Sleuthing at Sweet Springs (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 4) (14 page)

When I went into the kitchen to make lunch, Gabe’s truck was parked beside the house. I guessed he was in the workshop with Dale and, noting the time, also guessed we’d have a guest for lunch. Accordingly, I made three grilled-cheese sandwiches, set out a jar of pickles, and filled a large bowl with potato chips.

Dale and Gabe came in right on time, and I asked if Gabe would like to share our meal. He graciously agreed.

For a while the conversation was all about his repaired truck and his new job. I affirmed that the truck looked like it was brand new and listened as Gabe recounted his tasks at the moving company. “I work afternoons. First I wash the trucks and get them ready for the next day. After the staff leaves, I get the office squared away. Mr. Bobier likes everything in the right place.”

Gabe was learning the requirements of moving and storage, and we got a brief lecture on the steps involved. “You don’t just throw things in,” he said. “You have to plan, so when you want something it ain’t behind three other things.”

I didn’t have to contribute much, because Dale was actually interested. He seemed fascinated to hear how movers loaded a truck and planned their route to minimize problems like low bridges and narrow streets. I’d never realized it took so much effort, but then, I had no reason to care. Watching Dale and Gabe, I was pleased my husband had a friend to sit and chat with, even if that friend was the last person I’d have imagined.

When we’d finished eating I started clearing the table, but something Gabe said piqued my interest. “—they let me ride along so I could see what they do. It was just out to WOZ Industries, but still.”

“You were at WOZ yesterday?” I asked.

“Yeah. They were putting stuff into storage and Cal—he’s the driver—let me carry some of the smaller things out. I set them on the ground beside the truck, and Jerry—that’s the other guy—he decides how it should go in so the load is balanced and all.”

“What were they moving?”

Gabe shrugged. “Furniture and boxes full of papers and some old office machines, like a printer and some computers. I guess they got a new guy out there, some genius type, and Mr. Wozniak let him redo his office and buy all new furniture for it.”

Dale nodded. “They say if Stan likes you, you’re golden.” With a grin he added, “And if he doesn’t like you, you’re gone.”

Something funny came to Gabe’s mind. “There was this woman there that wanted to give us advice on how to do our jobs. Jerry knew her, I guess, because he told her to go back to making up stories about property values.”

“What does that mean?”

Gabe shrugged. “I guess she sells real estate, but Jerry didn’t think much of her. He told us later that she lied to his cousins about this house they bought.”

“Lied?” Dale frowned. “Can real estate agents do that?”

“Not supposed to. Jerry said she mentioned a little problem with the septic system, but it turned out they had to redo the whole thing.”

“That’s not right.”

“I know. She had a place in all those papers they have you sign that mentioned it, but the cousin missed it.” He shook his head. “He should have taken her to court.”

I hadn’t had much to do with real estate in general, but in any profession there are those who play fast and loose with the rules. “Did Jerry mention the woman’s name?”

Gabe took a slurp of his Coke before answering. “He never said her last name, but I’m pretty sure he called her Gail.”

***

Going undercover, as Retta calls it, isn’t my favorite thing. I don’t like pretending to be someone I’m not, and I hate deceiving others. Still, I was the one Gail Sherman hadn’t yet met, so it would be me who sounded her out about selling land on Sweet Springs. When I called, I learned she was due in the office at three. As I finished cleaning the kitchen, Retta called to ask what I planned to wear. She rejected the first three outfits I described.

“Wear the black and tan jacket I bought you for Christmas last year,” she ordered. “Put black slacks with it—you do have black slacks, right?”

“Yes.” I tried to quell the
Duh
! in my voice, but aside from my jeans, black pants are all I own.

“Okay. We’ll have to hope the blacks match up.”

I was confused. “Black isn’t just black?”

“Of course not, silly! Anyway, put a bright top under the jacket and add some jewelry that didn’t come from Wal-Mart—Barbara will have something you can borrow.”

I tried not to be resentful. She wanted to help, and if Barb’s report was correct, Gail Sherman was the type who would judge me by my clothes and jewelry.

“Have you got a little hat?”

“A hat?” I had a couple of toques that kept my ears warm when I had to be outside for any length of time in winter, all of them slightly ratty. She was thinking of my graying, blunt-cut hair, which I sliced off with scissors whenever I got tired of dealing with it, and trying to figure out how I might hide it. “No.”

She thought about that. “Okay, fluff your hair with your hands before you go in, and don’t comb it afterward. With luck she’ll think it’s one of those made-to-look-messy styles.”

“Anything else?” I was still trying not to sound sarcastic.

“Put on a little blush. You’re kind of pale. I don’t suppose you have a stylish fall coat.”

“I have a hoodie for not-too-cold and a corduroy for getting-kinda-cold.”

She groaned softly. “Wear Barb’s navy one. It’s a little outdated, but it’s good quality.”

I ended the call, shaking my head at her concerns. Do people really worry that much about how they present themselves to the world each day?

An hour later I showed up at So-Rite Realty, dressed according to Retta’s commands. Barb’s coat was unbuttoned, since there was no way it would close across my chest.

Both agents were present, but I approached Gail’s desk after tossing the other woman a smile I hoped indicated the choice was nothing personal. Once we’d done introductions, Gail asked me to sit down. When the other agent excused herself to meet a client, I got down to business.

“I just drove up from West Branch,” I told her. “A friend called to tell me I should look at some property before word gets out that it’s going up for sale.”

“Nice to have friends that keep you informed.” Gail glanced at the map on the wall behind her. “Where are you looking?”

“Sweet Springs. She says the heirs of an elderly man who died out there will probably sell his place.”

Something went on behind her eyes. “Who told you that?”

Tilting my head as if to excuse the refusal I replied, “Private source. Do you know anything about it?”

She tried to make her expression rueful, but it looked smug to me. “I’m afraid you were misinformed. They’re going to keep the property in the family.”

I frowned. “My friend was pretty sure they’d sell.”

“They did consider it, but in the end they couldn’t see it go to strangers.” Setting her fingers on her keyboard Gail said, “I can show you some similar properties on other lakes in the area.”

“No, thanks. I really like Sweet Springs.”

Her fake eyebrows descended. “There was a woman in here the other day asking about land out there. Do you know her?”

“No.”
Keep it simple. Don’t explain
.

“You look alike. She’s a lot younger than you but still.”

“No,” I repeated.

“Another woman came in wearing a coat a lot like the one you have on. She let me think she was from the court, but I found out later she wasn’t. She looked like you, too. Same eyes, same smile.” Gail sat back in her chair and glared. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

The heat of embarrassment rose up my neck. “I used to stay with a friend out there when I was a kid,” I said, but my voice sounded weak. “I thought it would be nice to retire there.”

“What friend?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who was the friend you stayed with? I know everyone who ever lived on Sweet Springs.”

“It was years ago. You’re too young to remember her.”

“Liar!” Gail’s voice rose to a shout, and I flinched. “Something’s going on here, and I don’t like it. You people are up to something, and I
will
find out what it is. When I do, things will happen. It might be a lawsuit. It might be a PPO to stay away from my aunt. It might be charges filed with the Allport police. Somehow I’ll make you take your noses out of my business.”

“Ms. Sherman—”

“Don’t bother to lie anymore. You aren’t even any good at it.”

Marshalling my dignity, I rose. “If you can’t help me with the property, I’ll let you get back to your work.”

Gail didn’t bother to answer, but her glower followed as I left the office. I kept my face averted, since it was burning. I had told my lies badly, resulting in Gail connecting me with Barb and with Retta. Now we were all on her radar. Still, I’d accomplished one thing. We knew now that Gail wasn’t going to let anyone buy property on Sweet Springs if she could help it.

***

I stopped at the Meadows before returning home in hopes Clara would be well enough to answer some questions. As I entered two aides stood chatting at the front desk. One whistled and the other said, “You look nice, Mrs. Burner. Been to a funeral?”

“Nope, just a normal day.”

Going on I saw Glenda at the meds cart. “Hey, Faye.” She patted the sleeve of Barb’s coat. “Is there a funeral today?”

My lips went stiff. Can’t a woman wear nice clothes without people assuming she’s headed for church? “None I’m aware of.”

Clara was working on a Sudoku puzzle, and to my relief, her face brightened when she saw me.

“Faye, it’s good of you to stop by.” Gesturing at the puzzle she said, “Keeps my mind occupied.”

“I don’t have much to report, but we’re working on your case,” I said, sitting on the opposite end of the bed. We’d agreed to wait for more complete information before sharing with our client. “And I have a question.”

She set the book aside. “Go for it.”

I’d begun to consider the practicalities of setting up the scheme we suspected. If Gail was indeed trying to interest a water developer in Clara’s property, she might well have shown it to him at some point. “Did your niece ever bring anyone with her when she visited your place?”

Clara gave the question some thought. “Not to the house.” My hopes took a dive, but a moment later they rose again. “Someone came with her once, but Gail came inside alone.”

“Did she say who was out there?”

“A friend. They had plans to do something later.” Clara bit her bottom lip. “When she came to see me, Gail seldom stayed long. We’d have a cup of tea, she’d tell me about her work, and then she’d say she had to go.”

“She didn’t invite her friend in for tea?”

“No. I wouldn’t have known anyone was out there except I happened to glance out and saw someone on the dock. When I mentioned it, Gail said her friend was probably taking pictures.”

“Was it a man or a woman?”

Clara patted her lips with her index finger as she thought. “I only saw the person from the back and from a distance. I remember blue jeans and one of those sweatshirts with a hood. It was pulled up and tied, so I didn’t see hair length or color.” She frowned, trying to remember more. “Brown shoes.”

“Tall?”

“For a woman, perhaps, not for a man.” Clara rubbed her forehead as if trying to stimulate her memory. “I said she should have brought the person in, but Gail said, ‘My friend doesn’t like meeting new people.’ The next time I looked out, he or she was gone, back in the car, I suppose.”

Huron Delight was indeed delightful, if you didn’t mind your house sitting fifteen yards from your neighbor’s. The development contained a half-dozen architectural styles, individualized by use of color, trim, and placement. Sometimes the garage was on the left; other times it was on the right. Some had a small portico out front; others had a long porch with evenly-spaced columns.

I hadn’t called ahead to announce my visit, not wanting to give Mr. Landon a chance to think about why a second person from the Smart Detective Agency was seeking him out. (I hadn’t won my sisters over to the idea of changing the name of our business to the Sleuth Sisters yet, but they were coming around. I could sense it.)

The air was fresh with the tang of Lake Huron, half a football field away. Ringing the bell, I stepped back and waited. When I glimpsed movement behind the sidelight, I stood up straighter and smiled. Good posture is essential, and a smile makes you look ten years younger.

A woman opened the door, which was unexpected. From Barbara’s description of Landon, I’d pictured a bachelor, married to his work and suspicious, even fearful, of women. There a lady of the house, though, and she was the type the word
alluring
was coined for. Though not classically beautiful, she had the kind of tall form that makes any clothing style look attractive. I guessed her to be in her late twenties. Long, dark hair hung perfectly straight to her shoulders, at which point it curled inward just enough to frame her face. Her eyes were large, and artful makeup made them seem like the dark pools romance novels love to mention. Her best feature, high cheekbones, was accentuated with the lightest touch of blush. A woman after my own heart, she’d made the effort to look attractive despite the fact that she wasn’t expecting company.

“I’m Retta Stilson, from the Smart Detective Agency.” I offered a business card. “Is Mr. Landon here?”

“My husband isn’t home from work yet.” Her head tilted slightly as she looked me over. “What’s this about?”

“We’re hoping to draw on his expertise about water rights.”

A tiny frown came and went on her high forehead. “En said someone asked him about that the other day at work.”

“My sister. At the time we were seeking general information. Now we have more specific questions.”

“I see.” She thought for a moment then glanced at the clock. “He called half an hour ago to see what I wanted him to bring home for dinner. He should be along any minute.” Stepping aside, she opened the door wider. “I’m Diane Landon. You’re welcome to come in and wait.”

“Thank you.”

Leading the way to a living room with a cathedral ceiling and lots of brass, Mrs. Landon indicated I should sit down. I chose a cream-colored settee in a smooth microfiber fabric, and she took the chair closest to it, adjusting the gray tunic dress she wore over pumpkin-colored leggings.

“I’m sorry to have come at your dinner hour.”

She waved away my apology. “Our dinners are late because En has been working every night until at least six. This is the first chance Mr. Wozniak has had to come north since En signed on, so they’ve spent a lot of time together.” She raised perfectly groomed brows. “I guess there’s lots to discuss about WOZ Industries and water quality in Lake Huron.”

“I’m sure the new job is demanding,” I said, adding with a smile, “I know Stanley pretty well.”

She murmured something non-committal, and I went on. “May I ask how you came to Michigan from—Florida, wasn’t it?”

“Zephyrhills.”

“Right. Where the bottled water comes from.”

She smiled. “Yeah, water certainly put that town on the map.”

“Your husband worked at a bottling plant there?”

“We both did. It’s how we met.” She smiled. “Of course I was on the line, and he was up in the management stratosphere.”

A picture came to mind: Enright Landon in an office overlooking the factory floor, glancing down and spotting the lovely Diane below. If she’d given him her Mona Lisa smile, it was no surprise he’d somehow closed the distance between them. It looked like things had worked out for both of them.

“It must be quite a change for your husband to go from water quality oversight to working for a stone quarry.”

“I suppose.” She shrugged off the idea of interest in WOZ and her husband’s place there. “En wanted to try something new, and we heard Michigan has a nice climate.”

Would she still believe that after a year in Allport? Though I loved snow and winter sports, our winters are long. Until we got involved in criminal investigation, I’d spent a couple of months each winter at my second home in Florida.

Sounds of entry came from somewhere out of sight and a second later a man spoke. “Wait a second!” I guessed his comment was to a dog, since I heard the click of claws on the tile floor. A man appeared and set his briefcase, coat, and a large Applebee’s bag on a side table. A Bassett hound bounded into the room and greeted Diane enthusiastically.

“Jolie!” she said joyfully. “Daddy brought you home to Mommy!”

“The vet’s office texted to say she was ready, and I thought I’d pick her up on the way to save you a trip.” Seeing me in his living room, Landon froze, unsure how to react. Since Diane and the dog were busy, I rose and introduced myself.

“Margaretta Stilson, Mr. Landon. Most people call me Retta.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Barbara’s description of Landon as the stereotypical scientist was spot on. He’d taken off the glasses she mentioned, but I could still see the two red marks where they’d rested on either side of his nose. He seemed unable to look directly at me, and his eyes darted around the room as if seeking some talisman to provide courage.

The smell of food wafted toward me, something spicy, I thought. After a brief, embarrassed pause Diane asked, “Would you like to have supper with us?”

“I’ve already eaten,” I lied, “but I don’t want to keep you from your meal.”

“I’ll set things out while you ask En your questions,” Diane volunteered, taking up the food bag. The dog followed eagerly, its oversized ears dragging against the surface of the rug. “Come on, Jolie, Mommy will find a treat for you.”

Her departure made her husband even more nervous. Perched on the edge of the one hard chair in the room, he looked like a kid brought to the principal’s office. “What is it you want to know, Ms. Stilson?”

“My sister says you were kind enough to explain how a lake becomes a source for bottled water. Now we’re wondering if a specific lake called Sweet Springs might be suitable for such a project.”

Landon studied the wall behind my left shoulder. “I don’t know the place.”

I gave him the general location and told him what Faye and Barbara had discovered about its qualities. Slightly more comfortable with a subject within his expertise, he listened carefully, even glancing at me once or twice. “We’ve learned it’s a Zone A source,” I finished, “and we think someone might be planning to exploit it.”

Something flickered in Landon’s face. “
Exploit
is the word.”

Surprised, I asked, “You don’t approve?”

“To be honest, Ms. Stilson, the work I was doing in Florida made me sick. Putting a pure natural resource into plastic bottles and selling it to clueless, spoiled consumers is the worst sort of waste.” Landon no longer seemed shy, and it was clear he wasn’t objective on the subject.

I resolved right then to cut down on buying bottled water, at least a little.

“You’ve never been out to Sweet Springs, Mr. Landon?”

He frowned like a robot who’d had been asked if it liked daisies. “To tell you the truth, since we moved here I haven’t seen much except the quarry and my office.”

“Has anyone at WOZ mentioned Sweet Springs to you?”

“Not that I recall.” He smoothed his beard absently. “I’m not very good at socializing.” He smiled ever so slightly. “Diane says my head is always somewhere else.”

If he was telling the truth, Enright Landon wasn’t likely to be Gail Sherman’s confederate. But looking at his blank expression, I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone was as stereotypically nerdish as this.
I tried to see past the beard and judge if he was playing a role, but it was difficult, since he looked mostly at the floor.

“You believe bottled water is a bad idea?”

His manner turned pedantic. “Of course there are legitimate uses for it, such as in disaster areas. But for everyday purposes? The bottles clog landfills, and energy is wasted in processing something that comes out of most people’s taps.” He shook his head in anger. “I couldn’t be part of it anymore.”

“So you moved to Michigan.”

He glanced at me for half a second. “The job here came along at precisely the right time.”

“With WOZ.” I shifted my feet. “How’s that working out?”

“Mr. Wozniak has an excellent grasp of business, but he needs someone like me to handle the ever-expanding governmental regulations and environmental concerns at the quarry.” That sounded like it had come directly from the job description.

“And you and Stanley get along all right?”

“Mr. Wozniak says I’m the perfect employee.” Landon sounded proud. “I guess I don’t have much of an ego.”

“I keep telling Enright he’s too nice.” Stepping into the doorway with a bit of chicken in her hand, Diane spoke to the dog. “Jump, baby! Jump!”

Jolie obeyed, but Diane held the meat just out of her reach. Ears flapping, the dog tried again, causing a musical, three-tone laugh from Diane. “Jump, baby!”

When she’d had enough entertainment, Diane let the dog have the meat. “She likes it when we play with her.”

“They do love attention,” I replied. “My Newf loves to play.”

“A Newfoundland! How big?”

I rattled off Styx’s height and weight, and Diane oohed with appreciation. “I’ll bet walking a dog that size is a workout.”

“True. Sometimes he walks me and other times he runs me.”

“Where do you take him?” she asked. “I don’t like walking in the development where it’s all concrete and cars. The lakeshore is nice, but I’d like to find places with trees where Jolie can explore a little.”

“I know lots of places like that.”

Diane asked shyly, “Could you show us sometime? I don’t know anyone here, and En’s always at work. I’m alone a lot.”

Loving a dog is always a sign of a kind heart. Diane had experienced life outside Allport, Michigan, which would be refreshing. And she obviously needed a friend.

“I’d be glad to pick you and Jolie up tomorrow around ten, if you’re free. I can show you a couple of good places to walk, and then we can let Jolie explore my favorite nature path with Styx.”

“That would be great.”

I rose. “Now I’ll get out of here so you two can have your dinner. Thanks for your help, Enright, and Diane, I’ll see you tomorrow.”