Immediately after they knocked, Tony could see the shadow of someone coming to the door. He relaxed just a bit; at least they wouldn’t have to awaken everyone in the house.
A middle-aged woman, wearing an ill-fitting dark gray dress seemingly designed to add ten pounds and twenty years to her appearance, opened the door to their knock. She did not invite them inside but stood in the narrow space. The lace collar at her throat was probably popular in the 1880s. No way was this the lady of the house.
“Yes?” The woman gripped the edge of the door to prevent it blowing closed in their faces.
“I’m Sergeant Dupont with the local sheriff’s department. These men are from over the mountains, from the Park County, Tennessee, sheriff’s department.” He paused a moment to let her absorb the introduction. “We need to speak with Mrs. Laura Cashdollar.”
“It’s the butler’s night off. He did not tell me to expect you.” The housekeeper did not appear impressed by titles, geography, or manners. Her face tightened and her eyes narrowed as if she were trying to decide if she should ask for more identification than uniforms and badges. “Is Madam expecting you?”
Tony thought it was an interesting question but, even so, he doubted the housekeeper was kept apprised of all of the details of her employers’ lives. His eyes wandered to the elegant staircase on the far end of the foyer. It curved as it rose, twisting upwards.
He heard Wade answer instead of Dupont. “No. But it is important that we speak with her.”
Before the housekeeper managed to decide whether or not to disturb her employer, a cultured, almost musical, voice filtered down to them. “It’s late, for heaven’s sake. Betsy, just buy ten tickets to whatever they’re selling tickets for and come in here.”
Tony pitched his voice to carry deep into the house. “We are not selling tickets, Mrs. Cashdollar. I’m Sheriff Abernathy from Park County, Tennessee, and it’s very important that we speak with you tonight.”
“That is intriguing.” The woman’s voice sounded like it was moving closer. “Come inside, gentlemen. It’s a poor night for a drive, especially one over the mountains.”
Tony opened his mouth to agree and fell silent when the lady of the house stepped into the light. She was striking rather than pretty. Elegant. Expensive. Cold. Neither young, nor old, but well-maintained and dressed to stay home in a deep-blue velvet robe trimmed with shiny black fur. Diamond earrings sparkled under the chandelier. It was not exactly Theo’s evening ensemble of faded sweatpants and an old T-shirt. Mrs. Cashdollar’s smile seemed genuine. Tony found himself wanting to smile in response but fought to maintain a professional demeanor.
Mrs. Cashdollar studied the three men in silence, looking from one to the next. Whether it was the expressions they wore or the fact that a group of law enforcement professionals stood in her foyer after normal visiting hours, she took a step backwards. She had to notice that none of them was smiling in response to her greeting.
“Let’s go into the study. It will be much warmer away from the door.” Recovering her manners, she turned and led them deeper into the house.
Tony wasn’t sure the vast room she called a study was much warmer than the storm outside. At least there was no wind or snow in here. A cheery fire blazed in the enormous fireplace but it felt like the heat was being sucked out and tossed into the sky, along with the smoke. Nevertheless, Mrs. Cashdollar settled onto an armchair near the fireplace and gestured to indicate the choice of chairs available for the men. She pulled a mink throw over her knees and feet. “Would you gentlemen care for coffee?”
Three heads moved from side to side as three voices murmured, “No. Thank you.” Two men sat down.
“I have bad news, for you, I’m afraid.” Tony remained standing, knowing there was no good way to deliver such news. “Your husband died earlier today in Tennessee.”
“Nonsense. He went fishing somewhere near here. He’d tell me if he was leaving town.” Laura Cashdollar’s eyes sparkled a bit. “Fishing is his passion.”
“We do believe that he did intend to fish.” Tony slipped his notebook into his hand. “Mrs. Cashdollar, do you know how he traveled to his fishing spot?”
“Call me Laura.” Her expression, as she studied his hand gripping the pen, suddenly seemed less confident. “Franklin left here in his Land Rover early in the morning, before breakfast. That’s normal. I assume he was driving to wherever he planned to fish.” She hesitated looking from man to man. “Was he in a car accident?”
Wade shook his head. “No, ma’am, there wasn’t a car involved. Could we check your garage?”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Cashdollar waved to the housekeeper hovering in the entry, “Betsy, show one of these gentlemen to the garage.”
Wade followed the housekeeper away from the parlor. Moments later he returned, a shake of his head indicated the Land Rover was not in the garage.
“Does he fly?” Tony wrote himself a note to locate the car.
“You mean does he have a pilot’s license? Yes. He learned how years ago.” Laura Cashdollar pushed a strand of hair away from her face. Her hand suddenly trembled and her expression became less certain. “But he doesn’t own a plane.”
“Was he going fishing alone?”
“I have no idea.” Laura’s eyebrows rose. “He doesn’t tell me all the details and, well, frankly, I don’t ask. One fishing trip sounds like any other to me.”
“It’s been dark for quite a while,” Dupont said. “You didn’t expect him home by now? On a snowy night?”
The observation must have hit a nerve. She flinched. “It is unusual for him to be out this late but not unknown. There’s a sports bar where the fish stories sometimes are told late into the night. Maybe he’s there. I can get you the address.” She lifted the lap robe away and stood up. “It doesn’t happen often but, he’s very good about taking a taxi if he’s been over-served.”
“No, ma’am,” said Tony. “We don’t need the address of the bar. Your husband was most definitely in Tennessee.”
“We’ve recovered a body that matches his identification in every way, including fingerprints.” Wade’s voice was quiet but firm. “It was a clear match.”
Mrs. Cashdollar fell silent, staring into the fire, and more or less collapsed back onto the chair. Her head moved slightly from side to side. Tony thought she seemed to be trying to make sense of their words. “There was something unusual last night. He received a phone call from his son, Carl Lee. I’m sure I overheard them making plans to meet for breakfast.” She looked at Tony, “You must know Carl Lee?”
Tony nodded, waiting.
Her hands twitched on her lap, the firelight catching the facets of the diamonds she wore. “Carl Lee had some meeting and was spending the night over here.” She repeated herself. “That’s why they were able to meet for breakfast. Did they?”
“Yes. They did breakfast together. Carl Lee confirmed that.” Tony glanced around the huge room and guessed the mansion had eight to ten bedrooms, but maybe that was still not enough space to house one stepson. “This is a beautiful home. Carl Lee didn’t stay here?”
“No.” Laura Cashdollar’s voice was firm but she did not elaborate.
Tony thought he’d try a different tack. “What business was your husband in?”
A thin smile crept onto her face. “As I’m sure you already know, he’s a retired Army officer. He went to West Point. This house was not paid for with Franklin’s money. Or my first husband’s either.”
Tony listened to what she didn’t say. There wasn’t disdain in the voice, just a simple stating of facts. The information matched what he’d learned from Carl Lee. From what he’d seen of the house, there would be few, if any, people Tony knew who could afford to live like this. Maybe a movie star. Certainly no one in law enforcement unless they married into big money. He was sure a retired cop would have to rob a bank to pay for the furniture, and wouldn’t ever be able to steal enough cash for a down payment on the building. “This is your i
nheritance?”
“Yes. I was an only child, and my family has owned this house for generations. After I die, it goes into a historical preservation trust so it can’t be torn down to make way for a mini-mall.” Her lip curled a bit over the term “mini-mall.”
“And your husband, if you died first, would he have inherited anything?”
“No. Well, yes, a small stipend.” A tear slid down her cheek dragging mascara with it. “The bulk of the estate and the house stay intact, together. These historic places require scads of money for maintenance.”
“You have no children?” Wade asked.
She looked surprised by the question. “But I do. I have two wonderful sons, Glenn and Jesse, from my first marriage. They were written out of the estate so they wouldn’t try to split up the house and grounds. Not that they would, you understand. They’re good boys and are just fine with the situation.”
Tony wasn’t surprised the children would not inherit. Old money knew how to preserve assets. For himself, he was just as glad the building couldn’t be torn down. It was architecturally archaic but lovely and impractical. The world did not need another mini-market. “We’d like their names and addresses if you don’t mind.” The sons might not be as pleased to be disinherited as their mother seemed to believe, or they might have another view of Franklin. Perhaps one less admiring.
“Obviously you’ve told Carl Lee about his father?” Laura pulled an embroidered bit of cloth from her pocket and dried the tears from her face, smudging the mascara.
Tony found it oddly endearing. “Yes.”
“And Joyce?” A flash of anger was in Laura’s eyes when she asked the question. “Did you tell her before me?”
“Joyce?” Tony repeated. The word sizzled in the air.
“His second wife.” Laura’s eyebrows arched higher. “Wife number two does not approve of divorce so she claims Franklin and I are—were now, I suppose—living in sin.”
Tony shouldn’t have been surprised by the vehemence in her words, but he was. The two women were clearly not friends. His curiosity about Joyce, created when Carl Lee had said the woman moved into the Asheville area after the divorce, intensified. He couldn’t help but wonder how far it was to her home from this one.
A tiny whisper in his head told him friendship wasn’t required for conspiracy to commit murder. Tony said, “As a matter of fact, we haven’t spoken to her yet. Do you know where she lives by chance?”
“Yes.” Laura sighed. The long exhalation had a little hitch in it, almost a sob. “I can give you all the addresses and phone numbers you need.” She paused. “No one has told how my husband died. What happened? What about the funeral? Is Calvin taking charge of that?”
“I’m sorry, but we have very little information about the circumstances surrounding his death. I can tell you his body was found in the mountains of Park County and has been recovered. An autopsy will have to be done.” Tony shook his head. “It’s too early to be making any plans.”
By the time their condolence call with Franklin’s widow ended, it was after midnight and the men were exhausted. A short list of names and addresses gave them something to check the next morning.
CHAPTER TEN
“I vote for a motel bed and a few hours of sleep.” Tony was too tired to think. “Dupont, I imagine you’d like to see your own wife and bed.”
Dupont nodded. “I think we’ve all had enough for one day. There’s a clean little motel not far from here. There’s no pool or restaurant, but I’m guessing you won’t care.”
“A bed and a door and a shower.” Tony wasn’t sure he’d notice if any of those requirements, except the bed, were missing.
A few minutes later Tony sat on the edge of the bed, considering whether or not he should call Theo. Either way, it was going to be the wrong thing to do. If he woke her up, she’d fuss, and if she was waiting for him to call and he didn’t, she’d fuss. He picked up his cell phone and called her. Make her happy, let her fuss a bit.
“Are you all right?” Theo was awake and answered on the first ring. “I keep seeing the blizzard on the television. It seems to be all they can talk about. I was afraid you were part of a big accident. Did you run into any trouble?”
“Nope. We’re fine. Tired. In a motel.” Tony felt too warm and mentally a bit slow. “Love you.”
“I love you too. Thanks for calling. Good night.” Theo disconnected.
Tony barely managed to press his phone’s disconnect button before he was asleep, with the television volume low. He awakened at some point and turned it off, flipped over, and was back asleep in seconds.
Much refreshed after some sleep, Tony felt human again. The big breakfast he’d consumed at a nearby café should hold him for most of the day. Over breakfast, he and Wade had decided to begin their search for answers with the airplane charter company. Tony looked forward to meeting Gentry Frazier, the owner/pilot of the small charter plane company and, more importantly, the man who called Tony to report the accident. After the pilot, they would tackle the stepsons and the ex-wife. In that order.
When Tony and Wade arrived at the charter company hangar, they found two men standing there, next to a small airplane. There were at least three other aircraft in the building. “One of you Gentry Frazier?”
A hand wave of the older of the two men pulled them closer.
“I’m Frazier. This is my mechanic, John Smith.” The good-looking, much younger mechanic, was laughing at something the grizzled Frazier was saying, but nodded a greeting. Frazier walked toward them and Smith wiped a smudge off the wing of the pretty little red and white airplane he stood near, then carefully folded the rag and stuck it inside his jumpsuit.
“You here about Cashdollar?”
When Tony nodded, Frazier offered his hand, noticed grease on it, and pulled it back. He wiped it on his pants but didn’t extend it again. “Cashdollar called me and said he wanted me to take him over to a fishing spot on the Tennessee side of the mountains. We’ve done it before, and it worked just fine for both of us.”
“Do you advertise, or how did the two of you get together?” Wade looked up from his notebook.
“Yep. I’m in the phone book under ‘airplanes, charter.’ I have”—Gentry gestured to the assortment of airplanes in the large hangar—“several choices of aircraft. If I need a copilot, I know a couple of independent pilots who like to pick up some extra money.”
Tony said, “How far in advance did Franklin Cashdollar contact you about this trip?”
“Seems like it was the day before. Called out of the blue wanting to take a fishing trip. S’all right by me.” Gentry smiled but didn’t look happy. “The plan was that we were to fly over the mountains, and he’d rent a car and he’d fish and I’d hang out, and then we’d fly back before dark. Nothing unusual. We’ve done it before.”
“So, what happened this time?” Wade looked up from his notebook.
“Oh, man, I don’t know. I never had anyone flip out like that in the air before.” Gentry pointed to the biplane. “You see the two seats. He sat in the front one. Everything was fine. He was laughing and enjoying the ride. Snow was falling, but he still wanted to go. I told him it would be miserably cold and he dismissed it. So we took off. Next thing, he’s pointing down into a small bald in the midst of the forest and yelling for me to land there.”
Tony remembered looking up from that bald—it was not a large space, and certainly not a fit space to land a plane. “And then?”
“And then I said that there was no place to land, and the next thing I know, he was climbing out of his seat, gripping his fishing rod with one hand and waving to me. And he was gone.” With a trembling hand, Gentry massaged his chin. His lower lip quivered. “I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff over the years, but I never saw anything like that.”
Wade said, “You didn’t report it right away.”
“Nossir. I was busy flying the plane.” Gentry wiped a fine line of sweat from his forehead onto the jumpsuit’s sleev
e. “I love that old plane, but the radio in it sucks. One minute it’s working just fine, the next thing there’s nothing but dead air.”
Tony consulted his notebook, flipping through some of the pages. “What time was this?”
Gentry hesitated. “I might have misspoke what I was saying yesterday. It was actually in the morning, maybe ten o’clock.”
“But when you called it in, you claimed it was after two thirty. In fact, it was more like three thirty in the afternoon when you reported it.” Tony felt his eyebrows rise. “Why the delay in reporting it?”
“I, uh, well . . .” Gentry fell silent. He slowly moved his head from side to side and swallowed hard. His eyes flickered from Tony to Wade, and back. “I’ve never had anything like this happen before. It just shocked me so bad, I didn’t want to face it. He’s never done anything like that before, and the radio going out doesn’t reflect too good on my business.”
“This was not the first time you took him fishing. Did he always go to the same location?”
“Nope.” Gentry scuffed a toe across the cement. “I’ve flown him a couple of times, different places. He comes scooting across the tarmac carrying that prize fishing pole of his, we fly in, he fishes, strictly catch and release, and we leave again. It’s only been a couple of times, and he’s been polite but not chatty.”
“Did you see how he arrived yesterday?”
“Didn’t pay any attention.” Gentry looked puzzled. “Didn’t he drive?”
“His Land Rover isn’t in your parking area.” Tony wished some of the dots connected better. “If he drove here, where did his vehicle go?”
“And if someone dropped him off, who was it?” Gentry finished Tony’s thought. “I swear, Sheriff, I have no idea how he got out here.”
“Can we look at the airplane?” Tony hoped standing next to the airplane would help him to understand what happened.
“Sure. Right this way.”
Tony and Wade followed Gentry as he led them through the hangar and stopped to stand near an old biplane about the same intense yellow as Theo’s little SUV. There was a single propeller in the front, an open cockpit and two wings, one above the other. U.S. Navy was written on the side rear along with a series of numbers.
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