by DiAnn Mills
“As in not a coincidence.”
“Right. It’s a virus.” Alex’s mind sprang into action.
“Where are you going with this?”
“Probably nowhere. I’m twisting an idea that has a vicious endgame.”
“Like the neighborhood was deliberately infected with flu?” Ric raised a brow. “Any doctors’ reports?”
“No. Do you see a doctor when you have the flu?” When Ric shook his head, Alex continued. “We complain and take something over the counter. Most of the residents there don’t have insurance. Seeing a doctor is a luxury.”
Ric stared at him, obviously thinking. “I’m just speculating too. The water hoax is connected to cash for property right after flu-like symptoms appear. But the health department tested the water on Friday and nothing surfaced.”
Alex set his fork down. “So where does Stacy fit into the picture? I keep wrapping my brain around the same crazy scenario. Stacy is caught in the middle of what she found at the crime scene and the water hoax. So far Connor and the water hoax have a role. Did he hack into the airport rangers’ computer system and orchestrate things so Stacy would find Howe? Why? Why the quadcopter? And what does any of it have to do with a run-down subdivision? A report from the CID would help tremendously.”
“She and the boy need protection after the call yesterday and someone accessing her clinic.”
“Oh, I tried. But she refused.”
“She’s upset the wrong people. They’re watching her, which means they could strike at any time. How about using Whitt as leverage? Would she agree for his sake?”
“I’ll check on her later today and toss that idea out there.”
“No wonder you were up late.”
Alex rubbed his forehead. “She makes me crazy with her bullheaded determination to take care of everything herself.”
Ric laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Alex scowled.
“I think she’s gotten under your skin. Stubborn Cajun meets stubborn Cajun. Will they get together or drown each other in the bayou?”
“Very funny.” He picked up the salt and pepper shakers. The problem was Ric had hit on the truth. He thought back over holding her in his arms after she fell from her horse. She had placed his heart in a vulnerable condition.
Either Bekah Howe was one of the most naive women on the planet or beneath her gracious and innocent exterior she was a skillful liar. Alex hadn’t decided yet.
The three sat at her kitchen table, sipping coffee. More caffeine than Alex needed. At this rate, he’d have a full-blown ulcer by the time he reached his next birthday.
“Did your husband have a personal assistant or secretary?” Alex said.
“No. My husband felt having a woman in close quarters would cause others to talk. He didn’t like others knowing about his business either.”
Todd Howe might have broken the law, so violating a moral code too wasn’t an impossibility. “I see.”
“I have a key to his office if you’d like to take a look. Police officers searched it right after his death, and I’m sure they sent you their findings. My understanding is there was nothing there to show my husband had any illegal dealings.”
“We have HPD’s report, but we’d still like to see for ourselves where your husband worked.”
She stiffened. “If something is found, I insist on being the first one notified.”
Bekah Howe had reached deep and found a little gumption. “We’ll do our best. What about storage units, personal and business?” Alex said.
“Those keys are on the same ring as his office. We use Public Storage for personal items, and he also used the same company for business at another location. I’ll give you the entrance codes for both facilities, and if you need for me to sign permission forms, I will.” She glanced into the other room, where her two young sons were watching TV. They were beyond earshot.
How much did the boys comprehend about their father, and what were the kids at school saying? The innocent always suffered the most, whether in grief or possibly learning derogatory information about their father.
She dabbed at her nose with a tissue. “I told you previously that I’d do anything to help find my husband’s killer, and I meant it.” She turned to Ric. “But my mind says I’ve been very foolish. Todd reassured me of his love for us and God right up to the time he left on the motorcycle ride that got him killed. Were his words a lie?”
“Mrs. Howe—” Ric’s gentle tone seemed to relax her tense facial muscles—“we’re doing everything we can to find out why your husband met such a violent death and to uncover the truth behind his and Lynx Connor’s dealings.”
She nodded. “No need to spare me any longer. I’m preparing myself to meet the public straight on about Todd’s inappropriate traits, including how he treated his employees. Yes, I knew he treated them unfairly, but I justified his actions, believing he knew best. Rabbi Feldman told me the woman who found his body wanted to express her condolences, but I haven’t felt much like talking to anyone.” She lifted her chin. “I must be strong for my sons.”
“We have to be brave when life gives us hardships.” Ric pushed back his coffee cup. “Have you shared everything with us?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ric turned to Alex. “Agent LeBlanc, do you have any more questions for Mrs. Howe, or can she take her sons to breakfast and to the zoo?”
Alex leaned across the table to show his sympathy. “One more thing.” While they talked, a question had emerged. “Did your husband own a private plane?”
“Yes, a Citation jet. Todd has taken us on family trips because we can go almost anywhere.”
“Did he use it for private or business trips?”
“Both. It’s hangared at Hooks Airport.”
“Mrs. Howe,” Ric said, “you say your husband owned the plane. Our investigation hasn’t revealed an aircraft.”
“He used my maiden name. Todd said his accountant urged him to build up assets that put my credit in good standing.”
Had this been another part of Todd Howe covering his trail of possible crime?
“What name did he use?” Ric continued.
“Rebekah Shaw. How soon before the media learns of this?” She touched her fingers to her lips. “They can twist information in the name of truth.”
“They can also shed light on matters to give us peace.”
“I keep praying the truth will cast honor on Todd’s name—the light, as you said. I’ll get you his keys now. I’ll also give you the plane’s tail number. Todd told me the number was essential in the event of a crash.” She stood from the chair. “I’ve been shielded from the harsh realities of life by my father and Todd. I want to weather this catastrophe and be a source of comfort to my sons. But every step forward sends me back three.”
Ric cleared his throat. “My partner and I are huge advocates of counseling.”
She focused on her sons in the other room again. “Rabbi Feldman’s recommended it too. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. Excuse me while I find Todd’s keys.”
Bekah Howe disappeared, leaving Alex mentally processing the case. The elusive pieces flew by, and when he grasped one, several more sailed by.
What if Howe had no knowledge of the quadcopter until that fatal Saturday morning?
STACY COUNTED FOURTEEN PEOPLE IN CHURCH. Never had she seen the attendance so low. Usually their small start-up church ran about eighty attendees. The pastor announced the flu bug had bitten many of their members and asked those present to keep the ill in their prayers. Small groups were canceled as well as Sunday night’s organization meeting for the Labor Day picnic. But in the intimate gathering, she silently admitted her prideful nature and asked for her relationship with God to be restored and stronger than ever before. She wanted her parents in her life—full-time. She prayed for Whitt, for him to acknowledge his need for a heavenly Father who’d never fail him.
On the way home, Whitt turned to her. “What are you goin
g to do if someone stops by the house with a checkbook?”
“I’m thinking we should spend the day away from home and the clinic. We’d originally planned to go riding, but I think a more public place is safer. We could take Xena to the park. Enjoy the beautiful weather.” The saying “She could run but she couldn’t hide” crossed her mind. The envelope found this morning made her even more determined not to play a criminal’s game.
“Okay, as long as you talk to our FBI friend first. I’d like to see a police officer parked in front of our house before we go to bed tonight.”
She wanted privacy for that conversation, but Whitt understood persistence, and he wouldn’t let up until she contacted Alex. Once in her driveway, she reached for her phone and pressed in his number. It went straight to voice mail.
“Alex, this is Stacy. I’d like to reconsider protection for Whitt and me. I’m not sure how to proceed, who to contact, or what to say.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “I found an envelope in my morning newspaper containing four photos of Whitt. I was instructed to sell or regret it. Call when you have an opportunity. We’re leaving the house for the day, going to do fun stuff in public places.”
She dropped her phone into her purse and leaned her head back against the truck’s seat. The paralyzing grip on her heart returned in full force.
“Keep the pics with you,” Whitt said. “Alex will need them to test the ink and see if they can lift prints.” He held up a finger. “If those were printed at a store, there might be an identifying mark on the photo paper. From the store’s location, they could check security cameras.”
“You always make incredible sense.”
“Keeps me sane.”
His voice tugged at her nurturing instinct. “You are not to leave my sight.”
“The ultimatum goes both ways.”
She shoveled courage into physical movement and opened her truck door. “Okay, we’ll change clothes, load up Xena, and drive through Sonic for a picnic lunch. When we have our orders from Alex, we’ll do whatever the man says.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.” She had no choice when it came to her precious boy.
ALEX PHONED HOOKS AIRPORT and explained the FBI’s interest in the aircraft owned by Rebekah Shaw. “We have the owner’s permission to search the plane. Will you be there this evening around six thirty?”
“I can be. Has the aircraft been used for illegal purposes?” a woman said.
“We have no evidence at this time,” Alex said.
“My name is Taylor Freeman, and I’ll be here until after ten thirty.”
At Todd Howe’s office on San Felipe, the two agents wore disposable gloves as they inspected the highly organized files, from employees to vendors. But nothing connected him to Lynx Connor. Alex searched the desk, running his hand along the sides and around drawers for a hidden compartment. Nothing surfaced but a splinter.
Ric explored an oversize closet filled with paper products. “Howe was one cheap guy. The quality of toilet paper, napkins, and paper towels is the worst.”
“He was a businessman. Gotta cut corners wherever you can.”
“Customers expect to pay for the best, then they’re cheated. Even in the bathroom.”
“You don’t eat toilet paper.”
“Very funny. I’m telling you, a man who shirks on these things can’t be trusted.” He shrugged. “Truth is the guy was crooked.”
“Doubt if his choice of paper goods got him killed, despite how others feel about one-ply versus three-ply.”
“Depends on how deceit leaks into other parts of a man’s life.”
Alex stood from the desk, his mind questioning every aspect of Howe’s life. “Do we have a list of his vendors?”
“It’s in our files. Company backgrounds checked out.”
“Salesmen too?”
Ric pulled his phone from his pocket and typed. “Done.”
An FBI team arrived to sweep the office, but Alex sensed they wouldn’t find a thing.
When the team completed their work, it matched HPD’s previous conclusions. The fingerprint team stayed while other agents joined Alex and Ric at the address given for the personal storage unit, ten by fifteen, organized like Howe’s office. It would take hours for agents to search through the belongings. The containers were of highest plastic quality that ensured water and insects didn’t take residence. Howe took every precaution to protect the belongings of his family.
“My interest isn’t here,” Ric said. “Howe was too smart to leave evidence among toys, a crib, kids’ clothes, and what looks like unopened wedding gifts.”
Alex lifted the lid of a box labeled Mother Howe’s china. Each piece was packed in a separate storage container, and he moaned at the thought of going through it all. “This could take three days. My vote’s to leave the items for the search team and check out the business storage.” He tore off his gloves.
“Meet you there.”
The address for the Public Storage was a central location for the Green-to-Go restaurants. The two agents arrived at the same time.
“Now to find out what’s behind the orange doors,” Alex said, slipping into another pair of gloves. He unlocked the ten- by twenty-five-foot unit and raised the door. He snapped on a light. As expected, efficient organization in the same type of sturdy containers stacked in alphabetical order. Huge black letters marked boxes of cooking utensils, display cases, several tables and chairs, and whatever else Howe deemed necessary to store.
Ric bent to a box labeled Future Expansion underneath three containers. “This could hold a few answers,” he said. “Future plans need money to finance them.”
Alex helped him move the boxes until they could pull out the one that had garnered their attention. Ric lifted the lid and set it aside. He pulled out a leather file folder and handed it to Alex. “We’ve got a lockbox here—small, rectangular.” He examined it closely. “It’s heavy. One of those keys from Bekah might unlock it.”
Alex riffled through the ring until he found two small keys. “Try these.”
When neither fit, Alex glanced at his phone and saw Stacy had left a message. The call time lined up with his moving boxes, and he’d missed the call because he had his phone on vibrate. He’d listen to her message after talking to Bekah Howe.
The widow responded on the first ring.
“We’re at the restaurant storage unit,” Alex said. “Your husband had many items stored in the same type of plastic boxes as your personal unit. One of the containers is marked Future Expansion. Inside is a rectangular lockbox for which none of the keys fit. Are there any other keys in your possession?”
“No, sir, and I’ve never been to that unit.”
He wasn’t surprised.
“You have all the keys,” she said. “Take the lockbox with you. When it’s opened, I want to know what’s inside immediately. Todd claimed to have overextended himself with the last restaurant. But he must have changed his mind, or rather Mr. Connor persuaded him.”
“FBI teams are at his office and your personal storage unit. They’ll conduct their work there. The task won’t be completed today.”
“Conversations with Todd stalk me, and if anything comes to mind, I’ll contact you. Is that okay?” She paused. “Yes, honey, we can get lemonade.”
When she returned to the call, Alex thanked her for her cooperation. It sounded sterile, but he meant it. “Enjoy your time with your sons, Mrs. Howe.” The phone clicked silent. “I hate what Howe is putting his wife and family through. He may be innocent of anything illegal, but his business practices left room for improvement.”
“Obviously he didn’t care.”
“Interesting to learn what really motivated him.” Alex turned to Ric, who was rummaging through other containers. “Find anything unusual?”
“I’m looking for more than industrial-size cans of food.” Ric stopped in the middle of the unit. “How do you take a can of peaches and make it taste like it’s fresh picked from
the tree? Aggravates me when he advertised fresh, organic, and kosher foods.”
Ric still felt betrayed by Todd’s choice of food and supplies.
“Cutting corners. Neither his wife nor his rabbi knew the real Todd Howe. Hold on a minute. I have a voice message from Stacy. She called earlier, and I missed it.” He listened and relayed the contents. “I’m wondering if the man who contacted her yesterday had an agenda and was aiming his efforts at a twelve-year-old.” The thought fired up Alex’s temper while he feared for her and Whitt’s safety.
“Has she indicated any other residents have been threatened?”
“Who would admit it?”
Ric nodded. “When loved ones are targeted, tough decisions weigh in the balance.”
“I’m calling her now.” Stacy answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”
“Memorial Park.”
“Any problems?”
“Don’t think so. I’m not beyond thinking we could have been followed, and someone could be snapping photos. I hate this disturbance to Whitt’s life. But I’ll not risk him getting hurt when he’s under so many other pressures.”
She was like a she-bear when it came to the kid. “Can you meet me at the FBI office on Highway 290 in two hours?”
“Yes.”
Her agreement was rare. “I’ll put in an immediate request for protection.” He hesitated, wanting her and Whitt safe without delay. “I suggest driving to the office now. I’ll feel better knowing you’re okay until I arrive.”
“We have Xena.”
“No problem. We’ll handle the situation.”
“Alex, you’re busy, and I’ve made a pest of myself. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“Wrong. We’re friends, and this is my job. Text me when you leave Memorial Park, then when you reach the office. If you suspect anyone is tailing you or you’re afraid, do not hesitate to contact 911. Don’t let Whitt out of your sight.”