by Beth Urich
All of Kate’s notes about the skeleton lot, the property fires, and the lakefront offers-to-purchase were spread across the kitchen table. The survey report and interview notes with Libby, Henderson, Wainright, and Brighton were stacked beside her on a chair.
“None of this makes sense,” she shouted to the empty kitchen.
“I can hear you,” her dad called from the back porch.
She let the screen door slam behind her and sat down on the glider. “Do you think I have an overactive imagination?”
Roger leaned forward, stopping the movement of the glider, and scratched his head.
Kate stood up, spun around, and eased onto the banister across from her dad. “I’m serious. I want to know your honest opinion.”
“How about you tell me what makes you ask.”
“There are some strange things going on in Branson,” Kate said, pacing the width of the porch.
“The lakefront stuff?”
“Yes, but the problem is the stuff. I know something is happening, but the picture is out of focus. Now I’m wondering if it’s me. And my imagination.”
“Look, honey, I know you want to uncover a big conspiracy in Branson, preferably led by Councilman Allen, or at least someone at Fortune Enterprises. But you may be disappointed.”
Kate stared at her father and sighed deeply as she sunk down on the glider.
Roger said, “Okay. What else do you have?”
“Including my reporter’s intuition?”
Her father shrugged.
“Allen and a new guy in town, Harold Wainright, are working together. They seem to have convinced the Chamber of Commerce to do this massive questionnaire.”
“That’s not even interesting.”
“Okay, what about Henderson, the man who called you? He’s been trying to buy property on the lakefront. And he wouldn’t even consider buying your motel.”
“Yeah. Hard to imagine he’d pass it up,” Roger said, his words drenched in sarcasm.
“Hey, this place may not be pretty, but the location is primo.”
“Good point,” Roger said with a smile.
“And, how about all the suspicious fires in town?” Kate asked
“I’ve read about a few, but they didn’t seem significant to me.”
“The owners are all on the list Margie compiled.”
“What else?”
“I’ll admit a few pieces are missing,” Kate said.
“You mean like proof of a conspiracy?”
“I agree. I’m an investigative journalist run amok.”
“It’s a shame you don’t have someone who can help you put this all together. Not that Margie and I aren’t crack investigators.”
“Helen has helped me a little. Maybe she can assign another reporter to the story.”
“I was thinking someone with more experience. Too bad you don’t have access to someone like, I don’t know, a police detective.”
Kate pushed off the glider, not sure if she should thank her father for his suggestion or be furious with him for beating her to the idea.
BEFORE DRIVING TO ETTA’S, Kate made another copy of the partnership agreement, and stuck the original in her bag. Etta was raking leaves away from her porch toward the large stand of trees in front of her house.
“You make me feel tired. And lazy,” Kate shouted as she approached.
Etta laughed. “You’re too busy for yard work.”
“I’ll try that excuse on my dad,” Kate said, holding the papers over her head. “I have something for you.”
Etta met Kate halfway and accepted the pages, which were in chronological order. She studied the top sheet as she walked toward the porch. Sitting down on her rocker, she moved the marriage application to the back, revealing the note from Clay.
“Where did you find these?” she asked Kate, who had eased onto the glider.
“They were in the box you gave me. I found the key.”
Etta reread Clay’s words. She touched his signature, then wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I thought I put these with my important papers in my file box.”
Kate said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I appreciate this more than you know.”
“There’s one more document,” Kate said.
Etta moved Clay’s note to the bottom and read the partnership agreement.
Kate asked. “Is this what Bryan Porter is looking for?”
The older woman furrowed her brow. “It means nothing.”
“It seems important.”
“It was a lark.”
“I’m pretty sure Bryan would disagree with you.”
“Jack and Lex were trying to make me feel welcome. Clay had just died. I felt pretty guilty about everything. After the funeral I came home and withdrew. For many weeks after Clay’s death, I couldn’t deal with anything. Jack and Lex helped me through that period.”
“They were good friends,” Kate offered when Etta paused.
“Eventually, I went back to Clay’s store. I tried to get the word out that I was opened for business. No one showed up but Jack and it took him a couple of days. Anyway, that’s when he offered to merge our stores. I knew it was a good idea. No one related to a woman store owner. They were nice enough, but it was a man’s world back then.”
“So, you accepted his offer.”
“Yes. It took a few more weeks to get everything ironed out. The day of our official opening as Riverside Mercantile, the whole town showed up. I knew I’d done the right thing. Anyway, that night we had a private celebration for the families. It was then that Jack and Lex showed me this paper. It was the sweetest thing. We all signed it, but that was it.”
“The papers weren’t filed?”
“No. They gave it to me as a gesture of everlasting friendship. I tucked it away and forgot about it.”
KATE DECIDED TO MAKE one more go at the councilman. She found Allen in the middle of the newly grated parking lot for his office complex. He was chewing out a man about the quality of the asphalt he planned to pour. When the councilman spotted Kate, he turned his back on her and gave the contractor a few more instructions. After he finished his conversation, he went inside the building and emerged several minutes later, visibly disappointed to find her waiting by his office trailer.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said with his usual ear-to-ear smile.
“No problem. I was admiring the beautiful landscaping.”
“Thanks. I hope we can say the same about the parking lot when those idiots finish.”
“Subcontractors can be a challenge,” she said.
“Sorry. I’m losing my patience, I guess.”
“I understand, and I won’t take too much of your time. I have a few questions about your new project in Branson.”
“We have three finishing up, but the only new site is in Stone County, over by Kimberling City.”
“Larry, I know you have something planned for Branson itself. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I know it’s big. All I’m asking is for a little information about the project and an exclusive on the announcement.”
“Sounds fair. But I can’t help you out on this one.”
“You’ve promised the story to someone else?”
“Look, I don’t know who your source is, but you've been misinformed. We have nothing going on or planned for Branson. End of story.”
“Maybe I am confused. I could have mis-understood Mr. Wainright when I interviewed him. I usually take pretty clear notes, but I’m not infallible.”
“Harold Wainright?”
“Yes, your new best buddy at the Chamber of Commerce.”
Allen furrowed his brow then replaced the frown with his stock grin. “I know Harold. He’s new in town. I’ve been nice to him. That does not mean we are best buddies. Nor does it mean he knows anything about my business.”
“What about the business you share with him?”
“Okay, now I know you’re fishing. Harold Wainright i
s a retired businessman from Chicago. He and I are acquaintances at the chamber. That’s it.”
“I suppose you aren’t associated with Kyle Henderson either.”
“All I know about him is he is interested in purchasing land in Branson.”
“Specifically, along the downtown lakefront.”
“I didn’t know he was particular.”
“Do you have anything to do with his approaching the owners?”
“I give up. You’re relentless,” he said, opening the door to his trailer.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Thanks for dropping by, Kate. Always a pleasure.” He let the door slam behind him.
Chapter Thirty
The spaces in front of the building were full as was the side lot. Missouri’s low gas prices and a full-service coffee bar—not to mention alcoholic beverages—attracted many commuters to the convenience store located on US 65 a couple miles north of the Arkansas border.
Sid walked toward the small attached garage where a mechanic worked on an old pickup. Tom went inside, fixed two large coffees, and waited by the register until a slightly scruffy man in his late twenties emerged from the back room.
“Anything else for you this morning?” the man asked, adjusting his ball cap.
“Not unless you have some glazed doughnuts hidden somewhere,” Tom said.
“Sorry, two truckers heading to Kansas City made off with the entire stash.”
“Timing is everything,” the detective said.
“True enough. It’ll be two dollars and fifty-six cents for the coffees.”
When Tom put the change in his pocket, he pulled back his jacket to reveal his badge. “Detective Tom Collingwood, Branson PD. I have a few questions for the owner.”
“He won’t be in for another thirty minutes or so.”
“Maybe you can help. We’re looking for a young woman who may be an employee. Her name is Julie.”
“Honestly, I don’t know everyone’s name. But you’re welcome to hang around for the owner, Chet Avery.”
Tom nodded and joined Sid outside on a bench close to the double glass doors.
Sid took the coffee and said, “No doughnuts?”
“Sorry. We should have come sooner.”
“Like that could happen. Man, this place is swamped. Every pump. The mechanic has two oil changes waiting and he’s working on an oil leak in that old Chevy.”
“Owner’s name is Chet Avery. He’ll be in soon. The clerk didn’t know, or wouldn’t say, much on his own.”
“Maybe old Chet would be interested in selling this place. We could retire in style with a business like this.”
“My grandpa would respond by telling you the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence,” Tom said.
“You have a grandpa who talks like that?”
“Did you get anything from the mechanic?”
“Believe it or not he does come in at five every weekday morning. However, he said he is too busy to pay attention to who uses the pay phone, which is located on the far side of the building.”
“Good to know,” Tom said.
Twenty minutes and—by Sid’s count—sixty fill-ups later a man in his late forties walked up to the bench. Considering his expensive cowboy boots, logo T-shirt, and tailored jeans, maybe Sid was right about changing careers.
“Chet Avery,” he said extending his hand. “Understand you fellas have some questions for me. We can go into what I call my office, if you like.”
The two men followed the owner to a small area carved out of the large storeroom in the back of the structure.
“Pull up a crate,” Avery said.
“We’re looking for a young woman named Julie. She may be the person who made a call from your payphone to one of our hotlines early last Wednesday.”
“Sounds like Julie Hill. She quit on Wednesday. I hated to see her go. Some kind of family emergency in Chicago.”
“She moved here from Chicago?” Sid asked.
“Yeah, probably two, maybe three years ago. Let me pull her file.”
“Did she give any notice?”
“She hung around for a couple of hours for me to find someone to cover the rest of her shift. I’m convinced the family emergency was her boyfriend, Frankie.”
“Why do you say that?” Tom asked.
“He was pressuring her to go back to Chicago.”
“Did she say something?”
“Nothing specific, a few little comments, but she wasn’t a complainer.”
“I don’t suppose you have a forwarding address for Julie.”
“Turns out she gave me her mother’s address, so I could send her final check. She didn’t want to wait for payday.”
Sid copied the address into his notebook. “How about the boyfriend. Do you know where he worked?”
“Some construction company in Ozark. They have numerous projects in Branson. I’ll remember the name in a minute or two.”
“Do you know what type of work he did?”
“He was a finisher, mostly with tile, but also woodwork. I know because Julie showed me pictures. She’s very proud of him.”
“You’ve been helpful, Mr. Avery. Thanks for your time,” Tom said.
“Meacham and Company,” Avery shouted as the detectives left the storage area. “The name of the company Frankie worked for in Ozark is Meacham and Company.”
Tom stopped at the coffee bar on the way out. It would be a long drive to Ozark.
Sid met him at the register, waving a ten-dollar bill. “My treat,” he said.
“What’s the occasion?”
“You want me to say it?”
“I want you to admit this lead may actually pay off.”
“Wait until we finish in Ozark before you get too cocky, partner. We still have nothing.”
Tom shook his head. “You are so wrong. We have Julie Hill. We have Frankie. We have a forwarding address. And we have Meacham and Company.”
THE MEDIUM-SIZED METAL building sat about fifty yards off the main road through Ozark. Two men were loading supplies from a raised dock into a cargo van. A magnetic sign with the company’s name, address, and phone number was attached to either side of the van. One car was parked in front of the office door.
The attractive lady in her late forties greeted the officers when they entered. She said her name was Vivian, but please call her Viv. Tom explained who they were and asked if she would be able to help with personnel information.
“You have found the Jill-of-all-jobs in this place. I’m the receptionist, the accountant, the payroll lady, and the typing pool.”
“Well, Viv, sounds like you run this place,” Sid said.
“I leave that up to my husband. He’s the owner, manager, and shop foreman.”
“Your last name is Meacham?” Tom asked.
“Sam Meacham was the original owner. My husband is Lincoln Stoddard. We bought the place almost twenty years ago. Kept the name and all the goodwill that went with it.”
“Sounds like a good business,” Sid said.
“What brings you two detectives twenty miles north of Branson?”
“We understand you had a young man named Frankie working for you until this week.”
“That’s right. He came in Monday when he finished his last job and quit. Really odd, if you ask me.”
“Had he been with the company long?”
“We don’t work that way. We have one shop employee, the overall supervisor. Individuals hire on per job as contractors. Being a small business, we couldn’t afford to carry folks between jobs. We’re busy now, but we’ve had many thin months in previous years.”
“So, when you say he quit, he basically took himself off the roster?”
“We tapped him for another job in Branson and he declined. But you have the right idea.”
“Did he give a reason?”
“Told Linc it wasn’t working out, which seemed strange. He’s been in our tech pool for al
most three years. He’s a topnotch installer, both tile and woodwork. Linc and I hired him to redo our own kitchen tile.”
“What project was he working?”
“The last one was the new office complex, but it was outside Branson.”
“Do you have a forwarding address for him?”
“Do you have a warrant?” Viv smiled, fingering some files in her desk drawer, adding quickly, “Always wanted to say that.”
“You’re not alone,” Sid said.
She opened the folder and wrote down Frankie’s full name and an address for future contact. She handed the slip to Tom.
“Let me get you a printout of all the jobs he’s done for us.”
“That would be great,” Sid said.
“Hope he’s not in any trouble. He’s a nice kid.”
Sid said, “Not at all. We hope he can help us with an ongoing case.”
“Thanks for your hospitality, Viv,” Tom said. “We appreciate it.”
He handed the note to Sid as they crossed the lot. “Same address Julie gave to Chet. And we have Frankie’s last name with all his work in Branson.”
“What’s next?” Sid asked.
“We need to get clearance from the lieutenant to go to Chicago, try to get a statement from Frankie Martin. But right now, we need to get back to Branson for our meeting with Artie on the DNA analysis report.”
ARTIE’S VAN WAS ALREADY parked near the police department entrance. Tom glanced at his watch to confirm they weren’t late. “He’s early. I hope he has good news,” he said.
They found the coroner in Lieutenant Palmer’s office discussing DNA evidence in a case making national headlines.
Tom said, “You didn’t start without us, did you?”
“We’re debating the use of DNA findings in court cases,” Palmer said.
“Hey, use of DNA has been around for decades in identifying remains,” Artie said.
“Like our case?” Sid asked.
Palmer shrugged. “Problem is it’s difficult to explain to a jury.”
Tom and Sid pulled a couple of chairs closer to the lieutenant’s desk. Artie handed each of the others the two-page report.
“Brief and to the point,” the coroner said. “By the way a copy of the report was sent to Fredericks. He called me earlier to make some recommendations.”