by Beth Urich
“You have a choice,” Sid said.
“And you can have a lawyer present, if you want,” Tom added.
Porter pushed the chair back and headed for the door.
“But answering a few questions and taking a little advice might be your best bet.”
“Or else?”
“No threat. We’re simply trying to mitigate a situation,” Tom said.
The older man returned to the chair, leaned back, and folded his arms across his chest. His lips tightly pursed, he stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with both officers.
Tom leaned toward him, hands outstretched as if pleading a case. “Bryan, we’ve known each other since I was a kid. I remember you as a nice man who gave me odd jobs on the weekends and during the summer.”
“What happened to that nice man?” Sid asked.
Porter shrugged.
“Something happened,” Tom began. “Something made you angry enough to assault an alderman. Something made you escalate your attacks to a point warranting an order of protection against you. If Councilman Allen has done something to you, revenge is not the answer.”
“Allen isn’t my problem,” Porter said.
“You made him your problem,” Sid countered, pacing the room.
“His family ruined my father’s life. They took everything from him.”
“Jack Brighton?”
“And his worthless son.”
“You say they took everything from your father. Explain.” Tom said.
Porter shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Tom said, “Obviously it matters to you. But why now? Your father hasn’t lived in this town for a long time. What made you start this vendetta now?”
“My therapist says I have baggage,” Porter said, looking directly at Tom.
“You’ve been seeing a therapist?” Sid asked, leaning on the table.
“My mother died six months ago. Things seemed to bubble to the surface. I couldn’t sleep. My doctor recommended a guy in Springfield. I quit going after a few sessions.”
“No kidding,” Sid said not quietly enough, provoking a scowl from Tom.
“They chased my dad out of town and broke my mother’s heart. She never recovered.”
“Is that why you sued the city of Branson ... to get even with Jack Brighton?”
“No.”
“But Fortune Enterprises takes the brunt of your accusations,” Tom said.
“Maybe.”
“Speaking of your accusations, how did you come up with them? The suit doesn’t contain many details,” Sid said.
“I didn’t make anything up, if that’s what you mean. Everything is true.”
“Okay, let’s move on to the break-in at Etta Stupholds’ house,” Tom said.
“What break-in?”
“Where were you two days ago?”
“I suppose I was at the flea market. I sure wasn’t breaking into Etta’s.”
“According to your accountant, you haven’t been in the store for at least two weeks. You argued with Etta recently about something she had that belonged to you. Is that what you were searching for when you tore her house apart?”
“Absolutely not,” Porter shouted.
“Maybe you hired someone to do it.”
Porter slammed both palms on the table and stood up. “I would never do anything to hurt Etta. She was like a second mother to me as a child. At least before ...”
“Go on,” Sid said. “Before the Brighton’s chased your father out of town?”
“Something like that,” Porter said, resuming his seat.
Tom filled a glass with water from the cooler in the corner of the room and placed it in front of the visitor, who locked his fingers around the glass but did not drink. After a moment he pushed it a way and leaned back in the chair.
“Where did your father go?” Sid asked.
“Up north.”
“Iowa? Minnesota?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere around Kansas City. Maybe St. Joseph. He tried to make a go of it in Branson first, even opened a small grocery store.”
“You said Brighton chased him out of town,” Tom said.
“No, he fired him,” Porter said with a shrug. “Can you fire a partner?”
“When did this happen?” Sid asked.
“Early 1940s.”
“Your father was a partner with Jack Brighton and Etta Stupholds at Riverside Mercantile?” Tom asked, doubt in his voice.
“Why is that hard to believe?”
“I guess, because no one’s mentioned it.”
“They were childhood friends. At least that’s what I was told.”
“But you couldn’t have been more than ten years old at the time.”
“Eight. I was almost ten when Dad left to find work.”
“Why didn’t you and your mother go with him?”
“He wanted us to keep the store opened. He was trying to make extra money, that’s all. I helped out when I could. After a while, my mom closed the store and went to work somewhere else. I don’t remember where.”
“And your father?”
“Never came back. She got letters saying he would be home soon, but it didn’t happen.”
“So, he abandoned the two of you,” Sid said.
“My mother never accepted that. We even went to the address where she sent her letters.”
“And?”
“And nothing. No one knew where he had gone.”
Tom glanced at Sid, silently motioning for his partner to take a seat. They both pulled up to the table and leaned forward. Tom felt sorry for Porter, but the past did not justify his current behavior. “It had to be tough as a kid without a father. We understand what you’ve said. But you may be wrong about Jack Brighton. You don’t know what happened. You were a young boy. No one tells a kid the whole truth.”
The older man furrowed his brow and stared at his clenched hands. “Are we finished?”
“One more thing. You need to do whatever you have to do to stay away from Allen and the Brightons. See a lawyer and sue them, if you have a case against them. But do not go near them. If you do, our next meeting may be when we arrest you. Do you understand?”
Porter walked to the door and waited for Sid to open it.
Tom called out, “Last warning, Bryan,” as Sid took the man to the jail exit. The detective wasn’t sure if Bryan heard the message, but the conversation was worth the trouble, providing a lead in the skeleton case.
SYLVIA LOCKHART MET the detectives at Artie Richards’ office as soon as she got off work from Tory’s Treasures. As Lex’s niece by his sister, Sylvia could be a match to the mitochondrial DNA of the skeleton. Tom wasn’t sure what all that meant, but he had confidence in Fredericks’ conclusions and expertise.
The woman was eager to help them with an ongoing case even though they provided no details. Artie took the sample with cryptic comments about collecting evidence for an old case.
“I’ve never heard of this DNA thing,” Sylvia said.
Artie explained, “It’s a scientific method for identifying a particular person,”
“You mean like fingerprints?”
“Yes, but also useful in making a family connection,” Tom said.
“But you don’t think I did something wrong.”
“No, we’re trying to identify remains,” Sid said, immediately biting his lip.
“Like a human body?” she gasped.
“One deceased many years ago,” Tom assured her.
“Good. I mean, not good, but ... you know what I mean.”
“Yes, we know,” Sid said.
Artie walked her to the door. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem.”
“One more thing, Sylvia,” Tom said. “This is an ongoing investigation, so please don’t discuss this with anyone.”
“Who would I tell?” she said with a Cheshire cat grin.
Once the woman was out of sight, Sid remarked, “She could tell any
number of people.”
“She won’t say anything,” Tom said. “Besides, if we’re right and clear this up soon, it won’t matter.”
“What about the other two victims? Have you found any relatives?” Artie asked.
“We’re supposed to get samples this week, assuming they show up,” Sid said.
“But don’t wait for those to get Sylvia’s sample to the lab,” Tom said.
Artie said. “I’ll send it FedEx priority first thing tomorrow.”
TOM DROPPED SID AT the police department entrance and headed home for a quick shower and change. He didn’t want to be late for his big date with Kate. He was beginning to enjoy feeling like a sixteen-year-old again. And this date would be a great surprise—or so he hoped.
She was waiting in her living room, framed in the big picture window. When he parked, she waved and rushed to the front door. He didn’t get a chance to knock. Plenty of those teen hormones going around, he guessed. The smile on her face warmed his heart, but the twinkle in her eye set his blood on fire.
“You’re ready,” he said.
She whirled around and stopped in the middle of the room. Her baggy jeans and his old football jersey transformed her into the young teenager he remembered.
“Am I dressed appropriately for your surprise? You said late-seventies-casual.”
“You are perfect.”
“Well, that’s good then,” she said, taking hold of his hands.
He pulled her close and gave her a peck on the cheek. The scent in her hair—shampoo she’d used so long ago—resurrected good memories. He breathed it in and sighed quietly.
Kate said, “Do you like it? I found a bottle of that lilac conditioner I used in high school. I figured it would go with the outfit.”
“Maybe we should stay here and order pizza.”
“No way. You promised a great surprise date and you are going to deliver.”
She grabbed her purse from the sofa and headed for the door.
“You may need a coat. It’s breezy and damp outside.”
“I’m not sure I still have one old enough.”
“Suit yourself, but don’t complain later,” he said with a shrug.
She turned on her heel and rushed to her room, coming back in less than a minute in one of her father’s old coats. Tom was sitting on the sofa waiting.
“Isn’t this that box Etta gave you?” he asked pointing to the end table.
“Yes, I’m searching her key stash for the one to open it.”
“I tell you; it would be easier to let an expert crack this lock.”
“Give me the name of an expert. I’ll call if I can’t find the match.”
“Very hurtful,” Tom said. “Seriously, you haven’t opened it yet?”
“We found the box of keys last Wednesday, cleaning up after the break-in. I’ve been busy. Right now, we have a date to enjoy.” Halfway to the door, she glanced back at her companion and said, “Race you to the car.”
“No fair. You started without me,” he said, catching up with her nonetheless.
They rode in silence down the Strip toward the city proper. He was a little disappointed she wasn’t pumping him for information. As they approached the bridge crossing over Lake Taneycomo to the east, he was about to give her a clue.
“I knew it,” she shouted.
“What do you know?”
“We’re going bowling.”
“You sound happy,” he said, pleased with the glee in her voice.
“Despite the fact that we haven’t been bowling since before I graduated from high school in 1980, I’m thrilled.”
“Seriously? I was ready to settle for happy. Thrilled is much better. But hold on to that feeling, because I’m going to trounce you like I did in those olden times.”
“Fat chance.”
The passage of time had not improved the couple’s bowling skills. Kate accused her date of sabotaging her game by failing to bring her old shoes and ball. Tom, who lugged his high school ball along for the contest, claimed he was “a bit rusty.” In the end, they agreed they were never that good. The important thing was to have fun. And, for Tom, beating the sox off his girlfriend was the ultimate in fun.
“Another game?” he asked.
“Are you kidding? Three major losses is enough humiliation for me.”
“At least you can admit defeat.”
“Winner buys dinner. Right?”
“The least I can do,” Tom said, placing their shoes on the counter.
“We’ll have a large pepperoni, extra cheese, and two beers,” Kate told the attendant.
“Coming right up,” the young man said before disappearing into the kitchen.
By the time the two would-be bowlers were settled at the table, the girl working behind the counter brought the drinks. Tom clasped the cold glass between his hands and marveled at his good fortune. It seemed real this time, like his relationship with Kate would last. He’d never been happier, and she seemed happy too. Maybe he should have let her win at least one game.
Kate took a sip of beer. She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “You know, you don’t have to be so happy you walloped me at bowling.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Your ear-to-ear smirk.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed it slightly. “Being a champion bowler did not cause my glee. Spending the evening with my best-friend-forever is what makes me joyous.”
She placed her free hand on top of his. “I understand the feeling.”
“You know, I’m not that hungry,” he said.
Kate snickered. “Not a chance. You owe me dinner at least.”
“We could take the pizza with us.”
“Where are we going?”
“Perhaps you’d like to see my small but really nice apartment.”
The young man placed the pizza between them. “Can I get you anything else?”
Kate stared at Tom, then the attendant. “We need a to-go box, please.”
THE DRIVE TO HIS APARTMENT seemed like a lifetime. At first, he babbled caveats about the condition of the apartment, warning her not to expect it to be as clean as her house. With her silence, he was afraid she would change her mind.
Once inside, he took the pizza box from her and placed it on the counter in the small kitchen. When he turned around, Kate was directly in front of him. She put her arms around his neck and moved close enough that her lilac-scented hair overshadowed the pizza. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he kissed her again and again. He placed his hand in the small of her back and pulled her as close as he possibly could. Her physical responses allayed his earlier fears. He led her down a short hallway to his bedroom.
Kate took his hands and pulled him gently onto the edge of the bed, seemingly oblivious to its rumpled condition. She caressed his cheek, then kissed him gently on the lips. He laid back on the bed and pulled her down beside him. He regretted losing her in the first place and wouldn’t let that happen again. His heart erupted with an overwhelming feeling of contentment—of oneness with the only woman he had ever truly loved. Everything seemed so right, so good, so meant to be. They made love for the first time since his return to Branson, then fell asleep in each other’s arms.
THE SOFT BREEZE BRUSHED lightly across his face, tickling the end of his nose. Something touched his lips. He eased his eyes open.
Kate’s finger made another circle around his mouth, then stroked his cheek. “Good morning,” she whispered.
“It is now.”
Kate leaned her head on his shoulder and cuddled her body closer to his. His mind reeled with feelings he couldn’t describe, let alone explain.
“What’s going on behind those gorgeous eyes?” she said.
“That I’m not interested in ever leaving this bed.”
“Ever is an extremely long time.”
He smiled and gave her a peck on the tip of her nose.
“I probably should call my dad, let him know I haven’
t been kidnapped,” she said.
“Does that mean you’ll be hanging around for a while?”
“It’s Saturday, our day off, and I can’t imagine a better place to be.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kate poured herself a mugful of fresh coffee and sat across from her father at the kitchen table. “Are you going to tease me without mercy?” she asked.
“Why would I do that? You don’t tease me when I linger at Margie’s.”
“You haven’t lingered for a day and a half. Not yet anyway.”
“I did have in mind to say I told you so. And I’ll add I’m happy for you.”
“It might last this time, Dad. He took me bowling Friday night.”
“A sure sign of commitment.”
“It feels like when we were teenagers and fell in love. Please don’t tell me this buzz will fade. I’m not interested in hearing anything negative.”
“I was not going to say anything about the buzz. I was going to say life has its ups and downs and in-betweens. Your job is to stay buckled in and ride that ride.”
“That sounds really wise, Dad.” She reached for the front section of the paper. “Wow, Helen put me on the first page, below the fold, but who cares.”
“It was a good piece, Katie. Jack Brighton never seemed that community-minded to me, but maybe I overlooked those characteristics.”
“The series is about Branson’s history and Jack played a big part. Even today he holds a lot of power and influence. But the article was not meant to be a biography of him or his family.”
“Perhaps an exposé would be appropriate someday.”
“Not a bad idea, but I’d rather do one on Larry Allen.”
“You’re right, he is smarmier than his grand-father.”
“Speaking of smarmy, I’m expecting a phone call from a Kyle Henderson. He’s the one I used mother’s maiden name to contact about selling the motel property.”
“Called yesterday evening. I told him you’d be out of town for a day or so. He left a direct number for you to call back.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Hey, I’m happy to be one of your investigative team members, but I’m not a very good secretary. The note’s by the phone next to your key project.”