Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 06 - Death of a Damn Yankee

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  Most people in Byerly are on a first-name basis, unless from different generations, and Hank wasn’t that much older than us, but he preferred to keep things more formal. He said it helped him keep his journalistic distance. How anybody could keep any kind of distance from anybody in Byerly, I’ll never know, but I was willing to go along if it made him happy.

  He went on. “Of course, after Marshall Saunders’s murder, I’d have expected you to show up even if you hadn’t already been visiting.”

  I winced. “Are we that ghoulish?”

  “Not at all,” he said with apparent sincerity. “I look forward to your visits—when else do I get the opportunity to write about such intriguing events?”

  I still thought it made us sound like assistants to the Grim Reaper, but I could see his point. “Speaking of the murder, have you found out much about it? At this point, all we’ve heard is gossip.”

  “Does that mean that y’all are involving yourself in the case?”

  “We can’t confirm that at this time,” Richard said solemnly. It was the perfect thing to say, because Hank would assume that the murder was our only interest.

  “Let’s just say we’re curious,” I added.

  “Then let me assuage your curiosity now, rather than make you wait for tomorrow’s edition.” He reached for a long, narrow spiral-bound pad labeled Professional Reporter’s Notebook, and flipped it open with the flair of Captain Kirk with a communicator. “At eleven o’clock last night, the fire department received a call that there was a fire at the old Walters Mill warehouse. The fire brigade was notified, and assembled at the site of the fire. Junior Norton was there, also. In light of the recent spate of fires, she had asked to be informed of any additional reports. As the firefighters began their efforts, they quickly realized that an accelerant had been used, just as in the previous suspicious fires. The fire had been going on for some time before the brigade arrived, and though the blaze was eventually contained, the warehouse was completely destroyed.

  “The firefighters then soaked down the site, both to ensure that there would be no flare-ups and to render the area cool enough to be inspected. They were in no particular hurry, because they’d been informed that nothing of value was stored in the building, and they were waiting for daylight to make their inspection easier. As the sun rose, they entered what was left of the building, checking for any traces of the arsonist and tracking the blaze’s progress. Then, in the area where the fire started, they found the remains of a human being.

  “Though I did not see the body in situ, I did view it as it was removed, and it was quite gruesome.” He grimaced, and I could tell he’d been hard-pressed to maintain his professional objectivity. “We could tell it hadn’t been an accident because the victim’s wrists and ankles were still bound. Had the killer used hemp or cotton rope, it might have burned away, but he used nylon cord, which melted in place.”

  I must have made some sort of noise, because he quickly added, “Dr. Connelly, who was called immediately, informed me that the victim almost certainly perished of smoke inhalation before the flames claimed him. The rope would have melted after his death.”

  Though I wasn’t sure if dying from smoke inhalation was any better, I appreciated the thought. I wondered how much of this Grace had heard, and if she was hoping Marshall had been unaware of what was happening to him.

  “How did they identify him so quickly?” Richard asked. “It sounds as if he wasn’t recognizable.”

  “The first clue was the rental car he left nearby. Since so many firefighters had driven themselves, it wasn’t immediately noticeable that it wasn’t one of theirs, but eventually they broke inside and found papers identifying him as the lessor. I understand his laptop computer was also inside, tucked under the front seat.”

  Marshall had been a Bostonian, all right. Somebody from Byerly would probably have left it in plain sight.

  Hank went on. “Next, Mrs. Saunders was called, and she verified that Marshall was missing.”

  “Was she at a hotel?” I asked.

  “No, they were staying at the Walters home. Though they had both been at the mill most of the day, she says that after dinner, Marshall returned to the mill to finish something he’d been working on. I understand that he often preferred working at night, when there were fewer distractions. He frequently didn’t return from such expeditions until quite late, so she thought nothing of it when he hadn’t returned by the time she retired. The phone call from Chief Norton was the first time she realized that he had never returned at all.”

  “She didn’t have to identify him, did she?” The idea of having to see anybody in that condition, let alone a husband, horrified me.

  “Dr. Connelly and Chief Norton agreed that seeing the remains would not be necessary because any identification made that way would be suspect, at best. Mrs. Saunders contacted her husband’s physician and dentist, who faxed the necessary records to identify him.”

  “This quickly?”

  Hank shrugged. “Marshall Saunders was a wealthy man, and even the medical profession moves swiftly when large sums of money are involved.”

  “How did Mrs. Saunders react to the news?” Richard asked.

  “I don’t know. Chief Norton was alone with her at the time, and when I asked her, her response was, ‘How do you think she acted?’ Oh well, it’s nothing I could have used in a story, anyway.” Not that that would have stopped Hank from trying to find out. The prevailing opinion in Byerly was that he’d become a reporter just so he’d have an excuse to be nosy.

  “Does she have an alibi?” I asked.

  “Not a good one. She said she was at the Walters home all night, but nobody saw her after dinner—she told them she wanted to work in her room. The house is quite large and has a number of exits, so she could easily have snuck out. Since she and her husband had both rented cars, she had her own means of transportation.”

  “Does Junior suspect her? Or anybody else, for that matter?”

  “Not that she’s told me, and she had no comment on the possible connection with the previous fires.” He closed his notebook and looked at us expectantly. “Do y’all have somebody in mind?”

  “Not a soul,” I lied, hoping that I sounded convincing.

  I guess I did, because Hank didn’t look suspicious, just disappointed. “I was hoping for something I could add to the story.”

  “Sorry about that,” Richard said.

  “I hope you’ll keep me in mind if you do learn something. As I said before, your visits usually provide intriguing events to write about.”

  “Thanks,” I said, still not happy with that particular compliment. “Of course, you’ve had plenty of intriguing events to write about lately, even without the murder.”

  He smiled like a cat who’d had his fill of milk. “It has been a gratifying time to be a member of the Fourth Estate.”

  “Breaking the story about the buyout was mighty impressive,” I said. “How did you manage that?” I was pretty sure Burt had been the one to tell him, but I was curious to see what Hank would say.

  He didn’t answer, just kept on smiling. Though he worked for the Byerly Gazette, Hank’s journalistic standards were as rigorous in their way as those of any reporter for the New York Times or Washington Post. He wasn’t about to give up a source. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

  “Actually, yes,” I said. “I know the Saunders only got to town last week, but what can you tell us about them?”

  “I had a rather long article in Sunday’s issue,” Hank said, reaching for a copy of the paper.

  I said, “We read that, but I wanted to find out if there was anything you weren’t able to use in your article. Anything unusual.”

  “Any dirt?” Hank said flatly.

  “Any dirt,” I agreed.

  “Regrettably, no. I performed the usual on-line searches and spoke to my contact in Massachusetts, but found nothing that even hinted at irregularity. Most of what I found was in the s
ociety columns, with the occasional business piece. The Saunders have the bluest of blood, and are leaders in finance, society, charity, and academia.”

  “No dirt at all?” I said, disappointed.

  Hank shook his head, looking regretful. “The closest to scandal was the fact that Marshall had been married before, but the marriage to Grace occurred a comfortable time after the first marriage ended. There was a hint that Grace was marrying above herself, but apparently she makes up for her lack of breeding with an indomitable will to fit in among the rich.”

  “Rats!” I said.

  “Exactly,” Hank agreed. “Hardly the kind of information needed to affect the mill buyout. The only thing I could take advantage of was the fact that neither of them had been involved in this kind of venture before.”

  “Does this mean you’re against the buyout?” Richard asked.

  “I have no opinion. I merely want to place all available information before those who will be making the decision,” he said piously.

  “But dirt does make better stories,” I said.

  “Definitely. So if you two should manage to happen across anything, I would be most interested.”

  “We don’t have anything so far,” I said, which was true enough. “Did you speak to the ex-wife? If there was any dirt, I bet she’d know it.”

  “I did, but she had nothing negative to say. Apparently it was an amicable parting, and they still saw each other frequently because of the children.”

  “Marshall had kids?”

  “Two boys. Since they live with their mother, I didn’t include it in the article. Does it make a difference?”

  “I guess not,” I said. “I just feel sorry for them, that’s all.” Having lost both my parents as a teenager, I knew all too well how they must feel. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Anytime,” he said, politely walking us to the door. “And please, keep in touch.”

  Chapter 20

  “Where to next?” Richard asked as we left the Gazette office.

  “I’d love to go talk to Grace,” I said, “but even if I could bring myself to interrogate a bereaved widow, I don’t think I could come up with a decent excuse to get her to talk to us. Besides, chances are that I wouldn’t get anything out of her that Junior didn’t get.”

  “So much for cherchez la femme.”

  “That’s hardly Shakespeare.”

  “Then how about, We’ll do anything for gold.’ Timon of Athens, Act IV, Scene 3.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that where large sums of money are involved, so are large piles of paper to document that money. I sat in when my parents closed on their house, and was staggered by the amount and variety of documentation. Buying a business like the mill must cause ten times that amount.”

  “You’re right, but I don’t think Burt would let us see any of it.” Maybe we knew some of his family’s secrets, but financial information was perhaps even more intimate. “There is somebody else who might could help us. Earl’s daddy, Alton.” Alton Brown had been Aunt Ruby Lee’s second husband, and they were still on pretty good terms, and because of Earl, he’d stayed friendly with the rest of the Burnettes, too.

  “Who works at the bank,” Richard said, nodding.

  “He got a promotion not long ago, so I’ll lay odds he’s involved in the financial wranglings.”

  “Very funny.”

  “What?”

  “ ‘Lay odds,’ indeed.”

  I realized what he was talking about, and said, “Purely accidental.” Or perhaps it was a Freudian slip. In addition to working at the bank, Alton Brown was a frequent and enthusiastic gambler.

  No doubt as a result of his promotion, Alton now had a private office at the First Bank of Byerly, instead of a desk in the main area. I was glad for him because of the increased status, and even more glad for us, because it gave us a private place to talk.

  I saw Alton at his desk through the glass in the door, and tapped on it. He looked up and smiled widely before coming to let us in and close the door behind us. First the warm welcome from Hank, and then this one from Alton. I’d have been more gratified if I hadn’t known that both men had ulterior motives.

  Alton always had been a snappy dresser, never coming to work in anything less than a neatly pressed suit and a freshly laundered shirt, but I guess he’d decided he had to live up to his promotion. He was wearing a charcoal gray pin-striped suit, complete with a silk handkerchief to match his tie and a tasteful tie tack. I didn’t get a chance to peek at his shoes before he got back behind his desk, but I was sure that I could have seen my reflection if I had.

  “Laurie Anne and Richard,” Alton said with satisfaction. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “I’m glad you think so, Alton,” I said. At least he didn’t see us as harbingers of death.

  “What brings you to Byerly? Surely you weren’t able to get here so quickly after the murder?”

  Then again, maybe he did see us as harbingers. “We just happened to be in town visiting,” I said.

  “But…?”

  “But since we are here, we are curious about Marshall Saunders’s death.”

  “Of course,” he said, and pulled off his wire-rimmed glasses to hold them up to the light and check for dust. There never was any, but he carefully wiped them with a tissue anyway. “I have a passing interest in the case myself.”

  “A monetary interest?” Richard asked.

  Alton nodded. “On a hunch, I took out a wager that the mill buyout wouldn’t happen.”

  “Then there’s something fishy about the financial arrangements with the Saunders?” I asked hopefully.

  “Actually, I made the bet before I’d even seen any financial statements. I was counting on union intervention, or perhaps Big Bill’s capriciousness. It wouldn’t have been sporting to make such a bet once I had insider knowledge.”

  “Plus it would have been difficult to get someone to take the bet,” Richard pointed out.

  Alton acknowledged that fact with a nod. “Unfortunately for me, once I did examine the documentation, I saw nothing to cause any roadblocks in the process. The Saunders’s offer, though not as large as the amount Big Bill was hoping for, is backed by substantial assets.”

  “How substantial?”

  “Do you need a dollar figure?”

  “No, I’m just wondering about the widow. She’s going to be awfully well-off now, isn’t she?” Could it be that simple, that Grace had killed Marshall for the money? I hadn’t seen them enough to get a feel for how firm their marriage was—maybe she wanted to be rid of him, but didn’t want the fuss of a divorce. Maybe she’d signed a prenuptial agreement. Even more convoluted, maybe the whole mill buyout scheme was just a way to get Marshall away from home, to a place where she could cover her tracks. Maybe she thought she’d be able to fool a small-town police force in a way she’d never be able to do with the Wellesley cops. It was a wonderful structure of maybes, but if Alton’s next words didn’t bring it tumbling down, they certainly made it wobble.

  “She’ll be well-off, but probably not as well-off as she was with Marshall alive. Half the money goes to Marshall’s sons by his first wife.”

  “Rats!”

  “Of course,” he added, “there are always insurance policies.”

  “Still, it’s not likely that she’d go to so much trouble to end up poorer than she is now,” I said.

  “Perhaps not,” Alton conceded, “but people have killed for far less.”

  He was right, but from what I’d seen of her, it was hard for me to imagine Grace doing anything that would lose her money.

  “How have the odds for and against the buyout been affected by Marshall’s death?” I asked.

  “Initially, the thought was that the deal would be canceled immediately. Then word came down that Big Bill and Mrs. Saunders intend to continue negotiations, and the pendulum swung the other way. They’ve rescheduled the meeting with the union, but there’s no way of telling
how that will affect the odds until afterward.”

  “What about the odds in Marshall’s murder?” Richard asked Alton.

  “You don’t bet on murders, do you?” I said.

  “There are those that do,” Alton said. “Mrs. Saunders is a leading contender, along with various mill workers and union leaders, and I heard that Saunders has an ex-wife to consider.”

  “You are betting on it!” I said.

  “Not personally, but I have been following the contest because of the effect it could have on the mill buyout. If Mrs. Saunders is the killer, for instance, that would certainly put a crimp in Big Bill’s plans.”

  “And if Big Bill is the killer, that could cause problems, too,” Richard joked.

  Alton and he laughed, though it seemed to me that betting on a murderer was awfully tacky. Of course, the same thing could be said about all my questions, so maybe I was in no position to judge.

  Alton said, “Even though I don’t intend to bet on the investigation, if you don’t object, I’d like to tell those who are that you two have shown interest.”

  I looked at Richard, who shrugged, so I said, “I don’t see why not.”

  “Thank you. Exchanging tips is part of the game—this information could help me acquire information I need later on. Along those lines, if you have any early thoughts as to whether the mill buyout is going to happen, I would very much appreciate hearing about it.” That was why he’d been so glad to see us in the first place, of course.

  After the information Alton had given us, we did owe him something; but while I wondered how the odds would be affected if it became known that Burt opposed the plan, I had to say, “We can’t tell you anything now, but we’ll call if we do learn anything we can share. Fair enough?”

  “Eminently fair.” As he escorted us to the door, I finally saw his shoes. They were mirror-bright, as expected. It was just a shame I hadn’t been able to lay a bet that they would be.