by Dana Marton
Sooner or later, he’d be showing up again to ask more questions.
Before that happened, she seriously needed to get her act together.
* * *
When Frank Carmelo didn’t respond, Harper asked again. “Who’s in the kitchen?”
“Nobody’s here but me.” The papery skin on Frank’s face flushed red. “And I don’t appreciate you accusing one of us just because you have no inkling how to catch the real killer.”
When an ancient gray cat meandered out of the kitchen and went straight to Frank’s chair to jump on his lap, Harper relaxed. “No offense meant. I’ve arrested people I never thought I’d arrest, for stuff I never thought they’d do. You never really know a person, do you? All I’m saying is, people have problems. Grandkids desperate for college money. Medical expenses…”
Frank petted the cat as he glared at Harper. “None of us killed Chuck.”
“Then what’s the harm in me checking? If I could quickly clear his friends, it’d get me closer to the real killer.”
The man pressed his thin lips together.
“Some of the hoard was taken,” Harper said. “Not all of it was recovered.”
Anger flared in Frank’s eyes, his lips thinning even more, until he snapped out, “You can ask the Bianchi girl about that.”
“I’m starting to think she might have been an unwitting accomplice at the most. You said it yourself. Hard to see her doing something this bad.”
“Her daddy was plenty crooked.”
“Sure he was. But when was she ever in trouble?”
“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Now that his friends were accused, Frank was ready to throw her under the bus.
“Listen, I’m not saying you’re wrong. But the judge is going to want evidence.” Harper paused, then tried an even friendlier tone. “My father has nothing but good to say about you. That’s why I came to you first. Help me out here, Frank.”
That had been the right track, because the man finally, reluctantly nodded.
Harper pulled out his notebook and pen.
“Dave Grambus,” Frank said. “Brody Cash. Dicky Poole.” And he kept going until Harper had ten names on the paper.
“A pretty large circle of friends for a recluse.”
“We only met once a month in person.”
Harper added Francis Carmelo to the bottom of the list and put a check mark to it, indicating that Frank had been interviewed. He didn’t cross off the name since Frank didn’t have an alibi.
“We couldn’t find Chuck’s car. You know where it might be?”
“Kept it in the driveway, rain or shine.” Frank thought for a second. “On account of the coming storm, might have pulled it into the garage. Did you check there?”
Harper nodded.
“Didn’t the Bianchi girl have it when you caught her?”
“She was in her own vehicle.”
Frank thought for a second. “Might be right, then, about the accomplice.”
Harper asked him a dozen more questions, but gained no helpful information, nothing to point him in the right direction.
He finally put his notebook away and stood. “I appreciate the help, Frank.”
“You find out anything, you let me know,” the old man said, his brown eyes suddenly flinty, as if he might have some vigilante justice in mind.
“I’ll let you know when I can.” Harper turned back from the door. “One more thing. Who has the access code to the safe at Chuck’s place?”
“We all do. Why wouldn’t we? It’s our stuff in there.”
Yet the keypad had been busted. Harper paused for another question. “Was the pass code ever changed?”
“Sure. Chuck changed it from time to time, then let us know. Called around. Never put it in writing.” He tapped his temple.
“On a regular schedule?”
“Supposed to. But mostly when he remembered to do it.”
Did that make it less likely that one of the preppers was the killer? Not really. The killer could have gotten the goods out of the safe, then busted the lock. Like he’d done with the front door, to throw off the investigation.
Harper made a mental note to call in an expert on the safe.
Also, it was possible that Lamm had changed the code but hadn’t had a chance yet to call his buddies. The killer, not realizing this, came and murdered the old man, then, when his pass code didn’t work, he had to resort to busting the lock open.
“Mind telling me how much money you all had stashed away?”
Pride washed over Frank’s face. His chin came up. “Half a million in gold, about twenty thousand in silver.”
“Thank you. That helps.”
“And I expect you to recover every bullion and coin.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
He called Chase as he drove out of the development. “Were there any fingerprints on the keypad?”
“Lamm’s. If anyone else touched it, they wore gloves.”
“Thanks.”
Harper hung up, then pulled over to look through his list of names. Some he knew better than others. One name jumped out at him in particular: Dicky Poole, Allie’s old landlord who’d tried to take advantage of her after her father had lit out and left her to fend for herself.
Harper had been meaning to talk to the guy, was putting it off until the murder case was tied up. Looked like he wouldn’t have to wait after all. He looked up Dicky’s current address on his laptop, then swung by the fancy rancher that had a small boat in the driveway.
He knocked on the door. No response.
“About time,” the older woman coming from the house next door shouted over, letting out a schnauzer that was graying at the muzzle.
As Harper headed across the snow-covered strip of lawn between the two houses, she continued with “I was wondering when the old lecher would be picked up. Not soon enough. The high school girls waiting for the school bus shouldn’t have to put up with harassment like that. The things he says to them ought to be illegal.”
“Detective Harper Finnegan. And you are, ma’am?”
“Alma Stubner.”
Harper pulled his notebook. “Would you mind if I took your contact information?”
The woman stopped a couple of feet in front of him. “If it gets that pervert out of the neighborhood, gladly.”
Harper wrote down name, phone number, address. Then he crouched to pat the little dog before he asked, “Do you know where I might find Poole?”
“Florida. Three-day fishing trip.”
“You know where, exactly? His hotel?”
The woman shook her head. “We’re not exactly friends.”
“Do you know when he left?”
“Tuesday. Saw him going, and good riddance. Early Tuesday morning. Peete can’t hold his bladder anymore, so I have to take him out at the crack of dawn, snowstorm or no snowstorm. We were hurrying back in, on the sidewalk, mind you, when that degenerate sideswiped Peete with his suitcase. Almost knocked the poor dog down. Had to be before seven, because we were back inside by the time the Morning Show came on.”
So, Poole left town a few hours after the murder. Hell of a coincidence. “You wouldn’t have information on his whereabouts on Monday evening?”
Alma flashed him a don’t-be-stupid look. “How the hell would I? It’s not like I go over there to check on him.”
“Of course. But you might have noticed if he had his car in the driveway or not, when you took the dog out.”
“He keeps his car in his garage. Especially when it snows.”
“I see. Thank you for your time, ma’am.”
Once he was back in his cruiser, Harper consulted his list of suspects and called his father.
“I remember you talking about Brody Cash before, but I can’t remember what you said. How do you know him?”
“Mr. Cash? He taught me in school. Must be around eighty by now. No wife, no kids, always lived alone. Big believer in corporal punishment. Use
d to keep an oversized wooden ruler on his desk, and if any of us boys misbehaved, he’d smack us over the head.” Sean Finnegan paused. “My flight just got called. We’re boarding. You look in on your mother.”
“Will do. Give the hogs my regards.”
“I plan on giving them the business end of my rifle.”
Harper laughed as they ended the call. Then he ran Cash through the system. No criminal record. DMV database showed one vehicle registered to him, a 2004 Oldsmobile Alero.
He googled the guy next, and found a feature article in the Broslin Chronicle that mentioned him. The topic was medical bankruptcy, and he was listed as one of dozens of local victims of health industry greed.
Bingo. Follow the money. Dicky Poole leaving town the morning after the murder made him look suspicious, but the more Harper thought about Cash as he drove to the address listed in the DMV database, the more his instincts prickled.
The victim would have let any of his friends in. The men all had knowledge of the safe. But Cash was in desperate need of money.
Harper had half a case built in his head against Brody Cash by the time he pulled up to the man’s house, but then he almost didn’t get out of the cruiser. The Oldsmobile Alero was stuck in about two feet of snow in the driveway, a shovel leaning against it where whoever had cleaned the walkway had given up. Didn’t look like the car had gone anywhere in the past two days.
Then again, the victim’s car was missing…
He rang the bell and waited. A couple of minutes passed before the door opened and Brody Cash appeared, wearing a back brace over his Mr. Rogers cardigan.
Of course, he could have put it on after he’d looked out the window and seen the cruiser in front of his house. Just as the smile the man had for Harper could be fake.
“Detective Finnegan?” Cash’s thick salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, his face shaved, everything about him orderly. “Sean’s son, are you? Frank called to tell me you might be stopping by. Is it true that the money’s gone?”
“Some of it. I’m sorry. I can’t divulge details of the case.”
“Understandable.” He waved Harper in. “I’ll put on coffee.”
“Thanks. But one more hit and I’ll be seeing double.”
“I know what you mean.” Cash showed him to the living room with a slow, shuffling gait.
The place was like a museum, the walls and shelves covered with books and artifacts. A portrait of George Washington took pride of place above the mantel. Still above that, a pair of old dueling pistols were displayed in what Harper’s mother called a shadow frame. Old inkwells, antique books, a sword that could be from the Civil War… Allie would love all this, Harper thought, but then put her from his mind. He needed to focus on the case.
“Since you already know I’m investigating Chuck Lamm’s murder, mind if I skip the preliminaries and cut straight to my questions?” Harper sat. “Could you tell me where you were on Monday between six and eight p.m.?”
“Right here. Probably cooking and eating dinner.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
“Nobody was here but me.”
“When was the last time you had contact with Allie Bianchi?”
Cash frowned. “Never.”
“Tony Bianchi’s daughter. Are you sure? You didn’t tutor her or mentor her back in the day? Some of the retired teachers run a tutoring program at the library.”
“I took early retirement due to problems with my spine from a car accident. I needed half a dozen surgeries to fix it, could barely leave the house for a while, let alone volunteer.”
“That’s tough.” Harper nodded. “Physical therapy didn’t work?”
“Not enough. And I gave it the old college try. Twice a week, an hour at the health center, for years.”
“That had to cost a pretty penny.”
Anger tightened Cash’s features. “Between six surgeries and the rehab, the cursed hospitals bankrupted me. They overcharge you first, then when you can’t pay, they charge you interest. Then they sic the debt collectors on you. I had to change my phone number.”
“Ever ask Chuck to give you back your share of the emergency funds? To pay some of those bills?”
Cash squinted. “No. Couldn’t care less about the hospital being out some money. Haven’t you listened to what I just said?” He switched to what once might have been his tough teacher tone. “They charge you sixty bucks for a six-dollar disposable gown. Twenty for a ten-cent pill of acetaminophen. They never fixed me all the way either, but certainly took everything I had. I don’t care if they go out of business.”
Maybe he meant that and maybe he didn’t. Bottom line was, Cash had a decent motive and no alibi. On the other hand, there were plenty of other people on Harper’s list.
“Who do you think liked Lamm the least among the other preppers?”
Cash shrugged. “Probably Dave.”
“Dave Grambus?”
“Chuck was his boss when they both worked at the paper mill. Chuck fired Dave Grambus for never showing up on time for his shift. Dave’s nephew ended up marrying Chuck’s neighbor’s daughter a few years later, and they were both invited to the wedding. They had a brawl. Chuck didn’t want to invite Dave to prep with us, but among all of us, Dave is the best hunter, and he’s Frank Carmello’s best friend. Frank wouldn’t join without him. We voted, and the majority voted Dave in.”
“How did Chuck feel about that?”
“Didn’t much like it. Half the time, he forgot to invite Dave to meetings. Or gave him the wrong password accidentally when there was a password change for the safe. You know what President Lincoln said?”
Harper waited until Frank told him. “Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.”
“I’m guessing Chuck’s shenanigans made Dave unhappy?”
“Dave proposed that we vote to elect the leader of the group instead of going with Chuck as default, just because Chuck started it.”
So Dave was mad at Chuck and wanted to replace him. There was a word for that, Harper thought. Motive. Just as strong, if not stronger, than Brody Cash’s. Which pretty much settled where Harper was going next.
Chapter Thirteen
Allie poked her head out when she heard Shannon moving around outside her room in the hallway. The B and B’s proprietor was dusting her shelves of curiosities with an ancient feather duster.
Allie opened her door wider. “Can I help with anything?”
“I need this much exercise, but thank you, dear.” Shannon lifted a jar of eyes and cleaned behind it. “I have a nice young woman come and clean every day when the place is full. Off-season, she only comes once a week. She spruces this place up pretty well. I just dust here and there in between.”
She lifted a pair of antique brass binoculars off the shelf next, cleaned them, then hugged them to her heart before she gently returned them to their place. “I miss my Henry. We used to go bird-watching whenever we could steal a minute away from the business.”
“I don’t know a thing about birds.”
“Me neither, honestly. I only went along to be with him.” Shannon lowered her feather duster with a nostalgic smile. “You know, he asked me to go for a walk in the woods with him on our first date. I thought he was a pervert! Lord knows what he’d do with me, that’s what I thought.”
While Allie laughed, Shannon shook her head. “I turned him right down. And the next time. And the next.”
“How did he ever convince you?”
“He came to call on me and asked if I’d just sit on a bench with him in Broslin Square. So we did that, just sat on the bench, and he’d point to a tree and tell me to look. He brought his father’s binoculars. Eventually, he got me trusting him for that walk in the woods. Didn’t do anything untowardly, just talked to me about birds. There was a patience to that man, a kindness.”
The longing in Shannon’s eyes made Allie wonder what it’d be like to find love like that, t
he love of a lifetime.
“I thought,” Shannon said, “there’s a difference between a boy who’d shoot a bird for fun, and one who’d shoot a bird for dinner, and one who’d look at a bird in a tree and give thanks to God for blessing the world with beauty.” She paused. “My father was an honest man, but a harsh man. He had a hardness to him, especially after his business went under. Too hard on my mother, at times, I used to think. But not all men are the same, dear.”
Allie thought about her father, then about Zane, then Harper. No, all men were not the same. Some men weren’t even who she thought they were. Take Harper.
He used to be the boy who’d broken her heart.
Then the detective who’d arrested her for murder.
And now…the man she couldn’t evict from her thoughts.
Flipping Harper Finnegan.
* * *
Since Dave Grambus didn’t answer the door at his ground-floor apartment when Harper stopped by for an interview, he decided to drive back to the station, the thought of which gave him a brief thrill before he realized Allie was no longer there.
“Do you know anyone who works with safes?” he asked Leila as he walked through the door. She replaced Robin when the morning shift ended.
She didn’t even have to think about it. “Sure. Dusty, my neighbor’s nephew. He used to install safes for pawn shops. Now he works at one, part-time. One of those gig people. Delivers food too. I think he’s got four jobs.”
“Could you please set up a time at his earliest convenience for a police consultation? Preferably today?”
“Yep.”
“Thanks.”
In the meanwhile, Harper ate ramen soup out of the vending machine—not something he’d ever tell his mother. Not that he was scared of his mother, because he was not, but… Rose Finnegan was an Irish woman who’d raised a houseful of boys. Only a fool got on her bad side.
Harper caught up on paperwork, then went back to Frank Carmelo’s list of fellow preppers and started calling around. No sense in driving out to somebody’s house if they weren’t home.