We sat in silence for a while. An awkward heaviness filled the room and I could sense that something weighed on Bob’s mind. He looked sullen as he leaned against his desk in the tiny, gray office. “I suppose I owe you an apology,” he finally said.
“For what?”
“I think I’ve been putting a lot of pressure on you about this story.” His voice sounded grave and distant as he spoke without making eye contact. He went back to his chair and lowered himself into it. The chair screamed in protest as he leaned back and seemed to examine me. “You know, you remind me of myself when I was your age.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. I took another sip of the remaining whiskey in my hand and winced even harder than last time.
“You shouldn’t. I wasn’t very good,” he said with a slight chuckle in his voice. I frowned at him but he continued. “I was good at one thing, though, and that was following my instincts. I think you have the same talent. That’s a compliment.”
“Thanks,” I said. I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but I felt like he was about to impart some serious journalistic wisdom on me.
“Do you remember that story about the Athabasca river being polluted a few years back?”
“Yeah. For years, scientists denied the problem. They said high levels of lead and arsenic were natural in the river. It took nearly ten years before that reporter found documents linking that Old West Oil directly to the water pollution,” I said. It was a huge story. We studied it extensively in my news writing class.
“Yes. Alan Bartholomew won a Pulitzer for breaking that story. Want to know the worst part of that story? I had a hunch that Old West Oil knew about it. I even did some digging but, in the end, I abandoned the story.” His eyes were just a little misty as he thought of what could have been.
“Why did you abandon it?”
“Because I got a warning note on my car one day, just like you did. Then some slashed tires. Egg on my house. I decided that I didn’t have enough evidence to put up with the minor annoyances. I thought hunches were for suckers. Had I pressed on I could have broken that story years before Alan Bartholomew did and helped save the environment from destruction. You know there are parts of that river that will never see fish again.” He sighed a heavy sigh laced with regret.
Another long, awkward pause hung between us. What do you say after that? I know that Bob ended up winning a Pulitzer for his time in Afghanistan, but that Old West Oil pollution story could have sent his journalism career into the stratosphere. If that were me, I’d be ornery on a good day, too.
“I had no idea,” were the only words I could muster out.
“My point is, trust your instincts. The evidence will come,” he said. He leaned forward in his chair and went back to typing at his computer. The air had shifted back to business as usual just like that. He didn’t say anything more, just grunted in my direction when I said goodbye for the night.
It was odd having a little heart to heart with Bob like that. He almost felt like a real mentor to me. “Trust your instincts” rang in my mind in his gruff tone as I walked all the way home. I knew what I had to do exactly what Bob was telling me to.
Chapter 25
The next morning came with a flush of determination. Bob’s talk had ignited something in me. Maybe I didn’t have evidence to confront Eli with. Maybe all I had was the word of a stranger to Aurora Heights. But damn it, I was suspicious, and I needed an explanation.
I got ready for the day with a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt in a while. Or ever. I guess confronting a potential killer did that. Maybe it was the adrenaline. I even skipped the morning coffee Grandma Gertie usually made. I wanted to be at the theater bright and early to see Eli. Maybe I would wait outside the doors and ambush him with the camera on my phone in his face.
I rushed downstairs and pulled on shoes and a denim jacket. I raced out the door and then it hit me. My tires were still slashed. My poor car lay in my grandmother’s driveway like a wounded animal. Crap. Aurora Heights was a small town, but it was still a long way to the theater.
“Grandma, do we have an extra bike I could use?” My voice entered the house before I did.
“I think we still have your mother’s bike in the garage somewhere,” I heard her call from the kitchen. “Are you alright? You seem on edge?” She placed her half-eaten bagel onto a plate and pushed it away.
“I’m fine. I’m great, actually.” My voice sounded a little manic, even for me. “I’m confronting a potential murderer.”
The concern on Grandma Gertie’s face was unmistakable. “All right, let’s just take a seat for a moment.”
She pulled me into an empty seat and pushed her unfinished bagel at me. I picked a few bites off, but my stomach bounced with anxiety.
“I can tell something is wrong. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Grandma Gertie said.
“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong.” I shoved another bite of bagel into my mouth.
“Lainey, you have a terrible poker face. It’s why you lost at poker night. Come on, spill it.”
“I’m just nervous. I’m on the verge of a major breakthrough and I’m worried,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her everything. Not yet.
“Is that all? I thought it had something to do with that Sawyer boy. You know Sandra said she saw him getting cozy with that Lockwood girl at the diner the other day.” She was nice enough to sound disapproving.
“I know. He was trying to question her about her uncle’s death. Anyway, it’s not important.” The thought of Dylan and April brought back emotions I didn’t want to think about. I wanted to ask her if she had heard any gossip about the date, but I shoved the last bites of bagel into my mouth to stop myself. It was none of my business. “You know, I feel a little better. I think I just needed some food.”
“Good. Now, let’s go find that bike.”
We made our way into the garage. It was mainly stuffed with boxes of my mother’s belongings she had left behind before moving to Spain. Some also housed remnants of my childhood I needed to throw away. If Grandma Gertie would only part ways with some of these things, she might fit a car in here.
We shoved a stack of boxes aside and pulled out a bike that hadn’t seen sunlight in years. It was dusty and creaked a little as I wheeled it out, but it would do. We found an old tire pump and filled the thing with air, giving some life back into the poor vehicle.
After a shaky start to the first few pedals, I was on my way to the theater.
✽✽✽
Except it wasn’t that easy. Majestic mountains surrounded Aurora Heights, which meant the streets weren’t strangers to the occasional rolling hill. Or two. Or three. They weren’t big enough to feel in a car, but on a bike every incline is a stairway to another level of hell. For someone who could barely keep up with her grandmother on her morning power walks, it was more than torture. Especially on a rickety old bike that wasn’t ready for the ride.
By the time I squeaked and squealed to the Mountain House Theater, I was drenched in sweat. The sun radiated a sharp heat and the cool morning breeze was nowhere to be found. I stashed the bike behind a bush in front of the theater because I didn’t have a lock. Not that Aurora Heights had a high bike theft rate, but after having my tires slashed, I couldn’t be too careful.
I sat on the steps of the theater, huffing and puffing until my breath returned to some semblance of normal. I caught my reflection in the glass doors of the theater and gasped. Comparing me to a drowned rat was generous. Or an offense to drowning rats. My face was flush and my hair was a brown, matted mess on top of my head, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t afford to care about my looks now.
I pulled out my voice recorder and hit record before stashing it in the front pocket of my denim jacket, hoping it looked inconspicuous. I pulled out my notebook and a pen to make myself look like I was on official reporter business. I went in, making my way through the silent lobby and through the corridor that led t
o Eli Johnson’s office. Taking a sharp inhale, I knocked on the door.
“Enter,” a voice called from the other side.
“Hi, Eli,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“Hello, Lainey. I was just about to read the nice article you wrote about the new theater.” He sat with his legs outstretched and perched on the desk in front. A steaming cup of coffee lay next to him—the cup was from the Cozy Cat Cafe—and today’s newspaper was unfolded in his lap. He looked like a man without a care in the world. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here on business. You mentioned that you’ll be having auditions for a new play and I was thinking maybe I could get some information. We pitch stories every Monday, so I thought I’d get a head start,” I said.
His dark eyes grew into saucers at the mention of the play. He went on about the story, but my brain went elsewhere. I had to pivot to Mayor Lockwood somehow, but I couldn’t just blurt it out. This would be a good time to use tact or I might be Eli’s next victim.
“That sounds great,” I said.
“I was serious about you auditioning. You would make a great—”
“That’s all right,” I interrupted. “My acting days are behind me. But you know who would look great on stage? April Lockwood. I heard she might stick around town until she can get her uncle’s affairs in order.”
A small but audible gasp came from Eli. He swung his legs around and planted his feet on the ground as he sat up straight. His back stiffened and his eyes darkened. “Is that so?” He drawled.
“Yes. Apparently, she’s his beneficiary so I guess it would make her the new owner of this place.”
He shifted uneasily in his chair and folded the newspaper up. “It’ll be nice to have some young blood in this town.” His voice had a forced cheeriness that seemed fake.
“She’s great. We’ve really become good friends.” The lie was bitter in my mouth, but I tried to sound pleasant anyway. “You know,” I sat down in the chair in front of his desk and leaned forward. If there’s one thing people in Aurora Heights love to do, it’s gossip. I hated to have to resort to it, but I was desperate. “April’s been telling me stories about her uncle.”
“Has she?” His voice was just a little too loud and a pitch too high. “What kind of stories?”
“Well, that he was having money problems, for one.”
His face feigned surprise. Eli Johnson might be my former drama teacher, but he was a terrible actor. “Really? You don’t say.” Perhaps it was sarcasm?
“Yep.” I nodded and tried my hand at a cheeky grin. “She also told me…” I leaned forward, getting close to his stiff face. “That Mayor Lockwood was borrowing money from everyone in town. Apparently, he had a secret that he was paying someone to keep.” I raised my eyebrows at him as I watched his jaw clench.
He watched me with narrowed eyes for a moment. My heart hammered in my chest, the rush of blood in my ears almost eclipsed all other sounds. I half wondered if he could see my nervousness. Sweat pooled around my neck and slowly inched down my back. For a moment, I held my breath, and I thought Eli did too. We stared at each other, fully aware of one another’s secrets until the tension was too much to bear. Finally, he led out a defeated sigh. “I suppose you know about me, then?”
A smile crept across my lips. “I do.”
“And I you know what I did?” He reached into his desk drawer and I stiffened. I hadn’t even thought about him having a gun, but my safety was becoming a real concern now. What the hell was I doing confronting a murderer on my own?
I shot out of my seat, preparing to fly through the door if I needed to. But Eli didn’t pull out a gun. Instead, he took out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured some into each glass and slid one across the table. Was everyone in this town a day drinker? “Well, sit down. I suppose we need to talk.”
“All right.” I slid down into the chair but didn’t take the drink. I didn’t trust this man just yet. He gulped down his whiskey and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry about the note.”
“What about the tires?”
“Tires?”
“Yes. Someone slashed my tires yesterday,” I said, anger rising in the pit of my stomach. With my salary, I would have to seriously save until I could afford new ones.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t slash your tires. I’m not that dramatic. But I did leave you the note.” He poured himself another glass of whiskey and took a sip. “I heard through the grapevine you were looking into Lockwood’s ordeals and I didn’t want you to find out about our little… arrangement. When I saw your car in front of the Cozy Cat, I slipped the note onto your windshield. But I guess you found out.”
“The blackmail. You’re talking about the blackmail, correct?” I couldn’t have any misunderstandings about this, even if I was recording the conversation.
“Yes, the blackmail.” His voice was impatient, but not angry. He sounded more defeated. “I’m not proud of what I did. I guess I felt like he owed me reparations for ruining my play’s debut.”
“Why did you do it? What did you have on him?”
“Before the construction began on the old theater, I overheard him talking with some guy from a construction company. He promised him some big jobs if he made a sizable donation to his mayoral campaign.”
“You mean he was taking bribes?”
“That’s what it looked like. Shortly after, he began buying up property like it was going out of style. I recorded the whole thing and threatened to tell everyone. When he ruined my career as a Broadway playwright, I figured I could ruin his in politics. Or at least use it for my gain.”
Tears crept from the corners of his eyes. They trembled slightly before tumbling down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand quickly and worked to compose himself. “I’m not proud of what I did. Especially when I found out he was borrowing money from everyone in town to pay me. I told him I didn’t want the last payment. I wanted to make things right somehow. But then he had to go and die from his stupid peanut allergy.” He sniffed and took a staggered breath. He grabbed a tissue from the box on his desk and blew his nose.
“So, you didn’t kill him?” My voice cracked with surprise.
“No. You think I’m capable of murder?”
“Not anymore,” I said, relief evident in my voice.
“You thought I was a murderer and you came to confront me by yourself? What were you thinking?”
“Clearly, I wasn’t thinking. I’m new to this investigation business, all right?” I picked up the whiskey he had poured me and sipped. My body buzzed with adrenaline and relief. Eli was right. I should have at least had backup of some kind. I was a terrible amateur sleuth.
Eli and I sat there, quietly. Then he let out a low rumble of a chuckle. I couldn’t help but laugh, too. We howled, letting out the tension with laughter so hard that tears poured from our faces.
“I can’t believe… you thought… I killed Brian,” Eli said through small chuckles.
“You have to admit… it looked suspicious… with the money… and the… and the…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I was laughing way too hard.
“Okay… okay…” Eli took a heavy breath and finally gained his composure. “Okay, fine. It looks bad. I know. Like I said, I’m not proud of it. We were friends, once upon a time. Hell, he was friends with everyone. Well, not everyone.”
“What do you mean not everyone? Who would want him dead?” I finally gained my composure, too.
“Well, some construction guys were pretty surly with him, but they’re surly with everyone. I overheard him fighting with someone though.”
“Who?” I asked, perking up.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see them. I only vaguely heard the argument as I was leaving the theater. It was the day before the construction crew came to demolish the old theater and I was here collecting the last of my things from the old office. I heard voices in the main theater and one of them was definitely Brian Lockwoo
d.”
“You didn’t stop to listen?”
“No. I was too upset. Now I wish I had. I heard a man with a rough voice yell something about Brain promising something. I don’t know what it was all about, though. Like I said, I didn’t stop to listen. Do you think the person he was arguing with could have killed him and made it look like an accident?”
“Yes. I do.”
Chapter 26
The only thing I had to go on was “he had a rough voice, if that helps,” from Eli. No, Eli, it does not help. If I went around listening to every construction worker talk and tried to determine which voice was rough, I would never solve this murder.
I pedaled the bike back towards the office, then reconsidered it. I was back at square one and I couldn’t face Bob right now. I needed something—anything—that could help me look for the needle in a haystack that is a virtually nondescript man.
Fortunately for me, the road to the Cozy Cat was all downhill. By the time I got to the cafe, the breeze from biking had dried the sweat from my clothes and hairline, but I was still hurting for a hairbrush.
I left the bike leaning against the window in front of the shop. I could at least keep an eye on it from the inside. Besides, if anyone was brave enough to steal that thing—well, good luck was all I could say.
“Lainey, hi,” the soft, singsong voice of April Lockwood greeted me. She sat at a booth with a laptop open on the table—and Fur Ball curled up beside her. Traitor.
“Hi, April,” I said, a reluctant cheer in my voice.
“Is that your bike outside?” She asked, pointing at the rusty old thing. From inside the window, the bike looked tired and forlorn, like it would rather do anything else in the world than wait to cart me around again.
“Yes,” I said, sheepishly. “I’m trying to fit some exercise into my life.” That sounded like a viable excuse.
“I don’t know. That thing doesn’t look too safe,” she said.
That’s because it’s not. “It’s all right. It just needs tuning up.”
Dark Roasted to Death Page 13
