Monster in Miniature

by Margaret Grace

I took comfort in our usual banter, always lighthearted (though I really did think he should have been in bed), always motivated by a great affection.

  “I left you a message,” Skip said.

  “I’ve been busy,” I said, leading him into the atrium.

  He gave me a curious look—I read: how busy were you that you didn’t have time to press “play” on your answering machine?—but he didn’t pursue the issue.

  We sat at the table in the atrium. I was glad to feel the sun pouring in through the skylight. I’d been chilly all morning, outside and inside.

  Skip plunked a folder of papers down in front of him.

  “This looks serious,” I said.

  “It’s all good news.”

  “I could use some.”

  “Bottom line—Uncle Ken was as clean as we knew he was.”

  Not exactly. “I’m glad to hear it.” I fingered the edges of the folder. “And the proof is in here?”

  “Yeah. We got through the password on the flash drive. Well, I didn’t, but Gene did.”

  “That was faster than I expected.”

  “We’re not finished reading everything, but breaking the password went pretty well. There’s this software called COGGWARE that sniffs the network and uncovers weaknesses in password protocols.”

  “Oh.”

  Skip laughed. “Don’t I sound like I know what I’m talking about? I’ve been practicing, in case I ever need a new pickup line.”

  I laughed. It was hard to stay gloomy very long with Skip joking around, even though he was the one most recently in the hospital. “If that line works, times have really changed.”

  “I couldn’t wait to show you this, Aunt Gerry. It’ll be a while before we go through every project Oliver had been investigating, but I whizzed through the names to find Uncle Ken.”

  I was glad Skip had told me the bottom line—Ken was “clean.” I didn’t need more suspense today. He took a few pieces of paper from the folder. On top was a familiar memo, the one from Patrick Lynch to Ken.

  “I’ve seen that,” I said. “I didn’t like the implication. ‘On board’ and ‘arrangement’ and so on.”

  “Right, but look at this.” Skip removed a paper clip and showed me the second page of the set. Another memo. “Read this. Oh, by the way, that EELFS name? It’s just a cute form of Eliot and Emory and Lillian Ferguson with S for Sam tacked on at the end. Get it?”

  I got it. I pulled the memo closer and read the correspondence from Ken Porter to Patrick Lynch.

  I apologize if I didn’t make myself clear: I have no interest in the EELFS project. I’m returning the contract folio unopened. Please remove my name from your list of potential collaborators. My lawyers will be happy to talk to you if there is any further misunderstanding.

  Clear enough, and clean enough to suit me. I gave Ken one point on the plus side. I was surprised I didn’t feel more satisfaction. After all, I’d just heard that my husband had not acted in consort with what might have been widespread corruption in Lincoln Point’s business community, that he had, in fact, explicitly refused to do business with the ring-leader.

  Yesterday I would have cheered, I knew. Today it was just one more fact of Ken’s life that I hadn’t been part of, albeit an honorable one.

  It was a good thing I’d spared Beverly any whiff of my fears in this regard. She need never know about the EELFS, and certainly she didn’t need to hear about Angela.

  I was aware that Skip expected more of a reaction from me. I tried to sound upbeat and grateful. “This is a huge relief, Skip,” I said.

  “Then why doesn’t it seem that way?” he asked.

  “I’m a little tired,” I said, “but I really am very relieved and thankful to you.”

  “I hope you’re not upset that I brought it up in the first place. I guess eventually I’d have seen both these memos together and you’d never have had that anxiety.”

  I leaned forward and took Skip’s hands. “Don’t worry about it, dear.” I couldn’t explain how his alerting me about Oliver’s list was what had spurred me to dig into Ken’s boxes and ultimately brought me to Angela. “If you hadn’t told me, I would never have cleaned out the garage,” I said.

  “That reminds me. Did you get anywhere with Sunaqua Falls?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I might just drop the whole project.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to dig a little more?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well, moving right along. The stuff on the flash drive gives us, like, a gazillion more motives and suspects. Lynch and Crowley are at the top of the list still, since they had a half a gazillion suspect projects themselves.”

  “Did you arrest them?”

  “Warrants are being prepared. It’ll be on the news soon. I just couldn’t wait to tell you.” He sat back, the smile of victory on his face. “When they realize their attempt to ambush the info on the flash drive has failed, they are going to be so pi-p-put out.”

  “Don’t let me cramp your language style.”

  Skip usually watched his tongue in front of Maddie. I didn’t need to be protected from a vulgar word or two, but I loved him for being so considerate.

  He did the mash. He did the monster mash.

  I checked my cell phone. “It’s Henry,” I said.

  “Ah.”

  I tried not to interpret Skip’s smile.

  I clicked the phone on.

  “Okay to come back?” Henry asked.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Okay, then.”

  A man of few words. No long discourse on how I might want more time alone or whether I was discussing something family-only with Skip. Just, “Okay.”

  I added that to the list of things I liked about Henry Baker.

  While I was between gentlemen callers, my landline rang.

  “Geraldine, this is Artie Dodd.”

  Too late, I thought. “Hello, Artie. It’s been a long time.”

  “I hear you’re trying to reach me.”

  I took the phone to the chair in my living room that faced my patio doors and my garden beyond. If I were going to stay in the relatively good mood brought on by Skip and Henry, I’d need something cheery to look at. “That’s right. How did you find out?”

  “I still have a friend in our old building, and after you left that message, the new people asked around and it got back to me. I was surprised the old number I have for you works. You’re still in the Eichler in Lincoln Point?”

  “You make it sound like a bad thing,” I said, half teasing.

  “We couldn’t get away from all that Bay Area hustle and bustle fast enough. We’re way up here in Sea Ranch. Came up where we get our mail a week after everyone else. Ruth and I love it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Sorry I haven’t been in touch. It’s the old story about being busier in retirement, you know, golf on all the days that end in a ‘y’.” He laughed.

  I’d been to Sea Ranch a couple of times with Ken on drives along the Sonoma-Mendocino coast. Ken loved the award-winning architecture in that area: timber-frame structures that were meant to blend in with the natural environment. We’d both agreed that we’d never want to live there, however.

  “It’s too far from the Bronx,” Ken would say, and I’d know he meant not just in miles but on many levels.

  “Artie, I had a specific reason for calling you.”

  “I figured.”

  I let my gaze fall on my beautiful orange zinnias and reminded myself to breathe. “I was going through the boxes of material from Ken’s old office and I came upon some things I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “I wondered when you’d get around to it. I did my best to get to Esther before she boxed everything up. I was hoping eventually you’d just toss everything without looking at it.”

  “I almost did. Anyway, I found out what I need to know, so I’m all set.”

  That was one way to put it.

  Art
ie took a few seconds to respond. “He felt awful keeping it from you, Geraldine. I found out only by accident when I opened a bank statement that came to the office. I know he wanted to tell you, but a promise was a promise, and you know Ken.”

  I thought I did. “Yes, well . . .”

  “Did the Estates contact you?”

  “No.” I tried not to sound rude, but I wasn’t eager to share any more with Artie.

  “Good. I sent a note to them shortly after Ken died, saying that the last payment would be on such-and-such a month, so that should have been it.”

  “Well, thanks, Artie. It was nice of you to call.”

  “Come and visit sometime. Ruth would love to see you.”

  I took down Artie and Ruth’s new numbers and promised to check my calendar for a time to drive up the coast.

  I couldn’t put my finger on the reason, but I knew I’d never visit Artie. And I had a feeling he knew it, too.

  Henry seemed happier than I was that the files on the flash drive cleared Ken’s name.

  “Isn’t that terrific news,” he said. Not a question, so I didn’t feel I needed to answer. He paused and I saw that he was studying my face.

  “I should let Maddie know in general terms what a great help she was.” I checked my watch. “It will be a while before she’s home from school.”

  “You shouldn’t expect to be able to rejoice right away, Gerry,” Henry said. “You’ve had a lot to process today.”

  How transparent was I that everyone could tell my mood?

  “I’m very relieved,” I said. “I thought it would be obvious.”

  “Okay.” I wouldn’t have blamed Henry if he yelled, “Grouch,” and left, but he didn’t, for which I was very grateful. “Does all this mean that Lynch or Crowley killed Oliver?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. Skip didn’t mention that, just that they’re all suspects now.”

  “And the fire?”

  “I don’t know about that, either.”

  A little selfish, I thought, just because my two big questions had been answered, I seemed to be tuning out of the investigation. I hadn’t been in contact with Susan at a time when I could have given her some comfort. And there was still a killer loose in Lincoln Point.

  “What are your plans for today?” Henry asked.

  I hadn’t looked much further than getting through the day. Now I decided I’d spent enough time being glum.

  “Halloween,” I said. “I’m way behind. I need to make Maddie’s costume and finish a haunted house.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Do you know where I can get eye of newt?”

  I couldn’t have asked for a better distraction—spending the afternoon doing crafts with Henry in his workshop. He’d convinced me that he had better supplies for the projects we needed to finish.

  As if we were two mates in preschool, Henry and I made costumes for our granddaughters. Taylor had decided she could have the same costume as Maddie, since they attended different schools. Thus, their grandparents were busy making newts out of pieces of rubber and forming eyes (of frog) out of resin.

  If Maddie hadn’t been playing police computer tech all weekend, she might have been able to finish her costume herself. But Taylor had sewn her own pinafore and helped Maddie with hers, so they’d at least participated.

  “Do you think the girls would get as much of a kick out of this as we are?” Henry asked, attaching an amazing orange light over the outside door of my haunted dollhouse.

  “Impossible,” I said.

  Henry had prepared a resin mold for tongue of dog and blindworms. My job was to add the appropriate colors and cut wiggly shapes. I’d trade that for expert wiring any day.

  Henry peered over my shoulder as I stirred a sickly pink color meant for the slippery tongues of dog I was creating. “Do you think this is what Shakespeare had in mind when he wrote the witches’ speeches?” Henry asked.

  “No, but he’d be delighted,” I said. “I wish I’d thought of getting my students involved this way.”

  “You could have sent them to my shop.”

  He did the mash. He did the monster mash.

  I saw Skip’s caller ID, usually one of my favorite sights, either because I was expecting an update on an investigation or just because I loved him. But at the moment, seeing his phone number meant I had to leave the sphere of springy miniatures of “adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing” and pay attention to the often nasty life-size world.

  “It’s a great day for criminal justice,” Skip said.

  I was glad the men in my life had a positive outlook while I was in my moody phase. “You figured out who killed Oliver Halbert?”

  “Not quite that, but we finally have closure on the fire at the E&E Parts factory. Would you believe that all the sprinklers in the work area of the factory were fake? Now Lynch and the twins are duking it out over whose idea it was to pull that trick. They just stuck the little gizmos on the ceiling, but they weren’t hooked up.”

  “Why would anyone do that? Weren’t the Fergusons putting their own property at risk?”

  “Greedy people can be shortsighted.”

  I was dumbfounded. “You’re saying that if the sprinklers had been working, it wouldn’t have mattered how the fire got started. It might have been drowned out quickly.”

  “Exactly. All they cared about was money and time, just getting the building past inspection. Maybe they planned to go back and put in real ones later, but with Crowley at the desk, they could get approval with the fake ones.”

  “And it cost a man’s life.”

  “That’s the awful part.”

  “Was the whole family involved?” I pictured foxy old Lillian signing off on orders and never mailing them.

  “Hard to say. One thing for sure, Lillian did everything to protect her boys from suspicion, including giving them false alibis for the day of the murder.

  “Did Oliver know all this, by the way? About the sprinklers?”

  “Uh-huh. The files are on his flash drive. Memos back and forth, work orders, you name it. The guy was one sharp investigator. We could have used him on the LPPD.”

  “The LPPD has you.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Gerry. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  I was embarrassed that my distress over personal issues had caused my loved ones to be concerned about me and had blinded me temporarily to the real problems my friends and neighbors were facing.

  I resolved to spend not another minute in resentment over the past.

  “I need to bake some cookies,” I told Henry when I clicked off. “I should take a package over to Susan.”

  He smiled. “And some for me?” he asked, now hunched over an electrical gadget that was going to revolutionize the lighting in my dollhouse, he’d boasted.

  “For you, a double batch.”

  Then, to my utter amazement, I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  Chapter 20

  My kitchen smelled of warm ginger. All my Halloween decorations and projects were complete. Three of the four major puzzles that had consumed the last few days had been solved, with reasonably acceptable results. Ken’s reputation was intact and some or all of the consortium of Lynch, Crowley, Ferguson, and Ferguson would pay for the fatal fire that resulted from their greed.

  The rogue cop who was Lynch’s inside man—no one I knew, I was happy to hear—had been suspended, pending investigation.

  To top it all, Henry and I had plans for dinner later this evening. Things were looking up.

  To add to the sunny mood, my ringing landline showed that I had a call from Maddie from Palo Alto.

  “Are you home from school already?”

  “I’m in the car. Mom picked me up. She says I can’t go to Lincoln Point tomorrow afternoon because I might be getting a cold. Nuts.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you feeling bad?”

  “I’m just stuffy and my throat itches a little, but it
might be better by tomorrow.”

  “I think you should stay there, sweetheart, and get some extra rest. You don’t want to be sick for the Halloween party. Mr. Baker and I finished your costume today.”

  “Taylor’s, too?”

  “Taylor’s, too, plus the haunted dollhouse.”

  “Can we go to the party at the Fergusons’ factory this year, too?”

  “We’ll see.” I was sure Maddie had a good idea this meant “no,” as it usually did for generations of parents and grandparents. “But definitely I’ll be there for your school party.”

  “I made enough witches and ghosts for the factory party, too. Can you take them over?”

  “I can do that. Now, I have some good news for you.”

  I told Maddie how her magic computer skills helped the LPPD find out about a lot of dishonesty that was going around in Lincoln Point. I kept it as general as I could.

  “They cracked the password? How? How? Did they use that special software my teacher talks about? Will they show me how to do it?” I pictured her kicking her feet in the front seat of the Porters’ SUV.

  “We’ll have to ask Uncle Skip, but I’ll bet he can arrange a tutorial for you.”

  “Really? Wicked. Grandma, wait till you see this one street in Palo Alto. Everyone must have worked on the weekend because it’s all decorated, but not as good as Sangamon River Road. One house has a scarecrow that jumps around, though. You know, like the one Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson used to have?”

  I remembered; I was sorry Maddie did. But I heard only good spirits in my granddaughter’s voice.

  “You take care of yourself, sweetheart. I’ll miss you.”

  I didn’t dare mention that I was glad she wouldn’t be back to Lincoln Point until Friday at the earliest, thus giving her uncle Skip another few days to discover who killed Oliver Halbert.

  “I’ll miss you, too. Mom wants to talk to you.”

  Mary Lou had been tuned in through a contraption on the visor of her car and now took over.

  “Nice that all that stuff about the corrupt city inspections has been settled.”

  If you only knew, I thought.