by Leigh Perry
He shrugged sheepishly.
After that I let him off the hook, and we chatted about the weather and the busyness of the season until I had an idea which called for a subtle conversational segue. Unfortunately, I was out of subtle conversational segues, so I went with my usual direct approach. “Hey, Oscar, can I ask for a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I’ve been looking into the case of that body our dog found.”
“I hoped you might be. The police around here can use a little extra brainpower, if you ask me.”
“They are stretched pretty thin,” I said, as if Pennycross had suddenly become a hive of mob activity. “I’ve got a name that might match the body, a woman who went missing in West Litchfield. The thing that has me confused is that as far as I can tell, the police there didn’t really look for her very hard, and I don’t know why. I don’t have an in with the police there, but since she worked for Bostock, I thought the security people there might have some information, but I don’t know who to ask and thought you might. I mean, you always seem to have your finger on the pulse of things here, and I’m hoping your counterparts over there are equally as efficient.” Poor Oscar puffed up his chest, which made me feel a little guilty, but he really did run a pretty tight ship at McQuaid.
“I could do that. Do you want an introduction, or would you rather I speak to my buddy?”
“I think it would be better coming from you, but could you keep it on the QT? Maybe you can come up with some excuse for asking.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll tell him I’ve had a few students disappear and ask how they handle similar cases, then work my way over to your lead. What’s the name of the missing woman?”
“Annabelle Mitchell. She would have disappeared roughly ten years ago, in late November or early December.”
He pulled out his phone and typed himself a memo. “Consider it done.”
“Thanks, Oscar.”
“Hey, we’re practically family.” Then realizing that he might be going a little too far, he added, “I mean we’re McQuaid family, what with you having worked here and your parents still being here.”
“Absolutely. You won’t say anything to Louis, will you?”
He grinned widely. “Mum’s the word.”
My parents arrived a minute later, and Oscar flashed me a conspiratorial wink as I went to join them. He was clearly hoping that he’d be able to help me pull something over on Louis.
The rest of the day was all about the holidays as my mother and I knocked a lot of items off our Christmas shopping lists. First was the game store, where I got Madison’s Switch, and Mom got Super Smash Brothers Ultimate and The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Then we hit Wray’s to pick up action figures and assorted geeky stocking stuffers for both Madison and Sid. Next to the mall to get a snazzy new cooking knife for Phil. I was going virtual for most of Sid’s Christmas gifts—a hefty Steam gift card for online gaming and a subscription for the Disney streaming service—and I already had Deborah covered. Of course, I couldn’t very well shop for Mom with her there, but I took note of a couple of things she admired to check out later. Though I knew I’d be picking up more odds and ends along the way, that took care of most of my list. All that was left was something for Charles.
We were ready to head home when Brownie called my cell phone to invite me to dinner Saturday night, and I happily accepted. Afterward, Mom announced that she had one last stop to make. She told me I could wait with the bags to rest my feet and came back a few minutes with an expression of faux innocence that wouldn’t have fooled me as a child, let alone as an adult.
I’d called the house to say not to delay dinner for Mom and me, and though they were finishing up by the time we got home, Phil, Madison, and Sid stayed at the table to keep us company while we ate. More importantly, they’d left us plenty of Phil’s famous Enamel chili, which was so spicy it could melt the enamel off of one’s teeth.
Mom couldn’t wait to tell everybody that I had a weekend date with Brownie planned, which led to raised eyebrows and speculative expressions all around. Well, except with Sid—he only managed the speculative expression.
“Lunch, making out on campus, and now this,” Madison said.
“How did you know about lunch and something that was not making out?” Then I answered my own question. “Deborah.”
Madison nodded. “I called her to see if she wants me to work this weekend so I can make some cash for shopping. Speaking of which, what are you getting Brownie for Christmas?”
“Coccyx, I hadn’t thought about that. What does one get an on-again/off-again boyfriend?”
“So he’s back to being a boyfriend?” Madison asked.
“I guess. I don’t know. But he is a friend, so I need to get him something. Any ideas?”
“I would suggest something small,” Phil said. “Not in cost, per se, but in physical size, given that he resides in a trailer.”
“It’s a lot more spacious in his trailer than you might think,” I said.
“Is it?” Mom said with a smile.
I turned bright red. Not that my parents didn’t know I’d spent the night with men in the past—I had a daughter, which was pretty solid evidence—but it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about.
After that, I beat a hasty retreat to my room, saying, “I’ve got wrapping to do.” Sid joined me, and was glad to hear that I’d reached out to Oscar.
“I haven’t had any luck today,” he said.
“I wouldn’t say that. You don’t know what we got you for Christmas.”
Sid kept trying to wheedle a hint out of me while he helped me wrap presents, which kept us occupied for the rest of the evening.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Enlisting Oscar turned out to be a good move. He called while I was teaching a class the next day and left a message that he already had information for me. When I called back, he offered to meet me that afternoon at Kimota’s, the closest thing Pennycross has to a hip coffee shop. It’s located next door to Thackery Locks, Deborah’s locksmith shop, but I’m sure that was just a coincidence.
Since I was coming straight from work, I didn’t have Sid with me, and I hoped he wouldn’t fuss too much.
Oscar was saving a place at one of the tables, ignoring several glares from coffee drinkers who wanted a place to work on their laptops. “Have a seat,” he said, waving me over. “What can I get you?”
“I should buy since you’re doing me a favor.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it. Besides, I want to ask you about something.”
“Then hot chocolate would be great.”
“Whipped cream?”
“By all means.”
Now it was my turn to guard his seat until he returned with a coffee for himself, my hot chocolate, and a couple of muffins.
“These were the last two chocolate chip, so I thought I better grab them while I could.”
“I respect you too much to disagree with you,” I said, helping myself.
Once we were situated, Oscar began. “So I called my friend Julio yesterday afternoon. He’s the second-in-command in Bostock security, and the one who observed your, um, conversation with Brownie. I told him I was info gathering for an update to our procedures manual, particularly how to handle students going missing. Their procedures are solid, by the way. They go to the cops immediately when a student is unaccounted for, with no messing around trying to keep it quiet to avoid bad publicity. They might move a little faster if the student lives on campus, but it’s pretty much the same for off-campus students.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
“It is, which is why we have a similar one. Unlike McQuaid, however, Bostock doesn’t really have a policy when it comes to faculty and other employees. They expect the family to do the reporting.”
“Annabelle Mitchell didn’t have any family as far as I know.”
“That’s what I figured,
so I posed that as a what-if scenario. That’s when Julio remembered hearing about a case with a custodian who went missing, which turned out to be your Annabelle Mitchell. He’s only been at Bostock for eight years, but when I asked for details, he asked his supervisor Bernice if she remembered the case. They put the phone on speaker so I could hear them both.”
He hesitated. “Georgia, this Mitchell woman wasn’t a friend of yours, was she?”
“No, I never met her. Why?”
“Because according to Bernice, she wasn’t somebody you’d want to be friends with. She was a thief.”
“Excuse me?” I said, thinking I must have misheard him. “Are we talking about the same person?”
“You know Mitchell was a custodian, right?”
I nodded.
“She worked in one of the dorms, and some of the students reported things had been taken from their rooms but only when Mitchell was working: jewelry, electronics, cash. Mitchell was off that day, and when they opened up her locker, lo and behold, some of the stolen items were in there.
“Her boss and some of the security crew were waiting for Mitchell the next morning, but somebody must have tipped her off because she never showed. She didn’t answer the phone either. Bernice said they went to her apartment, but she’d skedaddled.”
“How do they know she didn’t just ignore the doorbell?”
“Yeah, they might have peeked in the window. Not the best thing to do, but under the circumstances I can’t say I blame them.”
“Didn’t they call the cops?”
He made a face. “Admin told them not to because it would be bad publicity. Instead they returned the items they’d found, reimbursed the kids for the rest, and tried to sweep the whole incident under the rug. Which worked until a student started asking about why there was a new custodian at her dorm and found out Mitchell was gone. They think that student is the one who filed the missing person report in West Litchfield.”
“You don’t have a name for the student, do you?” I said, thinking it might look odd if I didn’t ask.
He shook his head. “Bernice didn’t mention it. Anyway, once the report was filed, the West Litchfield cops came to Bostock to find out when Mitchell was last seen and so forth. Bernice was there when her old boss—the former head of security—told them that if he had to guess, he’d say Mitchell left town on her own hook. Bernice asked if any of the other missing items were found in Mitchell’s apartment, but the cops called later and said Mitchell had cleared the place out. Not the furniture, but all her clothes and all her personal stuff were gone. They figure she wasn’t planning on coming back.
“West Litchfield was willing to put out a bulletin to get Mitchell back so she could be prosecuted, but the Bostock people said not to bother. Even if they found her, admin wouldn’t let them press charges because they didn’t want the story getting out.” He took a final bite of his muffin. “That’s why West Litchfield didn’t pursue it any further. They couldn’t arrest her without Bostock’s cooperation, and a missing person isn’t missing if she leaves willingly, which is what Mitchell had done.”
“Did they tell that to the person who reported her missing?”
“I don’t think so. The impression I got was that everybody involved was asked to keep it under their hats.”
I took a long swallow of my hot chocolate, trying to reconcile what Oscar had said with what everybody else had told me about Annabelle, but I couldn’t imagine Charles falling in love with a petty thief. Besides, hadn’t he said that Annabelle had arrived in Pennycross with nothing more than a small bag? Could she have stashed the rest of her belongings somewhere? Where and when, if she was afraid of somebody? For that matter, why would she have taken the time to pack up everything she owned if she was on the run? Then there were Lauri Biegler’s memories. Could Annabelle have bought treats for lonely students only to sneak into their rooms to steal their iPods?
Granted that people are walking contradictions, and nobody is all good or all bad, it still didn’t compute.
I realized it had been a while since I spoke. “Sorry, Oscar, but you’ve thrown me for a loop. I’m not sure what I was expecting to hear, but this wasn’t it. I don’t suppose you know who reported Annabelle for theft?”
“It didn’t occur to me to ask, honestly, and even if it had, that would have made it sound like I didn’t believe them when they were pretty convinced it was true. The only reason Bernice told me as much as she did was because she was still mad that her old boss didn’t do more to find Mitchell. If it had been up to her, they’d have made sure the woman didn’t get away with all those thefts. But if you’re right, and that body is her, maybe she didn’t get away with anything.”
“Thanks a lot for your help, Oscar. And for the snack. Wait, you said you had something you wanted to ask me about.”
“Yeah, that. I’ve been having a terrible time trying to come up with the right present for Deborah, and I thought you might have some advice.”
“She can be tricky to buy for.”
“With most women, I’d go with jewelry or perfume, but Deborah isn’t like most women.” His admiration for my sister’s differences was obvious from the look on his face. “She got a new bowling ball a few months back, so that’s out, and I don’t know where that leaves me.”
“I wish I had a suggestion for you, but…Wait, I do have one idea, but you’d have to do some research to make it work.” I told Oscar what I had in mind, and though he looked doubtful, he said he’d see what he could find.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sid was peeved when I got home and told him I’d met with Oscar without him. I let him complain for a few minutes but finally said, “Look, Sid, do I get upset when you find stuff online without me around?”
“That’s different!”
“Why? The fact is, there are things you can do online that I can’t, or at least I couldn’t without taking a lot longer. And there are things I can do in person that you can’t do without extra preparation. Teamwork doesn’t mean we have to live in each other’s back pockets.”
“As if I had pockets,” he scoffed, but then said, “Okay, you’re right. I’m just frustrated.”
“I’m not sure hearing Oscar’s story is going to help you.” I told him about Annabelle supposedly being a thief. “Coccyx, Sid, this case just keeps getting worse and worse.”
“Are you kidding? This is great news!”
“In what way?”
“Because we know why the cops closed their missing person case on Annabelle, and the fact that they weren’t looking anymore explains why I couldn’t find anything on the web. It also tells us that the Pennycross police aren’t likely to figure out Annabelle’s identity anytime soon.”
“True, but I’m not sure I’d call that great news.”
“Think it through. Now we have two possibilities to consider.” He pulled off a bony finger and lay it on the desk. “One, Annabelle was a thief.”
“I don’t think Charles would fall in love with a woman with sticky fingers.”
“From what I hear, love is both blind and complicated.”
“True.”
“So hypothetically, say that Annabelle was a thief. That could be why she was killed. One of her victims tracked her down and killed her for revenge. Or maybe she stole something incriminating—drugs or stolen gold bars or—”
“Stolen gold bars? In a college dorm room?”
“Okay, bad example, but it could have been something that could get somebody into trouble, and she was killed to cover that up.”
“I guess.”
He popped off another finger. “Second possibility: Annabelle wasn’t a thief at all, and somebody was framing her. Whoever was framing her is probably the person she was running from and quite likely the one who killed her.” He put both his fingers back into place. “We finally have motives to work with!”
“Possible motives, and we’d still need a motive for someo
ne to want to frame her, preferably one that doesn’t include gold bars.”
Sid opened his jaw and glared at me.
“Sid, what are you doing?”
“Sticking my imaginary tongue out at you.”
“Ah. Maybe you can find an app for that.”
“I could use a raspberry blowing app, too, now that you mention it. In the meantime, I want to talk to Lauri Biegler again and see if she knows who reported Annabelle for stealing. That should give us a suspect list!” Sid has a particular fondness for suspect lists because they lead to spreadsheets and dossiers.
After trading Facebook messages with Lauri, Sid arranged to talk to her on the phone later that evening, and she called Sid’s burner phone promptly at eight. Sid answered and put it on speaker while I sat quietly.
“Have you found out anything about Annabelle?” she asked.
Sid said, “I have some new information, but I want to see if you can either verify or refute it.”
“Okay.” She sounded confused.
“According to a source in the security office at Bostock, Ms. Mitchell was accused of stealing items from student dorm rooms.”
“What? That is total bull! Annabelle would never do anything like that.”
“Are you sure? I understand there were multiple instances of students reporting missing items after Ms. Mitchell cleaned their rooms.”
“I don’t care if the whole student body reported it, I still wouldn’t believe it.”
“And you never heard any rumors about that from any of the other students?”
“Not from anybody I believed.”
“But from somebody you don’t know?”
Lauri made an exasperated sound. “Okay, not long after I created the Facebook page, somebody posted that I shouldn’t bother looking for Annabelle because she was a crook who’d lifted all kinds of stuff from people’s rooms. He claimed she took his iPod and stole money out of his wallet. But I didn’t believe him.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d never heard of him. I mean, I didn’t know everybody in my dorm, but none of my friends knew who he was either. So I deleted the comment from the page, and he never posted again. I’d forgotten all about it until you brought this craziness up, and I swear, that is the only time I ever heard anything about Annabelle stealing.”