by Ellen Parker
He unlocked a black door with “Frieberg Investigations,” a phone number, and web address stenciled on a single pane of frosted glass. He caught sight of Mr. Frieberg and spoke before his entire body cleared the threshold. “Morning, boss.”
Daryl Frieberg, Laura’s uncle and retired US Secret Service Agent turned private investigator, nodded and continued to move papers around in an open folder. “You look well after your trip and a late night.”
“Not so late,” Brad set the dead bolt before crossing the small public space to the counter. “The airplanes kept to their schedule. I arrived back in time to check out the church party during your final singing session.”
“Tell me about your trip to California.”
“A few more flights and I’ll have figured out how much extra time to allow in the security line for this.” He lifted the stainless steel end of his prosthesis above the counter. “Several long, good, gab sessions with Army buddies. We’re all civilians now. I’m still not quite used to that idea.”
“Give it a few more years.” Daryl closed the folder and reached for another. “Did you get an interview with Gary Browne’s sister?”
“Yesterday morning.” He settled a backpack on the counter and unzipped the smallest pouch. As the one, only, and new employee, Brad busied himself following orders from Daryl. He hadn’t asked many questions about this particular investigation until his boss approached him a few days before his San Francisco trip.
The Browne case stood apart from regular clients as Daryl’s personal family business. Mr. Browne continued as the senior business partner in a niche food manufacturing and distribution firm in St. Louis. Scott Tanner, the minority owner, had been killed with his business partner’s gun. Mr. Browne’s firm alibi and lack of solid evidence stymied the police. But Daryl insisted on digging for a few answers on his own, including getting a character assessment from Browne’s sister.
Brad kept his own questions about the case to himself. Laura, his childhood crush, was involved as the widow of a murdered man. He pulled a small voice recorder from his bag. “She believed my cover story about an article highlighting various Fisher House locations. Mary — Browne’s sister — led me on a personal tour of the Palo Alto facility.”
“Impression?”
“All positive. Then again, I already had a high opinion of the organization. The value of a little family nearby during military medical rehab hits close to my heart. Catch.”
“Never know when your journalism degree will come in handy in this business.” Daryl snatched the recorder before it landed.
“Whole idea of serious writing stays on the mental shelf marked ‘later.’ My mind is busy enough keeping the rules and regulations for this job and part-time real estate sales.”
“And here I thought you were the restless type who needed at least six different items on the agenda to feel useful.”
“You’ve been talking to my sister again.”
“Coffee every morning she has the café open.” Daryl picked up the folders and led them into the back room. Computers hummed soft and file cabinets lined two walls of the private area. “Any traffic on the way in?”
“Minimal.” Brad shrugged one shoulder and rejected any mention of the preparations at the tree farm. Daryl likely knew his sister and brother-in-law’s departure time. “Only movement I noticed on the town streets this morning was a cat strolling toward the garbage can behind Jack’s. Harter’s sign said ‘Open’ but the lone car was parked in the employee spot.”
“No surprise there. I expect it’ll be noon or after before our fair village gets active today.”
“Browne’s sister confirmed the gun was an inheritance from their paternal grandfather. She visited St. Louis in September and met the new partner, Christopher Lapp. You’ll find her words neutral and carefully chosen. Her face reflected general distaste anytime his name came up in the interview. I’d say his combination of custom tailored suit and bad teeth made a strong impression.”
Daryl laughed one syllable before speaking. “Makes me suspicious how my sisters would assess a few of my former co-workers. You?”
“I learned to ignore my sisters early. The age difference worked well to my advantage. They moved away before I collected many colorful characters as friends.”
“Any of your friends happen to own revolvers used in a murder?”
Brad shook his head. They were back to that again. Ownership of the murder weapon pretty well summed up where the official police investigation into the death of Scott Tanner stalled. An overwhelmed Metropolitan St. Louis Police Department classified it as “inactive,” but that didn’t hinder Daryl’s careful inquiries. The crumbs of information that fell in Brad’s direction told him Daryl worked on finding as much background as possible on the new business partner and dissecting the corporate financial records.
Brad studied the sure motions as Daryl extracted the recorder chip and set to making a copy. First, second, and maybe even third impressions of his boss conjured up words like quiet, private, and withdrawn. Still, watching him now, he wondered how many other discouraged people Daryl managed to help over a deep ditch or two of life. He had been one of the first outside his immediate family to forget pity and treat him as a young man with remaining potential.
Brad knew he owed the man an enormous debt. A lifetime didn’t seem long enough to begin to repay it. Honest and open would be the only way to approach the situation foremost in his mind the last few hours. “I introduced myself to Laura at the party.”
“You be careful around her. She’s fragile after losing Scott.”
“Tomorrow morning I’ll be wearing my real estate hat and showing her rentals in town.” Beautiful. Elegant. Sad. Don’t have fragile on my list. Brad glanced at the man who usually cloaked his emotions and noticed “protective uncle” showing in his faded blue eyes. “Mother taught me to be a gentleman.”
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