Snow Blind

by Lori G. Armstrong

  “Seems an unfair split. They do the shit work and the COO reaps the benefits.”

  “Something you gotta remember. These women

  are retired. They work two twenty-hour weeks out of the month. Their wages aren’t reported because they’re part of a volunteer organization and no one’s expectin’ them to get paid.”

  “Okay. Still not seeing how those workers wouldn’t be pissed about the inequity. Especially since the rumor is, Bradley is never there. I mean never.”

  “And that’s where Bradley sweetens the pot. If any of the volunteers get a resident to bequeath their estate to Prime Time Friends, she receives five percent off the top.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He studied me. “I thought maybe your client suspected the administration was siccing the Friends on residents who have a substantial estate, which was why she’d hired you to investigate.”

  Should I hedge? Nah. Linderman shared more information than was wise. Who knew what else he’d tell me if I appeared to divulge secrets of my own.

  “No. She was more worried about the large amounts of money her grandfather was withdrawing from his bank account on a regular basis that couldn’t be accounted for.” But Amery had pointed out influence being leveled on him from someone.

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  “How did this come to your attention, Bud? If you just became interested in the business again, I would think the information would be hard to find.”

  “That’s the thing. It should be.” A sad, bitter look crossed his face. “Dee lets me have access to everything. See, she thinks she’s humoring me, that I’m just another worthless old man trying to relive his glory years. My kids are tryin’ to muscle me out of all of the businesses I’ve spent my life building. After the office staff goes home for the day, I come in and poke around through the files and the computers and whatnot.”

  I had no idea on whether Linderman’s kids were justified in taking over his business interests, and it’d be easy for me to get sucked into his well of pity. I focused on the facts. “Does Dee know how Prime Time Friends operates?”

  “Yep. She gets a quarterly bonus for ‘joint administrative duties’ to the tune of a coupla thousand bucks. So, I was snoopin’ and I found that two residents who had recently died bequeathed the bulk of their estate to the Friends program.”

  “Big amounts?”

  “Eh. Just a coupla hundred thousand.”

  Linderman made it sound like small potatoes, but that was a lot of money to a lot of people, me included.

  “Which Friend received the kickback for bringing in the loot?”

  “The program director, Luella Spotted Tail.”

  “What do you know about her?”

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  “Not much. She was a holdover from the previous owners. We initially kept her on in a transition position.”

  “Long transition. It’s been what, a year?”

  “Not quite. According to Bradley, because she’s Indian, he ain’t never been too sure she wouldn’t sue if she was fired outright. When she officially left the payroll, we were no longer subject to the EEO standards. Some of the residents don’t like her much. Bradley doesn’t like her. Doesn’t trust her either.”

  Not surprising. That attitude mirrored most local attitudes about Indians and it pissed me off, but I managed to bite back a smart retort. “Why keep her on?”

  “’Cause I guess she could sweet talk a honeybee from a flower. She’s added nearly half a million dollars to the Prime Time Friends coffers since they started it.”

  A kick in the gut couldn’t have sucked the air from my lungs any faster. Money was one helluva motive. In addition to Luella’s awareness of how the COO felt, she might be looking at a big score before she bailed out of the program entirely.

  Honestly, I was as confused and conflicted about the case as I’d been at the beginning. I sighed.

  “I hear that sigh a lot from my kids, Miz Collins.”

  “Sorry. Much as I appreciate it, you overloaded me with information, Bud.”

  “Does that mean you’re saying no?”

  “No. It means I need to think about it before I make a decision.”

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  “Well, at least you didn’t throw me out on my ear.”

  “Did you expect me to?”

  Bud pushed to his feet and reached for his coat.

  “To be honest, I wasn’t sure. You have quite the toughas-nails reputation. You didn’t get that by bein’ an easy mark fallin’ for every sob story comin’ down the pike.”

  He buttoned his duster and slipped on his gloves before he looked at me again. “But I’ve no doubt you’ll do the best thing for everyone.”

  The man didn’t know me. Our past association had been confrontational at best. Now he acted like he had my number cold. “Why?”

  “Because puttin’ the screws to me would be sweet revenge. And I’d do the same damn thing if I were in your position.”

  “I’m nothing like you, Linderman.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m convinced you’ll do the right thing, Miz Collins. Good day.”

  The open and shut case didn’t seem so open and shut anymore.

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  I mulled over Linderman’s visit.

  It’d be reasonable to protect his business interests and blame Vernon Sloane’s death on murder rather than negligence. But when the pieces were laid out, I realized I’d been just as quick to jump on the “accident” bandwagon as everyone else. Why? Because no one wanted to believe someone could be so cold as to let an old man freeze to death?

  For money?

  No one working at Prairie Gardens would blink about Luella taking Vernon for an “outing”—even out to die. At five percent, her personal cut of five million was substantial.

  Just not as substantial as Amery’s one hundred percent.

  If I took the case, would it prove Kim’s accusation 339

  right? I’d do anything to make problems for Kevin and his relationship with Amery?

  Wrong. It had nothing to do with Kevin. We weren’t working for Amery. In fact, when I went through the file folders, I noticed he’d voided her last check and the contract. So if I decided to help Linderman, Kevin couldn’t claim we were contractually obligated to Miz Grayson. The only conf lict of interest was his personal relationship with the dead man’s granddaughter.

  What about the conflict Martinez has with Linderman?

  Yeah, it might piss Tony off, but it was my business. I seriously doubted he wanted me sticking my nose into his affairs. I hadn’t questioned him on the identity of the redheaded bombshell he’d been doing business with. Since Linderman was a shell of his former self I hardly saw him as a physical threat. Was it naïve to think Linderman had changed?

  Are you hoping that helping Linderman will prove any man—including your father—is capable of change?

  Again. Not the same thing. Sheriff Richards practically dared me to snoop around. It was as much about my ego to uncover information, or browbeat it out of people, to prove my worthiness as an investigator, as it was guilt out of helping Doug Collins.

  Regardless. It was another fucked-up situation. It bugged the shit out of me I didn’t know what my dad 340

  and BD Hoffman had fought about. Chances were slim BD would spill his guts to me either, but he was the only lead I had.

  I closed down the office and made the trek to Bear Butte County. My damn truck was almost out of gas again. With the increased fuel prices, I’d begun to question why I lived so far away from work. As a county employee, I’d had to live in Bear Butte County. But it’d been damn near a year since I’d quit. Why was I still living there? Wasn’t like I had a great house. Or fantastic neighbors. True, my place was only twenty-five minutes out of Rapid. Tony never complained about the drive, but I wondered if that was part of the reason we’d been spending fewer nights together and he’d been afraid to bring it up.

  Right. Martinez had such a difficult time speaking his mi
nd. BD Hoffman owned a trucking business on the

  outskirts of the county seat. The building was a standard metal prefab set in the middle of an immense gravel parking lot. I parked between empty livestock trailers and ventured inside.

  No receptionist. I guessed ninety-nine percent of the work was handled over the phone. I loitered politely, my midwestern manners intact, at least until the point I tired of listening to plop plop as the snow melted and dripped off my boots.

  Although Bear Butte County is small, I’d never met BD, as he hadn’t cooled his boot heels in the 341

  sheriff ’s office during my tenure. I’d caused enough problems locally that he might recognize me, so I disguised myself with a floppy knit cap, which hid my hair, and donned smart girl glasses with clear lenses. I called out, “Hello?”

  “Hang on,” boomed from the belly of the cavernous building. The guy growled like an angry grizzly. Probably looked like a lumbering bear, too. So I was surprised when a skinny runt rounded the corner.

  I gave him a quick perusal. He was midforties, bowlegged, probably bald beneath his Peterbilt ball cap, short, wiry, with the typical cowboy goatee and mustache. He wore zip-up denim striped coveralls and stained suede hiking boots. His nose and mouth were swollen like he’d been punched in the face. I couldn’t be sure if this was BD; cowboys liked to fight. Someone other than my father could’ve punched the guy. He wiped his greasy hands on an even greasier rag.

  “Help ya?”

  “I’m looking for BD.”

  “You found him.”

  Whoa. This guy had seduced the church secretary?

  I didn’t offer my hand. “Hi, BD. I’m working in conjunction with the Bear Butte County Sheriff ’s Office regarding the Melvin Canter case. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Immediately he became suspicious. “Why din’t Deputy John ask ’em when I was there a few days ago?”

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  “Because he’s busy with county business while Sheriff Richards is out of town and he outsourced the investigation.”

  More squinty-eyed distrust.

  Maybe I’d laid it on too thick.

  “Don’t know how much I can help ya, but come on back. I jus’ made a fresh potta coffee.”

  “That’d be great.” I followed him into a big open room, which was the garage/maintenance area. Concrete floors, gigantic garage doors, tires stacked in the corner, and belts hanging on the wall.

  Six gleaming semitrucks with jewel-toned metallic cabs were parked in a straight line. Worth at least a million bucks each. Bright red rolling chests ringed the room, holding hundreds of thousands of dollars of ratchets, wrenches, and other tools. One truck was on a hydraulic lift. Heavy chains draped the steel rafters like industrial tinsel. The place smelled like oil and gas and for a second the distinctive scent brought me back to my childhood when my dad’d been a shortterm truck driver. My visits to his place of employment had been rare, therefore memorable.

  BD ducked through a doorway. I followed and entered a room filled with computer equipment and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Built-in cabinets and shelves took up one wall. A big glass window looked out into the shop; underneath it were two padded folding chairs. The office area was spotless and no smoking signs were slapped up everywhere. 343

  There went that idea.

  He wiggled a Styrofoam cup from a stack and

  poured. “Cream an’ sugar over here if you need it.”

  “Black is fine.” I took the proffered cup.

  BD gestured to one of the chairs. “Pull that up to the desk if ya want.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now what can I do for ya?”

  “I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll jump right in with my questions if you don’t mind.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “What can you tell me about Melvin Canter? I understand you attended the same church. He moved back here recently and was looking for work. Did he approach you for a job?”

  “Yep. Turned him down flat. Made some folks in the church unhappy. But I gotta look out for the interests of my employees rather than just blindly follow the idea of Christian charity.”

  Not the response I’d expected. “So you knew Melvin had done time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did everyone in the church know about the years he’d spent in jail?”

  BD shook his head.

  “Why didn’t you hire him?”

  “He din’t have no mechanic experience. Plus, my best mechanic is a woman. Knowing what he’d done … well, I ain’t about to let him be around her at all, say nuthin’ of 344

  bein’ around her unsupervised.”

  I breathed deeply and evenly. If BD knew Melvin was a sexual predator, why hadn’t he shared that information with my father? “How did you know Melvin was a convicted and registered sex offender?”

  His soft brown eyes met mine and something

  defiant flickered. “I din’t. But I’ve lived in this county my whole life. I knew Melvin growin’ up, and I was here when my dad and a buncha other guys run Melvin out of town the first time he got caught years ago.”

  “What?”

  He shifted in his chair. “I ain’t real comfortable talkin’ about this.”

  Too fucking bad. “The sheriff isn’t gonna care about something that happened twenty years ago. He’s looking for answers about this case.”

  “I suspect the past cain’t be separated from the now. So that ain’t exactly true.”

  “Maybe you should tell me what happened.”

  BD stood and returned to the coffeepot. As he spoke, his loud voice reverberated off the wall, but he kept his back to me. “Twenty-odd years ago Melvin Canter supposedly raped a twelve-year-old girl. No one did nuthin’ because she was the daughter of a single mother who bartended at Dusty’s. People thought she had it comin’ or some dumb thing. A month later, another rumor floated around about Melvin and a young kid. Again, unconfirmed. No one paid attention until Melvin raped the preacher’s eleven-year-old 345

  daughter.”

  My heart started to pound.

  “My ma was the head of the Sunday school program, and she found her. The girl told her what happened. Just after my ma called the police, the gal’s daddy showed up.”

  My heart switched from a steady bass beat to the rapid fire of a snare drum solo.

  “The preacher din’t want his daughter to hafta go to court, so she retracted the story as a lie. He said God would be the man’s final judge. No charges were ever filed and the preacher and his family moved out of town.

  “But my dad and a bunch of the elders from

  the church knew the truth. They rode out to the Canters’ place and told Melvin to get outta town and not to come back. Even his brother left the immediate area ’cause he din’t wanna be associated with a child rapist.”

  “Do you think the brother knows about Melvin using his address in Meade County to register his sex offender status?”

  “No. Marvin’s a stand-up guy. Melvin stayed away for years ’til his mother started ailin’. When he came back a ‘changed man and born-again Christian’

  … well, it’s been a trial for me, ’cause I know the SOB ain’t changed. I din’t know howta tell folks what kinda sick monster he was. The one person I trusted and took inta my confidence told me I oughta practice 346

  Christian forgiveness.”

  “None of the church members remembered him or what he’d done?”

  “We couldn’t get no minister to take the call to our church after what happened. The church closed down. Coupla years later some teens were drinkin’ in there, set it on fire, and it burned to the ground. A lotta the members back then were old and they’ve since died. Lost track of the rest.”

  So maybe my dad hadn’t known. At the time he’d been a hit-and-miss Catholic—hitting me and missing church services, mostly.

  “But Melvin worked for Doug Collins. Doug attends your church and is your fellow elder. Did yo
u try to talk to him about not hiring Melvin, especially since Doug has a young daughter?”

  BD still hadn’t turned around.

  I gave him a minute before I said, “Mr. Hoffman?”

  He spun and glared at me. “Who do you think told me I oughta practice Christian forgiveness?”

  My stomach plummeted like I’d swallowed a

  length of log chain. “Doug did?”

  “No. His wife, Trish, did. She told me spreadin’

  rumors was the devil’s work. That everyone deserved a second chance no matter what they’d done in the past.”

  Jesus. Trish couldn’t be that fucking stupid, could she?

  “Did Doug Collins know? I mean, as far as you know, did Trish ever tell him that you’d warned her 347

  about Melvin?”

  BD returned to his chair and picked at his greasestained fingernails. “I don’t know if I should …”

  “Should what?”

  “Is all this gonna go in your report?”

  I shrugged. He’d tell me or he wouldn’t. Cajoling him would only make me look suspect.

  “Around that time, something else happened at our church with me and someone else. I tried to explain it wadn’t what it looked like. Doug wouldn’t listen. He lashed out and made a stupid decision. I guess I wanted to prove to him how damn dumb that decision was, so I tried to tell him what I’d told Trish about Canter. Then he accused me of tryin’ to retaliate by comin’ between him and his wife. Big mess din’t need to be made bigger. I let it go.”

  “I’m strictly looking for facts, but I did talk to someone and they’d made mention of a rumor about you and the church secretary? What was her name again?”

  BD’s face flushed red as his toolboxes. “Beth McClanahan. We wadn’t doin’ what folks said we was. She was cryin’ and on her knees prayin’. I was helpin’

  her.”

  Right. The old on-the-knees excuse.

  “Beth lost her job in the most humiliatin’ way. I tried to quit the elders’ council and leave the church, after they fired her. ’Course they wadn’t gonna let me do that since I give ’em so much money every year. 348

  Sweet Lord Jesus, if anyone knew why she’d been cryin’ …”

  “Why?”