[To Die For 01] - A View to Die For (2012)

by Richard Houston

  “The blinking lights and the boots,” I answered. “That’s why computers will never take over. Only the human brain has the gift to make such a far-out connection.”

  Megan’s expression changed to condescendence. “Have you been drinking already, Jake?”

  I sat down at the table and took a deep breath to collect my thoughts. “Mike and Bill knew something that got them killed. My guess is they were blackmailing Bennet, or should I say Born2fish, and it cost them their lives.”

  Megan got up and went over to the coffee pot. “Go on,” she said, and started to make a fresh pot.

  “At first, I thought Mike was just trying to sell coins to Hal. Now I realize it was the other way around. Hal gave Mike, or Bill, the coins to pay him off.”

  Megan finished with the coffee maker and returned to the table. I could see I finally had her interest. “It must have been Bill,” she said. “Mike would never get involved in blackmail. He was a lot of things, but he was not a crook. But I thought you said Bennet killed them. Why did Hal pay them off?”

  “Hal is Bennet’s partner. Hal and Bennet are involved in drugs. When Bill, assuming Mike was an altar boy as you say, found out, he decided to get in on the deal. That’s when Hal paid them off with his coin collection until Bennet could take care of business.”

  Megan just stared at me. It seemed like forever, but the stare only lasted a few seconds. “And you got all this from a pair of boots and a coffee pot?”

  I had to laugh. “That and Taylor’s truck. Then I had a little help from my new friends, the Maguires.”

  Megan looked at me with a smile of recognition. “Of course. The police auction. Bennet must have told Hal to buy the truck. That explains why he insisted on buying that piece of junk. But how did…” Her coffee maker cut her off. Brown liquid was pouring all over her counter.

  Megan jumped out of her chair and rushed over to the pot. “Damn piece of junk,” she said. “Just because I didn’t put the pot all the way in, it has to punish me.” She unplugged the pot and began wiping up the mess. “But how did this Chinese piece of crap and the Maguires help you solve the puzzle?”

  Despite my sister’s predicament at the moment, I felt like I just won Jeopardy and couldn’t wait to tell the world. “The boots that Harley wore at the funeral are the same brand as those that made the prints by our mysterious fisherman. They are made by a company called Bates, a company that specializes in boots for military and law enforcement. It was the red and blue flashing lights of your irritating coffee pot that turned on my neurons to make the connection to Bennet.”

  “Sounds logical,” Megan said after returning to the table. “Good thing you haven’t been drinking.”

  Now it was my turn to second guess. “Why’s that, Meg?”

  “Because now all you have to do is prove it, and there’s no more coffee to sober you up. That was the last of it,” she said, pointing toward her hissing coffee maker.

  Chapter 11

  The first step in connecting Bennet to the murders was to get the DMV check from Rosenblum. I needed some proof that it was Bennet in the Tracker boat who had been sneaking around Meg’s dock. Rosenblum still had the title to my motor home, so I decided to drive over to his office and kill the proverbial two birds.

  By the time I pulled on to the highway toward town, I was beginning to wish I had kept my theory of the murders to myself. I was going to need a lot more than a boat and a pair of shoes to prove Bennet was the culprit. Then I saw the Pig’s Roast up ahead and impulsively pulled into the parking lot. With any luck, Linda would be working her shift.

  The bartender from the day before was serving, and Linda was nowhere in sight. “Look who the dog drug in,” he said.

  “Hi, Sam,” I said while taking a seat at the bar. “Did Linda get my message?”

  He already had an open Coors for me. “Sorry, Jake. Better luck next time,” he said as he handed me my beer. “She took off with the roofer who’s been hanging around here. Came by this morning for her paycheck, and said they were on their way to California. But she did leave you this note.” He handed me a folded piece of paper with the same beautiful handwriting I had seen on the menu of the Rusted Kettle.

  I looked around the bar to see who was listening then stuffed it in my back pocket and reached for my beer. “One more Dear John to add to my collection,” I said for the benefit of a couple at a nearby table. There were several more people at the window tables, but I figured with the juke box blasting out an old Dolly Parton classic that they were too far away to catch our conversation.

  “Yeah, me too,” he answered with a sad voice. “My note said basically the same thing. I’m going to miss her big fat-ass bouncing around here.”

  I started to say something almost as crude when we were interrupted by one of the patrons at the window table waving for Sam’s attention. Sam rolled his eyes, but not so the customer could see, and he headed over to their table. I put a five on the counter and headed out the door. “Catch you later, Sam. I’ve got an appointment with my lawyer,” I said.

  Despite the white-lie I told Sam, I didn’t have an actual appointment with Rosenblum. His secretary acted upset when I barged into his office. I knew he had a secretary from the first time I had contacted him on my phone back at the Kansas rest-area, but this was the first time I actually met her. “I’m sorry. Mr. Rosenblum has a client right now. Was he expecting you?” she asked. She was flipping through what looked to be an appointment book.

  She didn’t look like the sexpot I’d imagined. I was beginning to wonder if she was his mother when the office door opened and a balding, gray-hair, distinguished gentleman walked out. Rosenblum was right behind him. I recognized his visitor as Judge Simons from my father’s funeral reception.

  Rosenblum acknowledged me with a nod of his head while walking his friend to the outer door. “Thank you, George. And don’t forget our tee-time tomorrow,” he said before shutting the door.

  “Jake! Come on in to my office. I thought you’d be here an hour ago,” he said and offered his hand. He turned to his secretary, who had given up on her appointment book and was just staring at me. “It’s okay Shirley. This is Jake Martin. We won’t take a minute.”

  He headed for his office without waiting for her to greet me. I followed like a kid being led to the principal’s office, wondering how he knew I was coming. Rosenblum offered me a chair and went behind his desk. “I think this is what you came for,” he said, picking up some papers off his desk. “Here’s the title for your motor home and the carfax I ran on Taylor’s truck. Sorry, but I couldn’t get the DMV check you wanted. ”

  I dropped the papers. “How did you know I was coming?” I asked.

  He smiled and retrieved the papers from his desk a second time. “Megan told me you were on your way. I expected you before lunch, so I didn’t tell my secretary. Now tell me why you think Bennet killed Mike and Bill.”

  My mind was racing, trying to guess how much he knew. I sat back down and told him my theory about the murders. Like most stories that get told and re-told, it took me much longer than when I first told Megan. I had to fill him in on details like the boot print and how I met the Maguires. We were only interrupted by his secretary twice.

  He didn’t seem to mind that it took more than a couple of minutes to explain my theory. “I’d be careful who you tell that to. Bennet has a lot of powerful friends around here,” he said after I finished. “That’s why I couldn’t get the DMV check.”

  Rosenblum leaned back in his chair the way I’d seen him do several days ago when Meg and I had been here. “I have a feeling Bennet was on the list of Tracker owners, and my source must have got cold feet. But if you’re so sure he did it, you don’t really need the list anymore – just drive by his place. He lives next to the school on Elm.”

  “If the boat is there. He could have it in the water someplace or in storage,” I answered, waiting for him to slip and fall from his chair. To my disappointment, it didn’t happ
en.

  Rosenblum rose from his chair. I assumed it was my cue to leave, so I rose too. “Thanks, Ira. I’ll check out Bennet’s house like you suggested, and this carfax will be a big help once I contact some of the previous owners to see if they knew Hal.”

  “That would be dangerous, Jake. If someone on that list is dealing drugs, you don’t want them on your tail. Look at the service locations. Check to see if Hal has any customers in those locations, and you might have some real evidence.”

  I thanked the lawyer again and left his office with the title to my new motor home, and I headed toward the license bureau. I had gone into Rosenblum’s office thinking I had all the answers to solving Mike’s murder, and now I realized, I had nothing. Like he said, I needed real evidence; hunches would never prove anything in court.

  Truman had the only license bureau for the entire county. Most states called it the Department of Motor Vehicles, but I could plainly see the sign down the street saying otherwise. It was in the same square as the courthouse and only a short walk from Rosenblum’s office. A bell over the door announced my presence. When I walked in, two women in their mid to late forties looked up from their computer screens. The office wasn’t much bigger than a one-room schoolhouse. It didn’t look the least bit official. There were no long lines waiting for the next available clerk - only the two women and one haggard-looking gray-haired man at the counter. I must have entered the wrong building. I went back outside, took a second look at the sign, and then went back inside. The bell rang again.

  “Is this where I get plates for a vehicle?” I asked while walking toward the counter.

  Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and looked my way, all three of them. “Yes, Sir,” one of the women replied. She was a dead ringer for the actress in the movie Misery. “What can we help you with?”

  “I just bought a motor home and need to get plates for it.” I said, handing her the title. “Are you related to Kathy Bates by any chance?”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “The actress. You could pass as her twin.” The bell rang again, and we both turned our heads to watch a huge guy come through the door. His head nearly touched the top of the jamb, and there wasn’t an inch left on either side.

  “Hi, honey,” she said to the Incredible Hulk. “Would you be a sweetheart and lock the door? I can leave after I finish here.” Without saying a word, her sweetheart did as he was told. And I began to wonder if I could escape out the back before they had a chance to torture me. Visions of her swinging a sledge hammer against my ankles, like in the movie, filled my head.

  Kathy turned back to me. “We will need proof of insurance, and your personal property tax receipts. I also need to see your inspection report.”

  “Property tax receipts?” I asked, deciding to drop the chit-chat before hubby, or whoever he was, took offense.

  “I can call over to the collector’s office, and she can confirm you paid your taxes if you want. Unless you’re new here. Then you will have to get a new residence card from her.”

  “Won’t do you no good.” The old man next to me cut in. “Mary done left already. I just come from there.”

  I couldn’t help but turn to the old guy, but I was distracted by what I saw on the computer screen his clerk was using. It looked like a vehicle history report like the one Rosenblum had given me. “So I can’t leave Dodge until Monday?” I asked.

  He looked at me blankly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

  He wasn’t alone. Even the Incredible Hulk was staring at me. “Sorry. It’s another one of my bad jokes,” I answered before turning back to the clerk. “Actually, I don’t live here. I only wanted to get a temporary tag to get me by for a couple of weeks until I go back to Colorado.”

  Being from out of town had been all the explanation I needed. The Hulk went back to reading his Sports Illustrated, and the leathered sole next to me finished his business and left without looking my way. The clerk that reminded me of Kathy Bates gave me a thirty-day tag, and I left without offending the Hulk.

  * * *

  Later that night, while having our beer out on the deck, Fred once again pretended to listen to me. There was a slight westerly breeze coming off the water that made the humidity bearable and kept the bugs at bay. I was working on my fourth or fifth beer. Fred was still on his first. “What do you think, Freddie? Do you have any good ideas on how we get that list?” It beat talking to myself.

  Fred pushed my hand holding the beer. He answered me with a sneeze after slopping up another puddle full of bubbles.

  “What list is that?” asked a voice from behind me. I didn’t turn to look. I could pick out my sister’s voice in a choir.

  “Hal’s contact list,” I answered without looking at her. “Did you bring us another beer?”

  Megan put a cold Keystone on the table and looked down at Fred. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll fry his liver or something?” she asked.

  “What about my liver? How am I ever going to hack into Hal’s computer when I’m hooked to a dialysis machine?”

  She took a chair across the table from me and sipped on her wine. “Why would you do that?

  “Oh yeah, you’re right. That’s for kidneys isn’t it?”

  Megan started to get up. “Maybe we should talk in the morning. I can see you and Fred have had too much to drink. You know I meant Hal’s computer.”

  “Sorry,” I said, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Rosenblum thinks I need to check Hal’s customers against a list he gave me today.”

  She leaned forward to pet Fred and started rubbing his ears. “Yeah, I know. He told me all about your visit.”

  “He called you?”

  “No. I called him.” She stopped rubbing Fred’s ears and sat back in her chair. Fred pushed up against her, wanting more. “I got another notice on the house today. They’re threatening foreclosure already, so I called Ira for his advice.”

  I poured more beer on the deck. It was a sure way to get Fred to stop bothering her. “So soon? What happened to the money Dad left you?”

  Megan got up from her chair again. Only this time, she was on the verge of tears. “I used it to pay bills and bought a few things for the house. Hell, I don’t know. I never was very good with money. You know that,” she said, then started to sob.

  I spent the next hour nursing the last of my beer while trying to figure out how on earth she had managed to spend so much so soon. Fred wasn’t much help. He had left with Megan, probably hoping for another ear rub. Eventually, I gave up trying to analyze women’s spending habits and went to bed.

  Chapter 12

  It was well after ten on Saturday morning when Fred woke me up with his ritual. If I had still been sleeping on the couch and not moved down to the unfinished lower level, he would not have bothered. Someone else would have already let him out by now. When I didn’t respond to his pacing and tail thumping, he tried licking me awake.

  “Okay, Boy, you win,” I said and let him out the door. I hadn’t hooked up a toilet, so I took Fred’s lead and let my bladder go off the side of the deck, too.

  “Jacob Martin. I didn’t raise you in a barn. Can’t you use the bathroom?” My mother was on the upper deck.

  “Morning, Mom. Coffee still hot?”

  I zipped up and joined the family on the deck for a late breakfast. Fred didn’t care if his privates were showing and beat me to the table. Megan was grinning from ear to ear. “I see you’re in a good mood this morning,” I said to her. “What happened? Did you win the lottery since last night?”

  “She’s finally come to her senses and is going to sell this albatross.” Mother answered for her while giving Fred a piece of burnt bacon.

  Megan’s grin turned into a frown. “The realtor will be here this afternoon. Ira says I can still come out with enough to get by for a while. At least until I can find a job, or somebody gets off his butt and proves Mike didn’t kill himself.”

  “Rosenblum said that?”
I asked, feigning shock. “I wouldn’t think he’d be so unprofessional.”

  Megan played with the scrambled eggs on her plate, picking through them like they might be infected with ants. “No, of course not. But you know there are no jobs around here. I really need that insurance, Jake.”

  “Are you going to eat that?” I asked. “If not, give it to me, and I’ll tell you about the dream I had last night to get the proof you need.”

  Mother spoke as though she never heard a word of our conversation. “I think it’s time I went home,” she said out of the blue.

  Megan stopped playing with her eggs and slid the plate toward me. “Today, Mom?” she asked.

  Our mother looked at Fred instead of looking at Megan. “It’s so strange going back without your father. Maybe I should get a dog to keep me company.” Then she raised her head. I could see tears in her eyes. “No. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Anita’s been keeping an eye on the house, so I’m sure she won’t mind another day or two.”

  I started to ask who Anita was when we heard the sliding door open. Kevin and Taylor were up before noon. Fred was the first to greet them.

  Kevin bent down to pat Fred on the head, “Mornin’ Freddie.” He looked at the empty plates on the table, and said: “What’s for breakfast, Mom? I’m starving.”

  “Can’t you greet your grandmother and uncle, too?” Megan answered.

  My mother was already out of her chair and on her way to the kitchen. “Scrambled okay?” she asked.

  Taylor opened the door for her. ”Can I help you, Mrs. Martin?” he asked while following her into the house. Kevin and Fred knew where the food would be and followed alongside.

  Megan waited for everyone to leave. She cupped her hands together, holding her head with her elbows on the table. “Well?” she asked. “Are you going to tell me about your dream?”