The dead of winter, p.14
The Dead of Winter, page 14
A large group of people, fifteen or so, waved and said “Hi” when I entered. They’d gathered in a circle, balancing plastic plates laden with snacks on their laps. Judging by the impressive collection of beer and spirits on a table, alcoholic drinks were the beverages of choice.
While the fact that a lot of the members here were going to drink and drive worried me, I wasn’t going to judge. Memories of my father’s wake flooded my mind. I’d walked home that night after having one too many. But I knew a few family friends who’d driven when they shouldn’t have. Given the circumstances then, I’d given them a pass. This time, I’d call Matt and encourage him to find a way to get these grieving souls home safely.
I set those musings aside when Sal came over to greet me.
“Allie, this is a surprise. What brings you by?” After shaking my hand, he guided me toward a table next to the drinks, where a buffet had been assembled.
My mouth started watering at the site. Crock-Pots of chili were surrounded by a tray of chicken wings and a variety of fixings for lunch meat sandwiches. Sweet treats like cookies, cakes, and pies that were still warm from the oven sat next to savory items like chips and queso and shrimp cocktail. These people knew how to shoot guns. They knew how to prepare a feast, too.
“Since I couldn’t make it to the funeral, I wanted to come by to pay my respects.” To get my mind off the food, I walked toward a poster-sized portrait of Newt propped up on an aluminum display easel.
“That’s kind of you.” Sal joined me by the portrait. “Would you like to say something to the group? I’m sure they’d love to hear a few words from you.”
At first, I wanted to decline. I wasn’t a member of their club. What could I possibly say about their president that they didn’t already know? Then, once again, Dad’s wise words came back to me. They weren’t monsters. They were people mourning the loss of their friend. A few kind words couldn’t hurt.
Sal’s eyes got a touch cloudy when I agreed. Hopefully, that was a sign that I’d made the right decision. He led me to the edge of the circle and introduced me.
“Allie wanted to say a few words about Newt.” He bowed and stepped back.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the service yesterday. I am glad I was able to catch you all here today and I appreciate your warm welcome. Newt was an asset to this community for decades and we’re poorer without him.”
I took a sip of water. Everyone’s attention was on me. I needed to make my words matter, so I told them the story about the leather pouch he made for Brent. When I finished, a few club members dabbed at the corners of their eyes. Others smiled and nodded. Evidently, I’d chosen the right story. I took the opportunity to step out on a limb.
“If any of you have any idea about who may have taken Newt’s life or why, please don’t hesitate to speak to the police. We can’t bring him back. We can bring his murderer to justice, though.”
There were several comments of assent. I thanked them for their time and shut my mouth. Anything more ran the risk of becoming counterproductive. These folks needed to be encouraged, lifted up, not browbeaten.
It was a long shot, but I figured if I hung around for a bit, I might be able to coax info out of someone. With that thought in mind, I meandered toward the buffet table. While I was nibbling on a tortilla chip, Jack Rogers, a buddy from the 9/11 committee, came up alongside me.
“Thanks for coming.” He put a handful of baby carrots on his plate. “Since I’ve never seen you here before, are you really here for a social call and nothing else?”
I chewed on a celery stick while I debated my answer. Jack was a friend. In the end, trust won out.
“I may be looking for information about Newt. The folks here knew him as well as anyone.”
“Thought as much.” He scratched behind an ear. “You didn’t hear this from me, but there have been grumblings from some members who aren’t happy with how the club’s been spending money. Like, not all expenditures are going to support the club’s mission, if you know what I mean.”
My thoughts went straight to the ledger. Was Newt misappropriating funds? Or was he trying to figure out if someone else was?
I was going to have to extend my stay a bit longer. Perhaps this case wasn’t as straightforward as a crime committed so someone could get their hands on the store property.
“I do. Any thoughts?” I munched on a tortilla chip. Folks knew we were on the 9/11 committee, so our chat shouldn’t raise any suspicions. Still, one couldn’t be too careful if the murderer was among us.
“Not really. It’s mostly coming from the older members. Problem is they’re keeping their complaining to themselves. I think it’s because they don’t want word to get out.”
“Aha.” I wiped my fingers with a napkin. “So much for the saying there’s no such thing as bad publicity. May I ask why you’re telling me this?”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “I didn’t spend my time overseas just to stand idly by and watch people get away with breaking the law here at home. And you’re as good at being a detective as you are at keeping things under your hat.”
I thanked Jack for the intel and went looking for Sal. He was the treasurer. If there was an authority on the club’s finances, it was him.
He was out on the gun range, so I hung out. Members would head outdoors to fire off a few rounds on the range, then return for a snack or drink with their friends. One person was conspicuous by their absence, though.
Junior was nowhere to be seen. Interesting. Maybe he had to be at work. Or maybe he was more upset about the election than he was letting on. I made a mental note to look into that issue just as Sal came back inside.
An old nemesis of mine, Jax Michaels was by his side. Based on the sneer directed at me, Jax still resented me for accusing him of murder, and other crimes, a few years back.
I ignored the man and put my hand on Sal’s arm.
“Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute? In private if you don’t mind?”
“Sure. I need to pack up this beauty, anyway.” A fancy rifle was in his hands. He caressed it like I’d caress the cover of a first edition hardback of Nancy Drew’s The Mystery of the Old Clock.
I followed him into the office where we’d chatted the other day. He slid the rifle into a softcover case that had been draped across the desk. While he zipped it up, he bumped a laptop. Someone was using a computer here. The screen came to life to display a spreadsheet.
It was tough to be certain, but a few lines seemed to contain the names of businesses. I whipped out my phone and jotted down the names while he put the rifle away. Later, I’d see if they showed up in Newt’s ledger.
“So, what’s on your mind?” He leaned the rifle against the wall behind him.
“That’s a nice gun. Had it long?”
“Oh, that?” He shook his head. “No, actually. Came across it when I was surfing the web recently. With the group getting together today, it was the perfect chance to try it out.”
“Are you a collector like Newt?” I knew little about firearms, but even I could tell that the rifle looked expensive. I couldn’t help wondering if it was one of the guns taken from Newt’s safe. Then again, if it was one of Newt’s guns, why hadn’t the club members noticed? Or were they reluctant to say anything for fear of causing a row.
“Not by a long shot, pardon the pun. I like to keep my eyes open for a good deal, though. When I find one, boom, I’m all over it.” He slapped a palm on the desktop for emphasis.
I almost jumped out of my seat. I was already on edge. Now, I knew exactly how Ursi felt when I made a racket at home that caused her to dash under the bed to hide. She had an apology coming to her for the times I made fun of her for disdain of loud noises.
“Gotta love a bargain. The reason I wanted to speak to you alone is a sensitive matter. I was visiting with Shelly earlier on account of Newt’s guns being reported missing. When we were looking through the safe for clues, we came across a hard-copy ledger.”
He sat up straight. “I thought the police searched the safe.”
“They did. According to Shelly, they must have overlooked it.” I stopped for couple of seconds. “The police have it now, though.” That was a small lie, but he didn’t need to know that.
“That’s good.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he closed the laptop. “So, any idea what was in it?”
Sal’s movements gave him away. The man was probably the worst poker player in Rushing Creek. I was pleased to have him uneasy. I didn’t know the reason for his discomfort, though. I needed to tread lightly to avoid getting him mad and being thrown out of the place.
“Shelly and I were curious, so we went through it. It sure looked like a ledger for the club here. Any idea why he had it? I mean, you’re the treasurer, after all.”
Like a deer in the headlights, he stared at me without blinking. Then he slapped the desktop again.
“Man, where is my head? Sorry, with everything going on, it’s been tough to focus. Now I remember why he had it. We’re in the early stages of planning our annual fundraiser. He wanted to look at the books to see how we’ve done in past years. You know, to see if we want to keep doing the same thing or try something new to avoid diminishing returns. That kind of thing. Kind of like how your 9/11 committee changed the event last year.”
His explanation would be easy enough to confirm. I might not get another crack at him, though.
“I totally get that.” I threw in a little laugh for effect. “What have you all done in the past?”
He waved his hand in a little circle. “A little bit of everything. We used to sell magazine subscriptions, back when people still read magazines. Before the lottery laws changed, we had a casino night. Then we sold venison for a few years. After that—”
“No, I mean, what did you do most recently. You know, so Newt could look at the whole diminishing returns issue.”
“Oh, right.” The Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a few more times. “We sold trash bags. The high-quality ones.”
“Really?” I leaned forward. “The Rushing Creek Elementary kids sell those, too.”
“Oh, yeah. Like I said, my brain’s been mush. No, we thought about that, but instead went with laundry detergent. In the five-gallon jugs. With the pump handle.” He raised and lowered his outstretched fist in a pumping motion to drive home the image.
“I see.” The baseball team sold those. Holy cats, the man was awful at lying. “What are you looking at doing this year?”
“Haven’t decided. I mean, that’s why Newt wanted to look at the numbers. If sales haven’t declined, we’ll keep doing it.”
I didn’t believe it for a second. There was something fishy going on here, but I couldn’t put my finger on what, exactly. I’d won this round, though, so it was time to move on. With what I hoped was a sincere-looking smile, I gave Sal a big nod.
“That makes a lot of sense. I’ll mention what y’all are doing at my next 9/11 committee meeting. Someone might have a suggestion for you.” I pulled a business card out of my back pocket. I always kept a couple on hand. “Here’s my contact info. Let me know when you kick off your fundraiser. I’d like to contribute.”
We shook hands and I made a quick exit, only stopping long enough to make my goodbyes to Jack and a few others I knew. There was much to consider, and I wanted to do it where I did a lot of my best thinking.
In front of the kickboxing bag.
• • •
A few hours later, I punched the center of the bag with a series of jackhammer-like jabs, whacked the side with a roundhouse kick from my right leg, and finished the workout by headbutting my imaginary opponent. The final move was something I’d recently added to my routine. It was against the rules in a real International Kickboxing Federation match. In real life, people don’t play by the rules, though.
If I ever found myself in danger, and I managed to do that way too often, I wanted as many tools in my bag of tricks as possible. One could never be too prepared, especially when one spent their free time investigating murders.
As I wiped my face with a towel, I took a seat on the floor next to Ursi. My feline enjoyed watching me work out. Either that or she had learned if she stuck around, I’d share the contents of my water bottle with her. Regardless of the reason, it was nice to have her companionship.
“Good workout, girl.” Once my gloves were off, I tapped my fist against one of her front paws. “I think I’m making progress on the case.”
Mrrh. Ursi put her paw on top of my hand. At first, I thought she was returning the fist bump, but then she reached toward the water bottle. She was no dummy. It was time for Mommy to share some water.
I laughed as I squirted some into a little teacup I kept close at hand for such occasions. She could be so predictable.
The same could be said for humans. Especially those with something to hide.
Shelly and Vic were hiding something related to their meeting at the library. Henri and Elise were hiding something regarding the coffee machine in Shelly’s kitchen. Sal was hiding something connected to the gun club.
Had Newt been hiding something, too? Had his secret been exposed and that’s what led to his murder?
Puzzle pieces were still missing. For the first time in a while, though, I wasn’t worried. My gut told me some of the pieces would be found among the pages of Newt’s ledger. Reviewing it was going to be quite revealing.
Chapter Nineteen
A lot of people don’t like Mondays. I get it. The fun and games of the weekend are over. It’s time to return to the routine of the workweek—getting up when the alarm goes off and heading to the job site, classroom, or office.
I considered myself among the fortunate folks who looked forward to getting to work on Mondays. Part of it was that I often worked every day, in one form or another. If I got a message from a client on a Saturday or Sunday, I tried to respond in a timely fashion.
My clients were busy folks. Many of them had day jobs and did their writing outside of the traditional nine-to-five window. When you added in the fact that they lived in locations from Cork, Ireland, to San Diego, California, I received questions, concerns, and other messages at all times of the day or night.
Being available was a core component of my job. It was one I embraced with a smile. After all, my office was a ten-second walk from my bedroom. I could spend all day in my pj’s and not feel a twinge of guilt about it.
For me, it was the perfect lifestyle.
It wasn’t a footloose and fancy-free existence, though. I needed to maintain some structure to ensure the work of the Cobb Literary Agency got done in a timely and professional manner. That’s where my office hours with Calypso on Monday and Friday mornings came in. A lot got accomplished during those sessions. I always ended them with more energy than a brand-new battery.
At times like this, when I was dedicating a lot of energy to trying to catch a murderer, the meetings were also invaluable reminders of where I needed to keep my priorities. I made a living as a literary agent, not a homicide investigator.
“What’s the word this week, Boss?” Calypso, dressed head to toe in her signature black, with a gray scarf for a splash of color, plopped down on the couch and took a long slurp from her coffee mug. The launch of the revamped website had gone flawlessly. It was full speed ahead with the agency.
“No new releases this week, but we’ve got one coming up next Tuesday. Want to make a graphic to post on release day?”
“Consider it done.” She tapped away at her tablet. I’d given the device to her for Christmas. She used it for almost everything, it seemed, even taking notes during our meetings.
“I got a romcom manuscript in over the weekend. It needs editing.” I tapped at my own tablet. “Just sent it to you. It’s due to the editor a week from this Friday. Can you get your edits to me by the end of this week?”
“No problemo. Things are kind of slow at the Pub right now, so I’ve got time on my hands.”
Slow? The restaurant had been packed only the day before. Calypso must have noticed my reaction.
“The brunch crowd was great. By three o’clock we were a ghost town, though. Last month, Rachel warned all of us part-timers that our hours would be on the lean side until April.”
Such was the nature of running a business that catered to the tourist crowd. The Pub was generally as packed as my bookshelves May through October. Business was steady, if not spectacular, in April and November. The other four months of the year were quiet. Rachel made up for the loss of business during that time by offering catering services for the holidays.
My sister knew what she was doing. Her restaurants were making money. The acquisition of Marinara’s had bolstered her bottom line. I still worried about her and her employees, though. With the ever-changing trends in dining, she had to be always on her toes.
In a way, it wasn’t unlike my job. I had to be constantly on the lookout for promising new authors with unique stories to tell. I never knew when a current author would want to take their career in a different direction and part ways. I also had to stay abreast of the ever-changing dynamics of the publishing world.
I sat back as the enormity of the thought hit me. My sister, who I barely spoke to for the better part of a decade, and I were more alike than I realized. It was amazing what one could do when they kept an open mind.
Like I needed to do with Newt’s investigation.
But first, I needed to make sure Calypso was okay.
“In that case, what would you think about an increase of your hours here? Say, from twenty to twenty-five? And, I don’t know, how about fifty cents more an hour?”
Making the offer was a spur-of-the-moment move, to be sure. Calypso had earned it, though.
“Hmm.” She went to the kitchen to refill her coffee mug. On her way back, she stopped to exchange a few words with Ursi. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but I stayed in my office chair. Calypso did have a flair for the dramatic. The least I could do was indulge her.
