by Mary Mantle
"I see. As far as I know, nothing strange happened. Gary made lots of friends and lots of enemies, but I don't know of anyone that would want to harm him. Sure, lots of people didn't like him, but hurting him, I can't think of anyone."
"Can we glance in his office? Maybe there will be a clue."
A confused look washed over Mr. Thompson's face.
"Are the police saying it was a murder? I thought it was just a car accident?"
"We aren't exactly sure, but we want to cover all of our bases."
Mr. Thompson's face scrunched in thought.
"I imagine a quick look at his office won't hurt; just don't touch anything."
Mr. Thompson got up from his desk, and we followed him. We walked across the hall to another corner office. It was the same size, but not as organized. It had a large desk with a computer on it, but it had papers all over the place.
There was a bookshelf, but the books were mismatched. One wall had a few posters of exotic beach locations, somewhere in the Caribbean or Bahamas.
"Have a look around, come get me when you are done and remember not to touch anything," Mr. Thompson said.
He walked back to his office.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," Hannah said. "There has to be some clue here."
We looked at the papers on the desk. Hannah wanted to shuffle the papers around but stopped. She looked at me and said, "Do you still carry those gloves with you?"
"Yes, in my purse. Which is in the car."
"Darn, we don't have that much time. I guess we will have to do our best."
I went around and looked at the desk. It looked like different sales contracts or real estate listings—nothing of importance. Then I saw a planner on his desk. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and used it to flip the planner open.
Hannah didn't notice. She was looking at the books on the shelf. It was a standard calendar with each day having its own page. Using my phone, I flipped through random pages landing on a day that was a few weeks ago. It had an appointment at 9 am with a guy named Scott Carter, and it had P.I. written next to it. I logged the information away in my mind. The man might have been a private investigator and could offer more clues about Gary Hollister's actions. Why would he need to hire an investigator?
Hannah walked over and asked, "Find anything interesting?"
I didn't want to bother Hannah with Scott Carter if it wasn't anything important.
"Not sure. Probably not. How about you?"
"Nope."
"Do you want to get out of here?"
"I think so."
I used my phone and flipped the planner closed. We left Gary's office and thanked Mr. Thompson. He didn't seem as friendly when we said goodbye, but he might have been in the middle of something, and we distracted him.
In the car, Hannah took a deep breath. She opened the center console and pulled out a wrist blood pressure monitor. She put the blood pressure monitor on her left wrist and tightened it.
"What are you doing? Something wrong?" I asked.
"Shhh!"
She turned the monitor on, and it whooshed as it expanded tight around her wrist. Once it was done, she looked at the reading.
"Everything alright?"
"My pulse is kind of high, but my blood pressure is fine. I should check a few more times."
I grabbed the monitor and said, "Hannah, you are fine. There is nothing to worry about. You are a bit stressed about your job, but that is normal."
"Let me check one more time."
"No. How long has this been a thing?"
"A few weeks. I read something about how it is good to check daily, so I got this and been checking it."
"How often?"
Hannah stared out the window and asked, "Are you hungry?"
"Hannah, how often?"
"Not much, maybe 20 times a day."
"Geeze, you are crazy. Let me try it."
Hannah handed me the monitor. I rolled down the window and threw the monitor out. It went as far as I could throw it and then crashed hard enough to ruin it.
A look of terror rolled across Hannah's face.
She shouted, "What the heck did you do?"
"It is okay. Nothing is wrong with you and think about the thousands of years humans lived without machines like that."
Anxiety covered Hannah like a blanket, and I needed to do something that would change the mood and hopefully snap her out of it. She closed her eyes and started taking deep, relaxing breaths.
I felt guilty for throwing the machine outside.
She got out of the car and retrieved it. A few seconds later, I heard the whooshing.
Hannah said, "Great. Still works, but the screen is broke, so it is worthless."
"I'm sorry, I overreacted. If you want, you can take me home."
She didn't say anything as she drove the car away.
I tried to break the silence. "So, what did you think of Mr. Thompson?"
Hannah glared and said, "I'm not talking to you, but I would say he did it if I was. He seemed nervous when we left like he was hiding something."
"I agree."
More silence.
Hannah was mad at me, and I needed to make her laugh. I had a plan. It was an idea I had for a while. I even rehearsed it at home in front of Tanner. No matter how much I try to control myself, I get mad when her anxiety strikes.
I reached into my purse and pulled out a white sock that had two crazy eyes on it. I slipped it over my right hand, and when I started talking, I tried to make a funny voice out of the side of my mouth as I moved the sock puppet.
I said, "Hey, I'm Ron Bleeker from accounting, and I drive a Mercedes and girls like me. I'm Ron."
Hannah glanced over and glared.
I kept going. "I'm Ron Bleeker, and all the women around town love me. I have the best mustache in the world. If I wanted to, I could be a mustache model. I eat healthy and bring my own lunch every day. Hannah loves me but won't admit it."
Hannah broke a smile and said, "Gross."
"I'm Ron, and I accidentally fart at work and blame it on Josh, the new guy."
Laughter. Hannah couldn't stop laughing, and neither could I.
7
Home Life
Tanner walked through the door and said, "Honeychka, I'm home." Honeychka is a nickname we call each other. Chka is a Russian suffix that means cute. I was in the kitchen, putting the final touches on dinner, the best sushi in town— avocado, smoked steelhead, cucumber, white rice, black rice, and cream cheese.
"Meow."
Barsik hoped to get some of the fish, and I tossed a small piece on the floor. He licked and chewed it.
I cut the last roll of sushi into pieces and went to Tanner. We shared a hug and kiss. I asked, "How was your day?"
"It was good. We had ten sales, so you can go back and visit Russia this year," Tanner joked.
We laughed.
I asked, "Do you want sushi tonight?"
"Yum, looks good."
Fifteen minutes later, our stomachs were full of sushi. Tanner asked, "How was your day?"
"I feel bad because I lost my temper with Hannah and threw her blood pressure monitor out the window. The screen broke, so she is mad at me."
"Yeah, you need to try and be more patient with her. You know she battles anxiety."
"I know I shouldn't get mad at her, but sometimes I can't control myself. It irritates me. In other news, we talked to several people, and after each visit, she thought that person did it. I found something interesting. Gary Hollister saw a private investigator about a week before his death."
"Look at you. My own Miss Marple."
"You know me. Curiosity always gets the best of me."
Tanner nodded in agreement.
Later that night, I tossed and turned. Tanner was out cold. I needed to know what happened and if the police were investigating it. They could classify it as an accident, and that would be the end of the story. The idea that
a killer could be next to me at the grocery store sent a shiver up my spine.
With Hannah mad at me and not wanting to add to her anxiety, I thought, maybe I'll visit Scott Carter the next day by myself. If it leads to something, I will let her know.
8
Scott Carter, PI
I glanced up at the clock; the minute hand seemed to be at a standstill. The sea of students in the classroom had their pencils to the paper working on a test. It was 7th-grade math, my last class for the short day I would have. My mind was on Scott Carter all morning. What questions would I ask him?
A student named Travis, a tall brown-haired boy who was hitting his growth spurt, brought his test to my desk. The first student finished. Luckily the teacher left a stack of worksheets, so I handed Travis one, and he returned to his seat and went to work. A model student. If only all of them were that way. The regular teacher would be back after lunch; my day would be over. She had a doctor's appointment, getting her 120-day pregnancy check-up. I jotted notes for the teacher, but all of her classes that morning were good, and there was not much to report.
Finally, class was over. I raced to my car, unlocked the door, and put my purse on the passenger seat. My eyesight isn't good, so I put my glasses on. Risky moves often define turning points, up or down, in our lives. It took a few minutes to build up the courage to drive to Scott Carter's place.
It was a 15-minute drive from the middle school, which was on the highway east of town, to Scott Carter's office, an old Victorian house near downtown. I thought about calling Hannah to tell her that I was stopping by, but I didn't want to trigger her anxiety. If I could get to the bottom of it on my own, that would save her a lot of trouble.
I pulled the car up on the curb outside. It was a three-story Victorian house that was baby blue and looked like it had owners that cared about it. The paint job on the house looked recent, and the maroon trim looked good. They must have put a new roof on sometime in the last five years, and the windows had been updated. I got out of my car and walked toward the house.
There I was again, nervous as a kitten that can't find its mother. There was a sign in the yard that said, Scott Carter Private Investigator.
Since it was a house, I wasn't sure if I should knock or just walk in. Through a window, I saw a waiting room.
Uncertain of what to expect, I went through the front door. In the movies, most private investigators were tough looking, big guys.
I walked through the door into the little reception area with two chairs and a little desk, but no one was in the room. It had had what looked like an office through one door, and another door went to his residence. I could smell grilled steak and mashed potatoes. Russians have a sixth sense for smelling potatoes. Scott Carter must be eating dinner.
"Hello, is anyone there?" I asked.
No response.
Again. "Hello, anyone there?"
I heard the sounds of footsteps coming. They creaked on the old wooden floor. A tiny man who was five foot five walked in; he had a thin black mustache.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"Are you, Scott Carter?"
"Yeah, I am. What can I do for you?"
"I'm investigating the death of Gary Hollister, and I noticed your name on his calendar. I figured you might have done some work for him."
"Maybe, maybe not. You don't look like a cop, so I'm wondering why I should answer your questions."
"You're right; I'm not a cop."
"Well, if you ain't a cop, then what are you?"
"I'm a substitute teacher."
"Then why the heck are you investigating his death? Are you family?"
"Nope."
He shook his head and said, "I think you should leave. Hell has a better chance of freezing over than me answering your questions."
Defeated, I was going to leave the house when I noticed a picture on the wall. It was a picture of Scott Carter with a tiny version of himself, minus the mustache. I paused. I knew the kid from school. It took me a few seconds to place him, but I did. He was a 7th grader named Kevin, and out of nowhere, I transformed into a different person. It was like how people describe an out of body experience. I felt like I was watching myself. My thoughts drifted toward Kevin and how I could use him as leverage to get what I want. The question was, could I do anything to get Scott Carter talking?
I spun around and said, "I may only be a substitute teacher, but most of the people at the school like me." I pointed to the picture. "Does Kevin play baseball?"
"He's always wanted to, but he's too afraid to go out for the team because he's small."
"I know. When I saw the picture of you two, I remembered him talking to a friend about it. I know the coach for the summer baseball team, and I can put a good word in. I can make sure he makes the team and that the coach watches over him."
Scott Carter looked back over his shoulder through the door into his living room.
His face scrunched up as he asked, "Are you sure you can pull that off?"
"I can make it happen."
"If you can help with that, it would be amazing. You promise to do that; I'll talk to you."
I smiled and said, "I promise to get Kevin on the team."
"Where do you want me to start?"
"At the beginning."
Scott sat in one of the office chairs and said, "A few weeks before his accident, he called to set an appointment. He came by in the morning about a week before the car wreck and hired me to follow his wife."
"His wife?"
"Yeah, he thought she was cheating on him."
"Well, what did you find out?"
"I only had a chance to follow her for about a week, and I couldn't confirm it. It wasn't a hundred percent, but she did meet up with a guy at a hotel a few times. I never got pictures or video of what transpired inside, but I would assume she was cheating on him."
"Well, who was it?"
Scott hesitated and then said, "It was Mr. Thompson, his business partner."
In a flash, everything changed. Mr. Thompson and Kitty had the motivation to knock him off. Number one, the money. Number two, love.
With the new information, I needed to talk to Kitty and Mr. Thompson again. If I could speak with Kitty alone, it would give me a chance to gauge her honesty.
"Are we done here?" Scott asked.
"Yeah, we're done here."
I headed for the door.
Scott said, "So you will help Kevin?"
I nodded.
I got into my car, thinking about all of the possibilities. One of the biggest things that popped into my mind was, what the heck am I doing? I thought about Hannah. If I could help her, I needed to.
Driving around in the car was an excellent way to think. Often I space off and drift into thoughts. I needed a plan of how I could talk to Kitty and Mr. Thompson. If they really did kill her husband, then I needed to be careful.
Lost in thought, I noticed the time and had to race home. I had a piano lesson, and couldn't miss making the extra money. It was with a little girl who was a beginner and enjoyed playing. That was my favorite stage to teach. Preparing didn't take much time, and it was easy to see their improvement. Advanced students, on the other hand, required much more prep time.
My car pulled into my driveway in the nick of time. As the garage door closed behind me, I saw a green Dodge minivan park on the curb in front of the house. I raced inside, and once I was in the front room, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door and said, "Hello."
The mom, an early 30s lady with brown hair and her 7-year-old blonde daughter with a pink backpack, came in. The mom said, "Okay, I will be back in about 45 minutes."
I nodded.
The daughter and I walked over to the piano. To help teach the students how to read the notes, I created several games. To start the lesson, I decided to play one of those games.
On the floor in the room, we have several rugs, and I set a series of cards down. Each card had a different note in the
treble clef. The cards were spread around in a circle formation. In the center of the board, there was a spinner. The student would spin it, and whatever note it landed on, the student would have to tell me what note it was and play the note on the piano.
9
Cedar Cove Heights Adventure
The piano lesson finished, and I had to make dinner. I went to the fridge and pulled out some green leaf lettuce, a cucumber, arugula, spinach, broccoli, and some tomatoes. In a red, plastic bowl, I mixed the salad, added avocado, sesame seeds, and a splash of balsamic dressing. I fried some Alaska cod in a small pan.
Tanner walked in; he looked tired.
"Hello," he said as we hugged and kissed.
"How was your day, Honeychka?" I asked.
"It was good. Busy. Lots of sales, and I'm a bit tired."
The salad and fish were on the table. Once we sat down, I brought up my next idea. Unsure if he would like it, I said, "So, I found out some big news today."
"What did you find out today, Nancy Drew?"
"I went and saw Scott Carter, the private investigator. He told me that Gary Hollister hired him to follow his wife. Hollister thought she was cheating on him, and sure enough, Scott Carter followed her. She was sneaking off to a hotel with Hollister's business partner, Mr. Thompson."
"That's a bombshell. What do you think it means?"
"Between the big insurance payout she will get and the fact she may, or may not have been cheating on him, it doesn't look good for her. I'm surprised because when I met her, she didn't strike me as a person who would kill her husband. I guess love and greed can make you do crazy things."
"What are you going to do next?"
"I was hoping that maybe we could go and stake out her house. See if Mr. Thompson goes over there."
"What will that accomplish?"
"Good question. I'm not sure, but it will take care of my curiosity."
"I don't know. I'm pretty tired, and I'm not sure if I want to go. Why don't you stay? It probably won't help. You need to talk to her. Confront her."
