by Mary Maxwell
Dina laughed. “Is he aware that’s not a real word?”
“For sure,” I answered. “My mother reminds him every time he uses it, but that’s not going to stop him.”
CHAPTER 20
“Good morning, Kate!” Lila Sanchez said the following day from behind the reception desk at The Crescent Creek Gazette. “If you’re here to see Zack, he’s gone with Gretchen for a few hours. They’re doing a photo shoot to go with a feature article that publishes tomorrow. I think they’ll be back by four or five.”
“Thanks, but I’m actually looking for Art Bricker,” I said. “I was running a couple of quick errands, and thought I’d stop by to see if he’s available.”
Lila smiled. “He’s on deadline,” she said. “Can I have him call you later?”
“It’ll only take a sec,” I replied. “It’s sort of important.”
Her smile dimmed. “Is everything okay, Katie?”
“Yeah, things are fine,” I said. “I just have some information for Art that I’d like to deliver myself as soon as possible.”
She nodded. “Give me one minute, okay?”
While she picked up the phone and dialed a number, I walked over and stared through the window at the blustery day. They’d predicted thunderstorms and strong winds for the afternoon, and it looked like the forecast was accurate. Heavy dark clouds swayed overhead and the trees on the far side of the street leaned in unison as a series of strong gusts arrived from the north.
“He’ll be right out,” Lila said, hanging up the phone. “If you want to use the empty office down the hall on the right, that’ll give you some privacy.”
“That’s kind, thanks,” I said. “I appreciate your help.”
“My pleasure, Katie.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “You need backup, just holler, okay?”
As I walked down the corridor toward the office, I wondered what she meant by the comment. Backup? I’d never met Art Bricker before, but Zack would’ve said something if the guy was a hothead.
After flipping on the overhead lights and sitting on the edge of the desk, I pulled out my phone and sent Zack a text: Came by to see Bricker as we discussed. Did you talk to him this morning?
He replied instantly: Sorry! Forgot to tell you in rush to leave town. FBI came down hard on Bricker for listening to their phone call with Dina.
How did they find out? I asked.
Zack’s reply made me smile: ESP? Lucky guess? Paid informant?
Hilarious, I typed. Glad your comedy career is—
A loud knock interrupted my thought.
“Hi,” said a chubby guy with frizzy brown hair. “Are you Kate?”
I got up from my perch to shake his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Art.”
The man’s face splintered with a frown. “Oh, I’m not Bricker. My name’s Gary Andrews. Art just raced out the back entrance. He asked me to come and apologize.”
“Lucky you,” I said. “Why didn’t he have the—”
“All I know,” Gary interrupted, “is that Art just got a hot tip on a story he’s writing about the Oldham case.”
“Oh, that’s…” My mind started to fill with questions. “…that’s really—”
“Zack told me that you were a detective before,” he said.
I nodded. “That’s true.”
“Is that why you were coming to see Bricker?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“Well, I know it’s none of my business,” Gary continued, “but I kind of get into solving mysteries myself. Mostly when I’m watching TV or reading books. And I’ve been following the Oldham case. I mean, what little news has been released to the public. So when I heard Bricker on the phone just now, I maybe…well, you know…”
“Do you know where he went?”
His shoulders lifted and he looked at the floor. “I wasn’t trying to listen to Bricker’s call, but he’s pretty loud on the phone. And he’s in a foul mood today, which always increases the volume by half. His wife filed for divorce, so I guess that’s understandable. Although he should’ve probably stayed home instead of coming to work.”
Maybe that’s what Lila meant by calling for backup.
“Do you know who Bricker was on the phone with?” I asked.
Gary shook his head. “I don’t know her name. But when he got off the phone, Art said something about crazy women like the one he was just talking to.”
“Do you have any idea what they were discussing?”
“I couldn’t tell you any real details,” he muttered. “But I did hear Bricker say something about Walker Oldham and the police. They also made plans to meet for coffee downtown at five o’clock.”
“That helps,” I said, pulling a business card from my pocket. “Could you do me a favor, Gary?”
“Sure. What’s that?”
“Would you give this to Art?” He took the card and gave it a quick glance. “In case I miss him today, would you put that on his desk so he knows that I came by?”
“You bet,” he said.
As I shook his hand again and walked out of the newspaper offices, I smiled to myself. If I guessed correctly and had good luck with traffic, the business card would be old news by the time Art Bricker returned to his desk.
CHAPTER 21
The building that housed Crescent Creek Laundry Services was a mammoth two-story red brick fortress at the end of a long snake of blacktop on the south side of town. A chain link fence and window bars protected the property from prowlers and burglars, although I couldn’t imagine who would want to steal from the business. Soiled uniforms, bedding and towels seemed like undesirable loot when you’re inclined to a life of crime.
When I walked through the front door, I saw a crude, hand-lettered sign taped to the reception desk: Back in 5. After waiting for nearly fifteen minutes, I headed down the hall to Ed Lambert’s office. I’d delivered Sky High goodies enough times to know where the company president and his executive assistant were located.
When I passed the employee cafeteria, I noticed a group of men and women wearing blue Crescent Creek Laundry uniforms. Every one of them had disposable blue gloves tucked into the back pocket of their coveralls.
Dixie Corcoran, I thought. She had microscopic pieces of blue nitrile along with goose feathers, red cotton fibers in her lungs when the police in Houston found her facedown in the bathtub.
Before I could pull out my phone to let Dina know about the gloves, Wynona Bergen called my name as she came around the corner.
“How are you, Katie?” she said. “I like that new haircut.”
I fluffed the back of my head and smiled. Wynona served as executive assistant to Ed Lambert. Whenever the company ordered from Sky High, she was the perky voice on the phone, calling to relay the request. She was on the short side, with corkscrew dark brown hair tipped with blonde highlights, enormous blue eyes and naturally rosy cheeks. I usually guessed that she was in her mid-forties, although certain outfits and lipstick shades made her appear much younger.
“And I like yours,” I said. “It’s shorter than the last time I saw you.”
She shrugged. “I’m trying something new, but I don’t know if I like it or not.”
“Well, it looks lovely,” I said.
Her faint grin brightened. “You think so?”
“Most definitely,” I said. “It’s fresh and showcases your gorgeous eyes.”
She fluttered her lashes. “Derma fillers and Botox. I found an amazing doctor in Denver. Let me know if you want her name.”
“Well, thank you,” I said as she motioned for me to follow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We were both silent as we made the short walk to Ed Lambert’s suite of offices. Wynona’s desk was just inside the first door, and I could see Ed pacing in his office at the end of an interior corridor.
“Go ahead in,” Wynona told me. “He’s ready for you.”
I thanked her for meeting me in the lobby, made my way
down the hallway and knocked gently on Lambert’s door.
“Good to see you, Kate,” he said, stopping in midstride. “Come on in and take a seat.”
Both of the chairs in front of his desk were piled with boxes, so I walked over to a bench on the far side of the room.
“This is a surprise,” he said. “I haven’t seen you since the Chamber of Commerce meeting. That’s probably…heck, six months or so.”
“Something like that,” I said as he went behind his desk.
As I sat down on the bench, Lambert asked what I wanted to discuss. I’d called earlier, but neither he nor Wynona was available so I left a brief message to let him know I needed to stop by for a few minutes to talk about something urgent.
“Well, I’ve been asked to consult with the Crescent Creek Police on the Walker Oldham inquiry,” I said. “I don’t know if you remember or not, but I worked in Chicago as a—”
“I already talked to Detective Armstrong and the FBI,” he said, sitting in the desk chair. “So what’s this about?”
“A series of threatening phone calls related to the case was traced to your offices,” I answered. “Actually, the calls were made from a specific number. Apparently, the line in question was added a few years after the main system was installed, so it has a separate three-digit prefix from the regular switchboard line. Since the phone is in a conference room here, there’s no way to know who might’ve—”
Lambert’s face was quickly changing from pale pink to bright crimson. “I’m sorry, Miss Reed,” he said. “But don’t you run that bakery over on Pine Street?”
I smiled. “Sky High Pies.”
“Then what the hell are you doing here insinuating that one of my people is a cold-blooded killer.”
“I’m not insinuating anything,” I said. “The police traced the calls to your—”
He raised one hand. “That’s enough, okay? I’ve already been over this already. In fact, I talked about it once with the police and then a second time with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I know that the calls were traced to the phone in our meeting room, but we don’t have internal security cameras in that part of the building. And with more than three hundred associates, it would be impossible to identify who was in the room at the time the calls were placed.” He paused and smiled. “I really am very sorry, but that’s it. I didn’t mean to sound gruff and grouchy, but I’m a busy man and it’s a waste of my time to repeat everything with you that I’ve already told the real detectives.” His eyes flashed with a cold disdain that conflicted with his relaxed smile. “Anything further?”
“Who would have access to that conference room?” I asked.
Lambert huffed a sigh. “Anyone inside the building,” he said. “And that includes visitors from outside the company, so I think you’ll agree that casting aspersions on our associates and guests is both unfair and impossible to prove.”
There was no denying the fact that our friendly conversation had suddenly swerved into hostile territory. Although Lambert had been pleasant whenever I’d talked to him before, it was quite clear that he was not interested in discussing the situation. Instead of trying to force the issue, I decided to repeat what I’d already shared about consulting with the CCPD.
“Good for you,” he said with a chilly smile. “But that’s got nothing to do with me.”
When he stood and walked around his desk, I realized the meeting was over.
“I need to get on with my day,” Lambert said, shaking my hand. “I’m sorry that I can’t be of assistance with your little goose chase.”
After thanking him again for letting me drop by, I retraced my steps to the reception area and outside. I was nearly to the car when I heard someone hurrying up behind me.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” said Wynona. “But I wanted to say that I’m sorry Mr. Lambert wasn’t very cooperative.”
I smiled. “That’s okay. Maybe he’s just having a bad day.”
She scowled. “All his life.”
“Well, that’s no fun. I thought there was a chance he wasn’t feeling well.”
Wynona shook her head. “He’s easy enough as a boss,” she said. “But he doesn’t take well to people poking around in his personal or professional affairs. He considers unexpected inquiries to be an invasion of his privacy.”
“Ah, so by coming here to ask questions about anonymous phone calls from his company’s conference room to a murder victim,” I said, “Mr. Lambert feels like I’m invading his company’s confidential matters?”
She answered the question with a shrug. Then she said, “Years and years ago, there was a lawsuit that left the company in a bad way. Even though the suit was dismissed by the judge, Mr. Lambert can’t shake the worry that it’ll happen again.”
“What was that suit about?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It was before my time, so I don’t really know any details. From what little I’ve heard, there was a dispute with Mr. Lambert’s brother about territorial infringement. They started the company together, but then Jeremiah split off on his own. He claimed that Mr. Lambert had agreed to divide the northern part of the state into two distinct sales areas. But when Mr. Lambert heard that his brother’s sales team was working Grand Junction and Briarfield, all hell broke loose.”
“Family businesses can be tough,” I said.
Wynona smiled. “Not for you,” she replied. “In fact, it’s been too long since I came by for some of your grandmother’s world-famous goodies. I need to stop by and treat myself.” She glanced around quickly, seemingly as if to make sure no one was within earshot. “And when I do, maybe we can have a chat about those anonymous phone calls.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “I’ll look forward to seeing you soon.”
CHAPTER 22
I’d never met Art Bricker, but there was only one customer in Java & Juice when I pulled into a spot across the street a few minutes before five that afternoon. I guessed the guy in the wrinkled blue button-down shirt and ball cap tapping at a laptop was the Gazette reporter.
While I kept my eyes fixed on him, I dialed Dina at CCPD Headquarters. She answered on the first ring, sounding more relaxed than she had been in quite some time.
“You still at Sky High?” she asked.
“No, I’m on a stakeout,” I reported. “What do you know about Art Bricker?”
“The newspaper guy?” she said.
“That’s him.”
“What do you want to know?” Dina paused. “Or do you want to skip ahead to the part where you ask a direct question?”
“That works,” I said. “I’ve heard that he confessed to eavesdropping on your conversation with the FBI.”
“Which one?” she said, still sounding calm and tranquil.
“About Ed Lambert being in Houston, Atlanta and Sacramento on the day that the three victims died.”
“Right,” Dina said. “I was aware of that already.”
My brain wobbled from the surprise. She knew about Bricker listening to her call and she was still unruffled.
“Can I ask how you found out?”
She laughed. “Special Agent Robinson was in the hall at the time. He saw Bricker taking notes, but didn’t stop him because he wasn’t sure if the guy was CCPD or not.”
“Did you confront him later?” I said.
“Bricker?”
“Yes,” I said. “Did you let him know that you were aware of the infringement?”
“I let the FBI take care of that,” she answered. “I thought that might rattle his cage a bit more.”
“Smart move,” I said.
“So why are you asking about Bricker?” she said. “Is he part of your stakeout?”
“The target,” I replied. “Along with a woman who allegedly has information about the Oldham case.”
When Dina didn’t say anything for a few moments, I asked if she was still on the line.
“Thinking about what you just told me,” she said. “Any idea who Bricker’s mee
ting?”
“Not yet,” I said. “He’s still alone in Java & Juice.”
“I have a hunch,” Dina said.
“About Bricker’s source?”
“Yes,” she said. “I think it could possibly be Simone Oldham. She left here about twenty minutes ago, mad as a hatter and threatening to tell everyone that we’re dragging our heels on her father’s case.”
“Mad as a hatter, huh?”
Dina laughed again. “Slammed her hand on my desk, used foul language and told me she was calling Mayor Washington right after she finished a meeting with a friendly comrade.”
“Did she really use that term?” I asked.
“It took great concentration not to lose it,” Dina said. “Between the intense look on her face and the fact that she broke a nail hitting the desk, I could barely keep from saying something that I’d regret later.”
“No doubt,” I said. “But I’m curious about why she thought you were dragging your feet?”
“Her brother came in last night with Walker’s phone,” Dina replied. “He’s really focused on taking care of his father’s business affairs. Apparently, part of that job includes listening to his dad’s voicemail to make sure nothing falls through the cracks. When he got around to the phone, he discovered a handful of messages left by someone using a blocked number.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I said.
“It wasn’t,” Dina remarked. “Luckily, Brent didn’t listen to the messages before he brought the phone in.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s in the middle of a nightmare,” she answered. “Losing his father is bad enough. He doesn’t need to hear a bunch of threats that Walker received a couple of days before the murder.”
“Did you hear them?” I asked.
“I did,” said Dina.
“Recognize the voice?”
“I did.”
I felt a surge of anticipation. “Can you tell me who it was?”
“I can,” Dina said.
“I’m pretty sure it’s the source that our intrepid newspaper reporter is waiting for,” Dina replied.
