Best Laid Plans

by Kristi Rose

  “Is this common knowledge? About the Danners being self-sufficient?”

  June sighed wearily. “I don’t think Laura wants people to know. Josh let it slip once. Apparently, this lifestyle was something Laura and Carl embraced, and she kept it going after he died.”

  This gave Josh’s actions new meaning. Laura’s surplus meant more than being prepared. “No wonder Levi had been upset. I wonder what else Josh was up to.”

  June shook her head, and as if the action cleared away some fog, she jumped. “I need to get back to the front.” She picked up the box of assorted items from her chair and hefted it to her hip.

  “What’s that?” I peered into the box.

  “Lost and found. I try to clean it out every few weeks. You’d be amazed at what people leave behind.”

  “And never come back to get apparently,” I said. The contents were numerous. “Come to think of it, I believe I left my lens cap here.” I gestured to the box, asking for permission to dig through.

  She nodded. Sure enough, I found the cap against the side of the box next to a bag from a local headshop.

  I held up the bag. “Pot? You’d think someone would come back for that.”

  June shook her head. “Vape juice.” Her eyes went wide. “Levi Danner’s vape juice. He was here having coffee when his mom came in and made him leave. The bag was under his chair.”

  Levi vaped? Interesting, and clearly a secret if it were true. “He never came back for it?” I picked inside the bag. Just like a kid, he’d bought marshmallow flavor. Yuck.

  June shook her head.

  “Maybe it wasn’t his.” Because I imagine vape juice didn’t come easy or cheap for a teen.

  “Anything’s possible.” June’s expression said she wasn’t buying it.

  With the box on one hip and her hand on my shoulder, she pushed me out the door as she said, “I really have to get back to the front.”

  Once outside her office, she slammed the door and stalked off.

  12

  Friday

  Before I could follow, a woman came out of the restroom. She stopped by the bulletin board and ripped my number off the ad I’d posted. I’d made one of those old-school ads with the proposition on the top of the page, Need a PI? and the bottom was a row of cut strips with my number on it. June turned the corner out of sight.

  “Can I help you?” I put my finger on the ad pointing to my name. “I’m Samantha True.” I held out my hand.

  The woman, average size and my mom’s age, wore her dark hair in a short bob. She was dressed in black slacks and a silky white blouse with black polka dots.

  “Gillian Reid.”

  We shook hands. She glanced at the number she’d torn from my ad. “I’m not sure I want to hire a PI, but the police have blown me off, and I don’t know what else to do.”

  “The Wind River Police?” I wouldn’t be surprised if she said yes.

  “My car was broken into earlier today and my briefcase stolen. And your cops took a report and wished me luck getting it back. But I need it back.” She sounded desperate.

  “Why don’t you walk me through it, and I’ll let you know if I can help.” I was doubtful. Her briefcase could be in any trash can anywhere from here to Seattle for all we knew. I gestured for her to lead the way back to the coffee shop’s main room.

  We went around the corner, and I pointed to a table away from the mommies, closer to a row of four people banging away on their computers, looks of constipation or concentration on their faces. I caught a few glares from the mommies.

  “Can I get you a coffee?”

  Gillian shook her head. “I—”

  June came from around the counter toward us. “You all ordering anything? Because if this is business, then you need to take it elsewhere.”

  Not gonna lie, I was caught off guard. “Is there some rule or something I don’t know about?” I had no problem buying drinks and supporting June’s business. I understood how frustrating it could be to have people loitering.

  June cut her eyes to the mommies. She pointed to the line of people on computers. “I have those tables reserved.” Then she pointed to the schedule that hung over the mommies on the wall. “Right now, they’re reserved for the writers. See what the board says.”

  June had designated times listed on the board. Next to the time were symbols or emojis.

  I glanced at my watch and pointed to the schedule. “It has a book by the time.” I pointed to the computer people. “They aren’t reading.”

  “They’re writing books. This is their time. If you want to get on the schedule, submit a form. Until then, you need to take your business elsewhere.”

  I pointed to the mommies who were shooting me angry looks. “They’re not on the schedule.”

  Again, June pointed to the schedule. “Yes, they are. That’s them, the schoolhouse.” She stepped closer and said in a voice so low I strained to hear, “You have to leave. They’re reading the article about Josh on the paper’s website.” She slid her eyes to the side to show she meant the mommies.

  Now June’s behavior made sense.

  I said to Gillian, “Why don’t we take this outside, and you can walk me through everything.”

  Gillian was already moving toward the door. “My pleasure. Let’s get this over with. I can’t wait to get out of this town.”

  Gillian Reid was an independent forensic accountant who was hired to complete an audit. Gillian purposefully left names out of the conversation, but said she’d come to town for two meetings, one of which was canceled at the last minute. After her first meeting, Gillian tossed her briefcase in her trunk and went to the market to get a drink and some snacks for her return drive to Portland. While she was in the store, someone had stolen her briefcase. Hopefully, this was also when the CCTV cam that Chuck had installed outside his market picked up the entire burglary.

  I explained this to her and that I’d need more information if the video turned out to show nothing. “If you hire me, I sign a confidentiality contract.” I assured her. We completed the paperwork at the table outside June’s.

  Turns out, Gillian had been hired to audit Josh’s spending. Her stolen briefcase carried all the documents she’d compiled against Josh. Documents she needed to produce to get paid.

  “Who hired you?” The list was short because the person would have to be someone with access to school financial accounts.

  “Alice Andrews,” she said.

  “And who was the canceled meeting with?” I had my notebook out on the table.

  “Jenna Miller.”

  At my blank look, Gillian continued, “She worked with Chapman in his other districts and was arrested for money laundering while at Kitsap School District.”

  Gillian and I parted ways with my promise to call her with information within twenty-four hours. I sent Toby to Chuck’s to try and get the footage and follow up with any leads, like car tags, if we were to be so lucky.

  The district office for Wind River School District took up space on the third floor of the City Hall building. Alice Andrews had been superintendent of schools for over three years. My parents often went to dinner with Alice and her husband. And both were in my dad’s fantasy football league.

  An old, temperamental elevator with the retractable fence across the front deposited me on the top floor following a slow creak of its doors opening and a hard push from me to get the fence to retract.

  The district secretary, Tammy McCoy, looked up from her desk that held court in the center of the small waiting room. I knew her from community events. Behind her desk were two office doors, each one off to the side.

  She said, “You’re better off taking the stairs.”

  “I feel lucky to be here.” I glanced back at the elevator, wondering why I hadn’t noticed it was sketchy before. Probably because I always took the one flight up to my mom’s office.

  “Don’t think you aren’t. How can I help you, Samantha?” Tammy was a well-put-together mom. Her cloth
es weren’t the most fashionable, but classic. Her makeup was simple. Her hair full, eighties style with bangs. And considering it was making a comeback, the look worked.

  “Any chance I can speak with Mrs. Andrews? I’m working on a case regarding a theft and just had a few questions.” I showed her my PI badge.

  She smiled. “Nice badge. Kinda cool.”

  “It’s just the little certificate that comes with the license.” A photo accompanied the certificate. Mine was a hot mess. I couldn’t stop laughing the entire time I was trying to take it. Doing so made me feel like a poser, and that’s what had cracked me up. On a whim, I’d gone with it.

  I tapped the metal badge. “I bought this online.”

  She chuckled. Then did some clicking on her keyboard. “You’re in luck. She has fifteen minutes before her next meeting. Let me give her a heads up.”

  She picked up the phone, pressed two buttons, then said, “Alice, Samantha True is here. In an official private investigator capacity. She has a few questions for you regarding…” She raised her eyes to me.

  “Gillian Reid,” I supplied.

  She repeated the name, waited a breath, then hung up. “Right through that door.” Tammy pointed to the door on the right.

  “Thanks.” As I made my way to the door, it swung open, and Alice Andrews beckoned me inside. She closed the door and gestured for me to take a seat on one of the two round club chairs in front of her desk. Her office was light and airy and done in pastels of blue and yellow and green. Pictures of all the Wind River schools hung along one wall.

  I said, “Did Ms. Reid call you?” Hopefully Gillian had broken the news about the theft.

  Mrs. Andrews nodded. “Yes, and I’m surprised, actually. Who would want to steal her work?” She snorted with disdain. “I mean, Josh Chapman would’ve absolutely stolen her work, but he’s dead.” She ended with a smile. A genuine expression of pleasure.

  The hairs on my arms rose. “I take it you’re pleased that Josh is dead.”

  Her smile wavered. “Oh, no. I wanted him alive. I wanted to take him down. Watch him burn into nothing but dull gray ashes. But I didn’t get that, and this is the next best thing.” She shrugged like we were talking about something as casual as the weather. Not a dead guy.

  “Um, I’m sorry to ask, Mrs. Andrews, but did Josh do something to you personally? You seem…” I debated my words. “Angry?”

  She slapped her hand on her desk. “I am angry. I never wanted that snake oil salesman to run VGS, and he knew it. A man that shifty can’t have the best interest of the children at heart, and that just sticks in my craw. It’s all about the children.”

  She looked away. From the YouTube videos I’d been watching about interrogation and reading body language, Alice Andrew’s actions told me she had fed me a lie.

  Drawing from what I knew about Josh, I said, “I’m guessing Mrs. Reid found padded invoices. Why don’t you tell me about those.”

  Mrs. Andrews’s cheeks went bright red and her eyes widened. She shook her head.

  I pushed. “Mrs. Andrew’s, padding invoices was Josh’s MO.”

  She clasped her hands over her mouth, laughter eked out. She said through her fingers and chuckles “I’m sorry. I laugh when I’m nervous.”

  She’s done this at the school the day Josh died.

  I said, “You aren’t the only one he was taking advantage of.”

  After a long pause said through her fingers, “But I bet I’m the only one who appears to be in cahoots with him.”

  I blinked in surprise. “How so?”

  She sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Truthfully, I don’t know. I can barely manage my smartphone, but according to Gillian, he forged my signature and had enough of my information to open a joint account. All the overages he was taking from the invoices were going into this account. And it looks like I was withdrawing them.”

  Her eyes filled with tears but she held them back.

  “And you were using Gillian to prove that not only was he embezzling, but you weren’t involved.”

  She nodded.

  From my bag, I took out a small notebook and tapped the pen against the paper. Playing a hunch, I said, “Did you ever figure out what he was doing with the Chromebooks?”

  Mrs. Andrews shook her head. “He reutilized them.”

  I shook my head. “What’s that mean?”

  “When assets are old, we have to move them off the balance sheet. Typically, when reutilizing items like furniture or equipment, we sell them on the state website, and the proceeds come back to the school. Josh said he sold the Chromebooks on a private site. He sent me an invoice for all new laptops, but I refused to sign it. The ones he had were only two years old.”

  I jotted this down in my notebook. So Josh said he sold the Chromebooks but really he’d stored them in his closet and was putting new asset tags on them, logging them as the newly purchased Chromebooks. “You might want to go over to the police station and tell them this. Mention you’re looking for Chromebooks.”

  She gave me a skeptical look.

  I continued, “They might have come across your equipment, and they need to know Josh was being investigated.”

  Mrs. Andrews squirmed in her seat. “I suppose since I’ve now told you, it would be in my best interest to inform the police before they hear it from anyone else.” She slammed her fist on her desk. “Darn that man. He’s been nothing but trouble. Even in death, he’ll ruin me.”

  I didn’t share with Mrs. Andrews that her outburst gave emphasis to the idea that she had the motive to kill Josh. I thumped my notepad against my thigh. “How so?”

  “I thought I could handle this quietly, but that was a pipe dream. I’ll have to tell the board the truth. I’ll probably lose my job.” Her mouth turned down, etching her face with deep creases of sadness.

  When it came to offering comforting words, I sucked, so I skipped it. “Okay…” I tapped my notepad against my leg. “I’m sure Mrs. Reid will keep you up to date.”

  Mrs. Andrews stood, and we shook. Her hand trembled in mine.

  I said, “Last question. Someone mentioned you wanted to hire your niece? Who’s your niece?”

  “Danika Post. Now there’s a person invested in children.” Alice shook her head.

  Years of schooling my features came in handy as I masked my surprise. I let myself out and took the stairs out of the building. On the sidewalk, my phone buzzed.

  Incoming call from Toby.

  “Tell me you got something.” Toby was my ace in the hole.

  “With your trunk burglar? Not yet. Still waiting for Chuck’s video. The man moves at the speed of a sloth,” he said irritably.

  Pot calling the kettle black, but I kept my thoughts to myself. A cooing sound filtered through the phone.

  “How’s Lady M?”

  Toby said, “Great, very happy. Until I get in the car. She hates that. Anyway, I cross-referenced the numbers on that roll of asset tags you took pics off.” Having seen the stack in Josh’s closet and the new roll of asset tags, I’d acted on a hunch.

  I said, “And let me guess. You found an invoice billing the school for new Chromebooks.”

  “Yep. The invoice is from an educational website called Pay Forward For The Kids. Supposedly a not-for-profit that gets products wholesale and passes along the savings to school districts. Or lets schools sell products via the site.”

  “How does this site make its money?”

  Toby sighed. “Site says add five percent of the final sale bill.”

  “Why the sigh?” Toby was easy to read. Without his vape pen to calm him, he was quick to be irritated.

  “The site’s kinda lacking.”

  “Lacking?” Were his professional expectations coming out, or was his gut telling him something I needed to know?

  He harrumphed. “The page looks professional enough. A simpleton could have set it up though, maybe three pages total. No testimonies
. No evidence they do what they say. It’s like a dummy site we created in school when we were learning to code.”

  His words “a dummy website” struck a chord. How far would Josh go to run a con? A dummy website wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. I switched gears. “How fast can you pull up any emails from Alice Andrews?”

  Clicking sounds came through the line, and then Toby said, “They’re up.”

  “Send them to me, please. I just had a chat with Mrs. Andrews, and she’s carrying a boatload of anger toward Josh. My guess is he was blackmailing her.” I told Toby about the joint account and how Josh made it seem like Alice Andrews was his partner in crime.

  He hooted. Lady M echoed it. “Found them. I’d say she had anger. The last ten emails from her are threats. And I quote, ‘burn you down until you’re nothing but white-hot-ash.’”

  “Whoa,” I said and turned to stare up at the top-floor window that looked into Mrs. Andrews’s office. “Maybe she killed Josh. With him dead, she could sweep everything under the carpet and give the job to Danika Post, her niece.” I kicked the curb. “Trouble with this entire case was the person in the room when the victim died was me. So the actual crime happened elsewhere, and who knew when. Or how. I really hope she didn’t do it. I hate when people I know are killers.”

  Leo pulled up to the curb in a police cruiser and idled. I held up one finger. The universal sign of wait a moment.

  Toby laughed. “Don’t forget to get evidence while you’re trying to prove there’s a killer among us. It’s making me paranoid of my neighbors.”

  Yeah, evidence. That’s the thing about this PI gig that differed from being a studio photographer. If I took a picture that just wasn’t right, I could photoshop it. Sucking at being a PI wasn’t an option. Not when lives were at stake. And I was determined to do this job to the best of my abilities. I just hoped my abilities didn’t suck.