “Okay, then.” I pointed to the door. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do on the set, so I’d better get back at it.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the deputies and Detective Kimball who were focused on the search before dropping a quick kiss on my cheek. “I’ll call you later,” he whispered as he took a second peek at his coworkers.
With a spring in my step, I returned to the stage where I resumed painting the inn door. A few minutes later, Doug entered with an armful of boards. When he set them down, I motioned for him to come over. Was there a delicate way to ask about the video on the flash drive? If there was, the solution was escaping me.
“Lot of chaos around here,” he said as he moved closer.
“No kidding.” I looked around. “Did Zach ever say anything to you about hiding a flash drive in the storage barn?”
Genuine surprise flitted through Doug’s expression. “Nope. That where they found it?”
“I found it. In an empty paint can.”
Doug tilted his head. “Why would he hide it there?”
I shrugged. “Why would he feel the need to hide it at all?”
“You get a look at it?” He grinned as if he already knew the answer.
“It has a copy of a real estate listing, a picture of four tiny houses—and hidden camera footage of a man named Tristan Phillips leading some kind of meeting.” I motioned for him to come closer. “Does
Tristan lead group sessions at Anchor?” I whispered.
He squinted. “None that I’ve been to—and I don’t recognize the name either.”
“Do you know someone named Jody Chatfield?”
“Nope.” He shoved his hands in his overall pockets. “I’m sorry.”
I dumped the empty box from Pizza Heaven into the church’s dumpster and rubbed my greasy hands on my paint-splattered jeans as I crossed the parking lot. The supreme pizza that’d tasted yummy going down had settled into a hard lump in my gut. Good thing I was directing instead of singing because that wouldn’t have been pretty.
Truth be told, I was finding it hard to transition into director mode, when all I wanted to do was go home, relax, and try to make sense of everything I’d learned today.
I hadn’t made it home for lunch or even later that afternoon to change. In fact, I’d placed a frantic call to Brandi and had asked her to feed and let poor Gus out.
Unless Doug was lying about knowing Tristan Phillips, he probably hadn’t been the one who filmed at Anchor Recovery Center. What if Zach had attended the group session because he had a gambling problem too? But why wouldn’t Doug have just told me that? Unless he was trying to protect Zach’s reputation.
Then there were the houses. Pictures of the properties alone wouldn’t be suspicious, but the fact that the flash drive had been hidden caused me to wonder about their significance. Plus, there might not even be a connection between the pictures and the video. With a sigh, I opened the door and entered the building.
Time for choir practice.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuesday morning, I got up early to put my farming hat back on. While Grandpa and I had been winterizing our equipment, we’d discovered one of our combines was in need of repairs beyond our expertise. After shuffling tractors and other equipment around to get the combine out of my pole barn, I drove it down the back roads to Wildcat Springs Implement so a mechanic could fix it.
I chatted with J.T. and the owner Max Jenkins awhile, and then Grandpa and Wanda arrived to pick me up and take me home. I hopped in the back seat of Grandpa’s extended cab truck.
Deadly Holiday (Georgia Rae Winston Mysteries Book 2) Page 12