Sinister Summer

by Colleen Gleason

  Diana choked back a giggle—as if she didn’t know how old Jean had been—and then went on. “‘Maxine got to calling the man Abe, after an old actor named Abe Vigoda (look him up, because I’m sure you wouldn’t know him, considering your age and your lack of time to watch TV). The interesting thing is that this man—whose name is really Martin Kelliski—is one of the higher-ups (I didn’t get his title, some bigwig) at AutoXTech.

  “‘I remember you telling me in our last conversation that there was going to be a big court case with AutoXTech and another company, and that you were going to be involved—or your law firm was—and it got me to thinking. Martin Kelliski remembered Trace from when the company was called Woodstock Tool & Die, and that name definitely rang a bell for me for obvious reasons. I thought I’d look through Tracer’s old papers—that man kept everything; and you know I haven’t gotten around to clearing it all out yet. Maybe I’ll just leave that for you to do after I die.’”

  Diana stopped abruptly, the back of her throat burning. Dammit.

  “It was a joke, honey,” Cherry said, patting her hand. “You know how Jean was—irreverent and pragmatic at the same time. That’s why she makes such a great ghost.”

  Diana nodded, but avoided looking at Ethan. She just didn’t think she could handle it if there was any bit of judgment or accusation in his eyes—especially given the way she was feeling about him.

  Oh, God, this was not a good time to be thinking about those feelings.

  She cleared her throat, took another drink of whatever tea someone had poured for her (it wasn’t half bad), and turned the page. “‘So I thought if I had any old paperwork, it might be useful for the court case. I remember you telling me about how you have to go through discovery and get every bit of documentation you can find about anything related to the case or the parties involved—well, anyway. It was something to do.

  “‘Well, I think I found something that might be important! Some old drawings from Woodstock Tool & Die’s original plant on Lake Michigan—and I looked it up online and there it was. It’s the property involved in this lawsuit. So I thought you must need it.

  “‘Because, Diana, if you look at the page with the underground drawings, you’ll see something very strange. And very bad.’”

  “What is it?” Juanita was crowding forward, her breasts spilling onto the table in front of her, edging against her crumb-filled plate. Bruce Banner squeaked from somewhere in the vicinity of her lap, and she adjusted accordingly. “What did she find?”

  Diana stopped reading out loud; she skimmed the rest of the letter and as the situation became clear, felt anger and understanding sweep over her. She put the letter down—the rest of it was private anyway and she would not read it in front of them. Especially Ethan.

  “I’ll explain,” she said in her most lawyerly voice, and began to dig out the folded up building schematics she’d tucked in her purse. “It’ll be easier that way,” she replied, moving the letter out of reach of Maxine’s crabby hands.

  She laid out the sheaf of drawings on the table and immediately saw what Aunt Jean had observed—that wonderful, amazing, brilliant old smarty-pants. Trust Genevieve Fickler, devoted tree-hugger and lifetime member of The Sierra Club, to notice.

  “This is a drawing of the original Woodstock manufacturing plant, which was built in the early 20th century—probably before World War I, or maybe right after. You can see here: it’s right on the big lake. Now, look here.” She flipped through the paperwork to the page that showed the underground level of the factory, and stabbed a finger at it.

  “Do you see this? This pipe right here, buried deep inside the lowest level of the factory?” She looked up at everyone, realized they were all eating and she was really hungry (last night had been very active, after all), and snagged a cinnamon scone for herself.

  “That pipe…” Maxine’s voice had changed from accusatory and demanding as she hauled to her feet to pore over the drawing. “It leads to the water.” She looked up, her dark eyes gleaming with comprehension. “Those bastards. They were dumping factory waste—right into Lake Michigan.”

  Diana nodded, biting into the scone as the others around the table leaned in to look.

  “But how could they get away with that? It’s so blatant!” Iva said; then she answered her own question. “Right. This was way back, wasn’t it? Before environmental restrictions were in place.”

  “That’s right.” The scone tasted heavenly, and it was all Diana could do to keep from moaning over it. Instead, she took another generous bite.

  “But what does it mean? And why is someone willing to kill over this? It was a long time ago. It wasn’t illegal then,” Juanita said.

  Diana gulped down a splash of tea, then explained. “It’s only conjecture, but it makes sense. It makes complete sense. See, LavertPiper is suing AutoXTech because the land they bought—which is the site of this old Woodstock factory—has more environmental cleanup than they’d been expecting or led to believe in all of their research and due diligence. They believe AXT should help pay for the extra cost, along with sharing any penalties they might get from the EPA.

  “AXT, on the other hand, owns a lot of different pieces of land—old factories many of them—and they’re countersuing LavertPiper so they can make an example out of them: don’t try to come back and sue us after you’ve bought the property. AXT doesn’t want to run into this situation with any future sales.

  “But, what this old schematic shows is that when AXT was Woodstock Tool & Die, they were clearly dumping waste into Lake Michigan. This shows they’re liable, and could even incur penalties now.” Diana rested her hands on the table. “The problem is, I’ve never seen this drawing before. And I’ve seen everything they have at AXT related to this property. Which means—”

  “Which means someone wants to make sure this document isn’t found,” Ethan said.

  “And that someone must have known this document exists. Or suspected it did.” Diana looked around the table at her audience, each of whom was expressing their agreement by nodding.

  “It was the Abe Vigoda guy,” crowed Maxine. “He looks older than God—he was probably involved back then.”

  “And you wanted to set him up with Jean? A man older than God? And he wasn’t that old. No older than you or me. Ay-yi-yi!” Juanita threw up her hands. “Even so, he wasn’t more than a baby in the 30s.”

  “Well, he probably knows about it anyway. And I wasn’t setting up Jean with him,” Maxine retorted. “You were.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. His eyebrows were terrifying,” Juanita argued. “It was like they had a life of their own. I’d never do that to Jean!”

  “It makes sense,” Ethan said, lifting his voice over the squabbling ladies. “Maybe this Abe Vigoda-like person destroyed—or knows they were destroyed—the other copies of the schematic. And maybe he just put two and two together that the original paperwork would have been with the commercial agent who sold the property the last time it was transferred—which was probably in the ’60s?” he asked Diana.

  She nodded. “Right on the money, Ethan. My Uncle Tracer was obviously involved in the sale, and that would have been roughly the timing of the transaction. Anyway, I think this is enough information to get the police involved—let Captain Longbow know.”

  Cherry had been tapping purposefully on her computer tablet, and now she spoke up. “I did a quick Google, and here’s a picture of Martin Kelliski—the Abe Vigoda lookalike. It says he’s on the board of directors for AutoXTech, and is retired from the company. My God, why doesn’t he do something about those eyebrows?

  “Anyway, I haven’t noticed Kelliski around Wicks Hollow at all, since that first time at Trib’s—but I do remember him from then. Have you seen him, Max? Or anyone else? Because if he’s the one who did all this…one of us probably noticed him in town, and if we can attest to it, that will help the case.”

  Diana took the tablet, then shook her head. “No. This can’t be the man w
ho broke in. From the pic, you can tell he’s not very tall, and he’s kind of slight and skinny. Remember, he ran into me when I surprised him at Aunt Jean’s house that night. It’s definitely not this guy. Plus, he doesn’t look strong enough to have smothered her, even if she was in bed and sleeping.” Her lips curled with disgust. “And those eyebrows—or, should I say, that one eyebrow. It does look like it’s alive, Juanita.” She looked up at Maxine with narrow eyes. “I can’t believe you would have tried to set up my Aunt Jean with him!”

  “Let me see that!” Maxine grabbed the tablet with wild fingers as Cherry tensed nervously. “It was even worse in real life,” she admitted as she looked at the picture of Martin Kelliski.

  Then, with a few violent tappity-taps, she began to manipulate the tablet as it bumped against the table. She stopped suddenly. “Wait. This one. This one! Right here.”

  “What?” Ethan asked, leaning over her shoulder. “That man? Standing next to Kelliski? What about him?”

  Maxine looked up at Diana. “He’s the one. This guy, right here.” She stabbed a finger at the picture. “I’ve seen him at least two times here in Wicks Hollow. I bet I know which days, too.”

  Diana took the tablet. In the photo was Martin Keller, and the caption identified the other man as Lawrence Amerson. “I know him,” she said, tapping lightly. “I’ve met him…somewhere. Some meeting.” She looked at Maxine. “You’re sure?”

  “Maxie never forgets a face,” Juanita said staunchly. “If she says she saw him here, she did. If she says he’s the one, he is.” She patted her friend’s dark, gnarled hand with her lighter, fucshia-tipped one. “Makes it hard to go about your business in town with Maxine around, but it’s true.”

  “That’s damn right it is,” agreed the old bat. “Can’t hide nothing from me.”

  “Well,” Ethan said, sitting back down. “I’m thinking it’s time to call in Joe Cap. Tell him what we know, and wrap this thing up. He can get with the authorities in Chicago and go from there.”

  Even Maxine couldn’t find a reason to disagree, and so Ethan and Diana decided to make their escape from the Tuesday Ladies and stop in at the police station.

  As they left Orbra’s Tea House, Diana felt her cell phone vibrate deep in her bag, which was pressed up against her side. She pulled it out to check and saw that she’d missed a call from Jonathan.

  Three calls.

  And four texts.

  Her ebullient mood plummeted, and she tucked her phone back away.

  “Don’t tell me that’s your office,” said Ethan, glancing curiously at her. “On a Sunday.”

  “No.” She didn’t need to say more; didn’t need to give any explanation. Ethan wasn’t even asking. But her mouth, uncharacteristically, kept moving. “It’s Jonathan. He’s been trying to reach me all morning.”

  “Ah.” Ethan sounded unbothered, but a definite pall descended, like a tense curtain, between them.

  And before Diana could figure out how to respond and what to say, they were walking up the steps to the police station. She straightened her shoulders.

  She had other matters to attend to now. Ethan and Jonathan could wait.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Diana didn’t intend to return Jonathan’s call, but once they finished giving the whole rundown to Captain Longbow and they stepped back out into the gorgeous summer afternoon, her phone buzzed again.

  “You might as well answer it,” Ethan said, though she wondered how he’d even heard it as it was buried in her bag. His voice was studiously even-tempered, but she sensed an undercurrent of something that, probably, she would need to uncover.

  Diana sighed, then capitulated and dug out the phone. “Jonathan,” she said by way of greeting.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” he said in something shockingly close to a whine.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked dutifully, then was angry with herself for falling into the trap.

  “Yes, there’s something wrong. Didn’t you hear?” He sighed, then went on. “Are you on your way back? Is that why I couldn’t reach you—were you driving through the boonies?”

  “No,” she replied, handing Ethan the fob to the Lexus as they approached the hidden parking lot. “I’m still in Wicks Hollow.”

  “Diana, it’s after three o’clock! I thought you’d be back by now. It’s a five-hour drive, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not. I—uh,” she glanced over at Ethan, who had a very set look on his face as he pushed the ignition button and settled into the driver’s seat. “I’m not going to be back in Chicago tonight after all.” She hoped she wasn’t overstepping or making assumptions.

  But…based on the kiss in this very car only a few hours ago—no, she didn’t think so.

  Yet, Ethan’s expression remained blank and set as he maneuvered the car out of the lot.

  “You’re not?” Jonathan sounded stunned. “When are you going to be back? I thought you were coming to get your things tonight. Did you change your mind? Look, Diana, something’s happened, and I…I really need you. To talk to you.”

  She had her phone against the ear closest to her side of the car, so she was pretty certain Ethan couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, despite the taut volume of Jonathan’s voice. “What happened?”

  “I thought you would have heard. It’s been all over the news—but you’re not even in Chicago, are you?” His voice became a little petulant, then he continued in a calmer tone. “Ginny Farren. The office manager at the practice. She was—she died last night. She was…it was an overdose they think. I’m just—it’s awful.”

  “Oh no,” Diana said with genuine shock and sorrow. Since beginning her relationship with Jonathan, she’d gotten to know Ginny quite well, and appreciated the young woman’s efficiency and cheer. “I would never have suspected she had a drug problem.”

  “That’s why it’s so terrible. No one suspected—and now, suddenly, she’s gone.” His voice, which had risen into that tight coil, settled once more into something calm but coaxing. “Diana. I really need to see you. This is…really hard on me. Couldn’t you…when will you be back—you know, to pick up your stuff? Tomorrow?”

  She resisted the urge to look at Ethan, did a quick calculation, and hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake—and large assumption. “Probably Tuesday. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way over—it’ll probably be in the evening.”

  “Tuesday…I don’t know if I can—all right. Please. Just call me when you’re on your way—or if anything changes and you decide to come back sooner. I’ll…I just need to talk about this thing with Ginny. I just can’t wrap my mind around it. She’s gone…and so suddenly. And…what are we going to do at the office? She handled everything.”

  Diana felt a sudden rush of relief that this isn’t my problem. He isn’t my problem.

  Not anymore.

  And it was because of that, because she really, truly didn’t give one more rat’s ass about Jonathan and his bloody practice any longer, that she didn’t snarkily ask him why he wasn’t calling Valerie the Vivacious Vixen to cry over—and ask how to handle the practice.

  When she finally disengaged herself from the call, after Jonathan ranted for another few minutes, she realized Ethan was driving them along the sweet, smooth curve of the county road that led north and slightly east from the town, up and along the western side of Wicks Lake.

  The green, rolling hills that cupped both the town and its namesake lake were blanketed by pink, yellow, and orange wildflowers, scrubby bushes, and lush, leafy trees. In some places, the trees made dark, inviting tunnels around and over the road, bringing a welcome shade from the sun. To the left and west, between the trees, she could see hints of the blue sparkle of Lake Michigan and felt a renewed plunge of sadness that Woodstock Tool & Die had been dumping into that mighty and gorgeous vessel for decades.

  “Sorry about that,” she said when the silence felt heavy and foggy in the vehicle. “Thanks for driving.”

/>   “No problem.”

  “I…uh…” She started to lick her lips nervously, then mentally told herself to straighten up and grow a pair.

  What the hell was wrong with her? If he wasn’t interested in having her stay, that was no big deal. It had only been one night.

  “Obviously you heard the conversation, and you’ve probably got some questions.”

  “A few.”

  She rolled her eyes discreetly, but went on. “I wasn’t making the assumption I’d be welcome to stay at your house for another day or two, but it’s too late to drive back to Chicago tonight.”

  “I see.”

  “And I have to find someone to watch the cats.”

  “Doc Horner or I can do that, Diana.”

  “Right. Well, I can always grab a room at one of the B&Bs in town if it’s not convenient—”

  “It’s High Season. They’re booked to the rafters.”

  “Right. Well, I’m sure I can find a place—”

  “Diana.” His voice was cool, and there was a white line near the corner of his mouth. Her heart did a little, ugly thunk.

  Maybe she had misread the situation. After all, she didn’t have that much experience with men—especially sexy, semi-famous ones like Dr. Ethan Murphy. Sure, he’d probably been more than happy to take advantage of the situation—

  “I made an assumption last night,” he said, still driving, still handling the car expertly as they swooped gracefully around curves and skimmed down the incline of a gentle hill. Wicks Lake sparkled its own vivid blue on the other side of the road, peeking between pines, oaks, and birch.