“They appear to be based on three recurring themes. One is that you, um—sorry—compromised the mayor somehow to get your business set up in Apple Grove. Which is laughable, at best. The second theme is that the mayor scrambled the city books to make it appear as if he’d either had a windfall, or he’s been cheating the people long enough to really have a windfall of cash. That’s not too popular, because most people liked Donald. Lastly, that you’re all criminals involved in some high-stakes money laundering scheme. They like that one.”
“‘You all’ I assume refers to me and Adam Thompson?”
I could practically hear her squirm over the phone.
“Ivy, we were at that meeting last night. Of course, you’re not involved in any kind of crime ring.” She didn’t have to voice the hesitant “are you?” She had not known us that long.
“A lot of people have been calling city hall. Margaret’s gone. She’s checked out of the Chicago hotel where she said she’d be. And there’s no answer at her house or her mobile phone. She’s pulled the disappearing act plenty of times before, but not without Donald making excuses for her. No one knows what to do about the funeral now that the body’s been released to the morgue. Rupert Murphy and Georgine Crosby are working together to find out what’s going on and both of them are hopping mad. In fact, I have to go now. Rupert says he’s my temporary boss and that I should report to work this afternoon.”
I was not sure what to make of our two “number two” suspects working together. I had wanted to take Crosby’s name off the list after the last council meeting when she obviously had no clue what Donald had been up to. But I wavered. Maybe she and Murphy were just trying to keep an eye on each other.
But, first: “Body released? That sounds cold, Marion. What can you tell me about how he died?”
“I didn’t quite catch it,” she said. “Something about infections. He was sick.”
Oh, no… “Nothing contagious, I hope?” My voice squeaked.
“Nah…they didn’t say that.” Her voice was way too cheery.
“You’ll call if you hear anything for sure?”
“Of course.”
We hung up. Marion’s news of the police report relieved me, despite her inability to put a definitive period on the cause of Donald’s demise. If no one seemed alarmed that he was carrying the plague, or something, then I shouldn’t be, either. Could his death just be some accident?
I didn’t like the indignity of Donald getting sick and dying in the men’s room. There were just too many problems to believe that—starting with Mom’s theory that his body had been moved. And what was that about Murphy signing a “do not clean” order? He moved back up a notch on the suspect list.
I thought of Summersby Building again and wondered if there might be some kind of connection. Perhaps I would casually call the Happy Hearts people in Madison, see if anyone there could say when the move was taking place. Maybe Donald had taken Tut with him, and someone might remember if Donald said anything about taking his cat somewhere else.
Yolanda might want to do a profile on the company for the paper. I could certainly help her with some groundwork. I grinned. Mom would be proud when she heard my latest strategy.
That afternoon when Mom and I stopped in at the library, so I could read through my e-mails, I got the silent treatment from a couple of patrons.
Nancy, who worked behind the counter three afternoons a week, gave me a stern shush before I even said a word.
I was not responsible for raising the taxes or the crime rate in Apple Grove, but it would take work to make them believe that. I felt the fragile friendliness I had worked hard to build in Apple Grove melting. I was not taking anything away from anyone by accepting money that had not been in the city coffers to begin with. Try explaining that in light of the allegations of being a mafia maven.
I signed in to use the internet. Of my business e-mails, one client’s term of service expired without his renewal and another one whose website design I had started canceled the second week into his contract, writing that he didn’t believe he owed me anything since I could not perform the agreed-upon service because he heard my equipment was out of order.
My equipment was not out of order, exactly, but suing people for nonpayment was not good business, either.
Only Gina, the high school girl, sent me a note saying she was sorry to hear I had been robbed, and who did I think was responsible and was Memnet all right? She would be happy to take care of Memnet, if I ever needed her. It would be something different than racing after human brats.
I chuckled quietly and typed a quick e-mail back that, yes, we were fine and thanked her for her concern.
When I shut down my inbox, I motioned Mom to come close so that we could check directories for a building company in Chicago called “Summersby.” It didn’t take long to go through the yellow pages.
“Here!” Mom pointed to the screen. “Got your pen?” she asked in a whisper.
I peeked at the clock, which showed our internet time was nearly up. “Ready. Read it to me.”
“Summersby. The only hit I got was the name of a place. The Summersby Building.” She rattled off a long string of numbers and names. It was in Chicago. We eyeballed each other. “Do you have time to find the neighborhood on a city map?”
We quickly pulled up a popular map site and plugged in the coordinates. The computer desk guard began to saunter in our direction. “Hurry!”
Mom’s fingers flew over the keyboard and we mentally willed the picture to come up quickly on the screen. She hit “print” and we closed the windows.
When we got home I sighed when I saw one more message had been left on my answering machine. I played it anyway. Twice. And was glad I did. Mom and I shared a little jig of joy at welcome news from Marion. Not only had Margaret worked in her chosen career field of pharmacy, she also worked for MerriFoods, a company in which her family owned a large financial stake, according to Bob’s aunt.
Mom filled in more information on her chart.
On the last morning of Mom’s visit, we attended church where Pastor Belman Gaines preached on the kindness of strangers. “Be careful to be generous to everyone. You never know when you’ll entertain angels and not be aware of it.”
Right now, the nearest angels in my life were Marion and Bob Green, besides Adam. Bob made a point to be loudly friendly to Adam, who I was glad to see had come to church and squeezed in next to us just as the opening hymn began.
Mom and I stood around the hall with other lingerers after the service.
“You got my message?” Marion asked in a whisper shortly before we left.
“Did I ever! No time wasted on ferreting out that little bit of information, Marion. How on earth did you get anyone to talk about Margaret?”
“With everyone being so upset at Mrs. Conklin’s absence during this time of disillusionment, the good folks were ready to complain long and loud. All I did was wonder out loud about what kind of connections Donald and Margaret had to get their hands on that kind of money.”
“You were at the buffet?”
“Yeah. Everyone’s always known Margaret’s family was loaded. Seems her grandfather got his start in the pet food industry and in fact, was a founding partner of MerriFood.”
“I thought Margaret was allergic to animals,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one was paying undue attention to us. “So why would she want to work with them?”
Marion shrugged. “Maybe she just doesn’t like anything that takes attention away from her. Tut was unusual. But she probably went to MerriFood because of her granddad. She was a researcher on the chemical side. Maybe she didn't have to touch them. Who knows?”
“Well, thanks. And thank you for your support today.”
“People get the strangest ideas, don’t they? Who in their right mind would think you or Adam could kill anyone?” Marion laughed and sauntered off toward her family.
Incredulous, I shook my head as Mom and Adam joined m
e. After noting his somber expression, I decided not to repeat Marion’s last comment, which was a new twist on the whole rumor thing. I wondered who started that one and hated to think that Mom might be on to something, putting Marion’s name on the suspect list. A rumor was like dandelion seeds floating on the breeze into people’s yards. One like that might just be the thing to take suspicion off of the real killer. On the other hand, at least more people than just me believed Donald’s death was no whim of fate.
8
On Monday, I threw myself into setting up the new equipment I bought to replace my stolen and damaged computer setup. I soon became sorry I ever chose this business. My message boxes were jammed with huge files of notes and requests for service that I learned were bogus when I called to confirm. Included were two warnings that terrible things would happen to Memnet and me if we did not leave town. That mystery caller from Tiny’s the other week was tame compared to some of this electronic hash. These messages came from anonymous mailboxes, each with a different website and user name that shut down by the time I traced the path.
Both Marion, even though she had been put peripherally on our suspect list, and Adam, came over at different times to help me sort through the mess. The warnings were intermingled with requests to send more information regarding the revitalization of Apple Grove to outside contacts that Donald made before he disappeared. It was difficult to sort through them all to find legitimate ones. Marion was a gem due to her knowledge of the people of Apple Grove who might have a reason to want to understand what was going on. Adam was helpful because…he was Adam. I soaked up his warmth and security.
“These threats and fake work orders burn me up,” I told Adam when we were alone. I did not like to think of Marion as a suspect, but I wasn’t ready to take her into our complete confidence yet, either. I should stop second-guessing myself. “No one’s come after you, have they?” I asked him. I would have hoped he would volunteer such information but asking seemed a good way of making conversation.
“I suppose it’s only a matter of time.” He held up the page he had been reading. “This one’s from Yolanda Toynsbee, asking you for an interview.”
“Oh?” I reached for the printout.
“When she asked me what I thought about the events at the meeting the other night, I told her I would be happy to talk about my business and things of that nature, but that I hadn’t even settled in yet and had no opinion about politics.”
“I see. You think she wants to talk about the tax credits?”
“I’m sure she’ll let you know.” Adam’s lips turned upward.
My immediate reaction had been to ask him what he thought I should do. I reminded myself that we weren’t even officially dating…yet…or even if he wanted a relationship. Definitely too early for love. Or was it? “I have some other things I’d like to discuss with Yolanda. I’ll call her later,” I said.
I watched him for a moment, appreciating the way he held the page and scanned it, before joining in the last of the sorting.
Although I did not think anything would come of it, we would turn in the two messages labeled “detailed threat” to the police. I hesitated to talk about the idea forming in my head. The Summersby building haunted me. Officer Ripple told Mom that the force was spread thin enough already. A field trip, or wild goose chase, to Chicago seemed out of the question for them. Just because I was raised in the western suburbs did not mean that I liked anything to do with driving in downtown Chicago. Alone. To a strange place I most certainly never visited before.
As the days passed I felt Donald’s murderer slipping out of our reach—if, indeed, Donald had been murdered. I wished I could guess Adam’s reaction if I mentioned my plan to drive into the city and check it out. He might want to come, and this was something I needed to do for myself, for my sense of independence. I held Donald’s picture from Marion and wanted to ask everyone there at the building if they had seen him. I also could not forget about Tut…poor Tut deserved better. What had happened to him?
I wondered how long they would search for Margaret before holding Donald’s funeral. Letty Grimm showed up in town, alone on Wednesday, claiming Margaret had arranged to meet her after some other personal business. When Margaret failed to show by Monday, Letty filed a police report. Another twist. I had been certain they were together.
I made more trips to the library to use their internet system to check the archived files of newspapers in hopes of keeping away from the hackers presently engaged in flooding my system at home. My mind wandered while articles downloaded after my search. Adam and I expected Mom’s students on Sunday afternoon. Father’s Day. I couldn’t honestly say I missed my father terribly since he had been gone most of my life. I wondered how Adam felt, having lost his daughter.
At least I had a few new clues to bring to the table. And here! I was right. Print these pages off…there. On my way to pick up my print copies I bumped into Yolanda Toynsbee. We looked at each other a long moment, assessing sides, and the benefits of confiding in each other. I took the first step. “It’s Saturday tomorrow. Why don’t you and Jenny come over to my house for lunch? She can play with Memnet.”
I was not positive about the reason for her hesitation, so I added a sweetener. “I’m expecting some unusual guests this weekend. I thought this might make a good story. My mother teaches criminology at Maplewood Community College. When she was visiting, she thought highly of our local police station and asked if they would allow some of her students to do their fieldwork here. Chief Hackman and Officer Ripple agreed.”
Yolanda’s raised eyebrow led me to hope.
“Wouldn’t that make an interesting article?” I wheedled.
“You’re right. It would.” Her gaze moved past my left shoulder briefly before returning to me. “We’ll be over, then. What time?”
After we made the arrangements I went to pick up my pages from the printer. I noticed they were not in numerical order.
From across the library counter at the front circulation desk, Nancy merely held out her hand for my change to pay for the printouts. I left the library, holding the articles gingerly by their edges, wondering about fingerprints. The prospect of sharing my home with strangers for a week, especially ones who were training to track criminals, set my comfort level on par with fine chocolate.
~*~
Yolanda and Jenny arrived on time for our lunch chat the next afternoon. “This is Memnet,” I introduced my pet.
“He’s here! Did you go home when I told you to? He looks like a cheetah,” Jenny squealed when she first saw him.
Memnet’s large ears went back. If he could have raised his brow, he would have.
I wondered what she was chattering about but decided to focus on her last comment. “That’s very observant, Miss Jenny,” I told her. “Not everyone notices that Memnet is so special. His is the only kind of pet cat that has spots like that, instead of patches of colors or stripes.”
Memnet closed his eyes and behaved as if he adored children. He allowed little Jenny to gently poke all of his spots and scrub at his ears. “Moo,” Jenny said, plopping down on the floor next to Mem and burying her face in his belly. Adoration time was about over.
His claws came out.
I cleared my throat.
He glared at me, then sheathed them.
“Um, Mem has spots, Jenny, but cats say—”
“She meant ‘Mau’ didn’t you, lovey?” Yolanda broke in. “We talked about that.” She set her purse on the floor beside one of the kitchen chairs. “Come here, now. Let’s have a nice little chat with Ivy. Then maybe you can make some pictures of him.”
The little girl obediently got up. On the way to the table, she noticed that her giraffe picture was on the front of my refrigerator. “I made that! You’ve got my picture in your house.”
“That’s right. Remember when we first met? At your grandma’s office?”
Jenny nodded.
“You were drawing pictures and you made that gira
ffe for me.”
She nodded again, sending her curls bouncing along the scalloped collar of her striped shirt. I set a plastic cup two-thirds full of lemonade in front of her. I let Yolanda pour her own. Jenny swiped a hand over her mouth after her drink.
I waited. Yolanda tapped her glass with a fingernail, her mouth set in a straight line.
Mem watched us from his supine position in the patch of light on the floor.
“Jenny, dear,” Yolanda broke the silence.
I held my breath.
“Yes, Gramma?” The little girl held her cup with both chubby palms.
“You remember last week when Daddy was angry?” Jenny’s little brow wrinkled, and she lowered her chin. “Can you tell Ivy why?”
Jenny’s voice dropped to a whisper.
Yolanda and I leaned closer, although I was surprised at the wobbly pucker of Yolanda’s mouth.
“I went too close to the water,” Jenny said. One fat tear squeezed between her eyelids.
“What was at the water?” Yolanda prompted.
“Kitty. I saw a kitty.” She turned and pointed. “Him. Like a cheetah. Only lion-colored. I thought he would get drownded and I jus’ wanted to save him.” Jenny lifted her fists to her eyes.
Even Mem sat up, but licked a paw, as if he wasn’t interested in a story that wasn’t about him.
Jenny obviously left out some details. Grandma Yolanda tried to make her frown serious. “You know why Daddy was angry, don’t you? He was scared.”
Jenny nodded, fists covering her eyes.
“All of us love you and we never want you to drown.”
“I go to tiny tot swim lessons,” Jenny whispered.
“True. But the river is dangerous. Even if you thought you saw a kitty there, what should you have done?”
“Told an adult.”
“That’s right.” Yolanda patted her granddaughter’s little shoulder.
Mem’s whereabouts were accounted for all week. Of course, any cat could look like Memnet in a little girl’s eyes. The sun could have made a cat look light-colored and dappled. Spotty. I took in a breath, about to tell them so.
Meow Mayhem Page 9
