Death on Mt Pleasant

by Steve McMillen

  With a quizzical look on his face, Mickke D ask, “Pardon my stupidity, but what exactly is fracking?”

  “Well, it’s actually hydraulic fracturing. It’s when they pump huge amounts of high pressure water and chemicals, as well as large amounts of special sand, underground to break shale rock and release the oil and natural gas inside. The sand is used to prop open the paper-thin cracks fracking makes in the shale.”

  “So is the sand you use like beach sand?”

  “No, it’s a specific type of sand. It’s not what you would find on the beach. We use rounded quartz sand because it’s strong enough to handle the pressure and depth involved in fracking. Beach sand is too angular and full of impurities.”

  Mickke D decides it’s time for a zinger. “Did you know that according to Sissy’s notes, she was considering hiring an attorney to file an injunction against fracking in Fairfield County until further tests and studies by independent companies could be completed?”

  He notices a sudden change in Mr. Dane’s demeanor. He can tell he is starting to get irritated. Mr. Dane stands up and says, “I’m sorry to hear about Miss Adams, but I have a lot of things on my plate right now, Mr. MacCandlish. If I can be of any further assistance to you, give my secretary a call and she’ll set up an appointment. Nice meeting you Mr. MacCandlish.” He ushers him out the door. Mickke D presumes the word injunction hit a nerve with him.

  As he leaves, he throws out another little jab. “Mr. Dane, you look familiar to me. Did I see you out on Allen Road last Saturday in a black SUV?”

  “It’s possible, I live just outside of Pickerington but I don’t think I was on Allen Road last Saturday. Nice meeting you Mr. MacCandlish.” Without offering to shake his hand, he returns to his office, closing the door on his way through.

  Marian gives him an adoring smile and says, “Leave me one of your cards, Mr. MacCandlish, so I’ll have it when you hopefully call again.”

  He does as she asks and she hands him one of hers as well. As he takes the card, he clasps her hand. “Thank you Marian, I may call sooner than you think.”

  She winks, “Promises, promises.”

  He’s thinking this woman could be an excellent contact into the inner sanctum of Wilmont Oil & Gas. She’s also very good-looking.

  Robert Dane waits a few minutes and then buzzes his secretary. “Marian, get Mr. Peterson on the phone and ask him to call me on my cell phone.”

  Five minutes later, his cell phone rings. “Robert, its Stu. What’s up?”

  “I need you to run a background check on a guy. His name is Mickke MacCandlish and he’s from North Myrtle Beach, SC. He’s a private investigator. Call me as soon as you get the info. Thanks, Stu.”

  “No problem, Robert. I should know something by this afternoon.”

  Stuart Peterson, aka Stu, is a private security contractor. He is 38 years old and an ex-CIA agent with a degree in computer science and analysis. He will work for whoever pays him and his fees are not cheap. He works on a per diem basis and charges $350 a day plus expenses, and if he only works one hour that is the same as a half day to him. He lets his clients know that if there is any information on the internet, he will find the person they are looking for and eliminate them if need be. He can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do if paid enough by a client. His clients know he may be working for other clients but they never know whom and they know better than to ask. He is very private, tight-lipped, and without morals or fear. He is currently under contract to three different clients in the central Ohio area, and one of those is Wilmont Oil & Gas.

  Around 1:00 that afternoon, Robert’s phone rings and Stu’s phone number pops up. “Hey, Stu. What did you find out?”

  “Well, he’s originally from Lancaster, 45 years old, and ex-Special Forces. He is the broker in charge of his own real estate company, Mickke D Realty, and runs a private investigation company, Grand Strand Investigations. Seems as though he is well off financially and has been involved with several investigations in the Myrtle Beach area. He’s currently not married, although he has been divorced three times. In his spare time, he helps on ocean salvage jobs in the area. It seems as if he has his shit together except for the ex-wife thing.”

  Robert makes some notes and then replies, “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

  The next call Robert makes is to his boss. “I had a meeting with a private investigator from South Carolina earlier today. Said he was investigating the death of Sissy Adams, a reporter down in Lancaster. He also said she was considering an injunction against fracking in Fairfield County at the time of her death.”

  “So, what’s the big deal? The reporter is dead and I haven’t received any injunctions to stop fracking. But I wonder how that PI found out about the injunction?”

  “You sound as if you knew she was dead?”

  “Sure I knew. I read it in the paper. You didn’t know?”

  “No, I must have missed it. It would have been nice if someone had let me know. That way that PI today wouldn’t have blindsided me. So what do you want me to do? I already had Stu do a background check on the guy.” Robert relays the information Stu had given him on Mr. MacCandlish.

  “Sounds like quite an adversary, Robert. I would still like to know where he got that Information.”

  “Well, I suppose we could have Stu have an up-close and personal talk with him.”

  “Not yet. Let’s see what happens, if you hear back from your PI friend, let me know.”

  Chapter 14: Ginny Ridlinger

  After lunch, my next stop is Anchor Hocking Glass. Sissy had spoken to a Ginny Ridlinger, the director of public relations for the company. She was investigating the possible sale of Anchor Hocking and the plant shutting down. That would put a whole lot of people out of work in Lancaster and the surrounding area. Ginny had assured her that no such thing was going to happen.

  Anchor Hocking is the second largest employer in Fairfield County. Only the Medical Center and Hospital employs more people. Since I grew up in Lancaster, just the thought of the plant closing down gives me cold chills.

  Anchor Hocking Glass began in 1905. The name came from the Hocking River near where the plant was located. In its first year of production, the company made and sold more than $20,000 worth of glassware. That would be equal to about $1.8 million in today’s dollars. The development of a revolutionary machine that pressed glass saved the company when the Great Depression hit. The new machine raised production rates from one item per minute to more than thirty items per minute. When the 1929 stock market crash hit, the company responded by developing a fifteen-mold machine that could produce ninety pieces of glass per minute. This allowed the company to survive the depression when so many other companies vanished. Several companies bought and sold the plant since then, but I don’t think anyone in Lancaster could ever conceive there not being an Anchor Hocking Plant in town. The effects of that would be devastating to the entire area.

  I stop by Anchor’s main office at the Distribution Center on West Fair Avenue about 2:00. As I’m walking through the parking lot, I notice a black SUV in a reserved parking space with a GR1U-SAF license tag.

  My non-appointment stop to see Mr. Dane earlier that same day had worked so I decided to try the same thing with Ginny Ridlinger. My luck is still holding. Her secretary takes my card and disappears. Shortly thereafter, Ginny comes out to the waiting room. She is an alluring, almost desirable, looking woman; I’m going to guess in her mid-forties. “Mr. MacCandlish, why in the world would a private investigator want to see me? Are you looking for a job?”

  My first thought is that this woman had to have been in the military. I’m going to guess Air Force because of the license plate I saw in the parking lot. She just had that “air” about her. She was in charge. I notice a missing wedding ring on her finger and reply, “Excuse me, Ms. Ridlinger, did you ever spend time in the military?”

  “Actually I did, but that’s none of your business,” Her scornful frow
n changes to an insincere smile. “Now if you would like to set up an appointment, maybe we can work you in later.”

  I need to change the way this encounter is heading. “Sorry, I spent some time in the military myself and I meant that question only in a respectful way.”

  She quickly asks, “What branch were you in, Mr. MacCandlish?”

  “Army Special Forces, what about you?”

  “Twenty years Air Force.”

  I smile as I catch her glancing at my ring finger, which is also bare. “I’ll just bet you were a pilot.”

  “No, Mr. MacCandlish, I was a surgery technician. I was a body mechanic. And what did you do?”

  “Please, call me Mickke D. I used to chase bad guys around.”

  Her demeanor completely changed. “And what did you do once you caught them?”

  “It depended on how bad they were. But hey, I just wanted to ask you a few questions about a case I’m working on.”

  Her contempt toward me changes. “Come into my office, I have a few minutes to spare.” She motions towards a chair. “Sit down, Mr. MacCandlish. Would you care for coffee or something else to drink?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine.”

  The same woman who just minutes ago was going to rip my head off is now becoming very friendly, almost too friendly. The time has come to see what is going on with this woman.

  “So what case are you working on Mr. MacCandlish. How can I help?”

  “I’m looking into the death of Sissy Adams, the reporter who fell off of Mt. Pleasant a couple of weeks back. Did you know her?”

  She responds as if she is carefully choosing her words. “I didn’t know her personally, but she did call me about some rumors going around town that the plant was going to be sold and shut down.”

  “And how did you respond?”

  “I told her I had no knowledge of that, which I don’t.” She gives me a measured stare and then continues, “I’m having a hard time figuring out what her tragic death has to do with me.”

  “Well, her brother, who is an old friend of mine from high school, thinks she was murdered because of some story she may have been working on for the paper. She mentioned you and Anchor Hocking in her notes. I’m just following up with everyone she had been talking with.”

  “I can assure you Mr. MacCandlish, I know nothing about that reporter’s death except what I read in the paper, and I thought the paper said it had been an accident.”

  It’s time to stir the pot a little bit, “Yes, they did, but there are usually two sides to every story. By the way, you look familiar. Did I see you out on Allen Road this past Saturday driving a black SUV?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest, leans back in her chair, and replies, “I don’t think so.” Then, while staring at the ceiling, she continues, “Let’s see, I was in Toledo Saturday at a conference. Any more questions, Mr. MacCandlish?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Thanks for your help. Oh, by the way, how long have you been with Anchor?

  “About two years now. Anything else? Should I call my attorney?”

  Well, I don’t think so Ms. Ridlinger, however, if I have any further questions, may I call you?”

  “Of course you may, here’s my personal cell phone number.” She writes her number on one of her business cards and escorts me out to the waiting room. “Have a nice day, Mr. MacCandlish.”

  By the time I get to my vehicle, I am convinced she knows more than what she told me. She was hiding something. I asked her to call me Mickke D and she never did, and she never came back with, “You can call me Ginny.” That to me is a sign that I would probably not be on her Christmas card list and that she does not trust me. She said she had been with Anchor about two years, which would have been about the same time the fracking issue came about. Maybe just a coincidence. As soon as I get back to Shaw’s, I call Jim and ask him to see what he can find out about Mr. Dane and Ms. Ridlinger.

  Ginny had been warned to expect a call and minutes after Mickke D leaves her office, she closes her door and places a call on her cell phone. “Well, your PI just left. It seems as if that reporter’s brother thinks she was murdered and that’s why he is investigating. I don’t think he knows anything. He did refer to her notes several times, but he did not specify where he got them and I didn’t think I should have asked him where he got them. He did ask me if I was in a black SUV on Allen Road this past Saturday, but of course I told him I was in Toledo.”

  “Thank you. Call me if he contacts you again.”

  As soon as the caller hangs up with Ginny, he calls Robert Dane. “Did the PI ask you if you were on Allen Road Saturday?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact he did. Does that mean anything?”

  “No, I just wanted to know.”

  Chapter 15: The Winery

  I call Jake to see if he wants to go to dinner tonight. He suggests we go up to The Buckeye Lake Winery located on the Thornville side of the lake. He says he will pick me up at 6:00. On the way to dinner, I fill Jake in on my progress since I last spoke with him. I make sure I tell him about what Steve said about decking the next one of us who calls him big Steve. He just laughs.

  The winery and restaurant are new to me but I like the atmosphere as soon as we get there. It is comfortable with outdoor seating and has a good feel to it. We order a bottle of wine and dinner. Jake wants to know if there is anything he can do to help, and I just tell him if I need anything I will let him know.

  About halfway through dinner, he asks, “So Mickke D, how is your love life these days?”

  “Not that great, Jake. I was having a great relationship with a beautiful blond back in Myrtle Beach, and then one day she just disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?”

  “Well, one day she was there and the next day her condo was empty and she was nowhere to be found. Let’s change the subject.” We go back to talking about Sissy.

  Just as we are finishing our meal, I get the strange feeling that someone is watching us and that danger is lurking. There is a fairly large crowd on the outside patio area but no one really gets my attention, although there is a table of four very attractive women not far from us who look over every once in a while and smile. I almost say something to Jake, but I keep telling myself I’m here on business not pleasure. Of course, I remember the day when that didn’t make a difference. I suppose that’s why I’ve been married, divorced, and broke three times. I guess I’m getting smarter in my old age.

  Jake notices the lovely ladies as well and says, “Well, Mickke D, what do you think, should we venture over there and say hello? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Help yourself Jake, I think I am just going to take a walk around and watch the sunset.” I still have that “being watched, danger lurking” feeling in my mind.

  “Wait a minute. Who are you and what have you done with my friend Mickke D, the skirt chaser?”

  I barely hear his well-meaning but never-the-less shallow analysis because I have just figured out the source of my concern. I notice what looks like a 26-foot antique mahogany four-seat, Criss-Craft speedboat anchored in the lake just off shore. I remember hearing it and then watching it pull in, and it has been there since right after we got here. I have not seen anyone leave the boat. Now why would you bring your boat up to this lovely restaurant and just sit there and not come in for a drink or dinner?

  “You know what Jake, why don’t you go over to those lovely ladies and see if one of them would come over and take a photo of us, you know, for old time’s sake.”

  However, before he can get up, my wish comes true.

  Chapter 16: Stephanie

  T.C. has just left My Sister’s Books in Pawleys Island, South Carolina. He was returning some old maps that he and Mickke D had borrowed from Susan, one of Bess’s customers, and a close friend of Mickke D’s. They had been going over the maps to see if they could figure out where some buried treasure might possibly be located. He is on his way to the Georgetown Library to loo
k at some more maps that he hopes may help. As he passes The Hammock Shops, he glances over and sees a woman getting into her car. “Oh my God, it can’t be,” he half whispers to himself.

  The woman he just saw almost reminds him of Stephanie Langchester, a marine biologist from England who was helping him with a salvage operation off the coast of Pawleys Island. She and three other girls had stolen his 46-foot Carver and most of the artifacts found on The Queen Beth, a wrecked pirate ship from circa 1700. He has not seen or heard from any of them since the robbery. He did get his boat back but none of the artifacts. As far as he knows, the authorities were unable to locate any of the girls.

  He pulls off the highway and watches as the car with the Stephanie look-alike leaves The Hammock Shops and goes north toward Litchfield. The only reason he noticed her was that the woman was noticeably tall and had the same type of walk. Stephanie was tall but she had short hair. This woman had long hair and glasses. The only glasses he ever saw on Stephanie were sunglasses. He thinks about following her but decides it is just a moment in time and proceeds south to Georgetown.

  Stephanie Langchester is indeed back in town. She has been living in a beautiful rented apartment under an assumed name on Antigua in the Caribbean. Stephanie is a marine biologist and former agent with British Intelligence. She and the other three girls had come to Myrtle Beach to help with the salvage operation on The Queen Beth. It had been her plan to steal all of the artifacts, gold, silver, and jewels from the operation, split the money, and live happily ever after. Well, that didn’t work out. She discovered that the gold, silver, and jewels had been moved on shore and buried. She even has what she thinks is a map showing where the treasure resides. The problem is the crude map would have been drawn back in the early 1700s and the coastline has changed since then. She and the girls took what they could, split up, though not on good terms, and left the country.