by Beth Urich
“I know. Something about how coy he was when we discussed them. I wouldn’t be surprised to see them join forces someday.”
“We’ll see, I suppose. This is a list of the lakefront owners who’ve been approached to sell. As you can see, I’m a frustrated spreadsheet creator.”
“No kidding. Name of owner and/or resident, address of property, sale/no sale, who approached each owner. This is great.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for more activity.”
Kate tucked the pages into her pocket. “I’m afraid I didn’t find out anything at Branson City Hall. My contacts are limited, and the city administrator has warned people not to speak to the media. I’ve asked my dad to check with some of his old planning commission contacts to see if anything is cooking. The city can’t do anything in secret, but I was hoping to find out about long-term plans. Turns out the only thing going on is the city hall expansion, which is slated to begin in two or three years.”
Marge said, “The Chamber has undertaken something interesting. But don’t get your hopes up. It may not be a big deal. I only wish I participated in the committees.”
“Because ...”
“One of the groups is doing a big survey. They’ve sent out hundreds of questionnaires to small, medium, and large companies nationwide. The majority are in the Midwest, but the committee figured it was worth the price of postage to ask.”
“And they were asking?”
“What would make you bring your company meetings to Branson? You know, things like how big would the meeting rooms need to be, how many would you use, how many hotel rooms, what other activities would be of interest? It goes on and on.”
“I don’t suppose you have a copy.”
“I have one in my office ... just for you ... including a list of the companies.”
“Great,” Kate said. “When was it sent out?”
“Several months ago.”
“Which means they’ve been working on it for a while.”
“A company developed the questionnaire, but certainly members of the committee provided input and review. A list of members is on the contact page by the way.”
“It does sound interesting.”
“I suppose, but this is what chambers of commerce do. They hope to encourage people with money to come to the area.”
“Knowing what will get them to come is clearly important. Can you find out the status of responses? They should have some preliminary data by now.”
“I’ll give it a try. Can’t hurt to seem interested.”
KATE WAITED IN THE chairs not far from the nurses’ station while Etta wrapped up her visit with Sarah. She was reviewing her notes on Wainright when a familiar voice stopped to speak to a nurse. By the time the butterflies in her tummy stopped fluttering, Tom was next to her chair.
“Hi, Katie. Thanks again. The tape of your interrogation was a big help.”
“Interview. You interrogate. I interview. And you are welcome. I hope you can arrest whoever trashed Etta’s house.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“It was a pretty traumatic afternoon putting everything back together.”
“I’ll bet. I’d like to ask her a couple more questions.”
“Etta’s in with Sarah now.”
Tom motioned to Sid, who tapped the door jamb as the two detectives disappeared into the room.
Kate was finishing her notes when the policemen and Etta stopped in front of her. “All set to go home?” Kate asked.
“This nice young man of yours is going to take me.”
Kate grinned in Tom’s direction. “That’s very sweet of you, Detective Collingwood.”
She took Etta by the arm and walked her to the elevator, Sid and Tom following closely behind. They rode silently down to the lobby level. The police vehicle was parked close to the door, so Kate said her goodbyes as they exited the building. She smiled all the way to her car thinking about that nice young man of hers.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tom and Sid’s discussion with Etta took less than twenty minutes, including the seven silent ones between her house and the hospital. Gathering no case information beyond that on Kate’s recording, the senior detective learned more about the victim herself.
“Something’s off,” he said, after the two men were summarily ushered out of the octogenarian’s house.
Sid said, “Other than your interrogation skills?”
“Her frustration has nothing to do with me. Look, she may simply be an angry victim of an assault on her privacy and safety. But in my opinion, there’s a lot more beneath the surface.”
TORY’S TREASURES WERE closer to old junk, at least from Tom’s vantage point by the entrance. Nevertheless, the parking lot was full—three tourist busses and a dozen or so automobiles—and so was the store.
The thirty-something man at the register put down his comic book when the officers entered. “Where can I direct you gentlemen? Looking for anything specific?”
“Bryan Porter,” Sid said.
“Sorry, he’s not working today.”
“Any idea where we might find him?”
“I just watch the counter. Check with the office lady. Take aisle four all the way back.”
“Thanks,” Tom said.
A picture window on the back wall revealed the tiny office. A woman, probably in her late fifties, sat at the desk with the view of the store. Smoke from a cigarette encircled her head, blending in with her mostly gray disheveled hair. The pungent odor hung in the short hallway by the door. She gazed at her visitors as she crushed the butt in the already overfilled ashtray.
Tom introduced himself and his partner as he showed the woman his badge. “Man up front said you might know where Bryan Porter is today.”
“At home, I’d guess.”
“We checked there,” Sid said.
“City Hall maybe. He likes to go and stir things up sometimes.”
“Any other guesses?”
“To be honest, Bryan hasn’t been in the store for a while.”
She stood up and extended her hand to each man. Her petite stature, belied by the raspy, deep voice. “I’m his cousin, Sylvia. I do the books and keep an eye on things.”
“Your last name?” Sid asked, taking out his notepad.
“Lockhart.”
“Does your husband help with the store too?”
“Never been married. My mother was Bryan’s aunt.”
“When was the last time you saw your cousin?” Tom asked.
She shuffled some papers scattered across the desk and held one so Tom could read it. “I filled this out for him to review and sign two weeks ago. It’s due to the state of Missouri by the end of next month, so I haven’t pressed it, but I did leave a message.”
“Did he say when he’d be in?”
“Never returned my call.”
“Aren’t you worried about him?”
“This is not unusual for Bryan. But, yeah, I sent one of the kids who work for us to check on him. He was sitting on his porch.”
“And that was when?”
“Five days ago, three days ago, and yesterday. The kid said Bryan had different clothes on, so I figured he was still alive.”
Tom stifled a snicker as he handed her his card. “Please tell him to contact us as soon as possible. He can come to our office in City Hall or phone that number.”
She pinned the card to a small bulletin board close to the door and returned to her desk. When Tom glanced back halfway down aisle four, Sylvia was on the phone having an animated conversation, the newly lit cigarette hanging from her lips.
“Charming family,” Sid said.
“Explains a lot,” Tom commented. “I think she called him when we left. Let’s drop by his house on the way back to the office. Maybe he ignored our knock before.”
As they pulled out of the parking lot, dispatch radioed for them to see Larry Allen at his job site. No additional information was provided by Palmer when he requested the
relay.
“I wager Allen has been chewing Dan about releasing the lot again,” Tom said.
“No bet.”
Allen wasn’t in his office trailer when the detectives arrived, but he came charging out of the building before they could find someone to ask about his location. His face was flush and his jaw taut when he met them halfway across the still unfinished lot. Tom knew the man had a temper, but he’d never seen him this upset.
“Where have you been? I spoke to Lieutenant Palmer hours ago.”
“We came as soon as possible,” Tom said, glancing at Sid.
“Good thing Porter didn’t do anything worse than rant and rave at me.”
“Porter was here?” Tom asked.
“Tell me you’re surprised he violated the restraining order.”
“This happened today?”
“No. Last week, and then last night.”
“Why did you wait to call Lieutenant Palmer?”
“Last week I reminded Porter about the protection order. He left in a huff but didn’t make much of a scene, so I was going to ignore it. But last night he went crazy. It took me and another guy to get him off the lot.”
“Can we go somewhere to discuss what happened?” Tom asked.
“I don’t want to discuss it. I want you to take care of it. I’ve got a business to run and have lost enough time trying to fend off this lunatic.”
Tom said, “Mr. Allen, I understand you’re upset, but we need specifics to file an official complaint. How about your office?”
Allen’s brow furrowed, his face now a light pink. He turned sharply and made a beeline to the trailer. Opening the door, he waited at the bottom of the two steps for the detectives to enter. When he joined them, he motioned to the office toward the back of the unit. He leaned against his worktable and bowed his head.
“I shouldn’t take my anger out on you guys,” he said with a sincere smile. “But the man gets more and more erratic with every attack.”
“Tell us about the times he’s approached you. How does he act? What does he say?”
“How much time do you have?”
“Whatever it takes,” Tom said.
Allen spent the next several minutes criticizing Porter’s suit against the city. His voice became louder and more enraged with each point as he denied the veracity of the accusations. He then recounted each time Porter visited the job site or City Hall to accost the councilman. In the end, he stopped in midsentence and shook his head.
“What I’ve told you is summarized in the request for the restraining order. I’m not sure what can be accomplished by going over the details.”
Tom glanced over the notes he’d been taking. “One thing is missing in both your complaint and what you’ve told us today. Give us specifics about what you call Porter’s ravings. You’ve mainly identified accusations he made in his suit against Branson. Has he raised additional claims, demands, or threats toward you or your company?”
“The truth is what he says, the words, don’t make sense. He’s like a gnat flying around your head but really loud and in your face.”
Sid chimed in with a different approach. “Mr. Allen, if we know more about Porter’s beef with you, it may help us talk to him and call him off.”
“That’s the weird thing. He attacks my family in general, like you all ruined my life. Last night he went on about how the truth will come out. More than once he’s said we took what was rightfully his.”
“Have you discussed this with your family?” Sid asked.
“Numerous times.”
“How did they respond?”
“Uncle Randy says Porter was a troubled boy and has grown into a troubled man.”
“That’s it?” Tom asked.
“Neither my uncle, nor my grandfather, comprehend the rants any more than I do.”
“LIGHT’S ON. MAYBE HE’S home,” Tom said as Sid parked in front of Porter’s house.
Sid said, “The least he could do is leave his truck outside the garage, so we’d know.”
“We can mention that next time we see him.”
Several knocks brought no response, so Sid wrote a note on the back of his card and slipped it between the door and the jamb. Before Sid could start the car, Porter drove by the house, speeding up as he passed.
“He can’t seriously be avoiding us,” Sid said.
“All evidence to the contrary. Let’s follow him. He’ll probably pull over.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“I guess we’ll have something else to talk to him about.”
They caught up with him at a stop sign at the intersection of his road and Highway 76. He was two cars in front of them. When he turned onto a side road into an old residential area, they followed. Tom put the emergency light on the dash and turned on the red beacon. Porter sped up for a couple blocks, but Sid closed the gap without effort. Tom flicked the siren on and off, causing one shrill bleep. One more block and Porter pulled to the right and parked.
Tom walked to the driver’s side of Porter’s truck. The window came down slowly. “Guess you didn’t see us at your house.”
“Didn’t notice. I remembered I had to be somewhere. Then I saw someone tailing me and I panicked.”
“Maybe you missed the light and siren too.”
“To be fair, Tom, that’s when I pulled over, as soon as I saw it was you.”
“We need to talk, Bryan.”
“Like I said, I’m on my way some place right now.”
“Not back to Councilman Allen’s construction site, I hope.”
Porter shook his head.
“Okay. It’s getting late. Come by the station nine o’clock tomorrow morning and be prepared for a long talk.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kate punched redial for one final try and was taken aback when a real person—not the message system—came on the line. “Hi, I’m calling Kyle Henderson. Is he available?”
“Sorry, I thought this was my call. Let me see if I can find Kyle.”
Several minutes went by and Kate was about to hang up when the line clicked.
“This is Kyle Henderson.”
“Mr. Henderson, I’ve been given your name as someone who might be interested in purchasing property in Branson, Missouri.”
“Depends. May I ask your name?”
“Margaret Carson,” Kate said, using her mother’s maiden name.
“Are you interested in selling your land in Branson, Miss Carson?”
“I’d like to explore the possibility. Are you representing a buyer or yourself?”
“Would that make a difference?”
“Branson is a small town, Mr. Henderson. I would want to know who the actual purchaser is.”
“Certainly. Let’s start by your telling me the location.”
Kate included the address and phone number for her father’s motel. She knew Henderson would check it out, so she said she was calling for Roger Duane Starling, the current owner and a close friend. The broker said he’d do some research, speak to appropriate clients, and get back to her within forty-eight hours. They could move forward with an on-site inspection at that time. She gave him her home phone number for future contacts. As soon as she hung up, she called her father to tell him what she had done and ask him to play along.
“You know, I was hurt because you were using Margie as your investigative assistant. I finally feel like part of the team.”
“Cute, Dad. Thanks.”
SHIRLEY WAS ALREADY at the restaurant. Kate never beat her friend to a meeting place, even when it was down the street from the newspaper. Shirley waved as Kate made her way across the room, weaving around the closely arranged tables.
“I suppose you’ve already ordered for me,” Kate said, sitting across the table.
“No, I just arrived.”
“So close,” Kate whispered, picking up the menu.
The lunch crowd of about thirty filled the small restaurant’s dozen or so tables. The small staff
had no trouble keeping up. One of the three waitresses took Kate and Shirley’s orders then brought their iced teas. Kate was making mental notes about her conversation with Henderson and hadn’t noticed the patrons standing by the door.
“So, how’s it going with Tom?” Shirley asked.
“Great. Absolutely great.”
“Is that why he followed you to the restaurant?”
Kate turned toward the entrance where Sid and Tom were speaking to one of the staff. The waitress nodded and the two detectives crossed the room and stood next to Kate’s table.
“Do you want to join us?” she asked, glancing at Shirley who shrugged her approval.
“Our table will be ready in a couple minutes, but I wanted to say hello,” Tom said, pulling out one of the empty chairs.
“Sid, this is my best friend Shirley Barrens. She works at the hospital in the administrator’s office,” Kate said.
Shirley and Sid said, “Nice to meet you,” simultaneously, and then started laughing.
“Thanks again for helping out with Etta,” Tom said. “She can be a handful.”
“She definitely is strong-willed,” Kate said.
“That sweet lady you brought to the hospital yesterday was the woman you wrote about in your articles?” Shirley asked.
Before Kate could respond, Sid smiled at Shirley and said, “She nearly bit my head off when I tried to question her.”
The waitress returned to the table with two menus. “Do you boys want to stay here?”
Tom poked Sid’s arm and responded, “No. Lead the way.”
Shirley, who had been staring in the direction of the departing detectives, turned her head and blushed.
Kate said, “You are truly smitten.”
“I am not smitten. But he is kind of cute. Too young for me, though.”
“Au contraire, my friend. He’s only three years younger than us.”
“Hmm.”
“Does that mean you’re interested?”
“We were talking about you and Tom,” Shirley said.
“We’re making progress. All I have to do is keep my reporter hat and my girlfriend hat in separate closets.”