by Beverly Long
That likely meant that he was going to have to move his stacks of paper on the kitchen counters. “We’re good,” Rena said for both of them. “Then what happened?”
“It stayed closed for almost twenty years before it was purchased by three fellas from Madison. They put a little money into her, and in the early 1960s, they filmed a movie there. But I don’t think they were fully committed to the property. It had always had a prestigious clientele, but it became more of a budget place. Damn shame. They kept it open for about fifteen years, before it closed again in 1967.”
“It’s been closed since then?” Rena asked.
Matt shook his head. “Stayed closed three years that time, and when it came back to life, it wasn’t as a hotel. One of the three now had ownership, and he was interested in offering cheap apartments. The city finally closed those down in the early 1990s because they got so many complaints about the rats. The city bought the property cheap about ten years later, but didn’t do anything with it right away. I think they had their hands full with other projects.”
That made sense. Fifteen to twenty years ago, the mayor at the time had intensified efforts to beautify properties along the river. “We understand you think it’s worth saving,” Rena said.
“Of course. Its facade is a splendid example of Renaissance Revival style, like Carnegie Hall in New York. Good Lord, man. You wouldn’t think of tearing that building down, would you?”
She’d done a tour of Carnegie Hall once while in New York and recalled that, sometime in the 1950s or 1960s, they’d been having exactly those conversations. But it had been saved, no doubt due to the efforts of people much like Matt Connell. It was hard to fault the man’s enthusiasm. And they hadn’t come to argue about the value of saving the property, simply to understand the players involved.
“The bones of the Gizer Hotel are still solid. It just needs some spit and polish,” Matt continued.
“And money?” Rena said.
Matt smiled, showing all his even but yellowed teeth. “Always comes back to that, doesn’t it? The Baywood Preservation District needs to ramp up their efforts.”
“Can you think of any group or anybody that might not be crazy about the efforts to save the Gizer Hotel?”
Matt considered the question. “First and foremost, the people who were interested in buying it from the city to build a big new restaurant and parking deck on the space. There aren’t many footprints that big in the downtown area.”
“Do you know who that was?” Rena asked.
“I don’t. But somebody on the city planning committee will know. I think they got fairly far in the process.”
“Can you think of anybody else?” A.L. asked.
Matt shrugged. “There are always people who want something new and better and don’t have an appreciation for the grace that age and experience offer.” He smiled again. “I guess that’s why young people honk their horns at me when I drive and get frustrated with me when I write a check at the grocery store rather than wave my little plastic card. My grace,” he said, lifting his chin, “is lost on them.”
Rena smiled. Matt Connell would make a most excellent grandfather. “We really appreciate your time, sir.”
“I suppose you’re not going to tell me why two detectives are asking questions about the Gizer Hotel.”
“I’m sorry,” Rena said. “We really can’t. And it would be very helpful, sir, if you didn’t mention our visit to anyone.”
“My wife died four years ago. I live alone.”
“Of course,” she murmured. “To friends, then.”
“I won’t say anything. I will admit, however, to being curious.”
“You’ve been helpful. I hope knowing that is enough,” Rena said.
“Better than a rock in my shoe.”
* * *
“Two potential groups,” A.L. said, starting the car. “The developer who had other plans for the property. That’s pretty well defined. I mean, we don’t know who it is, but we can find out. The information is there. But the other—anybody that doesn’t value grace—could be a fucking lot of people.”
“Wasn’t he great?” Rena said. “I want to be like that when I’m eighty.”
“An old man?”
She rolled her eyes. “Still kicking. Interested in things. Reading. Caring.”
“You will be,” A.L. said. “Me, I’m going to be eating pickles out of a jar and betting on the horses.”
“Your own definition of grace,” Rena said.
“Amen.”
They drove in silence. “Planning commission?” Rena asked as they neared downtown.
A.L. shook his head. “Let’s go to the top.”
“The mayor?”
“No. The mayor’s chief of staff. Claudia Lawson is the person really running the mayor’s office. If anybody knows, she will.” A.L. pulled into the public parking lot next to city hall.
“I thought you liked Kenwood Johnson.”
“I do. But I’m still pissed off about him giving the job to Faster.”
“I read that sustained anger causes heart disease.”
“Cheeseburgers cause heart disease. And I’m not giving them up, either. Let’s go.”
Claudia Lawson’s office was on the third floor. She had a big desk and a table by the window with four chairs. “Please, have a seat,” she said.
A.L. sat and immediately leaned forward in his chair, his forearms resting on the table. “Thanks for seeing us. We’re trying to get a step ahead of our serial killer.”
“I see. How can I or the mayor’s office help you?”
That’s what he liked about Claudia. She got to the point and didn’t waste time on bullshit small talk. Plus, she was already part of the need-to-know group. If the mayor wasn’t available for the task force meeting, Claudia took his place.
“We’re interested in the Gizer Hotel, specifically the group that most recently attempted to purchase the property from the city to build a restaurant and parking deck.”
“The Poisen Group.”
He’d known that she’d have the information. “Poison?” he repeated. “What kind of name is that?”
“Poisen with an e. But still, they did kind of leave a yucky taste in one’s mouth.”
Interesting. “What can you tell us about them?” A.L. asked.
“Two principals. Well-funded. Home base is Chicago but branching out into more Midwest locations.”
“But you didn’t care for them?” A.L. asked.
“I was in a couple meetings with them. They’re abrasive, opinionated and, quite frankly, act as if their money might be a little better than the next person’s. All of that made it easier when Baywood Historic Preservation came forward at the eleventh hour and asked the city to consider another option. I don’t think razing the building is off the table. We’ll have to see if the preservation folks can get some money behind them. If they can, great. I’d actually like to see the building saved. If they can’t, then we’ll start to entertain new offers, because that area of the riverfront is where our focus is going to be for the next couple of years.”
“Are the Poisen Group guys waiting for a second chance?”
“No. We were pretty clear with them that they aren’t welcome to submit any proposals.”
“Had they already invested some dollars in the project?” Rena asked.
“I’m sure they had. But that’s the risk that these organizations take. There’s always some up-front costs in preparing a proposal.”
“So they generally have bad manners and might be pissed that they lost some money along the way,” A.L. said.
“Perhaps,” she said. “What’s this about?”
He looked at Rena, and she nodded. “Baywood Historic Preservation has been collecting signatures on a petition.”
“I think I’ve se
en that.”
“What?” A.L. asked.
“I think the director brought it with him one of the times he came to talk to the mayor and me.”
“When?”
“Months ago,” she said.
“Did you keep a copy?”
“No.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about it?” Rena jumped in.
“Truthfully, I’m not sure I even looked at it. Why?”
A.L. looked at the door, to make sure it was closed. “All four of our victims signed it. Lines ten, thirty, forty and fifty.”
Claudia’s mouth opened, but she said nothing for a long moment. “Why was twenty skipped?”
“We don’t know,” Rena said. “We’re looking at that, but right now, we’re focused on identifying the next victim.”
“If the pattern holds, it’s the name on line sixty,” Claudia said, no inflection in her voice.
A.L. nodded. She was likely regretting that she’d dismissed the petition. But nobody could have known.
“I’ll give the mayor a status update,” Claudia said.
“He’d have heard about the petition at this morning’s task force meeting. You can tell him that we have made contact with Mia Franklin, that was the woman who signed on line twenty. She’s fine and has no clue just how damn lucky she is. But Tess Lyons, on line sixty, is in the wind. Not sure why.” A.L. paused. “Can you get us the contact information on the Poisen Group?”
“Of course. I’ll send it over within the hour.”
A.L. and Rena stood up. “Thanks for your time,” A.L. said.
“Good luck, Detectives.”
They were out of the building before either of them spoke. “Bet she doesn’t sleep great tonight,” A.L. said.
“Midnight regrets,” Rena said. That’s what she called it when worries kept her from sleeping. “Woulda, shoulda, coulda. Even if she’d looked at the petition or kept a copy, there would have been no reason for her to associate it with the murders.”
“You’re right. But it will still make her toss and turn.”
“We should go back and talk to the dog-walking neighbor,” Rena said, looking at her watch. “If Regina Heller drives a little yellow school bus, then she is probably done working for the day. We need her to tell us what she knows about Tess Lyons.”
Ten
The bus, probably a sixteen-passenger one, was parked in front of Regina’s. They parked four houses away. “You’ll need to do this,” Rena said. “We can’t run the risk of me identifying myself to her as a cop and that screwing up my reunion cover.”
“Agreed,” A.L. said.
He got out of the car and knocked on the door.
Immediately, he heard the sharp bark of a dog. When the door opened, a woman, maybe late forties, was holding the dog, who was still barking.
“Regina Heller?” A.L. asked.
The woman nodded.
“I’m Detective McKittridge.” He held out his badge. “Can I have a few minutes of your time?”
The woman stared at him. “Can we do it outside?”
She was afraid to invite him in. Because maybe he smothered naked women with their own pillows. Trust in the community was gone. “Of course,” he said. The dog was still barking.
“Shush, Baby.” The woman turned and gently tossed the dog back inside. It kept barking, but at least it wasn’t quite as annoying.
“Nice dog,” he said. “I understand that you and your neighbor Tess Lyons sometimes walk your dogs together.”
“We always pick up their little jobs,” the woman said. “Did the woman at the end of the block complain?”
“No, ma’am. That’s not why I’m here.” The day he started investigating those kinds of complaints he was going to shoot himself. “I actually am interested in talking with Tess Lyons, and I thought you might have some information on her.”
“Well, you know she went back to work a couple weeks ago.”
Went back to work. That meant that she’d been away. “And where is it that she works?”
“At Hampton’s Title Company. She’s been there for years. I think she’s practically running that office.”
Hampton’s Title Company was on the main drag downtown, three blocks from the Petal Poof where Jane Picus had worked. “Do you happen to know where Tess might be right now?”
“No. But she did tell me that she wouldn’t be around to walk the dogs for a few days.”
That was good. That meant she’d anticipated the absence. “Do you know what church Tess attends?”
“I’m not sure she goes to church. She never talks about it. I do know that Marnee, that’s her daughter, went to the Catholic high school.”
“Marnee doesn’t live at home?”
The woman shook her head. “She’s in college. I’m sure I know where, but right now I can’t think of it.”
“No problem,” A.L. said easily. “Anything else you can tell me that might be helpful as I try to find Tess?”
The woman shook her head. “She’s not in trouble, is she?”
A.L. waved away the question. “No, she’s not. Thank you for your time.”
“Of course.” The woman opened her door and quickly stepped inside. When she shut it, the damn barking stopped. It suddenly seemed as if the street was very quiet.
A.L. walked back to the car and slid into the passenger seat. Rena had lowered the window on her side.
“I could hear the barking from here,” she said.
“Maybe I should carry dog treats in my pocket.”
“I’d prefer chocolate doughnuts, but whatever. What did she say?”
“Doesn’t know where Tess is, but knew that she was going to be gone for a few days. She works at Hampton’s Title.”
“We used them when we bought our house.”
“Maybe you met her, then.”
“I don’t know. I can’t really remember any of their names.”
A.L. looked at his watch. “Let’s see if somebody is working late at the title company. Regina said that she recently went back.”
“What did she mean by that?”
“I don’t know.” He used his smartphone to look up the title company’s website. Showed Rena the picture of Clark Hampton, the owner. “Maybe he’ll be able to tell us.”
* * *
It was five-thirty by the time they got to the title company. The front lights were off, but when Rena peered through the bay window, she could see a light coming from an office in the back. She rapped hard on the door. Sure enough, within a minute or two, they heard the sound of keys in the door.
It was a man, maybe early fifties, wearing...well, she hoped he’d been on the golf course earlier in the day, because he was wearing pastel pants and a short-sleeved pastel checked shirt. His hair was gray. On the website, it had been brown. “Clark Hampton?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, his tone cautious. “Has something happened?”
“Sir, I’m Detective Morgan, and this is Detective McKittridge.” Badges came out. “We’d appreciate a few minutes of your time to talk about one of your employees, Tess Lyons.”
“I thought for a minute something had happened to my wife. She drives back and forth to Madison a couple times a week. Bunch of morons on the roads these days.” He ushered them into the dark interior and locked the door behind them. He did not take them back to his office where the light was on. Instead, he motioned for them to take a seat on the brown leather couch in the small waiting area near the front window. He took a spot in the matching chair. He did not turn on the lights, but there was enough sunlight coming in through the partially open blinds that they could see well enough.
It was sort of peaceful.
If one discounted the fact that they were attempting to find a woman who was about to get killed.
“We understand that Tess Lyons is employed by Hampton’s Title.”
“Yes. For several years.” He pulled back. “Don’t tell me something has happened to her.”
Rena held up a hand. Mr. Hampton seemed prone to jump to bad conclusions, but then again, who didn’t when the police visited unexpectedly? Someday, she wanted to have a job where people were happy to see her. She thought again of the Petal Poof. Maybe she wouldn’t arrange flowers, but rather, deliver them. “We have no reason to believe anything has happened to Tess. But we are trying to reach her.”
“Oh, good. For a minute, I thought you were going to tell me that she’d done something stupid.”
That was interesting. “Something stupid?”
“Like she left her car running in the garage or something.”
“Why would she do that?” A.L. asked, leaning forward.
“She’s been pretty depressed since the accident.”
“What accident?” A.L. asked.
“Since she lost her arm. I mean, well, part of it. From the shark attack.”
Rena glanced at A.L. His face showed no response to Clark Hampton’s comment, but she knew that behind that facade he was thinking, Wow, didn’t see that one coming. He’d had a conversation with the neighbor, and she hadn’t thought to mention it? “How long ago did that happen?” Rena asked.
“Oh, it’s been months now. She was surfing in California. I just couldn’t believe it. I mean, really, what’re the chances of that?”
Maybe about as good as getting smothered naked in her house by some whack job. “I don’t know, sir,” Rena said.
“It messed her up bad. She was off for almost three months before she came back to work. But I could tell her head was somewhere else. She’s been making mistakes that are taking up my time and her coworkers’ time to fix. Frankly, it was sort of a relief when she called in sick at the beginning of the week. I was debating what to tell her when she came back. Didn’t have to have that conversation, because she called me Tuesday afternoon and told me that she needed to take more time off. Said she was going to get out of town. She asked for six weeks, and I told her she could have a month, but that was the limit. The absolute limit. I feel for her, but I’ve got a business to run.”
