Maximum moxie, p.1
Maximum Moxie, page 1
Maximum Moxie
Maggie Sullivan mystery #5
M. Ruth Myers
Copyright © 2016 by Mary Ruth Myers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Contact
www.mruthmyers.com
Cover design by W. Alan Raney
This books is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Thanks to the usual culprits:
Henry
Lee, JoAnn and Sandy
Steve Grismer & the Dayton Police History Foundation
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
— The End —
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ONE
It wasn’t my habit to shoot a new client.
For Loren Collingswood, I made an exception.
“I’m told you’re one of the best detectives in Dayton,” he said as I unlocked the door to my office and flipped on the lights. It was half-past eight in the morning. He’d been waiting for me when I stepped off the elevator.
“That’s always nice to hear, Mr.—”
“Collingswood. Loren Collingswood.” He was somewhere past fifty with rounded shoulders and thoughtful eyes.
“Could I hang up your coat?”
“No thank you. I haven’t much time.”
Draping his folded coat over the arm of the chair in front of my desk, he sat down. My own found its usual peg on a wooden rack, followed by my red hat which was seasonally trimmed with a sprig of fake holly. I was five-foot-two and the coat rack was taller than I was, but I counted the stretching as exercise. As soon as I slid into place across from Collingswood, he launched in.
“My partner and I want to hire you, Miss Sullivan.”
“Maggie. Please.”
“Yes, very well.”
After the determined start, he faltered. His gaze moved to the calendar from my DeSoto dealer hanging drunkenly on its final page. The hole at the top had just about worn through on the nail that held it. Three days into December odds were the calendar would hit the floor before 1941 ended.
“What sort of problem are you having, Mr. Collingswood?” I asked softly.
People came to me scared or distressed, but almost invariably embarrassed at needing my services. Getting started was the hard part. Collingswood sighed.
“A man who works for us has disappeared. A brilliant young engineer.” He knitted salt-and-pepper brows that matched the hair retreating from his forehead. “Well, he’s in his thirties, but that’s young by my standards. A company’s coming in next week to talk to us about - about something he’s been working on. It’s absolutely vital that we find him. Without Gil—”
I held up a hand to halt his flow while I took out a lined tablet.
“What do you mean, ‘disappeared’? We need to start with some basics.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“He’s an employee?”
“Yes. My partner and I have a company. C&S Signals.”
“You said the missing man’s an engineer. I take it that’s what you do?”
“Yes. We-we develop technology which we sell to other firms. We specialize in—”
I held up my hand again. I’d done okay at geometry and a year of algebra, and the nuns at Julienne High School could probably hold their own with most college professors, but I was pretty sure whatever C&S Signals specialized in was over my head. There were other aspects of finding someone which were more useful.
“What’s the man’s name and the last time you saw him?”
“Gilbert Tremain. Gil. He was in early Monday and left the building and that’s the last we’ve heard from him.”
Two days ago.
“Was that unusual?”
“Not coming in early. He did that quite often. But certainly going off and not coming back or calling. Gil’s extremely responsible. That’s what’s got us worried.”
“You’ve tried to reach him by phone?”
“Oh yes. And Frank — that’s my partner, Frank Scott — Frank went over yesterday and knocked, thinking perhaps he’d been taken ill or had an accident and couldn’t get to the phone.”
That implied Gilbert Tremain was single.
“We’d worry about him in any case. We’re small, C&S. He’s quite a resource for us. And the presentation next week... unless we find him, it can’t go forward.”
I saw him swallow.
“That’s why I - we - thought we should hire an investigator.”
“What do the police say?”
“We prefer not to involve the police. For business reasons.”
I’d heard that tune before. It was never music to my ears, and from what he’d told me, I knew what I had to ask next.
“Has there been a ransom request?”
“No, of course not, or-or—. Well, we would have gone to the police in that case, I suppose.”
I breathed easier.
“Do you have any reason to suspect foul play?”
“Good heavens no! Nothing like that. At least it hadn’t occurred to me... No, surely they couldn’t...”
“Who couldn’t what, Mr. Collingswood?”
“I-I-I don’t see how they could possibly be related, but...” He swallowed again. “I’ve had some phone calls.”
“What sort of phone calls?”
“Just a little odd, that’s all.” He gestured vaguely. “Wrong numbers, probably.”
“Since Gil Tremain has been missing.”
“Oh, no. No. They started about a month ago. Just a fluke, surely.”
Six years ago, at age twenty-one, I’d opened my office. Since then I’d learned coincidences seldom existed for people who came through my door seeking help.
“You’re probably right, but lots of what I do is hunt connections. What did the phone calls say?”
“Nothing. Mostly.” His voice dropped so much I wasn’t sure I’d heard the second word.
“How many calls have there been?”
“Half a dozen. Possibly eight.”
“And all you hear is silence? No breathing? No noises in the background?”
“Breathing, yes. Just that.” He steeled himself. “Until last week. It rang and I answered and someone said, ‘Be careful.’ Then they hung up.”
If possible, he looked more worried than when he’d come in.
“But it’s all got to be some ghastly mistake. It can’t have anything to do with Gil. It can’t have anything to do with me. Someone’s muddled a phone number.”
“You’re sure no one has a grievance against you? A reason they’d want to harass you? Maybe an employee you let go?”
If there was a connection, someone who knew the workings of his company was the obvious place to start. My would-be client was shaking his head.
“One of the girls who typed left last year to get married. But as far as firing anyone, it’s been three years. At least. And before you ask, I’m not involved with any women or — or anything of that nature.”
“Have there been any calls since the one that warned you to be careful?”
“No.” He said it too quickly. “Look, the main thing is to find Gil.”
The room was getting overly warm, a novelty since the radiator usually gave off only a trickle of heat. Removing the handkerchief from his breast pocket, Collingswood patted his forehead.
“I need to get to the office.” He edged forward on his chair. “Can you help us? Can you start today?”
I told him I would, and what I charged.
“I’m due to make a final report to another client in about an hour. I can stop by after I finish there.”
Something caught my eye. A movement in the pocket of Collingswood’s coat. Oblivious to my wandering gaze, he talked on.
“Here’s the address.” He slid a business card onto my desk. “I’ll have a check for a week’s wages waiting for you.”
A head emerged, swaying slowly above the narrow
“If you find Gil in only a day or two, I’ll consider the rest of it money well spent,” he was saying.
It’s amazing how many thoughts fit into a split second:
That the snake might be harmless — or not.
That someone had warned the man across from me to be careful.
That this was the wrong time of year for snakes.
“Mr. Collingswood. Before you go, I need you to close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you otherwise. Sit absolutely still. Try and remember, ah, everything Tremain said the last time you saw him.”
“But—”
“Now!”
My fingers already were closing around the Smith & Wesson I kept in a holster-like sling beneath my chair. Collingswood looked anything but happy, but his eyes were closed. I eased to my feet.
The snake emerged another inch. Pinkish belly. Dark splotches. It veered toward Collingswood. It veered away. I squeezed the trigger.
TWO
Collingswood let out a yell and opened his eyes.
“What in the name—?” As he lurched to his feet, he caught sight of the headless form now half out of the coat pocket and writhing violently. With a whimper of terror he thrust out a hand to ward it off.
“It’s dead!” I shouted. My volume moderated. “Muscle contractions or something make them keep moving. It’s dead. It’s harmless. The head is gone.”
I thought I saw a splatter of something across the room, but I wasn’t sure. I put down my gun. Collingswood was white as buttermilk.
“It was in— it was in my—”
Eyes bulging, he pointed a trembling finger, but drew it back abruptly to claw at his chest.
“Mr. Collingswood!”
He sagged against my desk. Dear God, was he having a heart attack? I gave my chair a shove on its casters and lowered him into it.
“Mr. Collingswood, who’s your doctor?”
He shook his head.
“Pills.” His scrabbling hand succeeded in freeing them from an inside pocket. Thumbing open the lid, he managed to shove one under his tongue without spilling them all.
Nitro. Digitalis. Something like that. He did have a heart problem. This might not be an out-and-out attack though. His breathing steadied. The pinched look was leaving his face. He nodded as if to indicate he was okay.
“I’m not sure what I should do,” I said uncertainly. “I doubt it’s the right thing, but there’s a bottle of gin in my desk.”
A faint sideways move of his head signaled No.
“Water.” The brief word didn’t sound strained.
This year, in a burst of largess, the building management had put a water cooler in the hall. I filled one of the glasses I kept for the gin. They’d had water in them before without showing ill effects.
“Maggie?” A worried face peered out of the domestic staffing agency one office next to mine. “Is everything okay? We heard a bang.”
“Oh, I bumped my coatrack and it fell over into the wall. Sorry to scare you.”
I hurried back with the water. Collingswood took two gulps and paused, sipped the next two, repeated the sipping until the water was gone. His eyes closed briefly as he let out a breath.
“I’m sorry I scared you. I probably wouldn’t have done what I did if I’d known you had heart trouble.”
“No. I think you probably saved my life. What kind...?” His eyes slid toward his coat. He couldn’t bring himself to look directly.
“I’m no snake expert. I just knew it didn’t belong in somebody’s coat pocket. And with you carrying those pills you have, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be sitting here gabbing about it. You need to get home and lie down. I’ll call you a cab.”
“I can’t. I need to get to the office. I ducked in to drop off some papers on my way here. My partner was coming down with one of his headaches. They flatten him. I sent him home. I need to be there.”
“Mr. Collingswood...”
I leaned my hip on my desk, keeping a healthy distance between me and the all-too-active remains of the snake.
“I’m in better shape than I appear at the moment.” He gave a determined smile. “I would appreciate a cab, though. I’ll have someone get my car later. We can talk about — this — when you come to C&S.”
***
“What do you know about snakes?” I asked when Rachel Minsky’s secretary put me through to her. Rachel owned a commercial building firm and could walk a construction site with the best of them, albeit in high heels and, preferably, furs.
“The two-legged kind or the Pentateuch kind?”
“The kind you find in the woods.”
I’d just put Collingswood into a cab. He’d regained some color and still insisted on seeing me later.
“You’re not thinking of going somewhere to put up a tent and drink from a canteen and swat flies, are you?” Rachel asked.
“No.”
My chair was back in its proper spot behind my desk and I was keeping an eye on what was left of the snake. It didn’t seem quite as dead as I’d assured Collingswood, but its movements weren’t getting it anywhere either.
“Well, then. Chances are you’ll never see one. I seldom do tramping around when they’re clearing things for a new project.”
“I’m looking at one right now. In my office. I’m optimistic it’s dead. At any rate, it’s missing a head. It’s not a garter snake, which is the extent of my knowledge. I was hoping you might recognize a few other kinds from the tramping you mentioned.”
She was silent a second before uttering words quite colorfully profane.
“In your office? You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I may be slightly more conversant, but the smartest thing would be for me to bring over one of the men who know what they are when we do come across one. Shall I?”
“Please.”
“I may have to check at more than one site. Give me forty-five minutes.”
***
Waiting for Rachel gave me time enough to call the client who was expecting me with my final report. She agreed that I could mail it and I’d stop by later if she had any questions. She already knew the gist of it. I’d found her missing husband playing house with someone else two counties away. I hoped my hunt for Gil Tremain had a happier ending.
At the moment, the man who had hired me to find him concerned me more. Loren Collingswood had a bad heart. He’d been getting unsettling phone calls. A snake had turned up in his pocket — enough to scare the bejeezus out of anyone. It had all the hallmarks of someone trying to kill him.
What did it have to do with a missing engineer? Before I got far in thinking about it, my door flew open and Rachel strode in. More accurately, she strode two steps and stopped. Her eyes swept my floor, then rose to give the rest of the room a similar treatment.
“That?” she asked aiming a fingernail gleaming with polish the color of burgundy at the coat hanging over the arm of the chair.
“Yes.”
Rachel was my height with a cloud of raven hair and a chest that made men turn to admire it. As usual she was dressed like a million dollars, her cranberry wool suit topped by a black fur shrug.
“This is Mr. Taylor.” She indicated a raw-boned man in workman’s garb and hobnail boots behind her. “He knows an amazing lot about snakes.”
He ducked his sandy head in awkward greeting.
“Saw a-plenty growin’ up down in the hills.”
The two of them came all the way in. Rachel stood within chatting distance of me and cupped her elbows with her hands. I sat on the edge of my desk. We watched Taylor circle the chair that held the folded coat. Squatting on his haunches, he surveyed the length of slowly moving reptile. After several moments he picked up the coat and carried it to the far side of the room. He dumped its contents, nudging them with the toe of his boot.
“This here’s a plain old Kirtland,” he said. “Harmless ‘cept for scarin’ you.”
“It’s winter. Don’t snakes hibernate or something?”
He twisted a finger in his ear and squinted.
“Well, they do tuck up in someplace out of the weather and sleep some. But come a nice sunny day, anyplace there’s a nice rock or two to hold heat, you might see a snake.”
But not in a coat pocket, I thought grimly.
THREE
Based on what Rachel’s expert had told me, the snake had most likely been placed into Collingswood’s coat pocket while still in a deep-sleep, motionless state from being outside in winter. A warm room, particularly one as warm as my office that morning, had revived it. When and where that would happen would have been impossible to predict. That didn’t matter. Regardless of where it happened, Collingswood would have been scared within an inch of his life.
