Reed Ferguson Mystery Box Set 5

by Renee Pawlish

  On the way home, I had wondered if Sally was really planning to lay low, but I couldn’t babysit her all day. However, I’d formed a plan, and the Goofballs were part of it – if they would agree to help. “I need you to watch someone for me, if you have time.”

  “Who?” This from Ace.

  “There’s a woman named Sally I want you to keep an eye on tomorrow.”

  Ace lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Why? Is she a suspect in a murder or something?”

  “Let’s just say I want to make sure she’s not lying to me about what she’s doing,” I said. “The problem is, I have some other people I need to talk to, and I can’t spend my whole day watching her. Do you have to work?”

  “I’m off this week,” Deuce said.

  “And I don’t work tomorrow,” Ace chimed in, “so this is perfect.”

  “I don’t know,” Deuce said. “Just sitting around watching someone can be boring.”

  “But,” Ace held up a hand. “What if she leaves, can we follow her?”

  “Yes, you can,” I said.

  “Really?” they both said at once.

  I’d surprised them, since I normally didn’t want them to do anything that could put them in harm’s way, such as following someone. And even though the art of surveillance could be very tricky, since Sally Evans was a ditz, I didn’t think she’d even notice them following her, and the Goofballs would likely not be put in any precarious situations.

  “If you have to follow her, you’ll need to be careful,” I said, then discussed what they should do. I gave them her address, told them what car she drove, and described what she looked like. “Why don’t you split up the time into shifts? Ace, you could watch her place for a couple hours, then switch with Deuce. While you watch her apartment, don’t draw attention to yourselves, okay? Move your car to different places on the street, and maybe get out and walk around. If she leaves and you follow her, call me.”

  “Right.” Ace saluted.

  “This’ll be fun,” Deuce said.

  I hoped they would still think that after they’d spent a few hours watching Sally’s apartment.

  “Keep in mind, she may not go anywhere,” I said, trying to temper their expectations.

  They nodded, but I could tell they didn’t really believe me. I thanked them, waved goodbye, and went up the stairs on the side of the building. When I let myself into my condo, Willie was sitting on the couch. The late news was on the TV, but she was paying attention to the kitten.

  “Hey, hon, how’d the rest of your evening go?” she asked as she scratched the kitten’s head.

  I went over and gave her a kiss. “Not bad.”

  “Did you catch the bad guy?”

  “Nope.” I was so tired, my mind was a blank. Was it just today that I’d spoken with Brenda and Sally at the Starbucks?

  “You missed dinner for nothing?” She grinned. “Just kidding.”

  I reached down and petted the kitten. “How’s he doing?”

  “The vet says he’s fine, he just needs to put on a little weight. I bought some food for him, and some toys.”

  “So he’s staying?”

  She held him up to me. “Isn’t he just adorable? You wouldn’t throw this little guy out, would you?”

  I pursed my lips and stared at the kitten. He was cute. “I’m being ganged up on,” I said with a grin.

  She changed the subject. “You want to watch a movie?”

  “You don’t have to work early?”

  “Yeah, but I miss you, so I’ll stay up for a while.”

  “Then a movie it is, but I’m starving. Let me fix a sandwich and you pick out something.” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, before I forget, Cal wants to stop by tomorrow.” I explained his plans.

  “That’s not a problem. Tell him to make himself at home.”

  I loved that Willie got along with my best friend. “I love you,” I said.

  She tipped her head to the side. “I love you, too.”

  I leaned down and kissed her again, and she put a hand on the back of my neck. The kiss was long and lingering. When we came up for air, I took her hand and led her to the bedroom. I never fixed my sandwich, but I didn’t care.

  The next morning, Willie left early and I dawdled over breakfast, then I checked on the Goofball Brothers. Ace had taken the first shift this morning as I’d suggested. He said that Sally’s white Hyundai was parked near her building, and that he’d even seen her come out and talk to a neighbor for a bit and then go back into her apartment.

  “Okay, call me if you see her go anywhere,” I said.

  I ended the call, showered, dressed, and went into my office. It’s my sanctuary, the one place that I have not allowed Willie to redecorate. It has my favorite things in it, including rare framed posters of The Big Sleep and The Maltese Falcon, both with Bogie, and The Postman Always Rings Twice, with Lana Turner and John Garfield. This last one is my most treasured possession because Willie gave it to me as a wedding gift. It showed how much she really knew me.

  I sat down at my desk and logged onto the computer. While it booted up, I glanced at the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves that are filled with first editions and thought I was forgetting something. Then the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said to myself as I got up. “Cal’s coming over.”

  I went to the front door and opened it. “Good morning.”

  “If you call fighting rush-hour traffic to a meeting good,” he said as he stepped past me and into the living room. He had a crazy look in his brown eyes as he ran a hand over his wavy hair.

  “Be glad you don’t have to fight traffic every day,” I said.

  “I am. Thanks for letting me hang out here.”

  “No problem.”

  The kitten ran up and started climbing up his pant leg. “Hey!” He took a step back, the kitten clinging to his leg. “What’s this? Ow!”

  “A kitten,” I said drily.

  “I know that. What’s it doing here?”

  He very carefully pulled it off his leg and set it down. The kitten, undeterred, swiped at Cal’s hand. I grabbed the kitten before he could scratch Cal.

  “I think we’re going to adopt it,” I said.

  Cal stared at me. “It’s going to be around here? Now?”

  I patted his shoulder. “You’ll survive.”

  “Does it have a name?”

  “It’s a he, and we haven’t named him yet.” I changed the subject. “How’d your meeting go?”

  “Fine, although they were upset that their systems aren’t as secure as they thought.”

  I eyed his blue slacks and white shirt. “And you have another meeting this afternoon?”

  “Uh-huh. A potential new client.”

  “Make sure you get the cat hair off your clothes.”

  He looked at his slacks. “Oh, man!”

  “You’ll survive,” I said again.

  He sighed dramatically and held up his backpack. “Where can I work?”

  “In my office,” I said and started down the hall. “Unless you prefer the kitchen.”

  “Your office is fine.”

  “Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

  “Will do.”

  He followed me into my office.

  “I need to do a few things, and then I’ll be leaving,” I said.

  He nodded as he put his backpack down and pulled out his laptop. “No problem.” He put the laptop on the corner of the desk, opened it up, and turned it on. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “I’m looking up Club 77,” I said as I began typing. The kitten leaped up into my lap and started purring. “Hey, little guy. Whatcha doin’?”

  I petted him for a moment and Cal rolled his eyes at me.

  I ignored him and continued. “I need to find the owner. Sally said his name is Rick, but she didn’t have a last name.” I googled the club name and found the address. “It’s on South Broadway, near Evans. I remembered going there a long time ago
, when the club had a different name. What was it?”

  “Beats me,” Cal said as he eyed the kitten warily. “I would never have gone there.”

  I laughed. “So true.”

  Cal came around the desk and peered over my shoulder. “What’re you doing now?”

  “Checking the website for the club.”

  The kitten leaped down and started playing with Cal’s shoelaces.

  “Hey,” Cal said. “What’re you doing?” He moved his foot back, which only made the kitten attack the shoelaces even more.

  “Throw that mouse at him.” I pointed at a toy mouse that I assumed Willie had got for him.

  Cal grabbed the mouse and tossed it into the hallway. The kitten bounded after it.

  “I’d be surprised if the website gives you any information about who owns it,” Cal said.

  “I would, too, but it’s a place to start.”

  I poked around the website, with Cal looking on.

  “See,” he said. “I told you the website wouldn’t list any owners.”

  I tried googling other search terms, like “Club 77 owner,” but I still couldn’t find any information.

  “This could take you forever,” Cal said as he grabbed his laptop.

  “Hey, I’m trying.”

  He laughed as he started typing, and I kept my search going as he began his. In about five minutes, I hadn’t come up with anything, but he turned his laptop to face me. “The club is owned by a group of investors.”

  I whistled. “That was fast,” I said as I looked at a list of names. One was Rick Crabtree.

  “That’s him,” I said.

  Cal nodded. “His office is on Market Street, downtown.”

  “Great.” I grabbed my phone and dialed the office number. A moment later, a woman gave me a cheery greeting, and I asked for Crabtree.

  I heard a click, and then a deep voice said, “Rick Crabtree.”

  I told him my name, and then asked if he knew Gabe Culpepper.

  “I do,” he said.

  “Are you aware that he was murdered two nights ago?”

  “You’re kidding.” He seemed genuinely surprised. “What happened?”

  I told him the barest details. “I’m a private investigator working on the case, and I’d like to ask you some questions about Gabe, and about a man who you both spoke to at Club 77.”

  “That could’ve been any number of people.”

  “I have his picture, and I’d like to show it to you.”

  “Okay, but I’ve got back-to-back meetings, and then I have to go to the club. Could you meet me there, say around two?”

  “That’ll work.”

  When I finished, I glanced at Cal. “Looks like I have some time to kill.”

  “Don’t look at me. I’ve got to finish up a presentation for this afternoon.”

  I stood up. “Then I’ll let you commandeer my office, and I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Thanks,” he said as he plopped into my just-vacated chair. The kitten had come back into the room, and he immediately jumped onto Cal’s lap. Cal sat back, his arms in the air. “What do I do about him?”

  “He’s been playing for a while, so he’ll probably go to sleep. Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.”

  “Uh …” He shifted in his seat, but the kitten stayed put. Cal growled and started typing.

  “See?” I said. “You’re fine.”

  Before I made it to the door, Cal was already deep in thought as he typed away, oblivious to me and to the kitten, who had curled up and was already asleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Since I didn’t have to meet Rick Crabtree until two, I had some time to kill, and the first thing I decided to do was call the Silver Bullet Shooting Range. Phil answered.

  “Reed, what are you up to? We haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, his voice booming.

  “It’s been a little crazy,” I said.

  “Working a case?” The guys there knew I was a private investigator.

  “I am, and I’ve got a favor to ask. Has a woman named Sally Evans been in there before?”

  “Hmm, let me think a second.”

  “She may have been in with a woman named Kristen Dalrymple.”

  “Oh, sure, I know Kristen. Nice young lady. And now I remember Sally. She came in with Kristen.”

  “Was Sally ever in by herself?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but let me check our records.” He clicked his tongue while he checked. “No, she’s only been in with Kristen. Why? Ah, never mind. You can’t tell me, right?”

  “Sorry.”

  “No worries.”

  “One other thing. Was Sally a good shot?”

  “She did pretty well. The only reason I remember is they showed me their targets. You know, young gals, new with guns, kind of proud of themselves.”

  “Gotcha. Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”

  “You bet. I’ll see you later.”

  I next called Spillman about my Glock. She said that ballistics tests had been completed, and that my Glock hadn’t been used to murder Gabe Culpepper. Like I didn’t know that. I thanked her and put my phone in my pocket. Then I hollered to Cal that I was leaving, but heard no reply. I smiled, knowing he was hard at work, and left. My first stop was at the police station to retrieve my gun, and then I went to Jones Transportation, where Sally worked. With everything that had gone on the previous day, I’d never managed to make it there.

  Jones Transportation was located off Interstate 70 and Quebec Street, near where Denver’s old airport used to be. I drove north on Quebec, where much of the area had been redeveloped, but ended up in an industrial area. I turned off Quebec and meandered east until I saw a small tan building with green trim. A sign on a post read “Jones Transportation.” A wire fence surrounded a lot behind the building, and several trucks were parked near a large warehouse. I parked on a wide street and entered the tan building.

  Inside was an unassuming office with two metal desks and a door that led to what I assumed were more offices and the warehouse. Other than that, there were only a couple of chairs against a gray-painted wall. A woman about Sally’s age was sitting at one of the desks, typing at a computer. She was alone. She took earbuds out and set them near her cell phone, then straightened her dark hair.

  “Hello,” she said in a low voice.

  I glanced at the other desk, then back to her. I introduced myself and said, “Sally Evans said I might stop by.”

  She made a show of giving me the once-over. “Oh, you’re the detective.”

  “Right.” I came over to her desk. “Did she tell you what’s going on?”

  She nodded, glanced over her shoulder to the door, then murmured. “But I haven’t told anyone else.”

  “Sally said she asked for a leave of absence.”

  She primped her hair with her hands and gave me a little smile. “That’s right. The boss likes her, so he was understanding.”

  I pointed toward the door. “Is the boss here?”

  “Actually, he’s not. But I can make an appointment if you’d like.”

  I shook my head. “That’s okay.”

  She turned away from her computer, leaned her elbows on the desk, and rested her chin on linked hands. “Is Sally okay?”

  She didn’t seem in any hurry to get back to her work. I pulled over a chair and sat down across from her.

  “She’s all right,” I said. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “It’s a little slow now, so sure. I’ll do anything to help Sally.”

  “Let me be blunt,” I said in a low voice. “Do you think Sally is capable of murder?”

  “No way. She’s too nice a person.”

  “Did you ever meet Gabe, her boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. Now he was not a nice guy. Very arrogant, and he didn’t treat her well.”

  “Oh?”

  “He was using her.”

  “How so?”

  She gnawed at her lip.
“Call it a gut feeling. I mean, I think she was mainly with him because she thought he could help her produce some songs and videos, and she said that he encouraged her to write stuff down, like song lyrics and ideas. But then he took her notebooks and wouldn’t give them back. That really made her mad.” She thought for a moment. “I wondered if deep down he thought she had the talent, and he could use that to his advantage.”

  “How so?”

  “Like … I don’t know.”

  “The people I’ve talked to thought Gabe’s music was good.”

  She shrugged. “It was all right, I guess, at least what I heard.”

  “And she was mad when he wouldn’t give her notebooks back.”

  “Yeah.” She held up a hand. “But it’s not like she would kill him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Come on, that’s extreme.”

  “They didn’t get along well, and he was cheating on her.”

  “Yeah, but …” Her voice trailed off.

  “But?” I prodded.

  “It was just weird. It wasn’t like he loved her or anything, and she knew that.”

  “Was he abusive toward her?”

  She hesitated. “I think they fought. Honestly, I don’t know why she stayed with him.”

  “That seems to be the general consensus.” I jerked a thumb toward the other desk. “She’s been working here for a month?”

  “Yes. She’s done some temp work now and again, and she does good work, so they decided to give her a try full-time.”

  “She’s reliable?”

  “Yes.” She laughed. “I know, you’ve heard Sally’s a flake, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, she is, sometimes, because I’ve seen her outside of work. But in here,” she waved a hand around, “she does a great job.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  She tapped a manicured finger on her cheek. “Let’s see. I guess about three or four years. I met her at a club.”

  “Have you seen her perform?”

  “A time or two, but I don’t think she does that much anymore.” She laughed. “She’s not a bad singer, but comedy is where she excels. I think she should move to New York and get on with Saturday Night Live or something like that.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. But she just doesn’t seem to have the drive necessary, and she doesn’t see herself as funny. Hmm, maybe her not being aware of herself is part of what makes her so funny.” She sighed. “At least that’s my take, but what do I know? I’m stuck at a dead-end office job.”