by K. J. Emrick
Just like a dance. Sort of.
We’ve lost more than a few good cooks who couldn’t handle this kind of hullabaloo, but the ones who stay are just the best. Had some fine places in Hobart try to hire these two away from us, for instance, and for the money they were offered I wouldn’t have blamed them. Both of them stayed right here, though, because they love Rosie, and me too I guess. Most of all, they knew they couldn’t find this kind of atmosphere anywhere else.
Somehow, a tomato slice got flipped up in the air to slap against the ceiling, where it splats against the tile.
Nope. Wouldn’t be able to find this anywhere else.
“No worries,” Rosie declares, head bent over her pots and pans, shaking her ample rump to some tune in her head. “I’ll have that cleaned up later!”
More likely, I’d have to tell one of the cleaning staff to take care of it. I made a mental note so I wouldn’t forget. “Got everything under control?” I ask Rosie, moving around the center island to the far side of the counter, where the bread and the toaster sat side by side.
“Hmm? Oh, hiya Dell. Things are just grand in here.” Even as she says it the contents of the pan in her left hand catch fire and one of the cooks neatly picks up a cover to drop on top of it, extinguishing the blaze. “Ooh,” Rosie croons. “Crispy!”
As much as I admire their skill, I think it might be safer if I wasn’t in here any longer than needs be. “Don’t mind me, Rosie. I’m just making some toast for Danni. Her stomach’s upset. Seems she had a late date with Janus at the Roo. Isn’t that just grand?”
“Those two together? About time!” The bow tied into her apron strings at the small of her back snags the handle of a drawer and yanks it open. Both of her cooks reach over and push it closed again without even looking. “Not so much noise, you two. Tend the pans now!”
Popping the bread in two of the toaster’s six slots, I drop the lever and then watch as the slices disappear inside. It’s not much longer before the aroma of browning toast joins the other smells in the kitchen.
“Dell,” Rosie whispers in my ear, suddenly right next to me, causing me to jump and nearly drop the glass I’d gotten out for Danni’s grapefruit juice. “How’re we coming with… the issue?”
That had been Rosie’s word for it all night long after I’d explained what had happened. Right from the start she hadn’t wanted to call it what it was—murder—as if naming it would somehow make it worse. I was glad for her overcautious nature now. No need for the rest of the staff to hear about it all. Not now.
“I’m going to give Thornton a ride into the police station,” I tell her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for me to be giving our guests a lift to talk to the cops. “We’ll know more after that.”
“Oh, I hope so. I tell ya, Dell, this whole thing has me in hives. Barely slept a wink last night. Of course, neither did Josh. Poor hubbie. Up half the night with our two kids. Both have earaches going on that I wouldn’t wish on the Devil himself. I love being a mother, truly I do, but there’s times when I’m glad to be able to come to work during the day and let Josh be the one at home!”
We both laugh at that as the toast pops up, lightly browned and smelling wonderful, because I know as well as Rosie does that her kids aren’t second place in her heart to this kitchen. There are days she might love them equally, but she’d drop all of this in a heart beat if her kids needed her. I would do the same for mine.
Hopefully though, we’ll never have to know what it’s like to be without the Pine Lake Inn.
“You’re sure about Danni and Janus?” Rosie asks me. “I tell ya, it’d be good to have some nice rumors ‘round here!”
I agree with her and promise to tell her everything soon as I know. I don’t want to embarrass either of those two, but we’re the sort of place that forms a family, and when two of our own try to make a go of it with each other, we’re all hoping for the best. It’d be nice for the two of them to get together. ‘Course there’s the whole thing about them working different shifts, but I’m sure those two kids will work it out.
Mabel McGowan’s words in the mirror come back to me. Consider love above all else.
“Love overcomes all,” I tell Rosie, putting my own words to the sentiment.
“Oh, that is true, that is. Which reminds me. How’s James this morning?”
“Still at hospital. I think he’s going to be there for a few days, to hear the doctors tell it.”
She clucks her tongue. “Poor man. Oh, I should bring him a goody basket of things from our kitchen. That’s what a man needs when he’s ailing. Good food!”
I couldn’t disagree with her, although what James was really going to need was time to recover from whatever he’d gotten into and lots of rest and probably a couple weeks of physical therapy. He’d been banged up even worse than I realized. Really wish he’d tell me what happened to him. I tried to push him for it again, but he just smiled and told me he was better, now that he was back with me.
That was sweet, but not what I needed to hear from him. Men. Don’t they understand that women need honesty more than they need flattery? I mean the flattery’s nice, sure, but honesty is the real way to our hearts.
I wasn’t going to have any more help on this mystery from James. I have to admit, having him back last night set a few things right in my heart that I hadn’t realized were wrong. Even though I’m a little ashamed that I jumped to conclusions about why he dropped out of my life, I think my reaction was warranted. Just glad to know I was wrong.
After bringing the hot toast and juice with a side of fresh cream butter out to Danni I grab the keys to the Inn’s loaner car from their hook, and an envelope I left behind the registration desk last night with my name on it. That way I was sure no one else would take it. Little trick you learn in the service industry.
I’m halfway across the front room to the open doors when I hear someone rushing to catch up with me and find my daughter Carly suddenly at my side.
“Going for a ride?” she asks, matching my steps.
“Yup,” I tell her. I know what she’s really wanting to ask. Still, she waits until we’re one step out the door before she says it.
“Going to the police station?”
“Yes,” I tell her, “I am.”
“Mind some company?”
She wants a chance to see if Ben Isling is there, I’m sure, and who am I to stand in the way of a woman wanting to see a man in uniform? Like Rosie said, it’d be nice to have some good rumors to spread around. My daughter in love. I like that.
With a smile, I take her hand in mine. “Daughter dear, I would love your company.”
Chapter 9
For the third time on our short little drive over to the station, Thornton looks over his shoulder at my daughter in the backseat. “Do you bring your grown daughter with you everywhere you drive?”
“Not always,” Carly responds without missing a beat. “Sometimes we ride our bikes instead.”
Thornton huffs out a breath. “Charming.”
In the rearview mirror, I give Carly a wink. That’s my girl.
The station is already in view, and I pull us around the side into the car park. Thornton hasn’t asked me a single question all the way here, which I find interesting. Seems like a man headed to the police to talk about things would want to know every detail. Unless that man is guilty, and he wanted to look like he was being oh-so-very cooperative. Guilty people always had to work harder at looking innocent.
“Let’s get this over with,” he says, opening his door before I’ve even got the engine turned off. “I’ve got work to do for the government which, as I’m sure you can guess, is more important than whatever form your son needs me to sign. I’m assuming you’ll stay around so you can drive me back, and I won’t have to use my shoe leather?”
“Of course,” I tell him sweetly. “That was one of the reasons I volunteered to drive you down here.”
One of them, yes. Just not the bigges
t one. I don’t tell him how I’m mainly here to watch him squirm and confess to everything he’s guilty of. He just takes it at face value that I’m here to serve at his pleasure. Just the kind of guy he is, I suppose.
At the service window inside the lobby Thornton presses the buzzer impatiently to let everyone know we’re here. I just stand back and let him attack the button again, and again, knowing that it isn’t going to get anyone to pay attention to him any faster. Kevin knows we’re coming. He’s ready for us.
It’s Ben Isling who comes to the window though, much to my Carly’s delight. I see the way her eyes light up when that burly man leans his elbows on the ledge of the window. He sees it, too. The look he gives her clearly shows he’s happy to see her. Really am glad that I brought her along.
“G’day,” Ben says to Thornton. “Senior Sergeant’s waiting for ya. Come on in.”
Thornton seems unsure about being here for the first time. “I was told I was only here to sign some papers. Fill out a form? That sort of thing. I can’t do that here at the window?”
Ben keeps his smile in place as he shakes his head. “’Fraid not, sir. Senior Sergeant’s got to explain what you’re signing. This is an important case, sure enough, and we don’t want any questions later on. Come on in. Won’t take long. You can come in too, Dell, Carly.”
Reaching under the window on his side he pushes the release button that unlocks the door from the lobby to inside. The buzzer sounds and Carly’s there to open it. With a resigned frown, Thornton follows her in. Behind us, the door closes again. I swear I saw Thornton jump in his shoes when it did.
Down the hallway past the desks and filing cabinets, Kevin pokes his head out of the interview room. He’s in his blue uniform shirt, cleaned and pressed, with the badge in place over his heart. Got his uniform pants on now, too. Hardly ever wears those, but today he’s putting on a show. He wants Thornton to know who’s in control. The local cop in the back-of-Bourke town, not some political aide who thinks he can push everyone around.
“Glad ya made it, Mister Dunfosse,” he says brightly. “Hope ya don’t mind, got a few pages to go through. Easier in a room with a table. Come on in. Won’t take long.”
“Er. Sure. As long as we’re quick,” Thornton says. “I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”
“That you do. Let’s get things taken care of.”
Kevin sounds sincere, but I know the deeper meaning behind those words. We both want Thornton Dunfosse taken care of. He’s a guilty man. It was just going to be a question of what he was guilty of.
When Thornton steps past Kevin and into the room, I hand my son the envelope I brought with me from the hotel. “Everything you need is in there. Just like we talked about last night.”
“Thanks, Mom. If it’s everything ya said, then this’ll be a right quick conversation.”
“Good luck,” I whisper to him, and as the door closes, I know that I should go back to the officer’s room, sit at one of the desks, and wait with Carly and Ben. Then again, I can already hear those two talking and laughing quietly about their plan to meet Tuesday for a drink. They probably won’t even notice that I’m not there.
So instead, I stand myself in the hallway, looking through the rectangle of the two-way mirror as Kevin settled himself at the table across from Thornton, opening the envelope and unfolding the pages I had placed inside. I can see Thornton pointing, asking what those papers are, but there’s no sound. Oops. Have to turn on the speaker from this side. Little flick of the switch, and then…
“That’s interesting,” I hear Kevin say as he lays the pages out flat. “These are faxed copies from an escort service that operates out of Devonport. Think you might be familiar with it. Place called Titan’s Walking?”
Thornton sat back in his plastic chair as far as he could, pushing himself away from the itemized bills set out in front of him, one after the other. He believed he was coming down to sign an official statement against Stephanie or something like that. Instead, he was looking at pages from his own life.
James had done more than one con job over the phone last night. After tricking Thornton’s bank into giving out the payment history on his card, he’d used that information to contact a very helpful customer service employee at Titan’s Walking Escorts. He demanded to know why those charges were on his card—meaning Thornton’s card, of course—and the man at the escort service was more than happy to send him Thornton’s bills that proved the charges were legitimate. Not only were there charges to his card, but there were charges made directly to another bank account. One with a governmental prefix.
“If I’m reading this correct,” Kevin says casually, “it would seem that you’ve been paying quite a bit of money to step out with high-priced prostitutes. I didn’t know that was a thing anymore, but here’s the proof on this fax right in front of us.”
“And I,” Thornton replies testily, “didn’t know anyone still used faxes, but as you say. There’s the proof. Just to clarify things, Senior Sergeant, this isn’t a prostitution service. This is an escort business and they provide companionship for more than just sex. It’s all perfectly legal. They have all the proper permits. I checked. There’s nothing wrong with using this service.”
In answer to that, Kevin taps the papers with a finger. “There’s something wrong with using taxpayer monies to pay for it.”
Thornton’s hands begin to tremble. His face is turning red from the slow realization that he’s been found out.
And Kevin’s just getting started.
“Not only are you paying for this service with direct funds from a government bank account, you’re using a card that I’m pretty sure was issued by the Tasmanian government to the Parliamentary Secretary’s office. You’re paying for this escort service, and you’re paying to maintain a residence in someone else’s name, too. I’m guessing that residence is where you and these escorts have your… companionship?”
Thornton swallows, and I can almost hear it from here. “Where’d you get those?” he asks. “That’s my private information. You shouldn’t have that.”
“Let’s just say I’m that good at my job.” Kevin slides the pages together, looking closely at the top one. “We can also say that this isn’t your private information. It’s government monies, which makes it public information. If the Premier wants to make a complaint against me for finding out one of his men has been skimming money from government accounts, then he can send me an e-mail complaint.”
I snicker at my son’s sarcastic wit. He gets that from me, but he’s better at it than I am. I didn’t raise him to be rude, but guys like Thornton Dunfosse deserve a few good verbal smackdowns.
Rubbing a hand over his face now, Thornton tries to pull himself together and save a little face. “You’ve got no jurisdiction over anything on those pages, Senior Sergeant. Crimes against the Tasmanian government are way out of your jurisdiction. That house you so correctly pointed out that I’m maintaining is situated just outside of Devonport, and that’s also outside your jurisdiction.”
“Well, all of that may be true,” Kevin agrees, not in the least put off by anything that was just said. “However, murder in my town is well within my jurisdiction.”
Thornton’s face had been as red as a radish a moment ago, maybe from embarrassment, maybe from anger, but now the color drains away and leaves him pale as one of the ghosts at my Inn.
“You can’t possibly think that I…?” His words break off midsentence, his denial halfhearted at best.
I hold my breath for what comes next, knowing this will put an end to the mystery, either for Thornton, or for Stephanie.
Kevin leans forward in his seat, spreading his hands over the pages as if they were magically pointing to the killer. “Here’s what I think. You told us that Jackson Fillmore’s death doesn’t hurt your career. You can just go and find another job. But if Fillmore knew about you skimming money from government accounts, using public funds to maintain a love nest for you and these… escort
s, he wouldn’t just sit back and let it keep happening. He’d expose you. He’d already been through one kickback scandal. The man had to fight to clear his name. He wasn’t going to let you ruin it again. He’d hang ya from the tallest flagpole first. And if he did that, then your career in politics would be over. There wouldn’t be any finding another job. Your next step’d be the unemployment line, wouldn’t it?”
Thornton didn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.
“Not only that,” Kevin continues, “there’d be criminal charges, too. Well, there are criminal charges, as a matter of fact. I’ve been on the phone with the Premier’s office most of the morning. They’re not too happy up there. Might’ve been some talk of bringing back hanging.”
Kevin’s words strike Thornton like a physical blow. The man blinks his eyes, and flinches at the mention of hanging. Thought that was a little dramatic, myself. Tasmania abolished hanging back in 1968.
After several long seconds of silence, Kevin raps his knuckle against the table top, making Thornton jump. “You’re going to be charged with theft and official misconduct,” Kevin says to him. “You’re done. This is it, the last chance for you to get any kind of consideration from us. Tell the truth, if you want to help yourself. Jackson was going to expose ya for the money you stole. The sex den. The escorts. All of it. Couldn’t let him do that, could ya? Had to make sure that your life’d keep on the same as always. Only way to do that was to kill your boss.”
Thornton looks up at Kevin now. There’s resignation on his face. He was caught, and he knew it.
“Why don’t ya tell me what happened?” Kevin asks him. “Was it an accident? Did the argument get out of hand? Tell me what happened, and write it down for me, and I’ll talk to the judge for ya. Might even get some bail out of it, instead of going right to jail. Guy like you won’t do well in jail, I can tell ya that. Let me help, Thornton. I want to help, but ya need to do this for me. Tell me what happened.”