McKenzie returned the smile, though his was somewhat wistful. “It seems like it’s costing more every year and bringing in less and less.”
“My Dad used to say the same thing. I am surprised at how little you’re making, though. I never realized how much feed it takes to keep a dairy herd producing, and it looks like you’ll be needing some new equipment soon.”
McKenzie filled her in on the prospects with B & D, and she wished him luck. Returning to the house, they found the other agent and Erik now sitting at the desk top, obviously at an advanced stage of entering data. Erik looked up as they entered. “Mark’s showing me how to fill in a spreadsheet. He says the bookkeeping and accounting is really easy with this kind of software, and it sure looks easy. Look. We did it for all of last year.”
To humor his young employee, McKenzie looked, but the enormous table of figures meant little to him, so he suggested they all adjourn to have a snack. Coffee and some store-bought cookies were on the agenda, with Erik and Mark too engrossed with the computer screen to take much notice. But McKenzie had a sympathetic audience at the kitchen table as he described the problems he was having in finding cash for the changes he needed to make.
It wasn’t until evening, as McKenzie and his helpers cleared off the supper dishes, when an enthusiastic Erik announced, “You know, Bill, there’s no reason why I couldn’t do all the bookkeeping for you. It really is simple.”
McKenzie gave it some thought before saying, “I can’t see why not. I could always have Hubert check your figures. If you can handle the bookkeeping , it could save some money, and I’m going to have to do a lot of scrimping these coming weeks.” Coming months, he thought to himself, as he rehearsed in his mind the phone call he knew he’d have to make to Bernice evening.
“Why don’t you two go off to your bookkeeping?” Baldy asked as he moved off to the kitchen sink. “I’ll finish the cleaning up and take care of the evening milking.”
McKenzie rapidly decided the bookkeeping was beyond him, as Erik waxed eloquent over accounts receivable and accounts payable while pointing out figures on the screen. “If you have any recent receipts, and records of income, I can put them all on the hard disk.”
McKenzie shrugged, ran down the shoebox he kept receipts in until his monthly delivery to Hubert, and took it along to Erik with the warning, “Don’t lose those bills. Hubert would give me what-for if I didn’t have them all together for him every first of the month.”
A nod and Erik was back punching away at the keyboard, while McKenzie tried to decide the best approach to Bernice, first to explain his financial situation and second to ask for an extension of the deadline they’d set. He was sure somehow, someway, he could come up with the necessary cash. If worse came to worst, there was always the possibility of being carried by the local hardware store and some of the contractors he’d worked with for years. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but surely he would be able to pay them off once he was selling his full production to B&D.
Bernice’s reaction was not what he had expected. “Look, Bill, I have to come up your way tomorrow to look at another farm. How would it be if I dropped by? Maybe if I can look over the books, we can figure something out. I really do want to draw up a contract.”
“The books!” McKenzie laughed at the expression. He had none, so it would mean another visit to Hubert’s, but he’d wait on that. Maybe a second tour of the farm instead might convince Bernice some of the more expensive changes might not be needed. By noon the next day, he’d again changed to a clean set of coveralls, and this time he did opt for a second shave.
Bernice was the passenger in the B&D van, as a pretty young girl slipped out from behind the wheel. The resemblance to the older woman was unmistakable. Bernice introduced one of the two “Daughters” from the company name. “Becky Anne is my bookkeeper. She’s majoring in business administration at the junior college and already knows more about computers than I’ll ever know.”
“Maybe she can give Erik a few tips. Come on in. If I know him, he’ll probably be in there working away.”
McKenzie was amused at the encounter between the young persons. It reminded him a bit of two calves suddenly thrown together in a pen, wary of each other and circling, then finally deciding to put up with the company. In this case, the computer seemed the key to quick mutual acceptance. Within moments the talk of gigabytes, applications, spread sheets and the like drove Bernice and McKenzie out to the more congenial company of Baldy, who was in the milking parlor hooking up the cows coming in for the noon milking.
Obviously at home in these surroundings, Bernice followed the two men along the lines of animals, chatting about their health, production, feed and other matters she was thoroughly familiar with. “Dad raised beef cattle,” she said, but we always had at least one milk cow—just for the family. Far cry from all this.” She waved a hand at the long row of animals connected up to the machines.
Talk finally drifted to the inevitable after they’d returned to the house and settled down to coffee at the kitchen table. Bernice shook her head. “I can’t back down on the changes, because this whole line of ice cream is going to stress the production end. But maybe you and I can figure something out. Maybe an advance on future income.”
McKenzie didn’t like the idea, and was pointing out how they would have to go into town to his accountant’s office, when Erik and Becky Anne answered the call for lunch. Erik had several sheets of paper which he passed across the table, grinning as he did so. “See. Every bit as good as what old Hubert produces. This one is the complete financial record Becky Anne and I did for this last month, and this other one is the comparable one for the same month last year.”
Bernice was the one who reached for them while McKenzie busied himself with brewing coffee and rummaging around in the refrigerator for something edible and suitable. Her exclamation caught his attention. “Bill! What in the world were you feeding last year. Hay and feed costs were almost four times what they are this year.”
Puzzled, McKenzie came over to look at what Bernice was talking about. “That makes no sense,” he said. “I actually have more cows this year, since I’ve got extra pasture. And I had plenty of my own hay last year. I don’t remember buying even one bale. It must be a mistake.”
“We need the checks you made out,” Bernice said.
Erik looked up from the sandwich he was putting together at the counter top. “We have copies for the past three years. IRS agent scanned the originals and I made a copy of his disk. If you want to see them, I can print them out.”
Becky Anne and Erik went off to the computer carrying their sandwiches and soft drinks. Erik returned soon with several sheets of the cancelled checks. Within moments Bernice was comparing them with the checks for the current month. McKenzie peered over her shoulder.
“You should remember these,” she said, pointing to a check for a large amount made out to a feed store in a nearby town.
McKenzie shook his head. “I never ordered anything from them last year. In fact, I never have.
“Your signature’s on the check, along with your accountant’s.”
An embarrassed silence followed. “It was Hubert’s idea when I first went to him for us to have two signatures on the checks. He said it was a safeguard against forgery and the like.”
Bernice shrugged. “It’s not a bad idea. But if you signed this check, how come you don’t remember it? That’s a lot of money.”
McKenzie shifted uneasily in his chair. “Well, it got to be too much of a hassle—me signing a check and sending it in to Hubert for every piddling little thing, so I just signed up a bunch of them.”
“You what?” Bernice’s voice rose as she shook her head in disbelief, reached for the sheets of cancelled check copies and went on before McKenzie could answer her question. “Look through these Bill. How many of them do you not recognize?”
McKenzie’s horror showed, even without his saying a word. Several checks were to companies he had never
heard of, for feed and supplies he had never ordered, in amounts far larger than any he would have ever written.
“What’s your attorney’s phone number. We have to get him on this immediately. And those IRS agents who were here. They must have left their card. Believe me, your accountant hasn’t been doing this only to you. He must be pulling this same scheme on a raft of farmers. And no way is he reporting this income.”
***
The next few days didn’t solve all of McKenzie’s problems, but they lessened his burdens enormously. Oscar Melville reassured him, while trying to suppress his amazement at McKenzie’s naïve handling of his finances. “You won’t get a hundred percent back of what old Hubert was bilking you out of, but you should get a sizeable amount even after the IRS gets through with him. He has plenty of assets—building free and clear, a condo on Maui, a hunting lodge in upstate Michigan, at least a half dozen fancy cars and even a yacht out on the lake. Yup. He knew how to steal, and he knew how to spend—on a grand scale.”
Pleased as he was at the news, McKenzie felt the need to celebrate, to say nothing of wanting to reward the two persons who had made it all possible. He announced to Erik and Baldy how Friday night would be dinner at Turnville’s fanciest restaurant, to include Bernice and her family. Baldy begged off. “I’d feel a lot better taking a sandwich out to the barn.”
Erik, on the other hand, accepted with alacrity. McKenzie suspected there was more than a choice meal attracting his young hired hand.
A table had been set up especially for the party of six, which included McKenzie, Bernice, Becky Anne, Erik, Georgette—Bernice’s older daughter—and her husband, Frank Payne. Good food and good conversation prevailed, and special announcements marked the evening. Bernice’s was the first. “The contract between Bernice & Daughters and the McKenzie Farm will be signed tomorrow.”
In the midst of cheers, Erik broke in, “Can Becky Anne and me be excused? It’s almost time for the next show at the Palace and there’s a great horror movie showing we’d like to see.”
Laughter greeted the announcement. McKenzie leaned over to Bernice and said with a smile, “Maybe it’s serious.”
Bernice’s answer was, “I hope so.”
Georgette broke in as Becky Anne and Erik rose to leave. “As long as we’re making announcements, I think everyone should know Bernice is going to become a grandmother.”
More cheers. Bernice got up and hugged her older daughter, before saying. “I guess I can’t top that, but I’ll try. To launch our new CreamRich I’m opening up a plant right here in Turnville.”
McKenzie looked up and asked, “Does this mean you’ll be spending a lot of time here?”
“Of course,” Bernice smiled. “I’m going to have to check regularly on the farms supplying premium cream for our premium ice cream.”
FAULTY EVIDENCE
Going into private practice had made a difference in both their lives. Dr. Frances Latham could count on early evenings at home, a chance to exercise her considerable skills at cooking, and mostly uninterrupted nights. They had even been able to plan an eventual evening out at the recently opened, gourmet Montmorency Restaurant to celebrate their newfound leisure. Husband Alexander’s move up from homicide lieutenant to captain had been an added bonus. Senior officers were seldom called out at night except for truly horrendous crimes.
By mutual agreement, the work place was now left behind at evening meals. But tonight Frances had had to pry Alex away from the file he’d brought home, and she could tell he was preoccupied when he wasn’t fully appreciative of the salmon feast she’d prepared. Even the suggestion they watch one of his favorite Bond movies afterwards, failed to bring him back to the real world. By dessert time, she gave in.
“Okay, Alex. You might as well tell me. What crime wave are you dealing with now?”
“It’s a one-man crime wave. Here, let me show you.” Pushing his plate aside, he got up, retrieved the file he’d reluctantly relinquished and passed it across the table.
Only a few moments examination produced, “I see what you mean. Is he in custody?”
“Yes. We’ve got Orville Pickens in jail, but maybe not for long.”
“Why not? The evidence seems to be overwhelming.”
“Well, it is as far as I’m concerned, but maybe not as far as our namby-pamby prosecutor is concerned.”
“Who’s handling the case?”
“Anthony Martinelli, the prosecuting attorney himself. I really shouldn’t be tough on him. He’s got his eye on the mayor’s job, and he wants to be sure he doesn’t screw up this case. Pickens is notorious, will be up on a three-striker this time, and anything short of a conviction will give Tony a black eye. I’d hate to see that, because he really is a cut above the average politician.
“The three witnesses we have are good ones. One’s the pharmacist who was in the store when Pickens broke in. He saw the tattoo on his wrist. Pickens was wearing a ski mask, but a young couple saw him after he ran out with his mask off. They each picked him out of the lineup, first try.”
Frances read aloud from the file, “Six-five, two-hundred and eighty pounds. Did the rest of the lineup look like that?”
“Pretty close. We have some husky patrolmen on the force. But Pickens is a tough-looking hombre. He stood out like a Brahma bull among a bunch of Holsteins. That’s one of the reasons the prosecutor is hesitant to move on him. He’s always antsy about witnesses. Wants scientific proof. You know the sort of stuff.”
“Can’t you supply any of the stuff?” There was an element of reproof in her voice, reflecting the discussions they’d had about the growing importance of scientific evidence versus witness testimony. Having moved up in the force during the heyday of traditional police methods, Alex was still dubious about what he labeled “the laboratory fetish” among his younger colleagues.
“Fortunately, we do have a blood sample. When he assaulted the pharmacist, he broke a glass shelf and cut the palm of his hand. That’s good evidence all by itself. The blood on the shelf should cinch it. We’ve sent it out along with a cheek swab. Lab should have had the match back before I left, but something came up to delay it. I told the desk sergeant to call me, no matter how late, if it comes in tonight.”
As they cleared the table, talk drifted on to other matters. While they were placing the dishes in the washer, the phone rang. Alex answered. Even with only half the conversation to go by, Frances could tell the news wasn’t good.
“It can’t be. They must have made a mistake. He was the one who cut his hand on glass, for sure.”
“I take it, it wasn’t a match,” Frances said, after Alex hung up.
“It has to be a mistake. First thing in the morning we’ll get another swab.”
“Could it be a mixup in the sample?”
“We double checked everything we sent them. They were the ones who screwed up.”
Frances was back at the file. “Wait a minute, Alex. What about the sexual assault charge last year? The one back in St. Louis.”
“I called about that. He got off because she couldn’t identify him. Wore a ski mask, just like this time. She did see a tattoo on his hand, but couldn’t really describe it. The St. Louis PD picked him up in a sweep of the area. Several other suspects and no DNA match with any of them. So they had to let him go.”
“That’s it! Don’t bother with the swab. Can you get a blood sample from him?”
Alex looked completely puzzled. “Sure. But it will take a court order. What are you driving at?”
“I’ll bet anything he’s a chimera.”
“A chimera?”
“Right. I read about it just the other day. Occasionally—and it may not be as rare as we once believed—a non-identical twin dies undetected early in pregnancy, and some of its cells are absorbed by the other fetus. So the twin who survives has some cells with the DNA of his twin, and others with his own DNA. There have been cases where blood cells and skin cells just don’t match, as a result.”
<
br /> Alex was shrugging on his coat before she finished. “I’m off to the station to get the sample.”
***
The receptionist ordinarily wouldn’t have interrupted a patient’s examination, but she knew Captain Latham wouldn’t be calling unless it was important.
Frances held the receiver away from her ear as the familiar voice exploded. “You were a hundred percent right. Perfect match!”
Frances smiled as the voice continued. “The prosecutor’s ecstatic. We’re invited out to dinner at the Montmorency. He wants to give you his personal and heartfelt thanks.”
THE SEARCH FOR A MATE
The lovely, lonely princess wandered along the edge of a pond thinking about finding a mate, but her father’s kingdom was poor, and no noble had ever asked for her hand.
Suddenly a large bullfrog jumped up on the bank and said, “Kiss me and you will find a mate.”
“What do I have to lose?” thought the princess, as she stooped down and kissed the frog.
Within moments, two frogs jumped happily into the pond and swam out together among the lily pads.
MISSED DIAGNOSIS
It was a frequent, friendly argument, though neither Dr. Frances Latham nor her police captain husband could remember what had made it recur this time, almost at the very moment they’d set down their cafeteria lunch trays.
Alex couldn’t help but grin at his attractive wife’s animation. Whatever else might be said about Frances, he’d long decided, she’s passionate about everything she believes in. “Drug addicts are not cases,” she said—with emphasis.
“Oh, but they are. Laws have to be enforced. And that’s my job. An addict might also be someone in need of treatment, I’m not denying, and I know you look at all of them that way. But, I deal with criminals. Breaking the law is a crime. Which is where the police come into the picture.”
“Maybe the difference is compassion. Do you ever look at any of your ‘cases’ with compassion?” Frances’ voice had dropped. She picked away unenthusiastically at her salad.
Expect the Unexpected Page 49
