Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 03 - The Great Chocolate Scam

by Sally Berneathy

  “Where are you?”

  “In the vehicle behind Rick. I checked his car for bombs, and now I’m following him to his condo where I’ll check for possible assailants then show him how to check his car each morning. If he’d had that knowledge last week, Julia might still be alive.”

  “That’s nice of you, especially considering you don’t like Rick, but Trent’s here, and he wants to talk to him.”

  “I’ll ask Rick to call Trent as soon as we arrive at the condo.”

  I moved the phone away from my mouth and spoke to Trent. “Fred will have Rick call you when they get to the condo.”

  Trent shook his head. “Not good enough. Where is the condo?”

  “Fred, do you have the address for the condo?”

  “Of course,” Fred replied, “but I’m not going to share it with Trent at this time.”

  “Oh.”

  “Rick and I have reached an agreement. We’ll keep him safe, help the police find the killer, and he’ll sign the divorce papers as soon as the murderer is in jail.”

  I smiled. That explained why Fred was helping Rick. He was doing it for me. Fred was my friend. “Thank you! I appreciate that. I’ll tell Trent.”

  I disconnected the call and passed along Fred’s information to Trent. Not to my surprise, he wasn’t happy.

  The timer on my oven dinged. I took the cookies out and turned to Trent. “I have prepared a delicious meal. Why don’t we just sit down and eat and have a nice evening together?”

  Trent clenched his teeth again. I should talk to his dentist about giving me a cut of the man’s dental bill. After all, a lot of it was my doing. “Lindsay, you have given me important information concerning an ongoing murder investigation. I can’t just ignore that. I have to call it in.”

  I spread my hands in a gesture of resignation. “Okay. Call it in. Then we’ll eat.” I went to the cabinet and took down two plates.

  Trent went to the other room and called somebody. I wasn’t really trying to eavesdrop, but I wasn’t trying not to, either, especially when I heard him ask the person on the other end to find a phone number for Fred Sommers.

  He came back and sat down at the table. “This looks good.” He didn’t sound sincere.

  “I tasted it. Everything is good.”

  He ate a few bites before he finally laid down his fork. “Why can’t the department find Fred’s phone number?”

  I paused with a bite of roast halfway to my mouth. “I’m going to take a wild guess on that one. Because he doesn’t want you to have it.”

  “Nobody can hide their phone number from the police.”

  I shrugged, ate the bite of roast and put a big dollop of sour cream on my pieces of onion and potatoes. “Whatever you say.”

  Trent resumed eating, but he didn’t resume smiling or looking happy.

  Rick had effectively ruined another evening for Trent and me. Taking into consideration that he likely made the anonymous call that got Trent out of the house the night before, I wondered if that had been the purpose of Rick’s recent visit, to see that Trent and I didn’t spend the night together. Was he really worried about an unknown mystery man stalking him or was he just determined to spoil my fun?

  *~*~*

  Trent left early that evening, of course. We parted on good terms, but not nearly as good as they would have been had Rick not interfered in our evening.

  Henry was awake by then and followed us outside. As Trent drove down the street, I waved then went to Fred’s house, passing Henry where he lay in the grass. I stopped and looked down at him.

  “You’ve got a problem,” I told him. “Are you aware that, while you were lying in the kitchen zonked out on catnip, Rick was upstairs hiding in my shower?”

  He looked chagrined…or hung over. I wasn’t sure which.

  I went on to Fred’s house. He opened the door before I had a chance to knock or ring the bell.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

  I walked inside. “Why can’t the cops find your phone number?”

  “They don’t need it.”

  Made sense to me.

  I went over to his sofa and sat down. He had been expecting me. A glass of white wine waited on the coffee table.

  “I figured you’d need something to help you relax after Rick’s stunt.” He sat down in the recliner and lifted his half-empty glass.

  I sipped the wine. I’d have liked to chug it and ask for more, but it was too good. I sipped and enjoyed. “Do you think Rick really believes somebody’s out to get him?”

  “I actually think he does, though I found no evidence to support that belief. Once someone has actually tried to kill you, I suppose it’s normal to be concerned they’ll try again.”

  I swirled my wine, admiring the refraction of the light in the cut crystal. “And the list of possible suspects is long.”

  “We’ll start on that list tomorrow.”

  I looked up. “We will?”

  “If you want him to sign those papers, we will.”

  I nodded. “May I have more wine?”

  “Certainly.” He took both our glasses to the kitchen and refilled them then returned. “Tomorrow we’ll talk to Akin’s detective.”

  “What shall I wear?”

  Fred considered that for a moment. “Something that makes you look vulnerable. Don’t wear any makeup. Do you have a dress?”

  “There’s the long skirt and peasant blouse from the year I dressed as a hippy on Halloween.”

  “That’ll work. Do you have a wig?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll bring you one. Would you rather be blond or brunette?”

  This could be interesting. Maybe not as entertaining as pretending to be a stripper, but interesting.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I have no idea how Fred convinced Ross Hamilton, Akin’s private investigator, to talk to us, especially on a Sunday afternoon. I can only speculate that Fred had something on the man or he used Vulcan mind control. I didn’t ask. I just dressed in my long patchwork skirt and white peasant blouse, pulled my hair back and waited for Fred to bring a wig. It was long, blond and straight. I put it on and decided immediately I never wanted to be a blonde. With my already pale skin, I looked like a ghost who’s spent at least a hundred years in a dungeon far away from the sun.

  Hamilton’s office was located in North Kansas City on the back side of a strip mall which had a chiropractor, a dentist and a title company on the front side. The sign on the door of the small office simply read Hamilton & Associates. Everything about the place was low-key and discreet, the sort of PI somebody with a high profile would feel comfortable hiring.

  A man of medium height and weight with medium brown hair opened the door to Fred’s knock and extended a hand. “Mr. Sommers? I’m Ross Hamilton.” He had the kind of face that could disappear in a crowd. Low-keyed and discreet. In the jeans and denim shirt he wore that day, he looked like the guy next door. In a blue uniform, he’d probably look like a delivery guy. In work clothes, he could pass for the cable man or phone repair guy.

  Fred shook his hand then turned to me. “This is my assistant, Diana Lindsay.”

  Hamilton studied me a moment before offering to shake my hand. “Have we met before?”

  “I don’t think so.” Suddenly I understood the wig. Hamilton had been following Rick who’d been stalking me. Add to that my recent television appearance, and it was likely Hamilton had seen me. I moved past him, ducking my head and letting the blond hair fall over my face.

  He invited us to sit in his low-key, discreet beige client chairs and offered us coffee. Fred refused because he’s so persnickety about his coffee, and I refused because I don’t like coffee. He didn’t offer a Coke. We Coke drinkers are often discriminated against.

  Hamilton took a seat behind his wooden desk. The surface was uncluttered except for a phone and his cup of coffee. He took a sip of the coffee then sat back and folded his arms. “So Rick Kramer’s alive, and you’re
representing him?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Do you have some identification?”

  Fred took out his wallet and withdrew his driver’s license, a business card and a card showing he was a member of the Missouri State Bar. I almost choked when I saw that last. Impersonating an insurance adjuster or an agent looking for strippers is one thing, but my dad’s a lawyer, and I know that they get more than a little irate when somebody goes around impersonating an attorney.

  Hamilton kept the business card and handed the others back to Fred. “I’m not legally bound to tell you anything about my investigation.”

  “If you don’t want to answer my questions, I understand. Anything you do tell me will be kept completely confidential. My client is in fear for his life. Whatever information you can provide about what you might have seen while you had him under surveillance would be greatly appreciated.”

  Hamilton studied us quietly for several moments. Fred studied him back. I fidgeted.

  “I wasn’t there the morning of the explosion,” Hamilton said. “I’d already concluded my investigation and turned everything over to Akin.”

  “Are you aware that Julia Akin called the police on four occasions to report physical abuse by her husband?”

  “I was not aware of that. Mr. Akin hired me to find out if his wife was cheating on him. That’s all I was concerned with.”

  Fred nodded slowly. “I understand. And you turned your report over to Mr. Akin before the murder took place?”

  “Yes, I did. Almost a week before.”

  “I see. Does it bother you that you may have provided information that got Mrs. Akin killed?”

  “I did the job I was hired to do.” Hamilton’s voice was calm and even, as though he were discussing the weather, but his jaw tightened and his lips firmed. I did not think he was as unaffected as he wanted us to believe.

  Fred sat silently. Hamilton took another sip of coffee. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “It doesn’t look good for Akin,” Fred said. “His first wife charged him with abuse, but she dropped the charges after she got a hefty settlement.”

  That sheen of sweat spread to Hamilton’s upper lip. He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t involved in that case.”

  “I understand. Not part of your job. And the abuse was never proven.”

  We all sat in silence for a moment while Hamilton’s sweat factor ramped up.

  “When Mr. Akin hired you to follow his wife, did he tell you what he planned to do with the information if you found that she was having an affair?”

  Hamilton wrapped his fingers tightly around his coffee cup. “He discovered she was talking to a lawyer about a divorce. He said his first wife took him for everything, and he didn’t intend for that to happen again. If he could get proof of infidelity, he’d have a bargaining chip.”

  “So he was okay with the divorce, just concerned about the financial aspect of it?”

  Hamilton nodded, sitting straighter in his chair. “I get a lot of cases like that. If one spouse can prove the other one’s cheating, it gives them better leverage in the divorce. Akin wanted to be prepared so as soon as she filed, he could file a countersuit and charge her with adultery.”

  “Divorce. Legal action.” Fred nodded slowly. “Mr. Akin had a pre-nup with his wife. Why did he need further leverage?”

  Hamilton’s fingers twitched slightly as he picked up his coffee cup and lifted it to his lips, taking a sip then setting it back on the desk. If it had been full, he’d have sloshed coffee onto that desk. “I was hired to do a job. The client’s motives are none of my business.”

  “Of course. Did he threaten his wife? Show any signs of violence when he talked about her?”

  Hamilton licked his lips and shook his head. “No. He was always calm and controlled, not a man you’d associate with abuse.”

  “Abusers often show a different side to everybody except their victims. My assistant was married to an abusive man. She’s one of the lucky ones. She escaped with her life.”

  I tried to look vulnerable.

  “I’m sorry,” Hamilton said. “Good thing you got away from him. Not all women do.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as he apparently realized what he’d said. He took another sip of coffee. His hand shook visibly.

  “I shot him,” I said, wanting to contribute something to the conversation.

  Hamilton’s eyes widened and Fred choked, turning the sound into a cough.

  Well, he should have given me a script.

  “While you had Mrs. Akin and Mr. Kramer under surveillance, did you observe anything suspicious, anyone else who might be watching either him or her?” Fred asked, changing the subject. Guess he didn’t like my ad-lib.

  Hamilton sat silently for a long moment before he finally spoke. “One night I observed Mr. Kramer fighting with another woman on his front porch while Mrs. Akin was inside his house.”

  I leaned forward, waiting to hear the rest of the story. It did not surprise me that Rick would cheat on Julia. Duh.

  “Can you describe the incident in more detail?”

  Hamilton tented his fingers and seemed relieved to be discussing something other than his guilt in Julia Akin’s murder. After practically being accused of being an accomplice to murder, he was probably willing to spill his guts about anything that would make him seem less guilty.

  “Mr. Akin was out of town and I followed Mrs. Akin to Mr. Kramer’s house. She’d been inside for about an hour when another car pulled into the driveway and a woman got out.”

  “Can you describe the woman?”

  “Blond hair, medium height, very…umm…pretty.”

  From the way he spread his hands in the vicinity of his chest, I figured pretty meant triple D.

  “She rang the doorbell. Mr. Kramer answered and tried to close the door in her face, but she stuck her purse in the opening and yelled at him.”

  “Could you hear what she yelled at him?”

  “No. I was too far away, and I didn’t have any sound equipment set up. Mr. Akin just asked for pictures.”

  Fred nodded. “Go on.”

  “Mr. Kramer came out on the porch, and the two of them got into it. At first she was smiling and trying to talk to him, but he just kept shaking his head, and that seemed to make her mad. Soon she started hitting him. Punched him in the stomach a couple of times then whacked him in the face with that purse. I figured he’d smack her, but he didn’t. Just put up his hands to protect himself, then ran back in the house. She rang the doorbell and knocked for a long time, but he never came back to the door. I figured it was a former girlfriend though she looked a little older than him, one of those women who work at not looking their age. She was wearing a lot of makeup, and she had long red fingernails.”

  Marissa was a little older, wore too much makeup, had long red fingernails and she’d certainly smacked Clint and Brad. If it had been a former girlfriend, Rick would have at least grabbed her arms to stop her hitting him. I was glad to know he showed a little respect for his mother, whether or not she deserved it.

  “Do you remember what kind of car she was driving?”

  “It was an old Honda Civic.”

  Marissa was now driving a Cadillac, but it was rented.

  “Did you get the license plate off that Civic?”

  “Yes.”

  The man was putty in Fred’s hands. He might not want to tell him everything, but he would, if pressed.

  “Did you run the plates?”

  “They came back to some woman who lives in Crappie Creek. I don’t remember the name off the top of my head. Melissa, something like that. I turned in my report shortly after that, and my client wasn’t interested in her identity.”

  Melissa, Marissa, Mary. Had to be Mama.

  “Do you know who Bryan Kollar is?” Fred asked.

  Hamilton appeared puzzled at the question. “Of course. Everybody around here knows who Bryan Kollar is.”<
br />
  “Did you see him with Mr. Kramer at any time?”

  “No. Were the two of them buddies?”

  “They were involved in a business deal. Did you ever, during the time you had Mrs. Akin or Mr. Kramer under surveillance, notice a dark blue Jaguar parked in the area or driving by?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’d have noticed a car like that. In my job, I have to notice everything.”

  Fred nodded and stood. Hamilton and I stood too. Hamilton looked relieved that the interview was at an end.

  “I very much appreciate your sharing your information with us.” Fred stepped forward and extended a hand across Hamilton’s desk.

  They shook, then I took Hamilton’s hand. It was damp. Yeah, the man would be glad to see us leave.

  “Did he die?” Hamilton asked.

  “Rick?” Fred looked surprised at the question. “No, he’s still alive. He’s my client.”

  “I know that. I meant her husband. The one she shot.”

  “No,” Fred said firmly. “She’s a lousy shot.”

  I smiled vulnerably.

  Actually, I smiled through clenched teeth. Fred would pay for that remark.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My first question as we were slowly wending our way down Interstate 29 in Fred’s car was, “Can I take off this wig?”

  “By all means. Don’t ever go blond. You’re too pale.”

  “Thank you for that bit of advice.” I pulled off the wig and tossed it into the back seat then glared at him. He didn’t notice. “Who drives a blue Jaguar? Bryan Kollar?”

  “Yes. I was hoping we’d get a hit on him, but that’s a pretty hard car to miss.”

  “Maybe he has a secret car, something not quite so flashy for when he’s stalking people he plans to kill.”

  “Maybe.”

  We rode in silence for a couple of minutes. It’s difficult for me to go long without saying something. “I’ve got some advice for you. You shouldn’t have let Hamilton keep that business card saying you’re a lawyer. I’m pretty sure impersonating a lawyer is a crime.”

  Fred continued to stare out the windshield, showing no signs of fear at my dire warning. “If you represent yourself as a lawyer and dispense legal advice, you can be charged with a crime. I dispensed no legal advice and I did actually pass the Missouri, Kansas and Oklahoma bar exams.”