Moss Hysteria (9 page)

“What we do in instances like this is sand and refinish the damaged area,” Brandon said.

I could feel my temper building up steam. “The wood is so warped it's
rippled
, Brandon
.
You can't sand away ripples. And Rye said if you tried to replace only that area, the stain would never match.”

“Rye isn't a flooring expert.” Brandon resumed typing, all traces of friendliness gone. “I'll have someone from the flooring company come take a look.”

I was getting more frustrated by the second and still my husband remained silent. “And if the flooring expert says the entire floor needs to be replaced?”

“Then I may need to have someone from the manufacturer come out.”

“To do what?” I asked.

“Give an opinion.”

“And if he
also
says we need an entire new floor?”

Brandon smiled, but the warmth was gone. “Let's deal with that bridge if and when we cross it.”

I glanced at Marco in exasperation, but he was sitting with his arms folded, one hand pinching his lips, his gaze on Brandon.

“In other words,” I said, “we have to wait for the floor rep to take a look, and then probably the manufacturing rep as well before we have an answer?”

“That's how it usually works,” Brandon said, typing again.

“Will you guarantee that if both experts say we need a new floor, you'll put one in?”

He walked two fingers along the top edge of his laptop. “That bridge, you know?”

I was about to throw my hands in the air and walk out when Marco said, “Let's put that issue aside for the moment. We actually came here to talk to you about Dirk Singletary. As you probably know, I own the Salvare Detective Agency with Abby. We're investigating Dirk's murder, and your name has come up several times.”

Brandon stopped typing. “
My
name has come up? In what way?”

“As a person of interest,” Marco said.

The developer stared at Marco for a long moment, as though waiting for him to say,
Just kidding.
But Marco merely gazed back impassively. Shutting his laptop, Brandon said, “Then why haven't I been contacted by the police?”

“We're always a step or two ahead of them,” Marco said. “We work fast. And if we can clear you, they won't be contacting you.”

Brandon thought it over for a few moments, then took out his cell phone and stood up. “I need to consult with my attorney.”

Marco looked at his watch. “Go ahead, but we're on our lunch hour. All we have is twenty minutes. If we miss that window, I can't guarantee that the detectives won't beat us back here to interrogate you.”

A flicker of panic went across Brandon's face before Marco corrected his statement. “Sorry.
Interview
you. I know you're not from New Chapel, so just a word of warning: We have a nosy investigative reporter who follows the detectives around, so if they make it here before we do, your name will probably appear in the newspaper. That may not be good for sales.”

“Right.” Brandon walked away, his phone to his ear. “I'll make it quick.”

As soon as he was out of the room, Marco muttered, “So much for Team Salvare.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“We're supposed to work as a unit, Abby, and we agreed not to discuss the floor until the end of the interview. What you did puts our investigation in jeopardy. What were you thinking?”

“I'm sorry, Marco. The problem is I'm
not
thinking. I'm sleepy and so frustrated with Brandon's refusal to acknowledge our problem that I had a strong urge to smack him. Then seeing that innocent look on his face while he played dumb about the floor made me want to lean across the table and carry out that urge.”

But the thought of leaning over the table made me want to put my head
on
the table, on a soft pillow, with the hum of the air conditioner lulling me into a deep sleep . . .

“Abby.”

I jumped. “What?”

“You dozed off in the middle of a sentence.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I did? What was I saying?”

“It was my sentence. I was the one talking.”

“Then what were you saying?”

“That you should relax. Your mistake might just have worked in our favor.”

“How?”

Even though Marco was angry, the corners of his mouth curved up just a little. “Wait and see what happens.”

B
randon returned less than a minute later, his charming demeanor back in place as he sat down at the table. “I couldn't reach him, but I have nothing to hide, so let's proceed.”

“Okay,” Marco said, looking at the list I'd printed in the notebook. “Let's start with the basics.”

Brandon held up his index finger. “First, about your floor.”

Marco gave me a quick glance, as if to say,
Wait for it.

“
You
want a new one. But that's going to cost me money—twelve, fourteen grand possibly. Now,
I
”—he put his hand on his chest—“want to see this person-of-interest label go away. So you make
that
happen and I'll make your new floor happen. We can schedule the installation today.”

Cool-headed Marco said, “I'd be happy to make that happen. All you have to do is be completely forthcoming with your answers.”

Brandon rubbed his nose, thinking. “Okay, here's the deal. I answer all your questions, you get a new floor
and
you take me off the person-of-interest list.”

He'd merely restated his original offer. But that didn't matter because my clever husband had turned my breach into an opening.

“That will depend on your answers,” Marco said evenly. “But then, you did say you have nothing to hide.”

“And I meant it.” Slick smile. Brandon was a born politician.

“Shall we proceed?” Marco asked.

“Absolutely.”

“I mean with scheduling that new floor.”

“Rye is at lunch right now. I'll have to talk to him later.”

“Tell you what,” Marco said, “Abby is going to give you a piece of notebook paper so you can write out your new floor guarantee.”

With a disgruntled huff, Brandon took the paper, scribbled a note and signed it, then slid it across the table. Marco and I read it, then, while I tucked it in my purse, he tore out the list I'd made, gave me back the notebook, and began the interview.

“When was the last time you saw Dirk?”

Brandon looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “That would be last Friday. Noonish.”

“What did you do after the meeting?”

“Dirk and I had a short business conference, then I left to return to my headquarters in South Haven, Michigan.”

Since Brandon had made no mention of the argument, I thought Marco would pursue that line of questioning, but instead he continued on. “Where were you Friday evening?”

“At my office in South Haven.”

“On a Friday night?”

“We're starting a new development, and I wasn't going to be in the office for a few days.” He shrugged. “That's the life of a busy developer.”

“What kind of relationship did you have with Dirk?” Marco asked.

“The normal boss–employee relationship.”

Marco looked puzzled. “Residents we've talked to told us you couldn't stand to be in the same room with Dirk. That he was disdainful and condescending to you during meetings. Is that what you consider normal?”

“We didn't always get along, but I certainly
could
stand to be in the same room with him.”

“We heard a report that you and Dirk had a shouting match after your last meeting,” I said.

“It was nowhere near a shouting match,” Brandon said. “We may have raised our voices, that's all. Who told you that, anyway?”

“What was the argument about?” Marco asked.

“I wanted to know why Dirk hadn't followed through on some issues.”

“Are you talking about the moss problem?” I asked.

“Yes, that and other things.” He straightened his shirt cuffs.

“You want to elaborate on those other things?” Marco asked.

“Mainly the pump repair. He was supposed to have taken care of both, and as of Friday's meeting, he'd done neither.”

“That must have made you angry,” Marco said.

“I wouldn't call it angry. More like annoyed.”

“Did Dirk say why he hadn't acted on them?”

“He skirted the issues by complaining about Rye. All I could get out of Dirk was that he'd scheduled a plumber to repair the pump Friday evening. From what I understand, the pump is now working, so at least he kept his word on that. The moss problem, however, is unresolved, and I know several residents are fed up with it, particularly”—he smiled as though a light had come on—“Theda Coros. Of course. She's your next-door neighbor. That's who your source is.”

“We've talked to a number of residents,” Marco said. “Do you know what plumbing company Dirk used?”

“I have no idea. You have to consider I have many communities like this. I depend on my on-site superintendents to take care of problems when they arise.”

“But Dirk
wasn't
taking care of them,” I said. “All those issues that weren't being addressed must have been frustrating, especially when you knew how upset many of the residents were.”

Brandon didn't comment.

“Is there one plumbing company you use regularly when you build houses in Brandywine?” Marco asked.

“No.”

“So whoever puts in the lowest bid?” I asked, blinking hard to keep my eyes from drifting shut.

“That's how it works,” Brandon said.

I covered my mouth to hide a yawn as Marco took up the questioning. “Has anything been done about the moss situation?”

“I just instructed Rye today to get on it.”

“Let's move on to Rye's relationship with Dirk. We were told several residents witnessed Dirk being purposely humiliating to Rye. Did you know about that?”

“No, I wasn't aware of it.”

I woke up at that. “They said they complained directly to you about it, Brandon.”

“I have a liaison who handles residents' complaints.”

“Doesn't your liaison keep you informed of staff problems?” I asked.

“He should, shouldn't he?” Brandon opened his laptop and began typing. “I'll make a note about that right now.”

“Did anyone voice a complaint about Dirk at any of the meetings?” I asked.

“Not that I recall.”

I was having a hard time believing him. I was also having a hard time focusing. Two hours of sleep simply wasn't enough for my brain to operate.

Referring to the questions, Marco asked, “Did Dirk ever recommend that Rye be fired?”

“On several occasions,” Brandon said.

“For what reasons?”

“Mostly because Rye wasn't capable and wasn't showing up for work on time.”

“Yet you didn't fire Rye.”

“Rye's been with the company longer than Dirk and has always performed well, so I didn't see any reason to let him go.”

“Doesn't that make you wonder what Dirk's motive was?” I asked. It sure made
me
wonder why Dirk wanted Rye out of the picture.

“I didn't really stop to think about it,” Brandon replied smoothly.

“What is Rye's future with the company?” Marco asked.

Brandon shrugged. “He
has
a future, if that's what you mean.”

“Will he take over Dirk's position?”

“Yes. I'll be making that announcement at our next meeting.”

“Have you told Rye?” I asked.

“I told him on Tuesday. He was very happy.”

That didn't match with Rye's story. In fact, it was the second time someone else's account hadn't matched Rye's.

“When you heard that some of the residents had accused Dirk of theft,” Marco said, “what action did you take?”

“I cooperated fully with the detective investigating it.”

“What have you done to insure a situation like that won't happen again?” I asked.

Brandon gave me a smile. “What does that have to do with Dirk's death?”

“Did you do a background check on him before you hired him?”

“No, and I still don't see what that—”

“Are you doing background checks now?” I was on a roll.

“I will be, going forward.”

“With all the uncertainty surrounding Dirk, why wasn't he fired?”

“It wasn't proven that he took any jewelry.”

“The residents here believe it. Isn't that enough?” I began listing reasons on my fingers. “Dirk was accused of theft and questioned by the police three times. He didn't take care of critical issues. He was rude to you and condescending to the residents, and he was outwardly cruel to Rye. And yet you kept him on.”

Brandon just stared at me.

“Did he have something on you?”

“Okay, that's it,” Brandon said, rising, his face turning an angry red. “We're done.”

That was called avoiding the question. My radar was beeping
Liar.

“Would you rather talk to the detectives?” Marco asked.

Brandon walked away and then came back, pointing a finger at me. “I don't want you to make me feel like I had a reason to kill Dirk. Understand?”

“No one can make you feel that way but you,” I said.

I heard the front door open and close and then Connie stuck her head in to see what was going on. “Sorry. Didn't mean to bother you.”

“We're almost finished,” Marco said.

Brandon jerked his chair out and sat down.

“Is there someone who can verify that you were in your office in Michigan Friday evening?” Marco asked.

“I don't know,” Brandon snapped. “I think I was there alone.”

“You think?” Marco asked.

“I was there alone.”

“Did anyone see you arrive or leave?”

“I don't know.”

“Are there any houses nearby?”

Brandon shook his head.

“Did you use your cell phone?”

“Why?”

“We can locate the pings that registered at the nearest cell tower.”

“I may have used it.”

I could tell by the pinched look on the developer's face that it was dawning on him he was in trouble. But as Marco continued to question him, I realized I was in trouble, too. My exhaustion was catching up with me, and it was affecting my ability to take notes. They were starting to look like scribbles.

“Do you keep tools in the back of your SUV?” Marco asked.

“Just a tire jack.”

“Where are the tools that Rye uses?”

“In a closet just beyond the men's restroom.”

“Is it locked?”

“No.”

“Mind if we take a look inside after we finish here?”

“Be my guest.”

Marco looked over the questions. “Okay, that should do it. Thanks for your cooperation.”

Wait, what?
That wasn't the end of the list. There was one question left.

Brandon shut his laptop and rose, tucking his computer under his arm. “I'll have Rye set up an appointment with the flooring rep this afternoon to get your new floor installation scheduled.”

“Thank you,” Marco said.

“Am I off your person-of-interest list, then?”

“We'll have to digest this information and see how well it matches up with what we already know.”

“Then I hope you'll have good news for me tomorrow.”

“You didn't ask the last question,” I whispered to Marco, then called to Brandon as he reached the door, “One more thing. Are you aware that some of the homes here aren't up to code?”

“Abby,” Marco whispered.

Brandon paused in the doorway. “That's not true. They all passed inspection.”

“So no one told you that the town's building inspector may have passed them fraudulently?”

“Abby,” Marco said, sharper.

“I don't believe that,” Brandon said.

And I didn't believe
him
. “You'd better talk to Rye. He tells a different story.”

Marco shot me a look that I couldn't decipher. Brandon stared at me for a moment and then strode out without replying.

“I'll bet he knows exactly what I'm talking about,” I said to Marco. “And what was that look for?”

“Are you trying to get Rye fired?”

“What?”

“We don't know if Rye was telling the truth. What if he made that up about Maynard Dell to throw us off his trail? And if Brandon is truly in the dark on this, why
didn't
Rye tell him? How do you think that made Brandon feel to hear it from us instead of from his employee? If Rye is as concerned about the residents here as he professes to be, shouldn't he be complaining to his employer and not to a new resident?”

I didn't know what to say.

“You forgot a major rule, Abby. Everything discussed in our interviews is confidential. You even told Rye so yourself.”

Marco was absolutely right and I felt awful. “What can we do?”

“It's out there now. We'll have to let Rye know so he's not blindsided when Brandon asks him about it.”

“Marco, please believe that I am deeply sorry.”