by Donna Doyle
"You mean Greta Grüntchen? Sure we can talk to her, but that will have to be tomorrow, as her shift is long over."
"That suits me fine," I replied. My shift was literally over as well. I was exhausted. "You said there's a canteen here where I can buy some food for the night?"
"There is," Dora replied. "It's open till eight, but allow me to invite you to my place. In about half an hour my shift is over too, and I would love for you to come to my place. I was planning on having home-made Lasagna, and that's the type of food that tastes a lot better when it is shared."
It sounded wonderful to me and as I looked up into Dora's hopeful eyes, it was an easy choice. "I love Lasagna."
"Good," Dora said as she got up. "Then allow me to finish up the work I still have to do, and I'll be waiting for you at the reception cabin. My place is on the other side of Calmhaven, but I have a trustworthy Kia Rio, that brings me everywhere I need to go in a jiffy."
I gave Dora a grateful nod. "Thank you, Dora. It's been so nice meeting you."
"The pleasure is entirely mine," Dora said and she left the cabin.
Greta Grüntchen was a nervous lady with a heavy German accent, and was not at all pleased when Dora called her into the office the following morning so I could ask her some questions. She eyed me with her suspicious, dark eyes and wrinkled her nose. It caused her entire face to morph into a hard shield of unwillingness.
"Ich hab’ nothing to say," she immediately said, and took a step away from me. "Ich hab’ work to do." She defiantly smoothed out a few wrinkles in her white apron.
"Don't worry, Greta," Dora stepped in. "You have done nothing wrong. You just got your Green Card, and nobody is going to take that away from you. Miss Molly Gertrude here only wants to ask you a few innocent questions."
A scowl appeared. "Ich already said everything to police. Ich hab’ done nothing wrong."
"Please," I coaxed her in a soft voice, "I don't think you've done anything wrong. I am just trying to establish what happened to Mr. Given. Was there anything unusual when you found him?"
"Jah, natürlich. * Everything was unusual. Ich found the man dead. How much more unusual must it be?"
I felt my mouth getting dry, and licked my lips.
"What time did you find him?"
"At 10 in the morning of course. That's when I'm supposed to clean Cabin 24."
"Was there anything strange, besides his dead body?"
"What about the opened briefcase? Did you notice anything?"
Greta smacked her thin lips and shook her head. "Nein. Ich hab’ told the police that Mr. Given was always very tidy. He must have slipped when he wanted to check on his gaming ticket. It's the only way."
Dora looked up. She seemed rather surprised. "What gaming ticket?"
Miss Grüntchen blushed. "Ich meant…eh, you know his papers." She wrung her hands and gave me an apologetic stare and forced a laugh over her lips. "How silly of me. It's the stress at home that gets me all confused."
I frowned and peered right into the cleaning lady’s dark eyes. "Was there a gaming ticket, Miss Grüntchen?"
She lowered her gaze and gave a small nod. "Just a small one," she said barely audible.
"Where is it now?" I asked.
"Here," she mumbled, and pulled it out of her apron pocket. "He did not need it anymore. It was lying right next to him," she replied. "Ich bought a few of those myself, and recognized it. It was a ticket from the Casino in Boulder Valley."
Dora frowned.
"Thank you Miss Grüntchen," I said coolly as I accepted the ticket. "How well did you know Mr.Given?
"Ich didn't." Her reply was firm and short. "He was just a customer. He never spoke to me."
"How did you get in?" I continued.
"With the key," Greta replied. "It's policy to clean each cabin at the same time every day. Mr. Given's cabin needed to be cleaned at ten o'clock sharp. He usually lets me in, but there is a key for when he's not around."
Greta narrowed her eyes, thought for a moment and then fished a pocket watch out of the pocket of her apron. After she had consulted the device she tapped her side with her fingers and said, "Ich must go. There's a lot of work für me."
Dora looked at me, but I had one more question for her. "A phone, Miss Grüntchen… Did you perchance see a phone?"
She blushed. "A-a phone. Why do you ask?" She pursed her lips and stared at me blankly.
"Just asking, Miss Grüntchen. Usually, people like Mr. Given have a cell phone."
"Nein, Ich hab’ no phone. Not like phone and ich never had."
I stared at her for a moment. She seemed to be hiding something, but there was nothing I could do about it at the moment. "Thank you Miss Grüntchen," I said. "You've been a great help."
"It's Mrs. Grüntchen," she fired back. "Ich been a married—"
At that instant her speech was interrupted by the loud jingle of a mobile phone, coming from her apron pocket. I recognized the tune. It was I Did It My Way, by good, old Frank Sinatra. Miss Grüntchen's face turned a whiter shade of pale. "C-Can I go now?"
"I thought you had no mobile phone?" I queried.
"J-Just got one yesterday," she mumbled. "I forgot."
Frank Sinatra kept on singing about the glories of doing it in his own way.
"Don't you want to answer it?"
"No… eh, ya… of course." She fished the device out of her pocket. As she placed it to her ear I could see her hand tremble. I glanced at Dora, and Dora glanced back at me. Something was wrong.
"Hello," Miss Grüntchen spoke in the phone. She listened for a moment and then said, "No, I am not interested in buying a subscription on Boy's Life. Bye." She clicked the off-button, let the phone slip back into her apron pocket, and while her face was flushing she cast me an apologetic grin. "Stupid sales people."
But the moment she had said it, the phone rang again and The Voice was back.
"Can you hand that phone to Miss Brightside?" I demanded. It wasn't really a question, it was an order, and even though she could have refused, since I had no authority over her, she meekly pulled the phone out of her apron again and handed it to Dora with glistening eyes.
I had hoped Dora would know what to do with a phone like that and she did not disappoint me. She pushed a button, placed the phone to her ear and asked, "Hello… who is this?"
She listened, and at last her face turned very grave and somber. Then I heard her say, "I am so sorry to have to tell you this, Miss Given, but your father has passed away."
Bingo.
As I had expected, this phone was not Mrs. Grüntchen's phone at all. She had snatched it away when she had discovered the body. Now Mr. Given's daughter, the missionary, whose wedding he was arranging, was calling in.
Miss Grüntchen was now openly crying. Her weeping and wailing became so loud that Dora walked off, leaving me behind with the shattered cleaning lady.
I walked over to her and placed my arm on her shoulder. "You stole the phone, right?"
"I didn't mean to steal it," she blubbered, "but I always wanted such a fancy phone. When I saw Mr. Given was dead, this urge came over me, and I heard a voice within my head that said, "Take it… Take it. Given does not need it anymore. I put my favorite ringtone on it."
"Where was that phone?" I asked.
Miss Grüntchen's shoulders shook and she sniffed, "On the table." Then she looked up with her tear-stained face, "Please don't tell the manager of the Golden Canopy. He will fire me."
I didn't really want to crush Miss Grüntchen's heart even more, but what she had done was inexcusable. Stealing from a dead man is pretty low, and it could have potentially even harmed the investigation. "I’ll think about it, Miss Grüntchen," I mumbled.
"Remember, it's Mrs. Grüntchen," she whispered through her tears. "My husband is ill, and I have three innocent children."
"Thank you Mrs. Grüntchen. Bye, bye."
She swallowed hard, gave me a scowl, and stumbled out of the office.
&nbs
p; Minutes later Dora reappeared, still holding the phone, but her conversation with Samuel Given's daughter had been terminated.
"That was Gloria Given," she explained when I looked up with questioning eyes. "The poor woman is in shock, as I had to tell her what happened."
"Where is she now?"
"She and her husband-to-be are still at sea, but they should be here in a few days. The wedding is supposed to take place next week."
I rubbed my forehead. "Did she say anything interesting?"
"She sure did," Dora replied. "She does not believe this was an accident. She even claims she knows who did it."
I looked up. "She does?"
Dora nodded. "Gloria got a phone call about a week ago from her uncle Horace. The man was apparently quite rude to her over the phone, since Gloria had not sent him an invitation to the wedding. But he told her he would be coming to the wedding anyway, uninvited, and he said that he wanted compensation from his brother or else…"
"Compensation? What for?"
"I am not sure," Dora answered. "I think it has something to do with a business deal gone bad."
I leaned back on the sofa and closed my eyes for a moment, so I could think more clearly. Things were going fast suddenly. Now we had a suspect, and we had a phone too. We should talk to that uncle Horace. And, maybe we should check if the phone contained more clues. I opened my eyes again. "Dora, I asked. "Do you know where this uncle Horace lives?"
Dora did not seem to hear me. She was staring at the screen of the phone while clicking several buttons.
"Dora?" I asked again.
"Huh?" Dora looked up. "What did you say?" She had just pushed another button.
"I wanted to ask if you know where uncle—"
I was interrupted by the crackling sound of a recording that came from Samuel Given's phone. An angry voice called out on the top of his lungs: "If you don’t get out of the way, I will move you myself, old man!”
My eyes widened. "What's that?"
"Sssh," Dora mumbled as she listened to another, much calmer voice that said, "Come on, Peter… be reasonable. I don't mean to block you at all, but the Trust is not your business."
"Is that the voice of Samuel Given?" I asked.
"It is," Dora said, but she motioned for me to be still so she could hear the rest. She missed it. "I need to play it again," she mumbled.
I stared at her in amazement as she handled that phone as if she had been born with one. "I did not know you could do all that with a mere phone," I said, marveling at the way technology had developed.
"It's not a big deal," Dora replied as she pushed a button again. There was the same message again and we both listened. The Trust is not your business. That was Samuel Given's voice again. The other, angry voice answered even more hate-filled, "I'll get you, Given. Your days are numbered."
That was it. The message was ended.
Dora and I stared at each other in amazement. Finally I asked, "He's talking about Peter? Who do you think that could be?"
Dora pressed her lips together. "I am not sure, but it could be Peter Brogue. That was Samuel Given's advisor. He occasionally visits our church as well. I don't like him much. He's a bit of a haughty man."
I let out a deep sigh and shook my head. "Talking about clues. An hour ago we were groping around in the dark, but now we have more clues than we can handle. There's uncle Horace, who wanted compensation, and there's this Peter Brogue who shouted something about Mr. Given's days being numbered…"
"And don't forget," Dora said as she lifted her index-finger, "there's that gaming ticket Mrs. Grüntchen tried to steal," Dora added. "That's something we can't overlook. Why would Samuel Given be holding a gaming ticket?"
"Maybe he did a bit of gambling," I suggested.
But Dora objected to the idea. "No way. He was a man of principles and gambling, or playing the lottery was just not done by him."
I heard car tires screeching. A car was approaching and stopped right in front of the office.
"I guess you have work to do," I suggested to Dora, and in order to not interfere I leaned back again on the sofa.
Then the door opened.
But it wasn't a customer. The young police officer with his boyish grin, who had granted me access, entered. He touched his police cap in greeting. "Good day to you ladies," he said. "My name is Digby, and my boss, the honorable Sheriff, JJ Barnes, wants me to take away all the red-and white police tape in Cabin 24 and make sure the place is clean for renting it out again. Could I have the keys please?"
"Natürlich=of course.
4
Questions? Questions?
For a moment it appeared Digby locked eyes with Dora.
I noticed it because Dora was blushing. As an experienced wedding-planner I could tell when there was a certain chemistry. It was something you could not touch, and yet it was there. It would hang in the air, as a fresh wind of spring that would make your heart spin. I had felt it once myself, although in my case, it had never materialized into something as intimate as a marriage. I had never tasted the pleasures of such a relationship, but this would hardly be the place to talk about those times, although I am certain I will tell you about that later. But when I saw Dora's eyes widen as she stared at the handsome, young officer I understood.
"The keys, please?" he said as he held out his hand.
Dora turned around and took the key for Cabin 24 off a hook on the wall.
"We'll walk with you," I suggested, and to show I meant business, I forced myself off the sofa.
Deputy Digby seemed surprised when he realized who I was. "You are the lady I met outside yesterday."
"That's right," I said. "My cabin is right near the one you need to go to."
He grinned. "Fine, ladies. Then let's go."
While we were outside I took the opportunity to tell him about the phone and the things we had discovered. He listened with great interest, but then he said. "I don't know what to tell you ladies. My boss, JJ Barnes, wants to close the case officially. He's writing a report about it as we speak, and said it was an accident, pure and simple."
"Do you know Horace Given?" I asked.
Digby stopped and looked at me. "It's funny you should ask," he said. "I do not know the man personally, but I know of him. I heard he's the brother of the dead man. Last week they were both having a cup of coffee in a local coffee shop. It appeared this man Horace got extremely angry and even threw a few plates around in the shop, while yelling he wouldn't mind killing Mr. Samuel Given."
"He said that?"
Digby pressed his lips together and gave us a small nod. "The owner of the coffee shop called us to complain. That's why I know about it."
"Did anything happen? I mean, did the police do anything about it?"
"Not really," Digby said. "I think that Horace fellow paid for the broken plates and that was about it."
By now we had arrived at Cabin 24. Digby carefully removed the red and white tape, opened the door and stepped inside. "It won't be long," he excused himself with a grin. "A last look," he said.
"Excuse me, Digby," I called out.
He stopped and turned. "What?"
"May we look around too?"
He frowned but then his boyish smile returned. "Sure, why not?
JJ Barnes wants to close the case anyway."
"Come on Dora," I urged her and we stepped inside. Things were strangely still, and the atmosphere was unpleasant. That was not strange of course, as only recently someone had died here and it seemed the lurid events had left their mark. The opened briefcase, just as Mrs. Grüntchen had seen it was still on the floor and the papers were lying there.
"And the blood on the edge of the table," I asked. "Was that really Samuel Given's blood?"
Digby nodded. "It's been confirmed. He really must have slipped."
I sighed. It still felt odd. Something about this whole situation didn't feel right, and I had learned in Pittsburg that when I felt this way, something was usuall
y wrong. "I am not sure," I replied. "I still think it’s possible Mr. Given was murdered. I felt that way from the very beginning."
Digby shrugged his shoulders. "All I know is that JJ Barnes is about to close the case, and once that is done, it will be much harder to get the truth on the table."
"In that case," I asked him, "would you care to come along to see Horace Given and do some snooping around?"
Digby cocked his brows and then stared, first at me, then at Dora. At last he nodded, and said, "Sounds wonderful. I didn't join the police force only to fill out reports and bring coffee around in the office. We can go with my car, then we make it official. Just let me clean up in here."
Horace Given was not listed as a citizen of Calmhaven.
When Digby called the office and asked for a check on the man, he learned Horace Given was a resident of Boulder Valley, but he was listed as a tourist, and had registered his camper at Camp Butterfly, one of Calmhaven's campgrounds.
"We're in luck," Digby said. "That camp is not far from here. Hop in, and we'll be there in a jiffy."
Thus, not even ten minutes later they drove up to a shiny white camper with sun panels on its roof.
"You can't miss it," the owner of the campground had said. "Go straight to field A, and it's the only camper there."
Digby helped Molly Gertrude out of the car and together the three of them walked up to the camper and knocked on the door.
"Who's there?" A deep voice barked from within the camper.
"Police," Digby shouted.
For a moment it was quiet, and then they heard noise. At last the small camper door swung open and a corpulent man with baggy cheeks and an unshaven face, peered through the dhole. Although I had never met Samuel Given alive, I had seen pictures of him and if this was his brother Horace, he looked nothing like him. Maybe it was just the combination of his suspicious, angry stare and the grubby band aid that was stuck to his temple that made him look more like a crime boss than the brother of a well-to-do, well-meaning philanthropist.