by Mary Maxwell
“She was just being neighborly,” I interjected. “My mom and dad were good friends with Bernice and her husband. She maybe went a little heavy on the paprika, but it—” I noticed the look on Trent’s face, so I dropped the defense of my parents’ friend and went back to listening carefully.
“Anyway,” Trent continued, “Mrs. Sinclair installed a fairly sophisticated security system on her property a couple of years ago. She suspected that some kids from town were going out and using the barn for their own private late-night clubhouse.”
“So?” Ira said. “What’s that got to do with me?”
Trent smiled. “Quite a bit, actually,” he said. “Because the sophisticated system includes high-definition video cameras. Do you want to guess what we found on one of those cameras, Mr. Pemberton?”
“Sasquatch?” Ira muttered. “Or maybe Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa singing ‘Love Me Tender’?”
The sly grin on Trent’s face disappeared. He tapped the edge of the index card on the table a few times before slipping it back into the folder.
“I’m not even going to acknowledge that attempt at humor,” he said. “But I will be happy to ask Detective Kincaid to fire up the projector so everyone can see you assault Mr. Lowry as he stood in front of your building with both of his hands at his sides.”
“Bull crap!” Ira shouted.
“It’s on the tape, sir. And evidence doesn’t lie.”
“But you do!” Ira said, lurching from his chair. “None of that is true. I was the one attacked that night. The firemen found me on the ground. They took me to the hospital with a head wound and—”
“Enough!” Marla Soble suddenly screamed, getting to her feet and moving toward Ira with one red-tipped nail pointed at his chest. “It’s over, Ira! Over!”
Pemberton’s eyes flared with anger. “Sit back down, woman! Nobody here is interested in anything you’ve got to say!”
By the time he finished the sentence, Marla’s finger was grinding against his breastbone. She pushed and glared and cursed him in a voice that grew in volume with each passing moment.
“I told them everything, Ira!” she shouted. “I told them that you set the fire to get the insurance money. I told them about how you tried to frame your daughter and her friends. And I also told them that you wanted my son and I to help you cover it all up in exchange for part of the profits.”
For a split second, Ira Pemberton stared silently at Marla Soble. There was a cold glint in his eyes, the spark of swagger and superiority. But then he began to chuckle, filling the small meeting room with ripples of callous laughter.
“And so what?” he hissed finally. “Do you think anyone’s going to believe you, Marla? Do you think they’ll take your word over mine? Do you think there’s even one person in this town who considers you a trustworthy witness against me?”
He inched closer, but she held her ground. The room was silent as Ira grinned and repeated his tirade.
“Do you, sweetheart?” he seethed. “Can you imagine that one actual human being will stand up and say they think you’re telling the truth?”
I was so focused on Ira and Marla that I didn’t notice Trent walking around the table at first. But as soon as I heard his voice, my eyes rotated away from the troubled couple toward the opposite side of the room.
“Mr. Pemberton?”
Ira’s head snapped to the left. “What the hell do you want?”
Trent smiled. “I do,” he said calmly.
“You do what?” Ira fumed.
“I’m standing up,” Trent said, moving closer to Marla and Ira. “I’m standing up to say that I believe that Mrs. Soble is telling the truth.”
CHAPTER 43
“Is that right, Deputy Dawg?” Ira reached out and took Marla’s arm.
Trent ignored the question. “Let her go, Pemberton,” he warned. “There’s no need for this thing to escalate. Why don’t we all sit down and talk like adults?”
Marla tugged free of Ira’s bony grip. She stepped away from him, one hand instinctively rubbing the spot where he’d grabbed her.
“I feel like such a fool,” she said, keeping her eyes on Ira. “I will never forgive myself for listening to your nonsense.”
He sneered. “What nonsense?”
“All of it,” Marla answered. “Going to Utah to beg your daughter’s husband to loan you the cash to save your business. That must be when you stole the license plates that you—”
“I went to Salt Lake City for a couple of days to see an old friend,” Ira said. “I ran into Velma’s husband at a bar. It was a complete fluke. He’s the one that suggested I approach Carter Devane for a loan. Told me the chump had just made forty million by selling some company that makes dog thingies. I knew that my daughter and Carter were friendly, so I figured it was worth—”
“How many lies are you going to tell?” Carter interrupted. “I’ve talked with Velma at length about you and your recent financial desperation. We know that you specifically drove to Utah to—”
Ira disrupted Carter’s impassioned claim with a loud, sharp whistle.
“You’re the one that started all of this,” Ira told Devane. “If you’d just given me the money, none of this would be happening.”
Carter scowled, but held his tongue. I saw Dina and Trent exchange a frustrated glance before Marla launched back into more of her rant about Ira’s desperate financial straits.
“I wasn’t the one gambling,” she said. “I wasn’t the one throwing good money after bad. I went on those trips to Las Vegas because I thought we were in love. I didn’t know you were sneaking down to the casino when I was sleeping to try and win back the money you’d lost during the day. You’re sick, Ira! You have a disease!”
He cursed and laughed. “Yeah? Well, as far as I can see, my disease is you! Trying to keep you happy with your fancy wardrobe and all the jewelry that you begged me to get for you.”
“That I begged for?” Marla shouted. “That I begged for?” Her face was contorted with rage and her hands trembled violently. “I never once begged you for anything, you disgusting…” She stopped to catch her breath. “You disgusting cretin! My girlfriends warned me about you. They said you never treated your wife with respect. They told me about your gambling problem, but I thought that I could help you. Or maybe I thought that I could fix you somehow.”
Ira smiled, taking one step toward her.
“I’m no angel,” Marla continued. “But I had no idea you were capable of doing such horrible, vicious things.”
“Like what?” Ira hissed.
Marla moved back a few feet, keeping her eyes on Ira as if she feared the anger in his voice would transform into something physical.
“Like what?” she asked. “Like Boris Hertel. You beat that poor man to within an inch of his life, Ira. And killing that young man, the one who accidentally caught you pouring gasoline all over your body shop.”
Ira laughed. It was a cold, lifeless sound that made my stomach shudder.
“You’re insane, Marla. Why would you accuse me of doing those—”
“Accuse you?” she blurted. “Those are things you told me that you did!”
He laughed again, but shook his head silently instead of taunting her again.
“When you came up with the idea to blackmail Mr. Devane,” Marla said, her voice dropping in volume, “I didn’t think you were serious. It seemed like a fantasy, the kind of thing someone would daydream about when their financial situation became as distressed as yours. But when you actually made those phone calls and broke into his house to get the earrings and that old book…” She stopped as her eyes began to fill with tears. “After that,” she said, pressing one hand to stop the rivulets on her cheeks, “I wasn’t surprised when you burned down your body shop and told the police that someone had attacked you. I’d known for a long time that you were comfortable telling lies, Ira. I just never knew you could actually kill another person.”
“Nonsense!” Ira screamed. �
�You’re absolutely insane, woman!”
Marla whisked away more tears. “The police said they found one of my ex-husband’s old guns in the car with that poor dead man,” she said.
“What?” Ira rasped.
“The gun that was in the car with the man who’d been murdered,” Marla said quietly. “It belonged to Archie Morris, my ex-husband.”
“So what?” Ira said before he unleashed another string of obscenities. “I’ve never met either one of your ex-husbands. You’re the one that had his old boxes in the attic.”
“Yes,” Marla replied. “Because I’m sentimental. And I hate to throw away things that once belonged to someone I cared about.”
“You’re not making any sense, woman!”
“Yes, I am,” Marla said defiantly. “You went up into the attic a couple of weeks ago, Ira. You were looking for the fishing poles that I’d stored up there.”
“That proves nothing,” he muttered.
“Well, I also told them about the duffel bag you asked to leave at my house.” Marla lifted her chin slightly, gaining confidence with each revelation. “Are you going to say the things inside of it prove nothing as well?”
Ira’s eyes flashed wide with rage. “You searched my bag?” he demanded. “After I specifically ordered you not to?”
“Yes, and I found the gun,” Marla answered, glancing quickly at Trent. “The police took it, Ira. They’re running tests to see if it was used to shoot that innocent young man. Although they told me that you’d also strangled him with a piece of wire, so...”
Before she revealed any additional details about the evidence she’d provided to the police, Trent cleared his throat to get Marla’s attention. “I think our conversation would be—”
Ira raised one hand. “Can’t you see we’re talking?”
“Yeah,” Trent replied. “I think we can all see that. But the reason we invited you here today wasn’t to entertain us with—”
I’d just glanced down to check my phone when I heard Ira yell. I instantly looked up again as he bolted for the French doors on the far side of the room. Beyond the doors, beckoning him like a mirage glimmering in the distance, was a small courtyard connected to the hotel’s landscaped gardens. His move to escape came without warning. It was a powerful lunge that took him from the conference table to the exit so quickly that no one in the room could react for a few seconds.
“You won’t make this stick!” he shouted, yanking on the locked doorknobs. “There’s nothing you can prove!”
I was still staring at him in silent disbelief when Denny Santiago rushed into the room from the hallway. He quickly scrambled around the table, grabbed Ira’s arms from behind and ordered him to give up the attempt to flee.
“Go on and use your Taser!” Ira shouted, moving over the line from ranting curmudgeon to outlandish nutjob. “Cuff me! Zap me! You’ll never take me alive!”
Dina Kincaid pulled out her phone, dialed the police dispatcher and asked for another patrol car. Marla Soble began whimpering into a handful of white cocktail napkins that she’d found on the credenza. And Trent grinned joyfully at me, raising both thumbs and mouthing silent praise for helping them with the case.
“You’re a real Crescent Creek treasure,” he whispered across the table as Ira Pemberton finally slumped against the wall and Denny Santiago slipped on a set of handcuffs. “We’re lucky you came back home.”
“Thanks, Trent. But I’ve been back for several months now. I think the local treasure accolades can be retired.”
“Never!” he said, waving two more uniformed officers into the room. “I’m thinking about asking the mayor to have a ceremony and give you the keys to the city.”
I laughed at the thought of it. “That’s sweet, but I’d probably just lose them like I do my own every so often.”
CHAPTER 44
Ninety minutes later, after the dust settled and Ira Pemberton was safely behind bars, Trent’s fingers thumped on the table at Burger & Brew like fleshy drumsticks: tap-tap-thwack, tap-tap-thwack. After a few minutes of the repetitive cadence, Dina reached over and put one hand on his arm.
“Let’s cool it, Ringo,” she said. “Band practice is over for the day.”
He grinned. “Was I doing that thing again?”
“Relentlessly,” I answered. “It’s your nervous tic.”
“Nervous?” His grin expanded to reveal two rows of bright white choppers sullied by a chunk of something green. “What’s there to be nervous about? I just got Ira Pemberton to confess to the murder of Jacob Lowry and torching his body shop.”
Dina shot me a quick look. “You did that? All by your lonesome?”
The goofy grin vanished and pink blotches colored his cheeks. “Well, it was a team effort, okay? You and Tyler. The guys on the Aspen PD. And the helpful sleuthing of our very own Nancy Drew wannabe.”
He winked at me, undoubtedly hoping the attempt at comedy would earn a round of applause and generous laughter. I smirked and held my tongue. The restaurant was filled with diners and I didn’t want to disturb their meals with any crude language.
“Well, Katie?” Trent added. “Anything to say?”
“You’ve got a piece of lettuce in your teeth,” I told him.
He grabbed a knife, held it near his mouth and smiled again. Then he got up from the table and headed for the men’s room.
Dina chuckled. “That took the wind out of his sails.”
“More like some of the hot air out of his ego,” I said, reaching for my purse. “He’s probably getting ready so he can compete with the French when they’re in town for a visit.”
“Ah, yes,” Dina said. “The delegation is supposed to be here early next month for a couple of days.”
“Where are they from?”
She laughed. “France, Katie. Did you miss that part?”
“No, I mean what city? Paris or Marseille maybe?”
“I don’t even remember. But I’m pretty sure it’s not one of the big ones.”
“I’ll ask Trent about it later,” I said. “He seemed pretty excited that they were coming for a visit.”
She rolled her eyes. “You should’ve heard him when Mayor Washington told him we actually have a sister city in France.”
“Was it awful?”
She smiled. “He started saying everything with a terrible accent.”
“Oh, yeah! I heard a sample of that the other day. It sounded like a bad impression of Pepé Le Pew.”
Dina wrinkled her nose. “Pepé who?”
“Seriously? Don’t you remember the old cartoon character? Pepé Le Pew was a striped French skunk, and he—” I saw Trent heading across the room. “You know what? I’ll finish that later. I should pay my share and scoot before he gets back.”
Trent made it halfway to our table before a couple of retired CCPD officers called his name.
“What’s the rush?” asked Dina.
I smiled. “Zack’s coming home tomorrow. I want to clean my apartment and do some laundry tonight so everything’s neat and tidy for his return.”
“Tell you what,” she said, pulling a credit card from her wallet. “Why don’t you let me buy your burger? You really helped us out again, Katie. It’s the least we can do to thank you.”
“That’s very kind,” I said. “Thanks, detective!”
“You’re welcome. I’ll be in touch if we have more questions about the case. Trent and I are heading back to the station after this to spend some more quality time with Ira.”
I slipped my purse strap over one shoulder. Then I asked Dina if she thought Marla and Matt Soble would face any charges for their role in Ira’s fraud scheme.
“That’s up to the district attorney,” she told me. “If I was a betting woman, I’d put some cash on at least conspiracy charges related to the arson and extortion plot.”
“Even though they tried talking Ira out of the idea?”
She nodded. “How can they prove that? At this point, it’s their word ag
ainst Mr. Pemberton’s.”
“True. I guess it would be a different matter if Marla had called 911 before he set the fire and not after.”
“That might’ve also saved Jacob Lowry’s life. If Marla or her son had alerted us to what Ira was planning, we could have dispatched a car to the body shop. Chances are good that our officers would’ve arrived around the same time that Jacob was driving by. If that had been the case, then maybe he wouldn’t have confronted Velma’s dad about trying to frame his daughter and her friends. We’re hoping that Ira will tell us what Jacob said because we don’t know how he figured out that Mr. Pemberton was behind the anonymous threats.”
I shook my head. “What a mess. All because Ira couldn’t stop betting on horses.”
“And football,” Dina said.
“And hockey,” I added.
We shared a sad laugh and then I saw Trent saying goodbye to the two men at the table in the middle of the room.
“That’s my cue,” I said. “I want to be gone before the big guy gets back.”
“Have a good night, Katie,” Dina said as I started for the exit. “Tell Zack that I said hey when he gets home tomorrow.”
I was just about to push against the door when I heard Trent calling to me.
“Au revoir, Nancy Drew!” he said. “And thank you for doing your civic duty.”
I briefly considered spinning around to respond, but settled on a quick wave over my shoulder before slipping out the door and into the night.
CHAPTER 45
It was around five o’clock the next afternoon. Julia and Harper had both left an hour earlier, so I was alone in the Sky High kitchen. While a bacon-broccoli quiche for Miriam Strang’s bridge club cooled on the countertop, I measured whole wheat flour for a batch of dinner rolls. Zack and I hadn’t discussed what we’d have for dinner after he arrived, but I was planning one of his favorite meals: roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, sautéed string beans and homemade rolls. Dessert would be vanilla bean mousse layered between disks of chocolate cake.