“I need to go,” Sadie finally said.
“I’m just worried about you,” Pete said.
Was that as close as he was going to get to sharing his feelings? It wasn’t much, but it triggered the tears again. Without realizing it, Pete had given her one more thing to run away from, one more reason she didn’t want to be in Garrison right now. “I’ll be okay.”
The silence dragged on much longer and heavier than before. Finally he let out a breath. “At least get all the information before you go. Don’t let yourself get blindsided.”
It was likely the most support Sadie could hope for. “I’ll be fine,” she said. The fact was that she didn’t have time to get all the information before she left. But she wasn’t about to say so.
When Pete spoke again, his tone was resigned. “Call me when you get there, okay?”
Despite herself, her girlish heart fluttered at him wanting her to call him; at wanting her at all. “I will.”
Sadie hung up the phone and let her hand rest on the receiver, mourning the relationship she’d thought they had a few hours ago and not sure what they had now. They had felt together lately, and she liked that so much. Would their relationship—such as it was—emerge from this experience better or worse? Even feeling the way she did right now, Sadie found it difficult to imagine not having Pete in her future.
I guess we’ll see, Sadie thought as she turned back to her suitcase and put a layer of tissue paper over her underthings before adding a pair of linen capris on top so as not to perpetuate more wrinkles than necessary. She tried to ignore the heaviness pressing upon her chest. She was more eager than ever to get away, more determined to prove herself. She tried very hard not to think about Pete at all. Real private investigators stayed focused on their work. She needed to figure out how to do that. She also needed to figure out how many pairs of shoes to bring. What was the weather like in Oregon in August anyway? Would her hair be okay?
Chapter 14
Tuesday afternoon, Sadie waited for her suitcase to come out of the baggage claim at the Portland International Airport. To quell her anxiety, she pulled the notebook out of her purse, turning to the instructions May had given her. There was just so much to take in. Rather than read through everything, she looked at the first few things she’d written down.
Pick up rental car.
Drive to Mark Spencer Hotel downtown.
Call May after checking in.
It wasn’t that the instructions were difficult, or that real detectives didn’t do this kind of thing all the time, it was just . . . different. Every other time she’d been part of an investigation, she’d been on the inside. This time it felt as though she were circling the situation, poking a stick through gaps in the fence to see if she hit anything. She’d bought a pocket organizer to put all her receipts in, and she’d even searched the Internet and found a simple business contract she’d adjusted so as to be official, but it all felt very strange. The fact was that she wasn’t licensed, and she didn’t really know what she was doing. The closer she got to Portland, and the farther she moved away from Garrison and all its reasons to leave, the more she questioned herself. Was she up to this? Did it even matter, since she was too far in to turn back now?
Her blue suitcase with the orange poppy painted on the front for easy identification slid down the angled baggage conveyor, and Sadie stepped forward in anticipation of retrieving her bag. Every little detail was getting her closer and closer to the actual work.
“Mom, are you sure about this?” Breanna had asked when they finally talked Monday morning—late afternoon in London.
“Yes, Bre, I am,” Sadie had replied with a confidence she was having a hard time holding onto right now. She hadn’t said anything to Bre about Pete, even though she wanted to. By the end of the call, Breanna was supportive, but still concerned. Sadie hated giving her daughter more things to worry about; Bre had plenty on her plate without the mama-drama Sadie had stirred up. It was supposed to be parents worrying about their children, not the other way around.
It took another twenty minutes before Sadie had the keys to her rental car and was headed out the doors that would take her to the parking lot.
The heavy air hit her when she exited, not as heavy as Florida humidity, but the dry breezes of Colorado were a distant memory. Luckily, the temperature wasn’t above seventy-five, which made the humidity bearable. She pretended more confidence than she felt and walked toward the attendant waiting for her. He led her to a light brown Sentra—she’d requested a nondescript car at the desk because that’s what her new book recommended—and minutes later, with the GPS she’d affectionately named Dora programmed with her hotel’s address, she was watching Portland whisk past her window while trying to keep her eyes on the road.
So many trees, she thought, overwhelmed by the green as she slowed down to follow Dora’s instructions and make a left-hand turn, taking her into what must be downtown Portland. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. There was an eclectic mix of old homes and modern buildings. Space was at a premium and yet everything seemed to fit. She slowed down for a light and read a huge sign stretched across the brick wall of a building that read “Keep Portland Weird.” A bicyclist pulled up alongside her car, putting his hand on the hood as he waited for the light. He had what looked like a turban on, but which, on closer inspection, turned out to be his hair, formed into dreadlocks and twisted up on his head like a beehive. The light changed, and he pushed off from her car, giving her a little wave. She waved back, even though he was several feet away, and then checked to make sure her doors were locked.
“Turn right in point-two miles,” Dora said. Her tone didn’t sound nearly as intimidated as Sadie felt. She passed a few more people on bikes and noted food cart after food cart on the sidewalks. Tacos, gyros, and . . . Belgian waffles? It was all she could do not to get lost in the personality of the city around her.
She missed two turns, which sent her on an extended tour of the city before she spotted the Mark Spencer Hotel: two tall, square buildings that shared an entrance squeezed in between them. May had insisted Sadie stay downtown once she’d learned Sadie had never been to Portland before. It took Sadie a minute to realize she would have to park across the street. She didn’t like having to pay for parking, but once inside, the charm of the place eased her ruffled feelings. The hotel was beautifully decorated without being too fancy, and the girl at the desk was very nice. Sadie checked in smoothly and then headed to her room, impressed once again when she walked into the retro-decorated room complete with vintage fixtures and soft colors.
She inspected the bathroom and the view of a building across the alley before finally turning to the task at hand. Now that she was here, it was time to call May. She pulled her phone from her pocket. “Here goes nothing,” she said as she pushed number nine on her speed dial; she’d saved May’s number into her phone as soon as she had accepted the job.
As the phone rang, the faces of Jane, Bertie, Eric, and Pete flashed through her mind, and she was surprised at how calm she felt. She’d written a strongly worded e-mail to The Post Monday morning about Jane’s article; it felt good to have her say, and she felt twenty pounds lighter just being out of Garrison.
“Mrs. Hoffmiller?” May said into the line after the third ring, sounding excited. “You’re here?”
“I’m here,” Sadie said, rifling through her purse for the notebook where she’d already been jotting down notes. “You can call me Sadie.”
Let the games begin.
Chapter 15
May had suggested they meet at Karri’s Restaurant, a few blocks from the hotel. It was off the main street and tucked between a record store and an old house that had been converted into a law office. Sadie suspected the restaurant had once been a home as well, but it looked as though multiple owners had put their own touch on the building until it looked a little cut-and-pasted together. The front of the bungalow-style house had a wide porch, but the brick had been cov
ered with some kind of metal plating, and the porch covering had been removed so as to facilitate the sign to the restaurant, which looked like it had been painted by a tag artist.
Inside was one big, open room with pillars supporting the high ceilings and what looked like yard-sale furniture arranged in mismatched sets throughout the dining room. Sadie saw May seated on the far side of the room and waved as she made her way across the room. Once at the table, she pulled out a wicker chair with a gingham chair pad; May was already seated on a wooden chair painted with black-and-brown stripes.
Any oddness of the décor was forgiven due to the amazing smells wafting in from the double doors on the far side of the big room—and the fact that the music was playing softly rather than blaring. After the two women exchanged hellos, May handed Sadie a piece of paper that Sadie quickly realized was the menu. It had the day’s date written at the top. Written! The whole menu was in handwriting rather than type, though it looked like a copy. May seemed to notice her inspection. “Karri does a new menu every day,” she explained. “She makes copies before the restaurant opens. She says she never knows what she’s in the mood to make until she comes in.”
“That is just delightful,” Sadie said, scanning the handwritten menu. There were a few salads that sounded interesting, and a corn burrito—whatever that was—as well as gluten-free spring rolls and asparagus soup. Impressive. At the bottom, it said in small letters, “We make every attempt to use locally grown produce. Visit our website for details on the local farms we support!”
“You had a good flight?” May asked once Sadie had finished reading all the items and succeeded in not drooling all over the paper. May’s voice reminded her that eating was not her main reason for being here.
“Yes, thank you,” Sadie said with a smile, focusing on her new employer. May looked very much like she had at their first meeting. Her light red hair had a wave to it, parted on the side, and just brushed her shoulder. Her side-swept bangs framed her big blue eyes really well. Minimal makeup made the most of her natural coloring and gave her a fresh look. She wore a lime-green, buttoned-up shirt that emphasized her eyes and denim capris that still allowed her shape, while full-figured, to be appreciated.
“And I absolutely love the hotel,” Sadie continued, casually sliding the contract she’d printed off the Internet into her lap, waiting for the right moment. Asking May to sign it so soon seemed awkward, like maybe Sadie didn’t trust their verbal agreement, but she was trying to handle herself as professionally as possible, and she was pretty sure professional investigators had their clients sign contracts.
“I’m glad you like it. It’s a bit of a landmark, and I wanted you to have the whole Portland experience while you’re here.”
“It’s lovely,” Sadie said, touched by May’s thoughtfulness. “So many trees—even downtown.”
May looked out the window, partly covered by a Japanese maple. “It is beautiful. There’s no other city in the world like Portland.”
Sadie heard the regret laced in May’s words and saw the wistful look on her face. “Did you grow up here?” she asked.
“In Lake Oswego,” May said, turning her attention back to Sadie and smoothing her expression. “Ten or twelve miles south of the city.”
“Is there really a lake?”
May smiled, a dimple showing on the left side of her chin. “Yes, there’s a lake, but we didn’t live on it—only so many houses will fit on the shore, you know.”
Sadie smiled. “What took you to Ohio?”
May shrugged and looked at the menu, but the movements weren’t casual. “Oh, you know, leaving the nest and all that grown-up stuff. Ohio has lots of trees, too, so it feels a little like home.” She laughed and smoothed her shirt front. Her smile was determined, and Sadie moved on, despite knowing there was more to this story.
“I, um, brought a contract,” Sadie said, sliding the paper across the table. May seemed to want a shift in topic as well, and it made sense to get it signed and taken care of before they discussed more specifics. May barely skimmed the document before pulling a pen from her purse and signing it with a flourish.
That was easy, Sadie thought as she signed her name as well. “I’ll make copies and get one to you as soon as possible.”
May waved the idea away with a swish of her hand. “I’m not worried.”
“Good,” Sadie said, putting the contract back in her purse. “Then I guess we’re ready to get to work.”
May clasped her hands together and put them on the table between them. “What do you want to know?”
Where to start? Sadie wondered, skimming the notes she’d made in regard to what May had already told her, which wasn’t much, and what she’d discovered on her own, which also wasn’t much. After a few seconds of deliberation she determined her starting point. “When we spoke on the phone, you mentioned a former business partner of your father’s, Keith Kelly. He’s the one you’re suspicious of.”
May nodded. “I know he had something do to with Dad’s death. I just know it.”
“What else can you tell me about him?” She found a pen in her purse and within moments was primed and ready to write down every bit of information May gave her.
The waitress stopped at their table, setting down a pair of water glasses. “Are you ladies ready?” She nodded toward the photocopied menu Sadie had all but forgotten about.
“We’ll need another minute,” May said. The waitress tapped the table with her hand and said she’d be right back. May nodded and turned to the white shoulder bag she’d brought with her—the same one she’d had when she came to Garrison. She removed a manila folder and handed it to Sadie. “My father and Keith Kelly went into business together in 1985. They’d met in college years before that; my dad was getting his degree in engineering, and Keith was getting his MBA.”
“Different majors,” Sadie said, scribbling notes as quickly as she could. “Were they roommates?”
May shook her head. “Not roommates, but they shared a passion for golf and lager.”
“Beer?” Sadie asked, wanting to make sure she was following. She opened the folder but only glanced at the papers inside, not wanting to divide her attention between what May was telling her, what she needed to write down, and what was printed on pages she could read later.
“A distinctive beer,” May continued. “I know, being a beer connoisseur in college—especially in Oregon—is far from unique, but lager has a cleaner taste and ferments at cooler temperatures, I guess; it’s considered high-end, especially for college kids. Anyway, they became good friends, and after working for awhile after graduation, they came together and started their own fire suppression company; Dad had worked for a company that manufactured system parts.”
Sadie nodded. “So Keith and your dad formed SK Systems in ’85?”
May looked at her in surprise. The name of their company wasn’t a detail Sadie had received from May.
“I did a little poking around after we talked on Sunday,” Sadie explained. “Both Mr. Kelly and your dad mentioned SK Systems in their website bios.”
“You’re on the case already,” May said with an enthusiastic grin. “I love that!”
Sadie shrugged but was pleased to have impressed her. “But they both went on to establish their own suppression companies in 2000. Was there a falling out between them?”
May nodded, her expression sobering. “In the fall of 1999, Keith wanted to make changes to the company.”
Sadie didn’t look up from her notebook, writing fast. “What kind of changes?”
“Well, my brother, Hugh, was working on the manufacturing side of things when Keith suddenly didn’t want him as a supervisor anymore. Hugh didn’t have a degree, and Keith felt they should hire someone who did in order to maximize their growth potential, or something like that.” She huffed slightly. “Hugh had been involved with the company since he was fifteen years old. He grew up in the shop. He knew the business backward and forward—he knew a lot more
than any college graduate. My father stood up for Hugh, but Keith was insistent. Over the course of a few months, Dad’s relationship with Keith soured completely. Twenty-plus years of friendship wasn’t as strong as they’d thought. It was a really hard time for my dad—for all of us, really.”
Sadie’s notes consisted of random words: Beer, Hugh, degree, market potential, hardship. She hoped she could make sense of it later. Maybe she should have bought a voice recorder.
“You were, what, in your early twenties when this happened?” Sadie asked, pausing to flex her hand in hopes of warding off an impending cramp.
May nodded. “I handled all the customer billing for the company. Jolene, my sister, was doing accounts payable part-time, and Hugh was working full-time in the shop with Dad. We all had a stake in the company, which is what my father had always wanted. Keith had wanted the same things—his kids were involved as well—but for some reason, he wanted to take that away from Hugh.
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