Sleuthing at Sweet Springs (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 4) (16 page)

Faye

Barb had gone to put her beloved Chevy into winter storage, with Dale following in her more modern Ford Edge. Together they had washed and waxed the old car, changed the oil and added stabilizer, and checked the air in the tires. Once they reached the storage unit, Dale would help her put carpet strips under the tires and cover it with a drop cloth.

Though Dale didn’t often drive anymore, he enjoyed helping Barb and loved that old car almost as much as she did. The distance they had to travel was short and it wasn’t raining or snowing, so the task wouldn’t strain Dale’s abilities. As usual, he checked the weather several times before they set off.

I admitted to myself that I was glad to see the Chevy gone for the next few months. Retta was always going on about how it was sure to break down when Barb was out in the middle of nowhere, and there’s a lot of nowhere in northern Michigan. While I didn’t criticize Barb’s baby out loud, I did worry.

Barb sometimes went out at night, after we were in bed. She was very quiet, but old houses aren’t silent places. Stairs creaked, doors squeaked, and floors shifted, no matter how lightly she treaded. When we first began sharing the house, I thought she was meeting some man she didn’t want us to know about. Now she had Rory, and everyone in town knew it. Barb didn’t have to sneak away at midnight to see him, but she still went out, at least once a month. Where did she go?

I’d conjured up all kinds of theories, but none of them convinced me for long. My sister wasn’t a spy or a cat burglar or one who’d go looking for UFOs in the night sky. She was much too responsible, too practical, for such silliness. I’d thought about telling Retta, but I couldn’t predict how she’d react. She might simply say, “Barb, Faye wants to know where you go in the middle of the night.” On the other end of the spectrum, she might roll her eyes and tell me to keep my nose out of Barbara’s affairs.

Since Barb’s secret outings were none of my business, and since I didn’t have the nerve to come out and ask what the midnight absences were about, I worried around the edges of the problem. Her car might break down. She might get lost on some dark road on a starless night. A violent man might follow her and hurt her. Worry is what I do, and believe me, I’m good at it.

When she drove her newer vehicle, I had one less worry. Not that it helped much.

Rick Chou visited the office just before closing time, stepping inside quickly and closing the door with a firm bang to keep out the sharp wind. He seemed faintly disappointed to find I was the only one there. “I wondered if Ms. Evans has found Candice yet.”

His assumption I was office staff and no more was faintly annoying, but I was used to it. “We’ve made contact,” I told him. “It’s a matter of working out how the signing will be handled.”

“Good. My real estate agent has a bite on the property, so I’d like to get this wrapped up in the next week or so.” With a smile he apparently thought would melt my female heart he added, “Candice is a great person, but she has problems with men. I guess her dad was real hard on her.”

When I didn’t respond, he abandoned the it-wasn’t-anything-I-did-wrong attempt. Fiddling with a button on his coat he said, “Retta tells me you’ve got a case of suspected elder abuse. I suppose that’s more interesting than locating a stubborn ex-wife.”

I tried to read the intent behind the question. Was it idle curiosity, or was Chou trying to wheedle information out of me? I made a mental note to caution Retta about discussing our cases with anyone. Even an offhand comment made to the wrong person could create problems in such matters.

“All of our cases are interesting, Mr. Chou.” I said primly.

He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, jingling the change there. The look that passed over his face might have been anger, but it might also have been irritation that his charm didn’t work on me. Guys like Chou aren’t used to that.

In the end he forced a smile. “Well, I appreciate what you ladies are doing. My agent says these buyers are motivated.”

“Do you mind telling me who your agent is?” It was a hunch.

“The property’s listed with a couple of online realties,” he replied, “but up here I’m working with Gail Sherman at So-Rite.”

Barb

Checking the email on Friday morning, I told Faye, “Candice Chou is willing to meet us on Monday.”

“Where?”

“She’ll be passing through the Madison, Wisconsin, airport in the afternoon and has a two-hour layover.”

“Still not taking any chances, huh?”

“I assume Retta’s willing to go?”

“She’s on her way here now,” Faye said. “I’ll get her a flight and pull the documents together—” She paused as scratching sounded from the back of the house. “—as soon as I let Buddy out of the entryway.”

My cell buzzed, and I saw the call was from my nephew. As soon as Faye was gone, I picked up. “Hi, Cramer.”

“Aunt Barb, I’ve got stuff on Chief Neuencamp’s problem.”

“Great.” I rattled around in my desk drawer for a pen. “I’m ready—give me the name.”

A noise in the outer office alerted me, and I peeked out. Retta came in the front door, accompanied by a dozen leaves the blustery wind blew in. Taking a broom from the closet she swept them up, listening to my end of the conversation as she worked.

“Name?”

“Harold Gager, twenty-six years old.”

“A man? But the phone calls—”

“There are at least two people involved. The guy at Subway says Gager comes in all the time to use the free Wi-Fi. He sends the emails. A partner must make the calls.”

“Is this guy employed?”

“Works at the Ugly Bar. Nights.”

“Any idea why he’s doing this?”

“He filled out an application online to be an officer on the APD last July. Maybe the chief was rude to him or something.”

“Rory isn’t like that.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. The chief’s a really good guy.”

“I didn’t know you’d ever met him.”

“Yeah, well, April had a little problem a few months back.”

“Oh.” Cramer’s ex-wife had had several “little problems,” usually stemming from her tendency to drink too many Mojitos.

“She got into it with this other girl. April poured a pitcher of beer over her head, and the girl called the cops. The chief had taken a shift, like he does sometimes, and he took April in so she could sober up.” Cramer paused, but I knew what was coming. “The next morning she called me to come and drive her home.”

“And you went.”

“I did.” He sounded ashamed. “Chief Neuencamp didn’t see any sense in charging her, but he said she can’t keep doing this stuff. I paid for the things that got broken in the scuffle, and he let her off with a warning.”

“And what happened after that?”

I heard scuffling on the other end and pictured Cramer scraping his foot like a kid ashamed to tell what he knows. “April didn’t like what he said, but as far as I know she hasn’t been in trouble since.”

“You know you aren’t responsible for her.” I glanced at Retta, who was removing brown leaves from one of Faye’s plants. She didn’t know it was Cramer on the other end of the call, although she might be able to guess from what she was hearing.

Cramer sighed. “I know. It’s just hard when someone could be different—happier—and you can’t get them to see it.”

“I understand.” I got back to business. “So what’s the information you have for me?”

Cramer provided a short bio and addresses, both work and home, for Mr. Gager. He’d come to Allport from Indiana with a woman who had since tossed him out and moved on with her life. He lived alone in a trailer park just out of town and worked nights tending bar. When I’d copied the details down, I thanked Cramer and ended the call.

“Is somebody picking on Rory?” Retta took a seat on the chair closest to my desk.

I paused, wondering how much to tell her. On one hand, Retta’s nosiness was irritating, as always. On the other, she knew the Allport undercurrents. She might even know the man Cramer had identified and why he was angry at Rory. Without saying who’d done the work of tracking Harold Gager down, I told her what he was up to. She was outraged at the insult to Rory’s character. “We are so lucky to have a decent, experienced chief of police in this town. I can’t believe somebody’s trying to get him fired.”

“Apparently Gager wanted a job but wasn’t chosen.”

Retta slapped the desktop. “So naturally it’s Rory’s fault. Like school kids who blame the principal for rules they don’t like.”

I said what Rory would have said had he been present. “Those who aren’t smart enough to think those things through blame the person they see, not the system he works for.”

She made a rude noise. “And you can’t reason with them, because they love having someone to hate.”

“Well, now that I’ve found out who it is, I intend to stop him. I want to be there when he’s caught. I want to look him in the eye when he realizes his plans are ruined.” I sounded like some B movie hero, but that was how I felt. This was personal, and I intended to see these people fail in their attempts to ruin Rory.

Retta leaned closer. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “But it will be diabolically clever.”

“I’ll help,” she said. “I can be diabolically clever, too.”

***

Rory was out of the office when I dropped in, which I’d known ahead of time. When no one else was nearby and the buzz of other conversations covered ours, I asked the secretary casually if anyone she knew of seemed particularly angry with Rory.

Janet’s eyes narrowed as she thought about it. “A guy called after they hired Patrick last summer, demanding to know why he didn’t get the job. I explained I have nothing to do with hiring, but he wouldn’t shut up. Finally I said I had work to do even if he didn’t, and I hung up.”

“Did he blame Rory?”

She chewed on the end of her pen for a moment. “He did ask what the chief had against him. I told him Chief Neuencamp isn’t like that, but he wasn’t about to believe me.” She paused as things came together in her head. “You do know the calls about Rory slacking on the job are made by a woman, right?”

“Yes, but that could be to throw us off.”

“You think we might have an angry pair, working together?”

“It’s possible.”

Janet had come to know me pretty well. “Who is it, Barb?”

“I have a lead on the man. No idea who the woman is.”

“It would be great if you could stop them.” Janet brushed overlong bangs away from her eyes. “Why are people like that?”

“Maybe they blame others for their failures because they don’t want to blame themselves.”

Janet nodded agreement. “So are you going to tell the chief you know one of the people who’s trying to sabotage him?”

“I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’d appreciate it if you keep this to yourself for now.”

“Not a problem,” Her dark eyes flashed. “I have a feeling you can handle this jerk—and his jerkette, too.”

***

When I returned home the landline phone was ringing. “Smart Detective Agency.”

“Stan Wozniak here. I need to speak with Ms. Evans.”

“This is Barb Evans. What can I do for you, Mr. Wozniak?”

“You can explain why you asked Enright Landon those questions the other day.”

His tone made my hackles rise. How much paranoia did the man hold in his cramped little soul? Apparently, because of a few questions he’d become suspicious of his new employee.

I cleared my throat, banishing the snotty response that first arose. “You heard everything Landon and I said. Is there a problem I’m unaware of?”

“I didn’t get where I am today by blindly trusting others, Ms. Evans.” Without skipping a beat he asked, “Are you currently investigating a case?”

“Several, actually.”
Several is vague enough to mean two
.

His pause was brief. “But you multi-task, right? Isn’t that what the modern woman is noted for?”

“You know what they say. We have to work twice as hard to be considered half as good.”
Especially by men like you
.

His next words surprised me. “Can we meet somewhere? I’d like to run a problem by someone familiar with the criminal mind.”

Was Wozniak losing it, or did he know something I didn’t?
Only one way to find out
. “Where would you like to meet?”

“There’s a diner on 12
th
and Main. Do you know it?”

“Yes. When?”

“Now if you can manage it. I’m already there.”

How like him to assume I’d dance to his tune. He was clever, though, because I was intrigued enough to meet him. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

Fall in Michigan is a time when each day—sometimes various parts of a day—requires a different coat: light, medium, rain, wind, or heavy. I’d walked to Rory’s office earlier, so the question I had to ask myself was which coat I’d left my car keys in the last time I drove somewhere. Faye came into the office as I was checking pockets.

When I told her where I was going, her eyes widened. “Really? Stanley Wozniak?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

***

Wozniak was sitting at a table in the classic Wyatt Earp position: facing the room, back to the wall. Before him was a platter, empty except for stains of egg yolk and toast crumbs. He rose as I approached. “What would you like, Ms. Evans?”

I spoke to the waitress. “Coffee, please.”

He tried to interest me in a pastry, but I refused. Taking his platter, the woman went off to get the coffee pot.

Wozniak regarded me with his usual direct gaze, so I looked right back. He was a few years older than I with gray hair cut GI short and a lean body that hinted at either an exercise regimen or high metabolism. From Retta I knew Stan had been married three times and was known nowadays for temporary liaisons with women who were physically attractive but not terribly smart.

“You’re wondering why I asked you here.”

“It sounds to me like you distrust the man you recently hired.”

The waitress returned to pour my coffee and refill Wozniak’s. It smelled good, and I smiled at her in thanks. Wozniak waited until she was gone before he spoke.

“Shortly after you came to the office, a woman from the human resources office at Landon’s last place of employment called. He was out at the quarry, so I took the call. She wanted to ask him something about his 401K, and I told her what time she could call back later and speak to him.” Stan sipped his coffee. “Since your visit was fresh in my mind, I asked the woman if they’d ever had any questions as to Landon’s character.” He paused to give me a lesson in business. “They all write glowing reference letters, but they never tell you what they left out.”

“Hard to get rid of an unsatisfactory employee if you admit he’s unsatisfactory,” I agreed.

“Yes. Well, this woman assured me Landon was an excellent engineer and a hard worker, uninspired but honest. The only hiccup came when the company credit card he was given got charged for a bunch of cash withdrawals he couldn’t have made.”

“Couldn’t have?”

“While Landon was at work, someone visited multiple ATMs and took the maximum amount from each one.”

“Stealing from the company?”

Wozniak shrugged. “It wasn’t Landon. He was at the plant on the days it happened, and the card was in his wallet.”

“Identity theft, then.”

He nodded. “The police found security camera footage of a young man in a hoodie with lots of facial hair and tattoos making the withdrawals, but they never located him.”

“So Landon was never a suspect.”

“No.” Wozniak seemed certain. “The card was used repeatedly over a month’s time. It wasn’t until the bookkeeper reconciled employee record sheets with the credit card statements that the theft was discovered.”

“And steps were taken to stop it.”

“Of course.” He shifted in his chair, setting his elbows heavily on the table. “The authorities were alerted and the card was flagged, but it was never used again. The police believe the thief was a lone wolf who seized an opportunity and made the most of the information until discovery of his withdrawals became likely.”

“How much did the company lose?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

I set my cup down on the coaster with a soft ceramic clunk. “The thief must have been pretty busy for a while.”

“That’s why I’d like to hire you to check on Landon—discreetly—and see if he’s the type who might have taken some fast cash from his employer.”

Remembering the shy engineer’s demeanor I asked, “Do you suspect he isn’t what he seems to be?”

Wozniak grinned mirthlessly. “It’s hard for me to believe anyone is as mild-mannered and self-effacing as Enright Landon. If I said I wanted him to personally get Lake Huron water samples from a mile off-shore, he’d nod that big old head of his and start wading.” He shrugged. “I suppose it could be an act.”

Neither of us mentioned a former, trusted WOZ employee who’d turned out to be dishonest. The fact that I’d exposed his crimes made Wozniak willing to trust me, even if he didn’t like me. To men like Stan, liking has nothing to do with business.

I considered his offer. “I’m not sure if we can help you. If the case we have now should connect to Landon, we’d run into a conflict of interest.”

As I said it, my brain took that idea a step further. What if Stan himself was behind this? He had the money to buy the properties, he had the resources to build a bottling plant, and he was always looking for ways to expand WOZ Industries. Had he hired Landon with an eye to diversifying into bottled water?

Then why would he want me to investigate him?

That answer came quickly: to keep his finger on the pulse of our activities. If Wozniak wanted to know what the Smart Detectives were up to, our best way to learn what
he
was up to might be to agree to his proposal.

He was waiting, and it felt like those gray-blue eyes were reading my thoughts. “Tell you what. If something we learn points to the possibility that Landon is dishonest, I’ll make sure you’re made aware of it.”

I didn’t say how he’d be made aware. He might learn of it when the police came with a warrant to search his offices. If Wozniak was involved in property crimes, elder abuse, and possibly murder, he’d get no sympathy from me.

“Fair enough.” He set his cup down and slid it off to the side, as if closing the topic. Looking over my shoulder at nothing he said, “I see her sometimes.”

The abrupt change of subject caught me by surprise, and I stared at him blankly.

“Brooke. We get together whenever I’m up here.”

It took me a second to recall that Brooke was the granddaughter he’d rejected, believing her father was a murderer. “She’s a good kid—got all A’s on her last report card.” His voice took on a wistful tone. “She looks just like my Carina did at that age.”

“I’m sure that’s a good thing—for both of you.” Sliding out of the booth, I took up the jacket I’d laid on the seat and pushed my arms into the sleeves. It had been my intention to remain aloof, but the fact that Stan was trying to be a grandfather to Brooke earned him a modicum of respect in my eyes.

“If what I learn about Landon has anything to do with his job at WOZ Industries,” I told Stan, “I’ll be in touch.”