Crime Seen (12 page)

‘‘Yeah. After such a long hiatus I figured I’d be pretty rusty.’’

He took my hand and pulled me inside, where the dining room table was decked out with candles and place settings for two. ‘‘What’s all this?’’ I asked.

‘‘A celebration,’’ he said.

‘‘What are we celebrating?’’

‘‘Your radar.’’

‘‘How’d you know the readings would go so well?’’ I asked, turning to him.

‘‘I didn’t. Or rather, what I had intended to celebrate wasn’t so much your readings as your impressions on the Goodyear case.’’

‘‘You solved it?’’

‘‘No,’’ he said, leading me to a chair at the table. ‘‘You did.’’

‘‘Huh?’’ I asked as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Reappearing with two plates of my favorite dish, pork tenderloin over linguini in a delicious lemon cream sauce, he explained, ‘‘Remember you told me to look into the friend of the son?’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ I said as he set down my plate.

‘‘Turns out that Max and his wife joined a grief counseling group shortly after their son died in seventy-nine. In the group they met another couple, and the four of them became close friends. They even moved next door to each other in the late eighties.’’

‘‘Okay,’’ I said, and twirled some pasta onto my fork. ‘‘I’m following you. The couple has a son and Max has taken him under his wing.’’

‘‘Not exactly,’’ Dutch said, and I noticed the twinkle in his eye. There was a twist here.

‘‘So tell me,’’ I said as I took a bite of pasta. I added a small moan, it was so fabulous.

‘‘The couple, Mark and Patricia Hiller, had a son, Jeffrey, who died of crib death the same week as Max’s son. Turns out the boys shared a birthday.’’ I nodded and gave a roll of my hand for Dutch to continue. ‘‘Jeffrey Hiller has a bank account at Goodyear’s bank. Regular deposits have been made in some pretty significant funds, and are later cleared out with checks to a guy who’s a known bookie here in Royal Oak.’’

I dropped my fork. ‘‘No way!’’ I said. ‘‘He stole the little boy’s identity?’’

‘‘Yep. Back in the seventies and eighties you didn’t have to have a Social Security number at birth. You could wait until you were sixteen. Somehow Goodyear got hold of Jeffrey’s birth certificate and presented it for a Social Security number in the late eighties. He held on to it for years, then used it to launder the money from the waterworks fund.’’

‘‘Wow,’’ I said. ‘‘Do you think the Hillers know?’’

‘‘I’m still looking into their bank records, but my guess is no. Mark Hiller is an architect at a firm in Southfield, and his wife works as a buyer for a department store.’’

‘‘They’re clean,’’ I said, feeling a buzz in my head. ‘‘They had nothing to do with this.’’

Dutch nodded. ‘‘I’ll do the check anyway, just to make sure they’re not implicated. That only leaves the question of who Goodyear’s accomplice at the waterworks is.’’

I tried to tune in on that thought, but came up empty. ‘‘You sure he’s not working alone?’’ I asked.

‘‘It’d be pretty tricky,’’ Dutch said as he curled pasta around his own fork. ‘‘He’d have to know a password that he shouldn’t have access to. And the password changes on a regular basis. Someone would have to update him every time the password changed.’’

My crew chimed in with an opinion. ‘‘Are there cameras in the office where the people who have the passwords work?’’ I asked.

‘‘No.’’

‘‘Can you guys put some in?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ he said, looking thoughtfully at me. ‘‘You think he’s breaking in and stealing them?’’

‘‘Something’s going on,’’ I said. ‘‘The crew says you need to watch his comings and goings in the office.’’

‘‘Tell the crew I said thanks,’’ Dutch said with a wink.

Later that night while we were watching the news, Dutch said, ‘‘I noticed you’ve already cleaned out some of your stuff.’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ I said with a sigh. ‘‘It may take me a few trips to get it all back home.’’

‘‘When’s the move-out date?’’

‘‘Not sure,’’ I said evasively.

‘‘Soon, then, huh?’’ he pressed.

I took my chin off his chest and looked up at him. ‘‘Maybe. Why? You in a hurry to see me outta here?’’

Dutch smiled and knuckled the top of my head. ‘‘No, Edgar, I’m in a hurry for you to go home, spend the night away from me, miss me like crazy, and hurry back.’’

That made me smile. ‘‘You’re convinced I’ll miss you, huh?’’

‘‘Yep.’’

I nodded. ‘‘You’re probably right, but what I won’t miss is that cat.’’ As if on cue, Virgil hopped up on the edge of the bed and regarded me with a particularly disdainful look.

‘‘Aw, cut him some slack, Abs. He’s just protecting his turf.’’

‘‘He’s evil,’’ I said as Virgil flicked his tail at me.

Dutch laughed and ruffled my hair. ‘‘He is not, you goof.’’

‘‘I swear he’s got it in for me. The other day he almost killed me when I was coming down the stairs. He purposely tripped me!’’

‘‘You sure he wasn’t just going up the stairs and you tripped over him?’’

I scowled at my boyfriend. ‘‘I’m telling you, he’s got it in for me, and this house ain’t big enough for the four of us.’’

‘‘I see,’’ Dutch said, the playful grin never leaving his face. ‘‘Fine. Go home. Miss me—not my cat—then come over and visit anyway, okay?’’

I sighed dramatically. ‘‘Oh, if I
must
!’’ Dutch’s grin deepened, and that was when he nudged Virgil off the bed with his foot and rolled over on top of me.

The next morning at five thirty sharp, the alarm sounded and I bolted upright. ‘‘Huh? Wha? Huh?’’ I said as my heart raced and my mind worked hard to shake off its sleepy contentment.

‘‘Time to go to the gym,’’ Dutch said with a yawn. ‘‘Better get a move on, Abs. You don’t want to be late for Candice.’’

I groaned and looked longingly at the pillow.

‘‘Don’t you think last night counted as a good workout?’’ I asked.

The corner of Dutch’s mouth curled up, and his hand reached out to stroke my arm. ‘‘Yep. And if you’d like to get in another workout with me, I’d be willing to make that sacrifice for you.’’

I seriously considered it for a few seconds, but just then I saw Dutch’s eyelids close and noticed that his breathing slowed to a steady, heavy rhythm. Man, I envied his ability to drop off to sleep in seconds. Quietly I eased out of the bed and grabbed my workout clothes, heading for the bathroom. A few minutes later I was out the door and driving to the gym.

I arrived right on time and found Candice already inside, stretching out on the floor. ‘‘Morning!’’ she said happily.

‘‘Mmmph,’’ I replied. Mornings have never been my strong suit.

‘‘I’m assuming that your therapist gave you the all clear?’’

I nodded. ‘‘She said the only thing to proceed slowly with is my upper chest. The scar tissue needs to be stretched out over time, not all at once.’’

‘‘Great. We’ll go easy on the chest exercises,’’ said Candice. ‘‘Come on, let’s get you stretched out for your cardio workout first, and then we can focus on shoulders and triceps.’’

Candice and I worked out for a good hour and a half, and by the end of it I didn’t think I liked her anymore. ‘‘Did you ever do a stint in the army?’’ I asked. ‘‘ ’Cuz you could teach a drill sergeant a thing or two.’’

Candice laughed. ‘‘You’ll thank me in about six weeks when you’ve got the body of a twenty-year-old.’’

‘‘I look better now than I did when I was twenty,’’ I said, remembering all the extra weight I carried from dorm food and keg parties back then.

‘‘You’ll still thank me,’’ she said. ‘‘But I’ll go easy on you and give you this weekend off.’’ As we made our way into the locker room Candice asked, ‘‘When is your interview with Wolfe again?’’

‘‘Monday at two thirty.’’

Candice nodded as she retrieved her Windbreaker from her locker. ‘‘Word to the wise—Wolfe is apparently a big fan of low-cut blouses and short skirts.’’

I scowled. ‘‘Shocker.’’

Candice gave me a knowing look. ‘‘You were hoping to go in with pants and a turtleneck, weren’t you?’’

‘‘No,’’ I said, avoiding her eyes. ‘‘I was thinking a nun’s habit would be more appropriate.’’

Candice laughed. ‘‘You’re just playing a role, Abby. There’s no need to be nervous.’’

‘‘Fine,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll look in my closet and see what I’ve got in the slutty-office-girl category.’’

‘‘Good,’’ she said with a pat on the back as we walked out of the gym. ‘‘Call me Monday when it’s over and let me know how it went.’’

I headed back to Dutch’s and noticed that his car was gone. He’d left for the office early, probably wanting to get a jump on installing those cameras in Goodyear’s office before the staff came in. I went straight to the kitchen and did a little ‘‘hoo-ya!’’ when I saw that he’d nicely set out a mug for me and had left a pot of coffee brewing. There was also a note clipped to a file, reading,
Hey, sunshine. Sorry about missing the workout this morning. Let’s reschedule for tonight. And if you get a chance, any impressions you can give me on this case would be great.
I poured the mug of coffee and felt a nudge on my leg. Looking down, I saw a pair of big brown eyes giving me the ‘‘Good morning, I’ll have my breakfast now’’ once-over.

‘‘Hey, buddy,’’ I said, and stooped to pick up Eggy. My arms fiercely protested as I held him up and he gave me a wet, slobbery kiss. ‘‘Okay, okay,’’ I said, setting him down again. ‘‘One egg over easy coming up.’’

Eggy was just polishing off his egg and I was putting the finishing touches on a fantastic ham-and-cheese omelet when there was a knock on the door. I groaned as I looked at the fluffy perfection in the frying pan. ‘‘Come on in, Dave,’’ I called. I put the omelet on a plate and reached for the door of the fridge to get out more eggs.

‘‘Morning,’’ Dave said as he entered through the back door. ‘‘That eggs I smell?’’

‘‘Here,’’ I said as I set the plate down on the table. ‘‘Chow down on this. I’ll just make myself another one.’’

Dave eagerly sat down while I brought him over a cup of coffee. ‘‘Man, that looks good,’’ he said, picking up a fork. ‘‘You definitely know your way around an omelet.’’

‘‘Too bad it’s the only thing I can cook,’’ I said. ‘‘I get ribbed a lot around here for not having mastered any category other than eggs.’’

‘‘I got a buddy who could hook you up,’’ Dave said, readying a forkful of omelet. ‘‘His name’s Adam. He works over at the Kroger grocery store on Maple and Lahser.’’

‘‘How exactly is he going to hook me up?’’ I asked.

‘‘He’s a great cook, and the store manager has set him up with a little kitchen near the meat aisle. He prints up these recipes that are really easy to follow, pushes the higher-end sauces and marinades, and gets a commission on the total he sells every month.’’

‘‘Really?’’ I said as I poured more eggs into the frying pan. ‘‘He could teach me?’’

‘‘Sure,’’ Dave said. ‘‘Just tell him Dave sent you. He’ll turn you into Rachael Ray in no time.’’

‘‘Okay,’’ I said, locking that idea away. Secretly, I would love to cook a meal that Dutch could actually eat without eyeing the phone number for poison control. When my omelet was done I took a seat next to Dave and asked, ‘‘So what brings you by?’’

‘‘Dutch said he needs a little work done.’’

I blew on my forkful of egg to cool it. ‘‘Really? He didn’t mention anything to me. What’s he having done?’’

‘‘I don’t know,’’ Dave said as he scratched his head. ‘‘He told me to take some measurements upstairs and he’d catch up with me later to discuss it. It’s probably shelving or something.’’

I nodded. ‘‘His closets are ridiculously small,’’ I said. ‘‘Most of my stuff here is in the spare bedroom closet, which reminds me, I have to take another load back to my house today.’’

‘‘You moving home?’’

‘‘Yep. I think it’s time for me to get back in the groove. It’s too easy here, too comfortable.’’

Dave cocked his head thoughtfully. ‘‘In other words, I’m not the only one with a commitment problem.’’

My eyes widened. ‘‘I don’t have a commitment problem!’’ I sputtered.

‘‘Really?’’ Dave said. ‘‘Seems to me that you two have never gotten along so well as the past three months, and just when things are humming along, off you go back to your bachelorette pad.’’

‘‘That’s ridiculous,’’ I scoffed. ‘‘I just think it’s a good thing for me not to rely so much on someone else.’’

‘‘Uh-huh,’’ Dave said.

‘‘I’m used to my independence,’’ I insisted.

‘‘Sure, sure,’’ he agreed.

‘‘I like my stuff and my space and my things in their rightful place, and as you can tell by the upstairs, it is
cramped
here!’’

‘‘Right.’’

I gave him another scowl. ‘‘Speaking of commitment issues, how’s your wife?’’

Dave seemed to brighten. ‘‘She actually talked to me last night.’’

‘‘Yay!’’ I said, giving him a pat on the arm. ‘‘That’s great, Dave! What did she say?’’

‘‘ ‘Stop calling me.’ ’’

I blinked at him a few times. ‘‘Well,’’ I said, trying to think of a positive spin. ‘‘At least it’s a start.’’

‘‘Exactly,’’ he said, pointing his finger at me. ‘‘Which is why we need to hurry up and close on Fern. The Realtor said the title search should be complete by the end of the day today. You available to close next Friday?’’

‘‘Sure,’’ I said. ‘‘The sooner the better, ’cuz my bank account’s starting to look pretty scary.’’

‘‘You should get your practice back up and running,’’ Dave encouraged. ‘‘You were doing pretty well there before you got shot.’’

‘‘I know,’’ I said as I stood up and took our plates. ‘‘One step at a time.’’

While Dave took his measurements I quickly showered and dressed, then began loading the car with stuff going back to my place. I had to wait for Dave to finish in the spare bedroom before I could get at most of my clothing, and when I pulled open the doors I let out a horrified gasp. Several shirts hung in shreds on their hangers. I reached for one of them, pulling it from the closet as I looked at it in horror. ‘‘Ohmigod!’’ I squealed.