by Dan Padavona
Sandoval raised his palms. “The crumbs looked like chocolate, but I could be wrong. The lab tests will tell us for sure.”
“Maybe the guy developed a chocolate allergy,” Aguilar said. “My great uncle ate shellfish his entire life. Then one day, when he was in his sixties, his throat closed up after he ate fried shrimp. His wife drove him to the hospital. Doctor told him he was allergic to shellfish. News to my great uncle.” Aguilar snapped her fingers. “Just like that. Pretty scary.”
“What’s your guess?” Thomas asked Virgil.
The medical examiner scratched his head. “I lean toward chemical asphyxiation, possibly poisoning.”
Thomas’s gaze snapped to Claire.
“It’s possible whatever he ate poisoned him,” Claire said. “Until we conduct an autopsy, we’re speculating.”
As the ambulance crew wheeled Tenny from the house, Thomas and Aguilar knocked on the neighbor’s door. A few inches shy of six feet, Jerome Bernhardt was in his mid-thirties. He parted his black hair on the side, had a dimpled chin, and wore a collared shirt with a golf bag emblem. The dirt beneath his fingernails suggested he’d worked in the yard before returning the hedge trimmer.
“I can’t believe Wade is dead,” Bernhardt said, staring at his neighbor’s house, as though he expected Tenny to wander outside at any second.
“Were the two of you close?” asked Aguilar.
“We talked over the fence a lot and shot some links together. I hired him to do my taxes last spring.” Bernhardt tugged at his shirt and looked down. “I feel bad saying this, but he didn’t do a very good job. But with outdoor equipment, Wade owns two of everything. Two lawn mowers, one push and one riding. Two sets of clippers, two electric hedge trimmers. That’s why I borrowed the trimmer. I knew he had an extra lying around.”
“Is it just you here?”
“No, I’m married. Marianne works until five.”
Thomas pulled out a pen and pad. “Did Tenny have any visitors in the last twenty-four hours?”
“As a matter of fact, he did. Not sure if it was a new girlfriend. But the woman was smoking hot.”
“When did this woman visit Tenny?”
“Middle or late afternoon yesterday. They were talking in the driveway, and it appeared they were flirting with each other. I figured I should mind my business. But damn, she was gorgeous. It made me wonder how Wade found a girl like that.”
“Can you describe the woman?”
“Skirt up to about here,” Bernhardt said, placing the edge of his hand against his upper thigh. “Shorter than Wade, about five-foot-four. A redhead. Long red curls past her shoulders.”
Aguilar glanced over her shoulder when a car drove past, then turned her attention to Bernhardt. “And you never saw her before yesterday?”
“Never. A woman like that struts through the neighborhood, and you don’t forget.”
“Struts? Where was her car?”
Bernhardt creased his forehead. “Now that you mention it, I never noticed a car. One second, she was crossing the street. Next, they’re going inside.”
“When did she leave?” Thomas asked.
“An hour later. I felt like a creep, staring at her through the window. So I showered, since I’d spent a few hours working in the yard. That was the last I saw of Tenny or the woman.”
Thomas and Aguilar questioned the other neighbors. Nobody besides Bernhardt recalled seeing a beautiful redheaded woman, or a vehicle parked outside Wade Tenny’s house. Thomas’s instincts told him the woman had something to do with Tenny’s death.
With Lambert busy on another call, Thomas phoned Chelsey from the cruiser. She told him about the burst pipe and the threatening phone call.
“Where are Raven and LeVar?” he asked, concerned Chelsey was alone.
“Watching Osmond Bourn.”
“Call them back to the office. Until we figure out who’s harassing you, you’re not to be alone.”
“I don’t want to burden everyone.”
“You aren’t. But while you’re at the office, you can help me with some information.”
Thomas heard Chelsey’s chair rolling across the office floor.
“Shoot.”
“Ask Scout where she found the Treman Mills yearbook photos, the ones with Georgia Sims, Tina Garraway, and Harding Little together.”
“I can do that.”
“Recheck the pictures. Search for a boy named Wade Tenny. If he ran with the other three, I need to know.”
“Who’s Wade Tenny?”
“The latest Treman Mills graduate to die. Oh, and search the yearbook for a pretty redhead with curls past her shoulders.”
“You into redheads, Sheriff?”
“I like brunettes just fine, thanks.”
“Good answer. What do you want with the redhead?”
“She might be the last person who saw Tenny alive.”
32
Chelsey could finally breathe now that LeVar and Raven had returned to the office. Their surveillance mission yielded nothing. While LeVar and Raven spied on Osmond Bourn, the contractor repaired a deck. No flirting. No surprise, since the owner was a rotund, bearded fellow with a beer belly. Then Bourn drove to Kane Grove, bought a sandwich at the deli, and took the entrance ramp to the highway. LeVar and Raven followed Bourn’s SUV for fifteen minutes as he motored into the heart of the Finger Lakes. Raven suspected Bourn was on his way to Coral Lake again. They abandoned the mission before Bourn reached his destination.
“Tell me again about the phone call,” Raven said, leaning against her desk.
Chelsey recounted the caller’s threat to back off.
“It could be anyone,” LeVar said. “We’ve closed so many cases over the last two months, it’s possible we ruffled someone’s feathers.”
“All the more reason to nail Bourn,” Raven said, propping her feet on the desk. “Let me work my magic.”
“Bad idea, Raven,” Chelsey said as LeVar nodded in agreement.
“If Bourn is messing with you, let’s catch him in the act and take him out of action.”
“Take him out of action? We’re proving he’s unfaithful to his wife. It’s not like he’ll go to jail for being a leech.”
“True. But catching him will be sweet revenge.”
Chelsey rubbed her eyes. “Speaking of Rosemary Bourn, I’m scheduled to meet with her in an hour. She’s driving me bonkers with this investigation.”
As LeVar and Raven typed at their computers, Chelsey answered the phone. Raven gave her a concerned glance before Chelsey shook her head, signaling it wasn’t the mystery caller. She was surprised when the woman identified herself as Brynn Ortega. All morning, Chelsey had put out feelers for anyone who’d graduated with Georgia Sims, hoping someone would shed light on the woman’s stalker. Chelsey found Brynn through social media. She was the only person to answer Chelsey so far.
“Sure, I remember Georgia,” Brynn said.
The birdsong in the background told Chelsey Brynn was outdoors.
“Did she have any enemies?”
“Georgia was one of the popular girls, though she was always kind to me. I played the clarinet, so I wasn’t one of the cool kids,” she said, giggling.
Another line rang in the office. Raven had left to use the bathroom, and LeVar was on another call.
Tapping the tip of her pen against the desk, Chelsey asked, “Is there a time we can meet and talk about high school?”
“I suppose. What’s this about?”
The phone kept ringing.
“I promise I’ll tell you everything when we get together.”
“I suppose. There’s a fun place down the road called The Wetlands Brewery. Know it?”
“Yeah.”
“How about two o’clock on the day after tomorrow?”
Chelsey glanced at her calendar. “That’s perfect. I’ll be there at two.”
By the time Chelsey got off the phone with Brynn, the other caller had given up.
Raven passed the office and headed for the kitchen. She returned to her desk with a salad.
LeVar rocked back in his chair and eyed his sister. “I wish you’d reconsider this plan of yours.”
Raven opened the plastic container and huffed. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like we haven’t done something like this before.”
“Yeah, but this Osmond Bourn guy isn’t just a cheater. I’m telling you, Level 13 is a 315 Royals club, and Bourn is up to no good.”
“He’s having a midlife crisis. I’m not worried.”
“You should be.”
Raven forked lettuce into her mouth and scowled. “Salad won’t hold me over until dinner. Hey, what if we all go out for lunch? Someplace nice with tablecloths. What do you say?”
LeVar shrugged and glanced at Chelsey.
The last thing Chelsey wanted to do was spend money on an expensive lunch. “What about the leaking pipe?”
“We’ll go after the plumber arrives.”
Chelsey chewed the inside of her cheek. “Sure.”
Raven pumped her fist and gave her brother a high-five. “Yes! Real food.”
A knock on the door brought LeVar’s head up.
Chelsey held up a hand. “It’s okay. That’s the plumber.”
LeVar followed Chelsey to the door until he confirmed the visitor wasn’t Osmond Bourn. Woody Kowalski, proprietor of Kowalski Plumbing, adjusted his tool belt and hiked up his sagging pants as Chelsey walked him into the kitchen. LeVar returned to the office and argued with Raven over her plan to catch Bourn. Their voices carried down the hallway as Kowalski shone a light over the rusted catch pipe.
“Yep, I see your problem. These pipes are older than time, by the looks of them.”
“Can you fix it?”
Kowalski lay on his back and peered at the piping from below. “Won’t be a quick fix, I’m afraid. The tailpipe needs to go. While I’m at it, I might as well change out all the pipes.”
That sounded like a lot of money. Chelsey stuffed her hands inside her pockets. “Is that necessary?”
“Nope. We can switch out the catch and the tail and leave the others as is. But you’re living on borrowed time if you do. You’ll spring leaks every six months until the pipes completely rust through. Then you’ll have a bigger mess on your hands.”
“What’s the best course of action?”
With a grunt, he wiggled out of the cabinet and touched the small of his back.
Kowalski let out a breath. “Replace all the pipes. Pay a little now, or a lot later. But I’ll be straight with you. I don’t skimp on materials, and I don’t go for the cheapest option. I have a solid reputation in Wolf Lake, Ms. Byrd. Not because I’m affordable, but because people only need to call me once. Fix the problem right the first time, then forget I exist.”
“Shouldn’t you install PVC so it doesn’t rust again?”
“PVC has too much play. I use galvanized steel. Those pipes will outlive the both of us. It will be a hundred years before someone replaces them. And by then, neither of us will care about plumbing issues and home repair costs.”
Chelsey pictured a cash register ringing up a massive bill. But she trusted Kowalski.
“Let’s do it. Galvanized steel, it is.”
“You won’t regret the decision. Give me a minute to grab the supplies from my truck. I’ll be out of your hair in a few hours.”
While Kowalski was outside, Chelsey called Rosemary Bourn and rescheduled their appointment, moving it ahead three hours in case the plumbing job took longer than expected. Rosemary balked, complaining about Chelsey and her team failing to catch her cheating husband. Chelsey half-wished the woman would demand a refund and take her business elsewhere. But Chelsey needed Rosemary Bourn’s business, even if she wanted to wring the woman’s neck.
Kowalski whistled a Jimmy Buffett tune about attitude and latitude changes as he carried the shiny new pipes into the kitchen. After aiming two flashlight beams under the sink, he squeezed his bulky frame into the opening and went to work. Metal clanged as the plumber fought with the corroded connections.
Chelsey reached inside the refrigerator and grabbed a fruit drink. “Can I offer you something to eat or drink while you work?”
“Just had lunch, but thank you all the same. So what’s it like being a private investigator?”
She swallowed down the wrong pipe and coughed into her arm. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. But it’s a living, and I enjoy solving people’s problems.”
“Would you say it’s more like The Rockford Files or Magnum PI?”
Chelsey set the drink down before she snorted or shot fruit juice out of her nose. “Neither, but I can picture myself catching bad guys in Hawaii. That might be fun.”
Kowalski grunted in agreement. His voice sounded hollow from beneath the sink. “Maybe I should take my business on the road. They need plumbers in Hawaii, right?”
“I suppose so.”
Kowalski drained the pipe’s liquid contents into a plastic basin. “Come January, it sure would be nice to work in Hawaii. The frozen tundra of Nightshade County grows old after you’ve lived here for fifty-three years.”
“So you’ve lived here your entire life?”
“Born in Wisconsin. My folks moved to Wolf Lake when I was three. Been here ever since.”
“So you must know plenty of contractors in the area.”
“Sure. You need a recommendation for a project?”
Chelsey fiddled with the bottle’s loose label. “What do you think of Osmond Bourn?”
The clanging ceased, the kitchen suddenly quiet. Several seconds passed before Kowalski spoke. When he did, his voice dropped an octave.
“What do you want with Bourn?”
“Between my leaky roof and the sagging deck out back, I need several repairs. His name comes up frequently.”
Kowalski slid out from beneath the table and wiped his hands on a stained cloth. “Find another contractor.”
“What’s wrong with Bourn?”
The plumber pressed his lips together in consideration. “I don’t trust the guy. I know two things, Ms. Byrd. Plumbing and people. And Bourn isn’t good people.”
“Is he unscrupulous or something?”
“Couldn’t tell you about his business practices. It’s more the way he looks at you from the corner of his eye.”
“Like he’s watching you?”
“More like he’s thinking of where to hide your body.”
33
Kaylee wore her Uma Thurman wig and black sunglasses. Sitting across the street from Wolf Lake Consulting, she pretended to read her phone until the three investigators exited the office and climbed into an orange Honda Civic. Kaylee recognized the dark-skinned boy from Sheriff Shepherd’s backyard. The same teen had poked his head into her business after she broke into Georgia Sims’s house. She didn’t recognize the two women. That was fine. She’d deal with them soon.
Kaylee lowered her head and waited until the Civic disappeared down the thoroughfare. After checking for witnesses, she edged the door open and crossed the street. Rather than strolling across the private investigation firm’s parking lot, she cut between two shops, rounded the firm, and approached from the back. She kept her attention glued to the roof and walls, wary of security cameras. A sign on the back door read, Out to Lunch. Be Back Soon. At the door, she glanced around and removed the lock picks. The lock proved more difficult to pick than the one at Georgia Sims’s house. After a minute of concentration and cursing, Kaylee opened the door.
She stood in the entryway with anticipation tingling through her bones. Though breaking inside other people’s homes gave her a rush, she had business to attend to. A hallway stretched before her. Two open doors lined the corridor to her right, where she spied a bathroom and a bedroom. How unusual. Did the investigators live here in some weird crime solving commune? She laughed and covered her mouth. The giggle sounded loud amid the quiet of the vacant business.
Kaylee turne
d left. Another bedroom stood at the end of the hallway beside a kitchen. She padded inside the office and surveyed a row of filing cabinets, three desks holding computers, and a murder board on the wall. She expected to find her misdeeds scrawled on the board. Instead, she read some drivel about a contractor cheating on his wife. The investigators had no idea who Kaylee was.
Or did they?
Perhaps the dark-skinned teenager had spotted Kaylee before she escaped through the fence behind Georgia’s house. She’d worn a stocking over her face, and the black clothing made her invisible at night. Yet worry crept up her spine. Had the investigators or the sheriff identified Kaylee on the bedroom security camera?
She moved from one computer to the next. Every computer prompted Kaylee to enter a password. Wearing gloves, she typed at the terminal, unable to crack the passwords. Next, she slid the filing cabinet drawers open and read through the case files. The firm arranged the folders in alphabetical order, so she quickly located the Georgia Sims case file. Thumbing through the pages, Kaylee searched for her name. She didn’t find it. The pages chronicled the dates and times Kaylee had broken inside Georgia’s house. There was a reference to camera footage and a masked person entering the bedroom, which meant the idiots weren’t even sure if they were searching for a man or a woman.
Kaylee’s heart stopped pounding. Nobody was on her trail.
According to the case notes, the sheriff possessed the video file, and there was a copy on Chelsey’s computer. Sliding the filing cabinet shut, Kaylee scanned the desks until her eyes stopped on a nameplate with Chelsey Byrd written across the front. She recognized the name from the business card. Chelsey Byrd was the whore Georgia Sims hired to catch her stalker. Good luck with that.
Determined to crack Chelsey’s password and view the camera footage, Kaylee peeked out the window and watched shoppers stroll through the village without a care. Little did they know a murderer stared at them through the glass. When she was sure no one had seen her, Kaylee typed passwords into Chelsey’s computer. Nothing worked. She pulled the desk drawers open and sifted through Chelsey’s belongings—business cards, salty snacks, old photographs of a younger Chelsey and a good-looking boy.
