I decided to return to the Sinclair residence and keep tabs on Janet. If there was an innocent chance I could run into her at a grocery store or downtown shop, I’d speak to her. She’d originally contacted me at the funeral home so exchanging a few words or even striking up a conversation would be a natural thing to do.
Again, I didn’t want to be waiting in my surveillance spot if she’d already left. I made a slow pass by her home and received an unexpected shock. Parked in front of the carport was a green Ford Escape with the bumper sticker, “Semper Fi.” U.S. Marshal Luther Brookshire was in the Sinclairs’ house. Was he warning Janet that we were investigating her and her husband? Why hadn’t he done that by telephone? Unless he didn’t want a record of the call.
I couldn’t simply park in front of the house and I didn’t want to confront Brookshire without consulting Tommy Lee. The wooded lots in Arbor Ridge were large enough that the trees provided privacy between houses. I drove about a tenth of a mile, turned onto a second neighborhood street and found a pull-off by a bold stream cascading down a twenty-foot rock face. The topography of this small section of Arbor Ridge couldn’t support construction and was tucked out of sight of the nearest house. I parked on the shoulder and walked back.
Along the way I met an older couple and their Schnauzer. My presence wasn’t suspicious as I looked like a fellow neighbor out for a morning stroll. However, the dog barked like I was Attila the Hun. The couple waved, and the man said, “Sorry. Grady thinks he’s a Great Dane.”
As I neared the Sinclair residence, I left the road and angled through the woods to where I had a good view of the carport. I settled behind a rhododendron bush and waited.
And waited. An hour passed. My legs cramped. The ground got harder. My phone vibrated once. A text from Susan.
FEDEX delivered card from Raleigh.
Good. I could start my role as Barry Clayton, undercover cop. Another hour passed. I stretched as best I could and used the time to review the case.
We knew a fraudulent conspiracy existed that linked convenience stores into some kind of organized network. Toby McKay’s EBT card found in Rufus Taylor’s possession and the list of stores Sonny had secreted in his motorcycle saddlebag supported that theory. The murders of Rufus and Sonny appeared to be fallout from Toby McKay’s attack on Commissioner James. Someone had acted quickly to sever any traceable connection between Rufus and the person or persons behind the scheme.
Tommy Lee and I were looking at the Sinclairs because Archie had told them he was going to talk to Sonny McKay, and then Sonny McKay died that night. As the second murder victim, Sonny could have been a marked man already, but the Sinclairs and their admitted involvement in WITSEC certainly raised their profile in the case. Now the marshal who had all but confirmed the Sinclairs’ status was in the house with Janet Sinclair. Was he telling her our suspicions or doing an investigation of his own? Tommy Lee said the marshals don’t want to be embarrassed by someone in WITSEC engaging in criminal activities. Maybe by breaking the case first, Brookshire would mute the impact of such a revelation.
And then there was FNS investigator Collier Crockett. His ongoing efforts to build his own case meant he wanted us to go away. I understood his concern. He didn’t want to see his work destroyed by other law enforcement agencies who set off alarms that could drive his targets to ground. My undercover work would have to tread lightly around the investigation Crockett had already mounted.
I heard the squeak of a screen door. I edged around the rhododendron to see Brookshire coming out directly into the carport. Janet Sinclair stepped into the open doorway. She wore one of those thick terrycloth robes you find in the closet of a high-priced hotel room. It was loosely cinched and her bare legs and feet protruded beneath its hem. She said something inaudible and Brookshire laughed and turned to face her. He slipped his hands under the robe and kissed her on the lips. If his job was to handle the Sinclairs, he was going all out with Janet.
“Well, that certainly complicates things.” Tommy Lee made the one-sentence assessment as we stood behind Taylor’s Short Stop.
Roger Taylor and a locksmith were in the office. With the whine of the drill masking my words, I’d told the sheriff what I’d witnessed.
“It could just be an affair,” I said. “Brookshire might not be mixed up in anything else.”
“I can guaran-damn-tee you that bedding your WITSEC charge isn’t in the approved marshals’ playbook. If Luther showed such a lapse in judgment, then what else has he compromised?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Only thing I can do. Confront him face-to-face.”
“You want me with you?”
Tommy Lee shook his head. “No. That would only make him more defensive. I’m going to use one of my more unscrupulous investigative tools—blackmail. I don’t want to pull you into it.”
“But what if he does something desperate? You’ll have no backup.”
“Oh, he’ll know you were surveilling the Sinclairs. I’ll tell him. But I’ll also tell him if I don’t check in with you by a certain time, you’ll go straight to the FBI.”
The drill whine ceased.
“Lock’s out,” Roger yelled from the back door.
Tommy Lee and I entered the store and crowded into the office.
“All right, Roger,” Tommy Lee said. “Open the safe.”
Roger yanked open the perforated door and we peered over his shoulder. No cash. Just two items. A ledger book about the size of a paperback novel and, beneath it, a manila envelope.
“Don’t touch anything,” Tommy Lee ordered. He rolled on a pair of latex gloves.
Roger Taylor backed out of the way and Tommy Lee retrieved the ledger. I gloved as well and he handed the book to me. Then he took the envelope. The interior was now as bare as old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.
I flipped through the pages. “Dates and amounts. Not large amounts. Mostly thirty to fifty dollars.”
“Probably what was paid for by EBT cards,” Tommy Lee said. “An accounting for how much the bogus charges amounted to. Then they would know how to split the take.” He opened the flap of the unsealed envelope. “This is interesting.”
He handed me the top sheet of several pages. It was a blank invoice from Staples Sources.
The sheriff flipped through the other sheets. “They’re all the same. Rufus must have filled out the invoice with the appropriate total each time he wrote a Staples Sources check.”
“Do I need to know all this?” the locksmith asked.
“No, Ed,” Tommy Lee said. “Thanks. Send your bill to the department. And, Ed, this is confidential police business. Not a word to anyone.”
“Anybody asks, I was here because you locked your keys in your car.” He laughed. “Everybody will believe that.”
As soon as the locksmith was out of earshot, Roger whispered, “Are you going to take back the El Camino and the cash?”
“No,” Tommy Lee said. “But for your own safety, don’t talk to anyone about this.” He raised the papers for emphasis. “Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, we’re going with the original plan. Operate the store, but let me know if anyone approaches you.”
I followed Tommy Lee out the rear of the store.
“Let’s talk in my car a few minutes,” he said.
I slid into the front passenger’s seat. The sheriff started the engine and turned on the fan to circulate the air.
“I’m going to call Alec Danforth,” Tommy Lee said. “He’s the manager of the Gainesboro Country Club.”
“Why?”
“If Robert Sinclair played golf this morning, he might have played golf last Saturday. Alec can access the tee times.”
“Right. And Sinclair could have an alibi for the time of Rufus’ murder.”
“Yes. I should have looked into that a
s soon as Sinclair became a person of interest.”
“We didn’t know he played golf, and we focused on his job that covers similar territory to the footprint of the stores.”
“Well, we know now,” Tommy Lee said.
“Okay. What can I do?”
“Take the weekend off. That’s an order. I’ll update you later, and I’ll let you know when I catch Luther at home.”
“I’ll probably be at the hospital with Uncle Wayne. So I’ll be close if you need me.”
“I won’t. Now get out of my car and go see your family.”
At a little after one in the afternoon, I knocked on the door of my uncle’s small room in a rehab wing of the hospital. I entered to find him sitting up in a chair next to the window. Beside him sat Reverend Lester Pace.
The old preacher got to his feet. “Barry, take this chair. I need to be running along anyway.”
“No. I’m good here.” I sat on the foot of the hospital bed. “And I need to ask you something before you go.”
“All right.”
“But first, how are you doing, Uncle Wayne?”
“I’ll be doing better when they let me out of this place. Nothing wrong with me. My head’s so hard there’s probably a pothole on Main Street.”
“So, rehab’s going well?”
My uncle waved his hand dismissively. “I’m running rings around the other contestants.”
“Contestants?”
“Well, patients. The nurses have us play these games. Like bowling with plastic pins. I beat everybody.”
Nothing like a little competition to motivate my uncle.
“At least the doc’s moved up my release date to Monday, if everything goes well.” Uncle Wayne shook his head. “Hard to believe it was only a week ago. Seems like I’ve been here a month.”
“Was my mother in earlier?”
“Yes. Susan came by and picked her up for lunch. She said you were working. You learn why Toby McKay went nuts?”
“Making progress.”
My uncle winked at Pace. “Secret stuff. Nobody’s more close-mouthed than Barry.” Then he turned serious. “Your mother said she talked to you about this Alderway nonsense.”
I glanced at Reverend Pace. He gave a slight nod to indicate he was aware of the situation.
“I wouldn’t call it nonsense,” I said. “Not to her. I think the funeral home’s become a burden to her. The stairs, the visitations.”
“Come on. We both know it’s me she’s worried about. This whole thing started because I’m in the hospital.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not right to be worried.”
“I know. I know.”
Reverend Pace cleared his throat. “I told your uncle she might think she’s doing it for him, but actually is worried about her own condition. Unlike this champion contestant here,” Pace patted my uncle on the knee, “some of us feel our age.”
“But are you going into some retirement home?” Uncle Wayne asked.
“Yes.”
The answer surprised both of us.
“Alderway,” Pace said. “It’s affiliated with the Methodist church and as a fifty-plus-year serving pastor, I receive special consideration. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d be afraid to move there. You know I’d show you up in all the activities.”
My uncle laughed. “You. A man of the cloth. Lying through your teeth.”
“You can have the chance to prove me wrong then.”
“Thinking about it,” Uncle Wayne said softly. “Thinking about it.”
There was a knock at the door. A nurse stepped just inside. “Mr. Thompson. Time for your afternoon session.”
“What is it? Mountain-climbing?”
“Close. We’ve got a little obstacle course set up.”
My uncle stood quickly, and then lost his balance and fell back into the chair. His face went scarlet.
“Now remember, we stand up slowly and then pause to get our equilibrium.” The nurse came over and offered her arm.
Uncle Wayne sighed and let her help him to his feet.
“There we go,” she said. “Now, escort me to the gym. It’s not often I have the pleasure of walking arm in arm with such a good-looking man.”
My uncle looked down at Pace. “I bet they won’t be saying that to you at Alderway.”
“Probably not. Especially if you’re there.”
Uncle Wayne patted the nurse’s hand. “Come on, honey. Let’s go set a record for this so-called obstacle course.”
When they’d left the room, I asked Pace, “Are you really going to Alderway?”
“Yes. A small one-bedroom unit. I’ll still tend my churches as long as I can drive without being a danger to others. But if the good Lord gives us three score and ten, then I’m well into overtime. Alderway will provide me with a community when I no longer can get around on my own.”
“And my uncle?”
Pace shrugged. “He’ll come to a decision in his own time. He doesn’t like to feel that he’s being railroaded. But if I were a betting man, I’d say his train’s headed for Alderway. Especially if he feels like he and your mom are leaving you in a manageable position.” He reached behind his chair for his rhododendron walking stick. “Well, I’d better take off.” He paused. “But you said you wanted to ask me something.”
“Yes.” I pulled a copy of the convenience store list from my pocket. “You know this area as well as anybody. Can you tell me anything about the people who run these stores?”
Pace took the paper and studied it a moment. “Well, Rufus’ store obviously. The Smart Mart in Mills River is owned by the Harris family. They attend my Pigeon River church. The others are a little far afield for me. I do know Buddy Smith at Wilmer’s Convenience Corner.”
“Really?”
“Yes, his wife, Elaine, grew up in the Oak Hollow congregation. A small church I’d rotate into once a month. She met Buddy Smith at a Bible camp when they were teenagers. Tough story.”
“What do you mean?”
“A couple years ago, Elaine got leukemia. The childhood kind. High cure rate in children, but devastating to an adult. The medical bills were huge and Buddy had some cheap insurance with a very high deductible. The church had some fundraisers. Bake sales, car washes. Buddy even had a donation jar on the counter of his store. But Elaine died back in the winter. Left Buddy with his daughter, Norie. She must be about ten. It’s been a struggle. I’ve been by to see them a couple times.” He looked back at the list. “This reminds me I should check on them. The other stores, well, nothing stands out.” He handed me the paper. “What’s this about?”
I told him our suspicions that Rufus Taylor and Toby McKay had been tangled up in some organized network of food stamp fraud. How we’d found the news article about the dead cat and Buddy’s story about the underage kids. We didn’t buy it, especially when Wilmer’s Convenience Corner appeared on the list.
“When did the cat incident happen?” Pace asked.
“Back in April.”
“A couple months after his wife died.”
“You’re thinking Buddy got involved because he needed money for her care, and then tried to get out?”
“You’re the detective,” Pace said. “But these are hard times for a lot of people. Between the opioid epidemic and scarcity of jobs, people are desperate for cash. What can I do?”
“Whatever you feel called to do, but I’d appreciate your not telling him about me. I’m not looking to bust him. I just need to find out who’s behind the operation. I’ve got a plan to do that without endangering him or his daughter.”
Reverend Pace studied me for a few seconds. “I’ll pray that God will be with you and that you’ll prepare like He won’t be.”
Strange counsel from a minister. Strange, but wise.
Pace rose from the chair. “Call upon me for anything and at any time.”
I stood. He hugged me. I remained standing until the echo of the tap from his gnarled walking stick faded from the hall. I took the more comfortable chair to wait for my uncle. My phone vibrated and the screen flashed Tommy Lee’s cell.
“Yes.”
“I’m pulling up to Brookshire’s house. His Escape is in the driveway.”
“You want to check back in forty-five minutes, like we agreed for me?”
“No. Where are you?”
“In my uncle’s rehab room. He’s in a PT session. I’m alone.”
“Good. I’m going to put the phone in my pocket with the line open.”
“You recording?
“No. I want to be able to answer truthfully if he asks. Mute your phone so no sound comes from your end.”
“Got it.”
“Then do it now.”
I hit the mute button and held the phone to my ear. My stomach tightened. If things went bad, I could only listen. Tommy Lee was on his own.
Chapter Twenty
I heard loud knocks. No doorbell for Tommy Lee this time.
“You again?” Brookshire’s voice was muffled but understandable.
I boosted the level of my phone to the maximum.
“You asked me to keep you in the loop.”
“So I did. Come in. You want a beer?”
“No thanks. I won’t be staying that long.”
Brookshire laughed. “Long enough to sit down?”
“Maybe.” Tommy Lee’s voice was devoid of any humor.
Springs creaked as the sheriff sat.
“Well, what is it?” Brookshire asked.
“We’re staking out the Sinclairs. Robert played golf this morning. Janet, well, Janet had a visitor at home.”
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