by Ron Benrey
It had rained during the night, leaving small puddles in the sidewalk’s uneven surface. Now that the sun was up, Ann could see a distorted reflection of herself in the nearest puddle—and various bits of tiny flotsam like a flotilla of tiny boats. She kicked at the puddle with her shoe and—for the umpteenth time that morning—tried to sort out her feelings for Sean.
He’d made every effort to be kind, generous and caring. He’d also offered considerable evidence that he liked and admired her. And maybe—just maybe—she was beginning to feel the same way about him. But today was Thursday and Sean planned to leave Glory on Saturday—an insurmountable stumbling block to building an ongoing relationship.
Why warm to a man who would soon evaporate without a trace?
She looked up when she heard a door shut. Sean was walking toward her cradling a white paper bag in his arms. “A gift from Emma,” he said. “Hot coffee and warm sweet rolls. We won’t go hungry during our journey to Norfolk.”
She started her car; he climbed in beside her. “It should be a pleasant drive this morning,” she said.
“Then what say we open the sunroof?” Sean suggested. “We’ll enjoy an alfresco breakfast while we drive north.”
She watched Sean stretch his legs as far as the sedan’s compact interior would allow. She envied him—he seemed relaxed, confident. She, though, felt glum and on edge, almost certain that their visit to Miles Hayden would yield nothing of value. If Richard Squires had no obvious enemies in Glory, why should he make one seventy miles away in Norfolk?
Ann thought about ending the futile trip before it began and sending Sean back to his breakfast, but she knew that he would refuse. He seemed convinced that they were onto something.
When they were clear of Glory, she pulled to the shoulder for a few moments so that they could enjoy the coffee and sweet rolls. Both were delicious. Sean seemed pleased that she enjoyed them.
“I bring interesting news along with the grub,” he said. “Carlo Vaughn leaves Glory forever this morning. He spent last night at the Glory House on King Street. The Storm Channel rustled up a limousine to drive him to the Norfolk airport.”
“We could have taken him with us.”
“That didn’t strike me as a great idea, although the conversation would have been fascinating and poor Carlo would have needed additional medical care,” Sean teased.
“Poor Carlo, my foot! It’s a pity that I didn’t get a chance to say a proper goodbye.”
“Oh, but he thinks you did. He told me what you said to him at the hospital. Word for word. Did you really call him an ‘unmitigated lowlife’?”
“I believe I did. But my favorite part of the tirade was ‘pompous, egotistical sleaze bucket.’” Ann cringed when she recalled her out-of-whack first impression of Carlo Vaughn. Why, she asked herself, had she thought Carlo so much more handsome than Sean? He may have been more photogenic, but his perfect features were an empty facade for his pinhead intellect and would soon grow boring. By contrast, Sean’s rugged asymmetrical face mirrored his considerable intelligence, and became more interesting each time she looked at him.
Sean patted his shirt pocket. “I have detailed directions to Hayden’s office, in case you need them.”
“Thanks, but I know how to get to Bank Street. I frequently shop in Norfolk.” She didn’t say that she’d made the trip so often that she knew the way by heart. “Miles Hayden’s office is less than a mile from Nauticus.”
“What’s Nauticus?”
“A nifty maritime-themed science museum. My guess is you’d love it. I went along with a group of church members last year. We saw a great exhibition on navigation. Afterward we took a boat ride around the harbor. Norfolk Naval Station is the largest navy base in the world. The U.S. Navy has seventy-five ships based there.”
“My job took me to Norfolk last year. All I saw was Town Point Park and a small patch of the James River. Sounds like I missed a lot.”
“Um, since you brought it up, can I ask a question about your job?”
“Sheesh! Not another personal question.”
“I’ll try not to insult you again, but to prepare for every eventuality, I’ll apologize in advance.”
“I accept your apology in advance. Ask away.”
“I know that you work for the Storm Channel, but I don’t know what you do other than drive a big van. I assume that you have a few other, more challenging responsibilities.”
Sean laughed. “I’m what the Storm Channel calls a field producer. I do everything from overseeing remote broadcasts and handling all the logistics to taking care of travel arrangements, setting up the equipment, driving the van and, when necessary, serving as Carlo Vaughn’s valet.”
“How long have you been a field producer?”
“Four long, dull years. Two of them Carlo-drenched.”
“Yikes. They must pay you vast sums of money,” Ann said.
“Vast enough to make a dent in my student loans. I owed a ton of cash when I finished my meteorology degree at the University of Miami.” He toasted her with his coffee cup. “What about you? Where did you go to school? Is there a college that specializes in church administrating?”
“I attended East Carolina University in Greenville. My degree is in business administration. I earn a modest sum, but I’m happy working at Glory Community Church.”
Happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.
“Hmm. You don’t look like a B-school type to me. You’re much too nice to be a hardheaded manager.”
She knew that Sean meant to flatter her, but with his compliment had surfaced an unhappy memory she’d rather have left buried. She decided not to explain that business had been her second choice, that she’d actually started college as an education major, on her way to being a grade-school teacher.
“I’m tougher than I look,” she replied, “and nasty to the core.”
“Not!” Sean said.
She laughed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
At eight o’clock they crossed the Berkeley Bridge and arrived in downtown Norfolk. Five minutes later, Ann located a parking space close to the Chesapeake Commercial Center, a fifteen-story glass and steel office building. The directory in the marble-floored lobby announced that the Hayden Development Corporation was on the seventh floor, in suite 703.
“I’m beginning to recognize the different expressions on your face,” Sean said as they boarded the elevator. “I currently see skepticism. Please explain.”
Ann pushed seven and the doors slid shut. “Senior executives usually have full calendars. I’m astonished that Miles Hayden agreed to see us on such short notice.”
“Undoubtedly because I’m remarkably persuasive on the telephone.”
“That must be it.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Sean countered.
The elevator doors whooshed open. “Lead on,” Ann said.
Suite 703 was at the end of a long corridor. Sean turned a bronze doorknob and pushed open the door.
Ann walked in and saw a stocky man standing next to a receptionist’s workstation. He was of medium height, in his early fifties and wore a fairly obvious toupee.
“You must be Ann Trask,” he said. “I’m Miles Hayden. My secretary is ill today, so I’m the only one on duty this morning.” He extended his hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hayden,” she said.
“I presume you’re Sean Miller.”
“Yes, indeed.” Sean shook Hayden’s hand after Ann released it.
“I can’t offer you coffee,” Hayden said. “Unfortunately, only my secretary knows how to do that. That being so, let’s get down to business.” He sat on a small sofa at the front of the reception area and waved at two facing steel-and-leather chairs. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
When Ann and Sean were seated, Hayden said, “When you called yesterday, you said you wanted to talk about Richard Squires. But you also said that neither you nor Ann is next of kin.”
�
��Correct,” Ann said. “I’m Administrator at Glory Community Church and Sean is—”
“No need to explain yourselves,” he interrupted. “I have several friends in Glory and I checked you out.” He smiled. “Let’s save time and cut right to the chase. Only one person in Glory could have told you about me—Sheila Parker. A not-so-bright lady with big hair and an even bigger mouth. Richard deserved better, but that’s all water under the bridge.” He continued. “You obviously want to know what kind of business arrangement I had going with Richard, am I right?”
Ann nodded. “You’re right.”
“Well, I have a proposition. I need a favor—a small one, but important nonetheless. You help me and I’ll help you. I don’t have to tell you that that’s the way things get done in the world of business.”
“What kind of favor?” Ann asked.
“Richard Squires’s children will attend his funeral tomorrow.”
“Jordan and Erin?” she said.
“Mr. Jordan Squires and Mrs. Erin Squires Bradshaw,” Hayden laughed. “Checking me out? Huh? Did I pass your test?”
“With an A-plus.”
“I’ve arranged to meet with them before the ceremony begins. We need a room at the church. Someplace quiet and private, where we won’t be disturbed.” He smiled at Ann. “Do you have an office?”
Ann’s fists clenched involuntarily. She relaxed them and hoped that Hayden hadn’t noticed. It took every ounce of her self-control to avoid telling him what she thought of someone who wanted to talk business at a funeral.
“Have Jordan and Erin agreed to this meeting?” she asked.
“Absolutely. Call them if you don’t believe me.”
“Then I have no objection to them using my office.”
“And I have no objection to telling you what I cooked up with Richard Squires.” He chuckled. “Cooked up—get it?”
Ann gritted her teeth. “I get it.”
“Well, our plan was to rip down Squires’ Place, clear the whole half block next to the Bank of Glory, and erect a ten-story office building. The Hayden Professional Center will attract high-value service businesses to Glory—law firms, financial planners, accounting firms, advertising agencies—the kind of companies that will provide the growth that Glory needs. My plan calls for specialty shops on the first floor, and a rooftop restaurant that offers a spectacular view of Albemarle Sound.”
“I see. You intend to move Squires’ Place to the roof.”
“No, no, no. The Hayden Professional Center will have a world-class eatery on top, not a hayseed grits joint with cockamamie red-and-white walls. I promised Richard we’d find another location in downtown Glory for a new and improved Squires’ Place.”
“So Richard didn’t intend to leave Glory…gritless?” Sean inquired.
“Are you kidding? That restaurant was his baby. Richard really thought that he served the best grits in the South—as if such a ludicrous thing as ‘best grits’ were possible.” He frowned. “What are grits, anyway?”
“Stone-ground corn,” Ann answered. “The finer part is called corn meal, the coarser part is called grits. The simplest recipe is to pour the grits into boiling water and then simmer, stirring occasionally, until the grits absorb the water. That’s the kind of grits you get for breakfast in the Grits Belt.”
“The what?” Sean asked.
“Louisiana to North Carolina.”
“You learn something exciting every day,” Hayden said dryly.
“Do you know that grits is the official prepared food of Georgia?” Ann asked.
Hayden shrugged. “And tell me why I should care?”
“Moving right along,” Sean said, sensing Ann’s anger. “Do Jordan and Erin know about your development scheme?”
“That’s why we’re meeting tomorrow. They’re Richard’s heirs. Once they give me the okay, I’ll move ahead with the planning phase.”
“Do they intend to rebuild Squires’ Place after you demolish the building?”
“Beats me, but if they do, they’re on their own. Frankly, I’m way too busy to worry about a small-town restaurant.” Ann noticed that Hayden made a point of looking at his watch. “I have to get back to work. I want to be ready to go the instant the court probates Richard’s will.”
“Thank you for your time,” Sean said. “I’m really excited by your plans for little Glory.”
“And so you should be. My new building will kick-start Glory’s lagging economy. Tourist trade is okay, but nothing brings in money like a revitalized downtown.”
Ann and Sean rose from their seats and said their goodbyes. They walked side-by-side along the corridor, not saying anything until the elevator was on its way down.
“Were you impressed by Hayden?” she asked.
“Not especially. I don’t buy his my-secretary-is-sick-today story. His office looked sparse. If he’s a real-estate developer, he’s not a very successful one.”
“You can’t judge that kind of book by its cover, though. Hayden may be having short-term cash-flow problems, but if he has the right contacts, he can still marshal enough resources to put together a major business deal in Glory.”
“Assuming that he told us the truth.”
“Well, what do you think?” she said. “Did you believe Hayden?”
“Here and there, but not everywhere. I’ve organized so many interviews with devious local politicians that I’ve learned how to read body language. Some of what he said is truthful—he needs your office to meet with Richard’s children, for example. But Miles Hayden has his own agenda and he didn’t tell us the whole truth.”
“Great. We’re still at square one,” she said.
She looked away from Sean and willed herself to stay calm. Sean is trying to help me. It’s not his fault that we’re not making any progress.
Ann seemed completely lost in thought when they reached her sedan. Without any warning, she lobbed the car keys at him. “You drive!” she ordered.
“Yes, your highness.” He punctuated his reply with a curtsy, but she ignored his feeble attempt at humor. He could feel the frustration coming off her in waves.
He unlocked the car. She sprang into the passenger’s seat then yanked the door shut with enough force to rock the compact sedan on its springs.
Sean climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine and aimed the rearview mirror so he could see her face. She’d pressed her head against the headrest, her eyes shut, her expression bleak. But despite her grim visage, there was color in her cheeks, and she looked remarkably pretty.
“You are a strange lady, Ann Trask,” he murmured, as he readjusted his mirror and pulled into traffic.
“Did you say something?” she asked.
“I said ‘You are a strange lady, Ann Trask.’”
“What are you talking about?”
“You…and me,” he said.
“Sean, you’re babbling.”
“You seem angry, Ann. Was it something I did?”
“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me—and at the situation.”
“What situation, Ann?”
“What situation?”
“Just call me Blockhead Miller,” he said.
Ann began to smile. “I’m sorry, Sean, but I’m wound tighter than a broken alarm clock.”
“I’d never have noticed,” he said. “Are you going to tell me why?”
She sighed. “Look. We drove all the way from Glory to Norfolk to find a reason why someone might want to kill Richard Squires, but we still don’t have a motive.” She sighed again. “When I think of all the work waiting for me back at the church, well, I feel stupid for wasting an entire morning on a meeting with a man we both agree was less than truthful with us.”
“Look at the bright side. We’ve learned many new facts about Richard Squires during the past twenty-four hours.”
“But not the most important fact.”
“Well, you know what they say about detecting.”
“As a matter of
fact, I have no idea.” Ann laughed.
“Eighty percent of the work done during an investigation doesn’t pay off. The trouble is, no one knows in advance which eighty percent not to do. In other words, we may have made a vital discovery, but we just don’t realize it yet.”
“A lot of good that’s going to do me. I’m running out of time, Sean.”
The intensity of Ann’s voice—the anxiety her tone conveyed—stunned Sean. Several seconds passed before he realized what she’d actually said.
“Running out of time?” he asked “In what way? Rafe didn’t give us a specific deadline to meet.”
“Forget it. Now I’m babbling.”
“I don’t want to forget it. You’re concerned about time and I want to know why,” he said gently.
She hesitated before she replied. “Well, you’re going to leave Glory soon, and then I’ll be investigating on my own.”
Sean glanced at her and realized instantly that Hayden wasn’t the only one being less than truthful.
She’s lying to me. Why?
Sean gripped the steering wheel tightly and wondered what to do next.
He tried to recall their conversation after they’d left Miles Hayden. At first, she’d become angry about their lack of progress. And then she worried about running out of time.
Something clicked in Sean’s mind. Phil Meade must be the link. If they could come up with a motive for Richard’s murder, then Rafe Neilson would launch a homicide investigation and presumably prove that Richard was murdered. Then Phil’s attack on Ann would be meaningless. The timing didn’t matter much unless…
…unless Phil Meade could do something to discredit Ann. But what would Phil have on Ann? Was there something in her past she wanted to keep hidden?
Sean knew in his gut that he’d guessed right. But that didn’t cheer him. If anything, he felt let down that Ann chose not to trust him. He decided to call her on it.
“Ann, is there anything you need to tell me before we get back to Glory?” he asked.
