She would have hid her Fields of Giving working papers.
Hollis tapped all along the edge of the window sill with increasing force. She slid her fingers underneath the wooden ledge, seeking a button or lever.
“Think, Hollis, think.”
Then turning back to the sill she put her hands on either side and lifted. The resulting pop almost threw her off balance.
“Yes!”
Digging into the narrow, plastic-lined space, she pulled out a passport, a large white envelope, and finally a manila folder containing another oversized envelope marked “pending.”
Hollis placed everything in piles on the bed. The white envelope contained Cathy’s will, her birth certificate, and an insurance policy. Inside also was a tiny jewelry case with diamond stud earrings. She would take these items to Evelyn Briscoe.
In the folder was a bundle of notes and newspaper clippings about what appeared to be the topic of Cathy’s next story. Her heart sank.
No references to Fields. She would go through the clippings and notes later. Hollis gave a disappointed sigh. She was stacking the papers together when a picture fell out of an envelope. It was Cathy with a middle aged woman who looked as if she had seen some hard times. Hollis flipped it over. The words surprised her: “You saw me for who I could be and not what others said I was. You said it wasn’t a big deal for you because you could, but it was everything to me. You gave us our lives back. Thank you, Gloria.”
Cathy never mentioned helping anyone. Hollis dabbed at the moisture in her eyes and placed the picture in the stack to go to Evelyn. Mrs. Briscoe might find some solace in seeing this side of her daughter.
She tucked the papers into her briefcase and replaced the sill. For the next couple of hours she packed and bagged what she could and labeled contents on a sheet of paper that she taped to the sides of the boxes.
With a last glance around the room, she slowly closed the door behind her.
Despite the cold foggy morning, Cathy’s funeral was well attended. Hollis hated this societal tradition, but she felt obligated to go. She gave an acknowledging nod to Mark, who appeared to have come with others from his office. Thankfully, it was over quickly. Cathy’s friends gathered only for a moment after the service, knowing that Cathy would be the first one to tell them to get the hell out of there.
Even so, Hollis was running late for her meeting with the detective, Brad Pierson, who had conducted the Triple D search for the Koch heirs. Through the Hayward hills, she drove just under the speed limit to negotiate the winding curves of Mission Boulevard. Hayward was a primarily middle to working class city in the East Bay Area with some of the best views of San Francisco. Another time she would have pulled over to take in the scenic vista, but today she was eager to talk to the man who might give her more background for the letters. There was something about the letters that drew her in like a heat seeking laser.
When she told George of her visit to the Pierson offices, he cautioned her, “Let Brad know these letters you found might be troublesome. Do what you need to clear them as soon as possible. I don’t have a problem with you working with Mark to fight the Fields suit, but I don’t want you sidetracked from the Koch case. Give it your full attention.”
“I understand,” she reassured him. “I can do both.”
Pulling up in front of the non-descript building housing Pierson Investigations, she noticed the slightly worn sign sitting in the slightly dirty window. It fit in well with the rest of the buildings on the street, half of which had “For Lease” signs on the façades.
She went inside.
The lobby décor was just a little less shabby than the exterior. The long walnut reception desk in front of a wall-sized mirror was unoccupied. In the middle of the marble floor stood a sign on a stand with a large arrow pointing to a directory on the opposite wall.
Pierson Investigations was on the second floor. Hollis took the stairs.
The glass entry door bore a “Come In” sign, but there was no one at this reception desk either.
“Hello,” she called out.
Nothing.
“Hello.” A little louder. This time she heard a distant door closing, followed by footsteps, and the entrance of a tall brown-haired man. He was pulling on a jacket and slipping earphone buds out of his ear.
“Sorry,” he said. “My receptionist is out for a few days, and I lost track of time. You must be Hollis Morgan.”
“Yes,” she said extending her hand. “What are you listening to?”
He laughed. “The game. Let’s go back to my office.” As they walked, he added, “On the phone you said Dodson, Dodson and Doyle had some questions about the Margaret Koch report?” He gave her a wide, handsome smile.
“Sort of. I’m a paralegal and I was sent to inventory Mrs. Koch’s belongings. In one of the rooms tucked on top of an armoire was a box of letters.”
“Tell me more about these letters. Do you have them with you?” Brad Pierson’s gaze sought and held hers. He reminded Hollis of a history professor whose class she had taken in college, except her history professor didn’t flirt with her.
Hollis coughed to break his gaze.
“No, I didn’t think to bring them. Can you answer a couple of questions for me? I’ve read your report.”
He shrugged a go-ahead.
“I read that Margaret’s brother and his child are dead, as well as her younger sister. But her mother was the youngest of five children. Didn’t Margaret have any cousins?”
Brad reached for a bottle of water. “Rowan, Illinois, was hit hard by the 1918 flu epidemic.” He swallowed deeply. “Margaret Koch’s father died that same year. Her mother died shortly after. There was a fire in the courthouse in 1930 and a lot of records were destroyed. But if you check the public record there were no relations still alive after World War II. ”
“You verified all their deaths?”
Brad re-engaged his stare and didn’t answer.
“Of course you did.” Hollis looked down at her notes and accepted the bottle of water he handed her. “There’s a gap of twelve years,” she glanced down at the report, “from the age of sixteen until she shows up in Chicago. Wasn’t there any information about where she lived during that time?”
“Hollis, can I call you Hollis?”
She nodded with impatience.
“Well, I wasn’t doing a genealogical search. I verified whether she had heirs. I assure you, during that period of time, she didn’t have any children. That was all I was looking to confirm.”
“Did you run across anyone named Granger in your investigation?”
Brad’s brow wrinkled. He tapped the keys on his keyboard. “No, no Granger. Who is he? Was he mentioned in the letters?”
“Yes, they may have had a relationship. I haven’t read all the letters yet, so I can’t be sure.”
He looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
Hollis took another swallow of water.
“Anyway, I just wondered if he was important to her. That’s all I wanted to know.” She opened to a page in her notebook. “Oh, wait, one more thing, the pictures. Were these all you could find?”
Brad folded his hands on the desk. “Yup, and I was only able to get these from Mrs. Koch’s housekeeper. Mrs. Koch’s only visitors were friends … like I said, she had no family.”
Hollis laughed. “I get it … no family.” She stood. “But … well, I did run into a Kelly Schaefer. She said her family was close to Margaret’s.”
He straightened. “Schaefer? Sounds familiar.”
Hollis took out the picture and pointed to the young Kelly. “That’s her. She hasn’t changed much.”
He pulled the picture over to him. “Yeah, I remember looking her up. She was raised by her grandfather. I checked out all the people in that photo and no one was related to Koch. Did Schaefer say she was?”
“No, she’s been to the house, but her connection doesn’t seem to be a blood one.”
“Good, t
hen my reputation for knowing what I’m talking about stays intact.”
She stood. “Thank you, Brad, for meeting with me. I hope I can call you if I have any other questions?”
“Absolutely.” Brad shifted from one foot to the other. Then, noticing she was ready to leave, he walked with her toward the door. “Hmm, Hollis, if you’re available, I’d like to ask you out sometime.”
She was glad she wasn’t facing him. As she always did when uncomfortable, she coughed. She turned to confront his teasing smile. Not that she didn’t have offers …. She did go out occasionally, but not with anyone she could take seriously. For some reason, she felt as if Brad might be an exception.
“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Hollis smiled, “Suppose I find a missing heir?”
“You won’t.”
She smiled and reached into her purse. “Here’s my card.”
He gave her a broad grin, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. “Great, I’ll be calling you … soon.”
Hollis sat in her parked car and checked the time on her iPhone. She checked herself in the rearview mirror to see if she still had a silly grin on her face.
She had an offer of a date.
While it might be unlikely she would find a missing heir, she had to admit she’d take perverse pleasure in knocking Brad’s self-assuredness down a notch.
She debated picking up a quick sandwich before going to her next appointment with the Heaven’s Praises administrator—number one on Transformation’s list of non-profits. Hollis and Mark weren’t sure if that placement meant good or bad.
Hollis put off eating until she could take her time. She would finish the interview first.
Pulling in front of Heaven’s Praises, Hollis was impressed with the modern store front, and even more, the off-street parking. As she entered the small foyer, a tall, middle-aged woman approached her with her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her smock.
“Call me Joy,” she said. “We don’t use last names here. Come on back to the community room.”
Joy appeared to be in her forties, with a warm and motherly smile. She walked with a slight limp, and her fingers were gnarled from what appeared to be arthritis. She wore her once blond hair, now gray, close to her scalp in a pixie. Hollis kept pace behind her.
“What kind of services do you provide here?” Hollis asked.
“A couple of days a week we get someone in from the Salvation Army to talk about twelve-step programs.” Joy looked back over her shoulder. “Then a nurse practitioner comes once or twice a month. But mostly we give street people a safe place to sleep and get their mail.”
“Is it possible to tour your facility?”
“No, we respect people’s privacy.”
Walking behind her, Hollis heard the frown.
Joy pointed her to a large cubicle with a wooden desk and two metal chairs. Hollis took the chair in front of the desk.
“Joy, do you remember speaking with a Catherine Briscoe sometime in the last three months? She was writing a story about community non-profits.” Hollis had practiced this question, hoping it sounded harmless.
“Catherine, Catherine …. No, I don’t think so. I told you we don’t use last names here. Even so, I don’t remember a Catherine.” Joy was sitting in a rocking chair that creaked loudly. Her smile was almost angelic.
Hollis took out a picture. “Here she is. Maybe she told you she was writing about Dorian Fields and his contributions? I’m working for the law firm that’s defending Cathy—Catherine—and Transformation Magazine, the publication that hired her.”
Joy’s smile vanished.
She looked down at the picture but didn’t take it from Hollis. “Mr. Fields is a good man. Without him Heaven’s Praises wouldn’t be here. Hell, without him I wouldn’t be here.”
“I see. So, do you remember talking to Catherine about Fields?”
Hollis noticed the changed attitude. Joy’s right eye twitched and she kept rubbing her nose.
“Hell yes, I remember her, pushy bitch. She practically accused me of stealing. And I called Mr. Bartlett, too.” Joy rocked furiously back and forth.
Hollis instinctively sat back. “I’m not accusing anyone, Joy. I just want to get a copy of your annual report for last year. Since you also receive government money you have to have one. May I have a copy?”
Joy stopped rocking. “Get the hell out of here. I don’t have to give you anything.”
“That’s true, because I don’t have a subpoena for your records. But I can come back with one, and if I do I’ll ask for a lot more than your last annual report.” Hollis looked her straight in her twitching eye.
Joy’s fury rolled off her like heat waves. “Wait here.”
“How did it go?” Mark said, a sandwich in one hand and a pen in the other.
Hollis briefed him on her visit to Heaven’s Praises.
They had decided to meet for lunch at a little café down the street from Hollis’ condo.
“Promise me, if it even looks like there is the slightest chance I might need homeless services, you will not take me there. That Joy is scary.” She tossed the annual report on the table. “The thing is, it looks legit. Fields was by far their largest contributor in goods and cash. But I don’t know enough about running homeless shelters to judge if there was something amiss. I need something to compare it to.”
“Let me take it back to my firm. We have a great tax attorney; he can let us know if anything is there.” He scribbled a few words on his pad. “What else?”
Hollis told him about the hidden window sill safe in Cathy’s condo.
“So, there may or may not be something we could use?” Mark asked.
“Maybe, although on the face of it there was nothing in there worth the secrecy. But to know for sure, I’m going to take my time with each item. There has to be something there worth hiding.”
“You know how much we need signs of a solid lead,” he said. “Start working on it.”
Hollis’ brow furrowed. “Mark, did you know that Cathy personally helped a woman to get her life back on track?”
He nodded. “Not one woman—a women’s shelter near Fruitvale Avenue. There were three women.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she always used to hit me up for money.” Mark smiled. “I take it you weren’t approached.”
Hollis shook her head. “No. She never asked me. I guess because she knew I didn’t have any extra money.”
“I was probably an easier touch.” He paused. “I asked her once why she got involved. She was pretty cryptic and answered, ‘Because I can do it.’ ”
“She was an interesting lady.” Hollis shrugged. “Going through these papers and articles, I still haven’t figured out if Cathy ever had anything that could nail Fields. But I can see why she was desperate to get my help to gather the rest. I just wish I knew what that comprised.” She paused. “And yes, before you ask me, I told the police about the hiding place and gave them the originals.”
“Good, and point well taken. I don’t think she had enough to really sink Fields. But she must have thought she would have her hands on it soon; otherwise her behavior would have been uncharacteristically irresponsible.”
“No, I reject that. Cathy would never have come to see me if she didn’t know where she was going with the story. And she never would have contacted me if her article was bogus.”
“Then all we have to do is prove it.” Mark reached into his briefcase and pulled out a two-inch stack of papers. “Here’s the last of Transformation’s discovery. They gave us all the discovery files they requested from Dorian Fields. Fortunately he’s legally required to respond. You stick with verifying the non-profit programs; I’ll review the accounting records and see if there could be two sets of books.”
“Good idea. I’ve got to wrap up the Koch matter. I’m getting signs from George that his patience is wearing thin. I need to finish going thro
ugh those letters and decide if there are heirs we need to contact. It won’t take me long; it’s just that there is so much to juggle right now.”
“I’m beginning to agree with George, how long does it take to read a few letters?”
“I don’t want to just skim through them; I get the feeling that the payoff is there, but hidden somehow.”
“We have only fifty-eight days left. Read the letters and move on. I need you to finish visiting and evaluating the community centers.”
“Okay, okay. I’m visiting another non-profit tomorrow. In addition, I’ll sort through the discovery and write up an analysis of contents from the window sill. I’ll have it done by the end of the week.” She hesitated, “But, Mark, those letters aren’t easy to read.”
He gave her a scrutinizing look. “What do you mean? Are they too graphic or emotional for you?”
“No, no of course not,” she said, packing up her briefcase. But she could hear the lie in her own voice.
CHAPTER NINE
Welcome Hearth Industries was located in a run-down strip mall in the industrial section of San Lorenzo. Traffic sounds drowned out the ping of the bell over the door. Hollis looked over her shoulder, noting the small crowd of workers waiting patiently in line in the front of a food truck painted a garish yellow. Hollis put her hand to her eyes to block out the glare of the sun.
“Miss Morgan?”
A small, thin Asian woman opened the door into a large sitting area. Chairs were arranged classroom style, facing a whiteboard. She wore denim jeans and an un-tucked starched white blouse. Her hair was neatly done in cornrows and pulled into a ponytail.
“Yes,” Hollis said. “Cynthia Lin?”
“That’s me. Can I get you some water?” She pointed the way down a narrow hallway lined with pictures of smiling children and seniors.
They entered another good-sized room with the largest round conference table Hollis had ever seen. She took the seat closest to the door.
“Come in, did you have any trouble finding us?
“No, no trouble at all, and, yes, Miss Lin, some water would be very nice.”
Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery) Page 7
