The Avid Angler - The Hot Dog Detective (A Denver Detective Cozy Mystery)

by Mathiya Adams

  Devon Brooks nodded, a difficult thing to do considering he had practically no neck at all. "That's just all it is, minor, unimportant mistakes. Easy to do with computers you know. Type in the wrong number, don't check the error catching routines because you think the computer makes everything all accurate. It's people you know, people make the mistakes. The computers just do what you tell them. I’m sure it wasn't Maureen's fault. After all, she was the one who found the discrepancy. If she was taking the money, why would she bring it up? Doesn't make sense. Just doesn't make sense. Though she did think one of us was responsible. Too bad about that. But it wasn't one of us. She was wrong there. It was just an error in entering data on the computer, that’s all."

  The other male employee finally walked over to where they were talking. He walked with his hips pushed forward, as though he were a bumper car, looking for someone to bang into. "Are you here to shop, sir?" he asked MacFarland. "If not, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I think you are frightening our customers away.”

  "It's okay, Craig," said Devon Brooks, using a much more conciliatory tone and rolling a step or two back from the trio. MacFarland got an instantaneous understanding of the pecking order in this establishment. "We're just having a friendly chat. Just a friendly chat."

  Craig glared angrily at Brooks, who bobbled another step back. "Brian told us not to talk to anyone," Craig insisted. He turned towards MacFarland. "If you have any questions, you can direct them to Brian Newsome's lawyer. Now, if you don't mind, we have customers to take care of."

  MacFarland looked around at the empty store. He considered confronting Craig, then decided that he had the information he wanted. He shrugged, then gave Brooks and Rogers a parting smile. "If you think of anything more, please give me a call."

  Rogers gave him another of her fake friendly smiles. Then, as a young couple came into the store, the fertility goddess hurried over towards them.

 

 

  Chapter 37

  Tuesday, December 22, 1519 Hours

 

  MacFarland didn't say anything to Rufus about the amount of product missing from his cart and the lack of compensatory cash in the money pouch. Rufus' only explanation when MacFarland returned Monday afternoon was that there were "lots of hun'reds today, boss.” MacFarland didn't think that there were that many people wandering around downtown Denver with hundred dollar bills on them, but he decided that it wasn't worth making an issue out of it. "I hope it was mostly homeless people who had the hundred dollar bills," he said.

  "Oh, no, boss, I gave the poor people dogs for free. It was the lawyer types with all the big bills."

  The thought of giving free food to people who could easily afford it rankled MacFarland, but again he kept silent.

  On Tuesday morning, MacFarland added about thirty extra hot dogs and brats to his inventory, just in case he had to go off and interview more people. When Rufus arrived with coffee, however, Rufus said he couldn't watch the cart today. "Got important meetings to go to, boss.” MacFarland never knew what these important meetings were. Even when they had both been on the street together, Rufus had his meetings to go to. MacFarland had made a point of never prying into where and what those meetings were. Some things are better not known.

  With the exception of the homeless people, who came up to the cart throughout the day, carefully avoiding any regular customers as well as each other, MacFarland had very few customers. There was no courts in session this week, at least as far as he knew. He was able to listen to several hours of his Spanish language lessons, and was fairly convinced that he could converse with any Hispanic four-year old on a fairly equal basis. He was trying to decide whether to call it a day when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He turned off his CD player and answered the phone.

  "Mr. MacFarland?” A woman's high pitched voice. He detected a hint of urgency in her tone.

  "Yes," he replied. "How can I help you?"

  "You came in the store yesterday, right? Asking about Maureen Freeman?"

  He nodded, then said, "Yes, that's right."

  "We didn't get a chance to talk. I'm Brea Smith. I work in Newsome Jewelry. I got your card from Laura." Brea Smith was a short, round woman with a pear-shaped head and an infectious smile. She smiled even when she was trying to be serious. He suspected that she was the top salesperson at Newsome Jewelry.

  "How can I help you, Miss Smith?"

  "Craig--that's Craig Meacham--the older man at the store. He doesn't want us talking to you. But when I heard you were trying to help Maureen, I knew I had to call you."

  "I appreciate that very much, Miss Smith. What did you want to tell me?"

  "Just that I’m pretty sure--no, I'm certain--that Maureen Freeman did not take any money from the store. The fifty thousand that's missing--I think Mr. Newsome took that money. That's what he and Mr. Freeman were fighting about. It's Maureen Freeman who discovered the shortage. I’m pretty sure it wasn't Mrs. Freeman who killed her husband. I think it might have been Mr. Newsome.” Her voice became muffled, and then she said, "I have to go."

  MacFarland put his phone away and stared over at the courthouse. He thought about what Brea Smith had told him. It did not constitute proof, but her information certainly hinted at motive. He wondered if he should call Jerry Baker with this news.

  He pulled out his phone, stared at it a moment, then put it back in his pocket. Baker needed something more substantial than the speculations of a store employee. He would need something that would stand up in court. Also, where did “WA” fit in?

  MacFarland cleaned up his cart and prepared to go home. He hoped that Rufus didn't have any meetings planned for the following day.

  Chapter 38

  Friday, December 25, 1200 Hours

  He couldn’t believe it was already Christmas.

  MacFarland had given serious thought to finding some pretext to avoid going over to Stefanie and Randy's house for Christmas dinner. He even considered joining Rufus Headley for one of the Denver Rescue Mission dinners. That would be a worthy use of my time, he thought. But eventually, he simply gave in and showed up at her front door a little after noon, consciously aware that he hadn’t gotten anyone a Christmas present. He compensated with bringing apple cider. He didn’t want to be empty-handed.

  The Coopers lived in Highlands Ranch. Though he had been there several times, he always got lost trying to find their house. He preferred his streets rectilinear. Highlands Ranch did not seem to know the meaning of straight streets. Fortunately, getting there was fairly simple, since all he had to do was take University south until it started behaving in a non-Denverian fashion. Denver streets were well behaved, following nice rectilinear patterns. Once University passed under C-470, it started misbehaving. That's when MacFarland could count on getting lost.

  But this time, unfortunately, he found the house with little difficulty.

  Kaitlyn and Ryan both greeted him with unfeigned joy. Randy greeted him with feigned friendliness. Despite Stefanie's admonition that he shouldn't bring anything, MacFarland came with two bottles of Martinelli's Sparkling Apple Cider. He had considered bringing a bottle of wine, but more than seventy AA meetings had purged that option from serious consideration.

  There was an immediate demand for his attention. Ryan wanted to kidnap MacFarland to play video games with him. Kaitlyn wanted to show him her collection of designer fairy princess dolls. At least he thought they were dolls. After she had named off about twenty of them and described what magical properties each had, he confessed that he had to go to the bathroom and was able to escape her clutches. By the time he came out, she had found something else to occupy her.

  At one o'clock, he reluctantly joined Randy in the TV room. Randy had a beer and unthinkingly offered one to MacFarland. He only realized his mistake when Stefanie yelled loud enough for even the neighbors to hear, "Mark isn't supposed to drink!"

  MacFarland hadn't watched any football in more than five years. He tried
to get excited about it, but MacFarland had no interest in the game Randy had on. The Cowboys would be on later in the day, Randy assured him and that game would be considerably more enjoyable to watch. "If you say so," was all MacFarland could think of saying.

  Stefanie called everyone together to eat at two o'clock.

  “Turkey again?” complained Ryan. “We had turkey for Thanksgiving.”

  “I know, Ryan, but Uncle Mark missed Thanksgiving. This is his chance to have a real turkey.”

  Randy put on a good display of carving the turkey, giving Kaitlyn, Ryan and Stefanie their choicest selections. MacFarland asked for some white meat, which he smothered with gravy. He piled up his plate with mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, green beans, yams, and biscuits. He had to admit that the meal was exceptionally good, though conversation during the meal crashed when Randy asked MacFarland if he was looking for a real job.

  "I operate a hot dog cart," said MacFarland.

  "Yes, I know, but I mean, a real job. Something that pays well, has health insurance, benefits."

  "I have health insurance," said MacFarland.

  Randy blinked several times. "Is it really good insurance?"

  "I don't know," said MacFarland. "I haven't been shot yet, so I don't know how well it covers bullet wounds."

  Stefanie glanced at the children. "Mark, please try to be serious. That kind of remark can upset the kids."

  "Have you ever been shot?" asked Ryan, suddenly interested in the conversation.

  "No," said MacFarland. "I do my best to avoid situations where I might get shot."

  After dinner, MacFarland and Randy retreated once more to the TV room, though MacFarland spent most of his time trying to find an easy way to escape. He thought he might just say, "Thanks for the meal, but I have to go," but Stefanie, ever cognizant of his propensity to flee from her presence, said that everyone had to wait until later for dessert. "I want dessert now!" shouted Ryan, a sentiment that MacFarland shared but did not dare to express.

  MacFarland suffered through the first half of the game. The game was boring. MacFarland could not get interested in the Dallas Cowboys. The only interesting event occurred just as half-time started. A commercial came on, advertising Newsome Jewelers. The spokesperson was Brian Newsome, who was hefting a football and trying to encourage jocks to propose to the cheerleaders in their lives. As Stefanie served dessert, she glanced at the television screen. “Isn’t that where you got our rings, Randy?” she asked.

  Randy glanced at the screen. “Yeah, but I didn’t buy the rings from him. That guy is a real slime ball. I bought the rings from Freeman. He was the original owner of the store, and my dad knew him from way back. Freeman will give you a good deal. The other guy will just steal the shirt off your back.”

  MacFarland was surprised by two things. First, he never suspected that Randy had any strong feelings about anything, other than sports. Second, he hadn’t known that Randy had a friend in the diamond business. He found that idea strangely amusing.

  Figuring that having even those incongruous good thoughts about Randy was sufficient for the day, as soon as he finished the dessert, MacFarland thanked everyone for their hospitality and raced towards the front door.

  “What about opening presents?”

  MacFarland looked helplessly at Stefanie. “I really do have to go,” he said.

  "You'll come over here for New Year’s Eve, won't you?" asked Stefanie as he tried to get through the door.

  MacFarland felt a knot in his stomach, but he cheerfully said he looked forward to it. Her smile convinced him that she almost believed him.

  On the way home, he tried not to exceed the speed limit.

  Chapter 39

  Friday, December 25, 1840

  MacFarland was not sure what kind of mood he would find Pierson in. Perhaps it was because she had gotten quite drunk on Christmas Eve, but that morning, Pierson had woken up with a terrible hangover. In spite of this, she demonstrated a determination to be a better person. He could tell this because she came downstairs and greeted him in a relatively pleasant way. At least, it was what MacFarland interpreted as a pleasant manner for Pierson. Then ensued five minutes of awkwardness.

  "You're not working today?" she asked as she got a can of Sprite out of the refrigerator. She sat down, trying not to jar her pounding head, and slowly sipped the can of soda.

  "Uh, no. I’m supposed to go over to Stefanie’s house and watch football with Randy."

  Pierson gave him a disbelieving look. "You have zero interest in football, Mac. Do they even play football on Christmas?"

  "I suppose. I don’t know.” He tried to avoid looking at her.

  "It's still early. Oh, it's nearly eleven. Where does the time go?” She watched. “What time are you going?”

  “I guess I should leave now.”

  When he got home, he started to get out his pots and pans. Pierson heard the noise and came into the kitchen.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I’m going to make a roast beef and Yorkshire pudding," he said.

  "We have a roast beef?"

  "I bought it yesterday. I was going to surprise you."

  "You’re going to start cooking now? It’s late, Mac! What if I was going out?"

  MacFarland gave her a look of skepticism. "When do you ever go out? Except to work. Or maybe the shooting range. You have the social life of a rock, Cyn."

  Pierson made a rude noise and took her headache back into the living room. MacFarland continued with his food preparations, prepping the roast, putting it in the oven, mashing potatoes, preparing vegetables, and making the batter for the Yorkshire pudding. Pierson came back in after a while and poured herself a cup of coffee. She seemed in a much more cheerful mood than she had been this morning. She even offered to set the table for the two of them.

  Despite the late hour, the simple meal tasted great. The roast was succulent and juicy, the Yorkshire puddings came out perfectly. Apple cider helped wash everything down. Pierson made a fresh pot of coffee, and after MacFarland had cleaned up the dishes, they both retreated to the front room to sip coffee and stare out the window at the decorated houses across the street. Pierson wasn’t one for putting up holiday decorations, though she claimed she liked seeing what other, more imaginative people did to make their houses look monstrously garish.

  "How's the hot dog business going?"

  MacFarland laughed. "I’m afraid I am losing my shirt," he said. "I've been letting Rufus take care of my cart for me, but he insists on giving everything away for free!"

  Pierson stared at him with a bewildered look. "Why are you letting Rufus take care of your cart? Is something wrong? Is that even allowed? What about health code regulations?”

  MacFarland wasn't sure if he wanted to tell Pierson what he was doing. He knew that she was very particular about following the rules. She had already gotten into trouble because he asked her to break them. How would she react if she found out that he was functioning as a private investigator without proper licensing? He reminded himself that he wasn't charging for his services; he was just helping out a friend. Well, sort of a friend. Well, actually somebody he hadn’t even met yet.

  “I got him checked out and certified,” he said, trying to deflect the conversation. “I did get a health code violation the first time they found him watching the cart, but I’ve gotten it fixed.” Then, watching her expression of disbelief, he realized that he couldn't keep anything from Pierson. "And I’m helping Jerry Baker with his case," he admitted.

  Surprisingly, Pierson did not raise any objections. On the contrary, she seemed elated to hear the news. "That's great, Mac! Does this mean you'll reapply to come back onto the force?"

  MacFarland blinked in surprise. Where did that come from? "No, not really. I’m just helping out. Trying to find out a little more about the case. Follow up those loose threads that Iverson seems to be ignoring."

  "Such as? Are you referring to the evidence mix up?"

 
"I’m not convinced it's a mix up. I still think that the pine needles and fish scales came from the same location. And..."

  She looked at him, her eyes telling him to continue.

  "I think I might even have a suspect that the police aren't looking for."

  Pierson sat up in her chair, more alert than ever. "Really? Who?"

  "I don't have a name. But I know that Freeman went fishing several times with this individual, including on the day he died. I even know where he might have died."

  "I should tell Iverson about this," said Pierson.

  "I don't have anything concrete yet, Cyn. I think it is too early to share just wild-ass speculations with the police."

  She looked at him suspiciously. "You'll tell me as soon as you get something definite?"

  "Absolutely," he said. "After all, you're my partner."

  "Former partner. But you are freeloading in my house, so you still owe me."

  In spite of her comment, MacFarland felt this was the best Christmas he had in a very long time.

 

  Chapter 40

  Wednesday, December 30, 1000 Hours

  Wednesday morning was bright and warm, a welcome relief from the cold, dreary days over the Christmas weekend. Or maybe it was just a brighter day because MacFarland felt he was finally making progress on his "case.” He had wanted to discuss what he was doing with Pierson, but today was the first day back on the job after her suspension, and she had no time for him. Since he had been the primary cause of her suspension, he thought it seemed prudent to avoid bugging her.

  Rufus, thankfully, did not have any meetings planned for Wednesday, and was pleasantly surprised when MacFarland asked him to monitor the cart again. MacFarland knew what a commitment this was for Rufus. Rufus didn't like staying in one place too long. "Gives Charlie time to find you," he once explained. MacFarland didn't bother pointing out that Charlie--the Viet Cong--weren't anywhere around Denver. He knew better. After all, as most homeless persons knew, Charlie could take many forms.

  When MacFarland had agreed to help Jerry Baker, the lawyer had given him a small folder with background information on the Freemans, the Newsomes, and several of the witnesses. MacFarland opened the folder and located the sheet with Brian Newsome's home address on it. Newsome lived in Lakewood, over near the Lakewood Country Club. MacFarland retrieved his truck and took Sixth Avenue west to Sheridan, then turned north. Newsome's home was actually not that far from Freeman's home. However, as he drove up to the house, MacFarland realized that Newsome and Freeman would hardly share the same social circles. MacFarland parked across the street and down a couple of houses from Newsome's driveway. He sat in his truck and waited, studying the neighborhood in which Freeman's partner lived. As he stared at the car parked in Newsome's driveway, he began to feel just a bit conspicuous.