After I got ready for bed, I lugged the laptop and file into my bedroom and dropped them on the bed. I grabbed a bottle of water and some Snickerdoodle cookies one of my good friends had made for me, along with a notepad and pen, and went back to my room. I propped the pillows up, grabbed the TV remote, found an old war movie to watch and opened the file.
Donovan Michael Brennan was born in Hell’s Kitchen in New York City. He was kicked out of school numerous times for various reasons; fighting and stealing were the top two reasons, although he once kicked a nun in the shin after she hit him on the hand with a ruler. The one place he did excel was in the Army, where he rose to the rank of First Sergeant. He was awarded several medals for valor and meritorious service.
After the Army, Brennan went back home, where he hooked up with some of his old friends. He quickly took charge of the group and organized them. Because of their efficiency, they gained the attention of the mob, who quickly absorbed the group into their organization. Brennan worked his way up the ranks, and soon became the favorite go-to guy when something needed done. They sent him to Vegas, where he met an angry young man who had just been cut off from the family money by his father. Brennan saw this as an opportunity to branch out into Texas, and took his idea to his boss.
In the late 1960s, Brennan disappeared. No one had a clue what happened to him. There was a lot of speculation that he had done something to upset his boss, and that his body was buried somewhere in the Nevada desert. Guess we all know that’s not true, don’t we?
There was more information in the file, and I fell asleep reading. The ringing of my phone woke me up the next morning. “Hello?” I mumbled as I tried to open my eyes.
“It’s almost eight-thirty,” Dad said. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right, since you hadn’t come in yet.”
“Sorry, Dad, late night. What’s up?”
“Apparently your grandmother is trying to recreate her Vegas trip at her house,” he sighed. “That woman…”
“What is she doing?”
“She’s been having blackjack and poker tournaments, I think,” he replied. “The people at the nursing home are not happy about having to go over there all the time to find their clients. I thought you were going over to see her. Why didn’t you tell us this was going on?”
“I’m sorry, Dad, I never made it over there. Things with the Ingram case have been a little crazy, and then what happened with Reagan the other night…”
“How are Mike and his officers doing?”
“They’re pretty focused on finding her killer. There was a break in the case last night, and they have the name of a suspect.”
“It’s not Pamela Dimwitty, is it?”
“No, although I think she’s involved somehow. We just haven’t found the connection yet.”
“I’m sure Mike will figure it out,” Dad said. “Your mother wants to know if you would go check on your grandmother. She’s fixed a batch of cranberry orange muffins for you to take with you.”
“Grandma’s favorite. So she’s hoping I can butter Grandma Alma up and convince her to stop throwing card parties.”
“Well, your grandmother listens to you more than she does her own daughter, so we’re hoping you could give it a shot,” Dad laughed.
“Sure, Dad, I’ll talk to her.”
“I’ll leave the muffins at the front counter with Regina.”
“Thanks. I’ll be there in a little while.”
After I took a shower and got dressed, I gathered all of the papers, put them back in the folder, and dug an old black leather backpack out of my closet. Putting all of my necessities inside, along with the folder and borrowed laptop, I grabbed a jacket and keys, made sure the alarm was set for away, and walked outside.
My phone rang again, and I dug through the bag to find it. “I’m on my way, Dad, I promise.”
“Um, I’m not your dad.”
“Sorry, Mike. I thought he was calling to make sure that I was on my way to the coffeehouse. Seems our grandparents are wreaking havoc again.”
“What this time?”
“Apparently, Grandma Alma has been running blackjack and poker tournaments at their house at all hours of the day. The people at the nursing home are getting a bit upset about their clients disappearing.”
“Maybe I should go with you, put the power of the law behind it.”
“Your grandfather would see right through that.”
“I’m surprised he’s letting it happen.”
“So, what can I do for you this cold cloudy morning?”
“Right now, we’re playing the waiting game. Long’s car was found abandoned at DFW Airport. Security is going through the footage from last night to find out where he went. They’re going to send it to me when they find it. I’ve already talked to his wife and son; neither one of them have any idea where he would go. Junior said his father didn’t say anything on the drive to the house about leaving.”
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?”
“Yeah, I do, as much as I hate to admit it. And there’s still no sign of Pamela Dimwitty. Every time we get a break in this case, we seem to take two steps backwards.”
I opened the car door and put my bag behind the driver’s seat. “I don’t understand why he took off,” I said as I sat down in the driver’s seat. “We didn’t realize who he was until long after they were gone.”
“I thought that was kind of odd, too,” Mike said. “We’ll have to ask him that when we find him.”
“Why don’t I swing by and pick you up? We can talk to our grandparents about what happened back then. Maybe we can get some insight from what they tell us.”
“Hey, that’s a good idea. I’m glad I thought of it.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “I’ll be there in a little while.”
“See you soon.”
I picked up Mike first, and then stopped at the coffeehouse. Dad must have heard us talking at the counter, because he came out to say hello. He pulled Mike aside and talked to him for a few minutes. I know he wanted to find out for himself how Mike was doing. Dad got a surprised look on his face at one point, and then nodded. Mike motioned for me to join them.
“I’ve asked your dad to conduct the service for Joanne,” Mike said. “I was wondering if you and Randy would create the bulletin. Maybe include a couple of poems or something.”
“Oh, wow, I don’t know what to say. Of course we’ll help. We’d be honored to.”
“I’ll send you the layout for the service for the bulletin,” Dad told me. “When do you want to have the service, Mike?”
“Well, her parents can’t get here until the beginning of next week, so we have time.”
“Do you want to say something at the service?” Dad asked Mike.
Mike nodded. “A couple of the officers have mentioned they would like to speak as well.”
“I think that would be wonderful.”
“Jim, could you come back here for a minute?” Mother said from the front counter. “There’s a problem with the order that just came in, and the company won’t listen to me. Could you talk to them please?”
“I’ll be right there, honey.” Turning back to us, he shook Mike’s hand. “Thank you for asking me. Joanne was a wonderful young woman. She did a lot of things down at the church. People loved her.”
“Jim!”
“I better go,” Dad said, leaning over to give me a kiss. “Talk with your grandmother and get her to chill out, or I’ll cut off her muffin supply.”
We took the muffins and left. “I didn’t realize that she did so much for the church,” I said to Mike as we got into the car. “She was just talking to me the other day about getting more involved in the community so she could get to know people better.”
“It sounds like she touched more people than she knew,” Mike said.
“Maybe I should talk to some of the church folks, see what they have to say about her. We could use that in the memorial program.”
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“That would be a nice gift for her parents,” he replied. “It would let them know how much their daughter was appreciated. Talk to the folks at the station, too. A lot of them really liked her, and they’re taking her death very hard.”
“Maybe we should do a memory book instead,” I suggested. “People could write down something about her, and we could present it to her parents later.”
“Something that they can look at when they’re ready. That’s good. I’m sure they’re feeling more overwhelmed than we are right now.”
“You know if you need to talk, I’ll listen,” I told him as we turned down the street toward the nursing home.
“I know, and I appreciate that,” Mike said, reaching over and squeezing my hand. “Maybe after we catch Brennan, and the services for Reagan are over. Right now, I’m trying to keep everything in check. My officers need me to be strong for them right now. Most of them have never lost an officer in the line of duty before. They’re numb.”
“I can only imagine what they…what in the world?”
Chapter 43
There were cars everywhere by Grandma Alma’s house. There wasn’t a place to park. We finally found a spot three blocks away and got out. “What are they up to?” Mike said as we got out of the car.
“At this point, do we really want to know?” I said, locking the car and handing him the bag of muffins.
People were coming in and out of the house as we walked up the sidewalk. Pete was sitting in a chair by the front door, a card table and money box in front of him. “Pete,” I said, stopping in front of him, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing illegal, I promise,” he said.
“Tell me.”
“I think maybe I should let your grandmother tell you,” he replied. “But if you’re going inside, it’s five dollars admission.”
“You’re going to charge us?”
Pete looked over at Mike, whose badge was clipped to his jeans. “I think I can make an exception for the two of you, as long as you don’t tell anyone.”
“Smart move, Pete,” Mike said.
As we opened the door, someone called out, “B10!”
“BINGO! I’ve got Bingo!” someone else said.
“What the heck?” Mike said.
“Don’t you realize what you’ve got here, man? It’s the notorious Bingo squad!” I snickered.
“Mike, Cam! What are you two doing here?” Walt said from one of the tables.
Mike held up the bag. “Your daughter-in-law sent over muffins.”
Walt scoffed. “She sent you guys to talk to us, didn’t she?”
“Yep, she did,” I said.
He got up. “Come on. Your grandmother’s in the backyard.”
There were more tables set up outside. The people all seemed engrossed in what they were doing. “Don’t talk to any of them,” Walt warned us. “If you distract them, and they miss a possible winning number, we could have a riot on our hands. They take their Bingo playing very seriously.” He looked around the tables. “Ah, there she is. Front row, center.”
“O75!” the caller said. “O75.”
“BINGO!” the blue-haired lady next to Grandma Alma said.
There were a lot of groans. “Ethel Sue, that’s the third one in a row you’ve won,” my grandmother said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the games were rigged.”
“Are you accusing me of cheating, Alma Ann Dreyer?” Ethel Sue said.
“It’s Alma Penhall now, and yes, I am!
“You take that back.”
“I will not.”
“Uh oh,” Walt said, “this isn’t going to end well.”
Ethel Sue stood up, but she forgot to move her chair back first, and as she rose to her feet, the table started to lean, and then slowly fell over on its side. The cards that were on top fell on the ground.
“Good thing they are using dabbers,” Walt said, “or Ethel Sue’s win would be null and void. I better go over there and get Alma before they start poking each other with those dabbers. Last time they got into it, your grandmother looked like she had chicken pox for a week.”
As Walt hustled across the yard to stop a potential fight, I turned to Mike. “Is something like this even legal?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Mike admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like this outside of a bingo hall before.”
Walt walked toward us with my grandmother, who was still grumbling and fuming about Ethel Sue. She looked Mike up and down, her eyes pausing for a moment on his badge, before she looked him in the eye. “I suppose you’re here to shut us down,” she snapped.
“For starters, we want to apologize for missing your wedding reception the other night,” I said. “It was totally…”
Grandma Alma put her wrinkled hand on top of mine. “Walt and I totally understand, believe me.”
“We also brought cranberry orange muffins,” Mike said, holding up the bag.
“Oh, then it’s your mother who sent you here,” she said to me.
“Afraid so.”
“Those nosy busybodies in the office have been complaining again, I take it.”
“They’re just concerned,” I said.
“They just don’t want us to have any fun,” Grandma Alma scoffed.
“What are you doing?” Mike said. She glared at him. “Unofficially, I promise.”
“We’re raising money.”
“For what?”
“That’s private business,” Walt said.
“I can make this official, if you’d like,” Mike told his grandfather.
“Oh, just tell them,” Grandma Alma said. “It’s not some big military secret.”
“We heard about that young female officer who was killed the other night,” Walt said. “We’re raising money for her daughter.”
“Her…what?” I said, shocked.
Mike swallowed hard. “That’s very kind of you,” he said. “I’m sure her parents will appreciate it very much. We’ve been passing the hat at the station, too.”
“Wait a minute, Joanne has a daughter?” I said. “You told me all of her family lived out of state.”
“They do,” Mike said. “Joanne didn’t want to bring her daughter down here until she was more settled in. They decided the best thing to do was to leave little Olivia where she was. I believe Joanne Skyped with her every night, though.”
“What a wonderful young woman she was,” my grandmother said. “She used to come visit on the weekends. She was our bingo caller during the tournaments. She had a wonderful sense of humor, and was a lot of fun. We all decided to have our own tournament, and use the entrance fee money for a college fund for Olivia. We wanted to repay the kindness and laughter Joanne brought us.”
I didn’t know what to say. The things you find out about people…it was a shame that we were learning all this when it was too late. I reached into the pocket of my backpack, pulled out some money, and handed it to my grandmother. “Here, for Olivia,” I told her, swallowing back a sob.
She reached out and put a gnarled hand on my cheek. “You have a good heart, Camille.”
Mike gave her what he had in his wallet. “We’ll combine the money we’ve all raised before the service next week. You all should be the ones to give it to Joanne’s parents.”
“We would be honored to do it,” Walt replied.
“So, if you didn’t come to stop the tournament, then why are you here?” Grandma Alma asked.
“Actually, we’re here to talk to you about Desmond Long Sr.,” I said.
“Then you’ll want to talk to Scott VanMeter,” Walt said. “He’s the bingo caller. I’ll go get him.”
I looked at Mike. “I thought you said he was out of town.”
“I was told he was.”
Walt came back with a man in his late forties. He had salt and pepper hair, wore jeans and a casual shirt, and had a friendly look on his face as he joined us. “Scott, I’d like you to meet my grandson, Mike Penhall, and his girlfrien
d, Cam Shaw.”
“Please to meet you,” Scott said, shaking our hands. “Walt said you wanted to talk to me.”
“I want to be upfront with you, Mr. VanMeter. I’m the chief of police, and I’m investigating the murders of your boss, Clinton Ingram, and one of my officers, Joanne Reagan. I’ve been trying to find you for over a week.”
“I just got back into town yesterday,” he said. “I was at a business conference. I’ll be glad to talk to you about Clinton, although I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“Let’s go into the house,” Grandma Alma suggested. “We can talk in the bedroom.”
The five of us walked inside. A couple of people wanted to know if Mike was arresting Walt and Grandma Alma for running the bingo tournament. Someone else suggested giving them the honeymoon suite at the jail.
After closing the door, Mike told Scott about the investigation into Clinton’s murder. “I understand you were one of three candidates for the president position.”
Scott nodded. “That’s true, but I think I was a long shot. Junior was way more qualified.”
“You mean Long Jr.?” Mike asked.
“Yeah. His father worked for the company forever, and Junior grew up around that place. He knows all the ends and outs, and a lot of the people we do business with. He’s perfect for the job.”
“Did you know that Clinton planned to name Pamela his successor?” I said.
Scott seemed surprised. “Really? Frankly, she’s the last person I would have chosen.”
“Why is that?” Mike said.
“Well,” he replied, scratching his jaw, “I don’t think she cared for the company as much as she pretended to. She was always hanging around with Clinton.”
“She was his secretary,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, but it went beyond the office. I think she had loftier goals.”
“I know what Scott means,” Grandma Alma said. “I used to see the two of them outside the office. As he got older, Clinton hated to drive, especially at night. So Pamela was always driving him around.”
Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery Page 33
