by Lou Fletcher
Gus grinned and Applebee explained. “Looks like our director and Guenther, dba EldaWeiss, have an arrangement. Their cover is that EldaWeiss is the general contractor for the remodeling work. Certainly some of these payments are legit. Just as sure,” he added, “many are not. Easy to hide what isn’t real and what is.”
“What about receipts?” I said. “Surely purchases for all the materials must have receipts?”
“Oh, there are receipts all right,” Gus said. “Anyone with a computer and a scanner can create a receipt that looks just like the real McCoy. It’s not rocket science. In addition, if you throw in some actual receipts for real purchases, it’s damn hard to recognize the fraud going on right under your nose.”
“Look at the Bernie Madoff scheme,” Applebee said. “The guy pulled off the biggest swindle in the history of the world and there were a lot of smart people looking over his shoulder when he did it.”
“So what was it that first made you suspicious?” I asked.
“It was Alice who alerted me,” Gus corrected. “She told me it seemed like we were paying for a lot more building materials than were being delivered. For starters, she noticed there were two separate orders for shingles, one order for those you see out back and a second for some fancy, three-dimensional designer type.”
“I haven’t seen anything like that,” I said.
“Alice hadn’t either,” Gus said.
“And now she’s dead,” Applebee said.
THIRTY-FOUR
“I’m just getting started.” Gus hunched back over the keyboard. “Check with me later.” He clicked and tapped. He scrolled up and down the columns of numbers as they appeared on the screen. I left Applebee and Mr. Wittekind huddled around him as he pounded away on the keyboard, looking for more evidence of Herb B. and Guenther’s deceit.
I wandered back to the party that continued at an even higher pitch than before if possible. Everyone was dancing, some on tables, while others joined hands in a circle around them. Perry’s fingers were a blur as they moved over the accordion keyboard, and the bellows wheezed Roll Out the Barrel again. Everybody sang and circled first in one direction then another. I searched the room for Tippi but didn’t see her, so I approached Violet. With Ernie on one side and Violet on the other, they grabbed my hands and swept me into the circle.
“Have you seen Tippi?” I shouted at Violet. She grinned back at me and sang louder.
“Tippi?” I tried again, louder and close to her ear.
She shook her head. I pulled away and went over to the women’s restroom, where I knocked and called Tippi’s name. There was no answer. I felt a tightening in my chest and a queasy feeling in my stomach. Something’s not right.
Maybe I missed her and she’s in the card room with the guys. I jogged back down the hall. Applebee and Wittekind were alone in the room. “Did Tippi come in here?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“No, and check on Gus too. Tell him to get back in here,” Applebee said. “He went to the bathroom fifteen minutes ago.”
“It’s either a bad prostate or he’s hitting the punchbowl,” Mr. Wittekind added.
“Will do.” I checked the ceramics room and the kitchen. Empty.
A feeling of dread came over me. Where was Tippi? Now Gus was missing too, I realized. I tried the door to the clinic. Locked. Next to it was Herb B.’s office. That door was locked too and I heard someone moving around inside.
“Open up, you bastard,” I shouted. “Is Tippi in there?”
Herb B. opened the door. His face was gray. I could see over his shoulder that the room was a mess. Chairs were overturned, the carpet was littered with papers and file folders, and the curtains were ripped from the rods.
I pushed through the door and grabbed his neck. I shook him as hard as I could. “Where is she, you scumbag?” I squeezed tighter as his face went from gray to red. From behind me, two calloused fingers dug into my shoulders, forcing me to release my grip.
“Easy there, Marine,” Guenther whispered in my ear. “Much as I’d like to see ’im dead, I can’t afford it.” A deep, coarse laugh rumbled forth. “At least not yet.” With one hard push, Guenther sent me sprawling across the desk and right into Gus, who sat handcuffed on the couch.
“Now, boys,” Guenther said, his eyes dark and steely. “What am I gonna do with you?”
Sounds of music, singing, and laughter from the other room escalated to an even higher pitch as the celebration continued to gain steam. I checked my watch. It was only one-fifteen. We had at least six hours to go before it would begin to get light. A lot could happen in six hours.
“Sit over there next to your nosy little buddy, Marine,” Guenther directed. “I need to think.”
“See here,” I said. “I’m just looking for Tippi. I don’t care what you and Herb B. have been up to, honestly. I’m worried she may have taken Frenchie outside and slipped or something. You know, with her bad ankle? She’s not used to crutches and the ice...” I was rambling but couldn’t stop myself.
“Shut the hell up,” Guenther shouted. “Your girlfriend’s taken care of.” His grin was anything but friendly. “Stupid bitch couldn’t keep her nose out of my business.”
He turned to Herb. “And you, you dumb SOB, I shoulda known better than to hook up with somebody as lame as you. Now, I gotta figure a way outta this.”
“Wait a minute, Guenther.” I leaped up from the couch. “What do you mean Tippi’s taken care of? Where is she? What have you done with her?”
“You’re gettin’ on my nerves, lover-boy.” Guenther shoved me back into my seat. “She’s restin’ up,” he chortled. “Her and the scruffy lookin’ kid that follows her around. Vicious little punk,” he added, moving his hand to his crotch and grimacing.
I pictured tiny Marcy, waist-high to Guenther, grabbing whatever was at eye level to fight back.
“I swear, Guenther, if you have hurt them…
“You’ll what? You think you can threaten me? Do you?” He spoke deliberately, his voice soft.
I admit I was more scared of the implied violence than the spoken threat. I glanced over at Herb B., who sat huddled and whimpering in his chair behind the desk.
“Now, I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do.” Guenther reached behind him and fumbled with something under his shirt. When he pulled out his hand, he was holding a pistol. He twirled the weapon gunslinger style. He walked over to where Gus sat, his hands behind him, useless in the furry green cuffs, and pressed the gun against the side of Gus’s head.
“You,” he commanded, pointing his free hand at me like an imaginary pistol, “You are going to go back to the party. You’re gonna dance, sing, drink, join in the fun, and act like everything’s just peachy. Okey dokey, Marine?”
“What are you doing?” Herb B. screamed. “I didn’t sign up for...”
Guenther stepped away from Gus and swung the butt of the gun against Herb B.’s cheek. The crack of shattering bone sent chills up my spine. Herb B. slumped onto the floor, the side of his face a bloody pulp.
I glared back at Guenther. He repositioned the gun at Gus’s temple.
“Do you understand now, Marine?”
I could only nod, dumbly. I couldn’t believe he expected me to go out there and laugh it up, while I had no idea what had happened to Tippi and Marcy or what he would do to Gus if I left. I’m no good as an actor. I never win at poker because my face always gives me away. And now?
“I’m no good at...,” I stammered. I felt the bile at the back of my throat.
“Then too bad for your girlfriend and the kid. They’re okay for the moment,” he added. “Just a little, shall we say, incapacitated? But their condition could change, get it? Could take a turn for the worse?”
“And just to show you how serious I am,” he said as he pressed the gun’s muzzle harder against Gus’s head, “get ready to join your girlfriend, Alice.”
He pulled the trigger.
THIRTY-FIVE
A click. Nothing.
“Your lucky day,” he said to Gus, who stared straight ahead in shock. Herb B. held his face and blubbered uncontrollably. “I swear the Walther never jammed on James Bond.” He gave the weapon a shake in my direction.
I hit the floor. Old habits... I thought.
“Next time, I promise, this thing will work. Get it, Hank?”
I got up shakily and nodded, numb.
“Then get to work, Gary Grant.” He motioned with the gun for me to leave. “Keep the party going. I need these old farts to stay distracted while Herb B. and I wrap up some business.”
I started to leave, then turned back to face Guenther. “How do I know Tippi and Marcy are okay now? You might have already...” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
“Why, buddy boy, I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” He spun me around and kicked me out the door.
I lost my balance and went down onto my knees in the hallway. I heard Guenther laugh as he slammed the door shut and turned the lock inside. I tried to stand but my legs kept buckling. It took me three tries to get up and lean against the wall. I was shaking all over and prayed for the strength to pull off the charade Guenther had imposed on me. I knew even if I did, there was no guarantee I could save Tippi and Marcy, or Gus either. I made it to the men’s room where I splashed cold water on my face. The man staring back at me in the mirror looked terrified and exhausted. Pull it together, Hank. This is no time to fall apart. Tippi’s resourceful. She’s okay. Now do what you have to, then make the bastard pay.
On my way to the kitchen, I passed Elrod. Was it my imagination or did I see his eyes snap shut when I went by?
The party raged on as I set up the industrial-sized coffee urn. As much as I needed alcohol, I needed a clear head more. Once the coffee was underway, I looked through the cupboards and the fridge to see what was left. Cooking always relaxes me so I decided to scramble some eggs with leftovers—ham, some onions, and cheese. I checked the freezer and found a bag of hash brown potatoes somebody had shoved to the back, and the strawberries Guenther had brought in from his garden last spring. We’d used up all the bread so this would have to suffice.
Hazel led a conga line through the kitchen and they all cheered when they saw the food. “You guys eat more than my Marine buddies,” I called to them. I was starting to feel stronger and having something concrete to do helped.
The smell of fresh coffee called to me, so I filled up a mug and drank, savoring the strong brew. The hot liquid warmed me all over. The ham and onions sizzled in the pan. I added the eggs and watched the edges brown.
“Need any help?” Violet came up beside me, a paper lei around her neck.
“I got it.” I hugged her, surprising us both. “Be just a couple of minutes. I’ll holler when we’re ready.”
She grinned and hula-ed away.
I set out paper plates and cups, gave the eggs a stir, and added the cheese. I flipped over the hash browns and dumped the strawberries into a serving bowl.
“Anybody hungry?” I yelled above the music. Whoops from the revelers answered and before I could say, “Come and get it,” a line had formed, with demands for food.
When everyone was served, I filled up plates and cups of coffee to take to Applebee and Mr. Wittekind. I added a serving for myself and loaded everything onto a tray. I was mulling over how much to tell them as I made my way to the card room. I kicked at the door and was greeted by Mr. Wittekind.
“We’re still waiting on Gus,” he said. “Any sign of him?”
“He said to tell you he needed a break,” I lied. “He was going to lie down in the clinic.”
“Where are Tippi and Marcy?” Applebee asked.
I responded with the answer I’d prepared on my way down the hall. “Marcy was exhausted so she and Tippi joined Gus in the clinic for a nap. I think Frenchie’s with them,” I added when I realized I hadn’t seen the puppy for a while either.
The men nodded, accepting my story without question. My mind kept drifting to images of Tippi and Marcy. Were they okay? Was there something I could do without putting them in even more danger?
Instead, I joined in the conversation about going home, and wondering aloud what we’d find when we got there. The certainty of spoiled and rotting food, the possibility of frozen water pipes, and worries about how family members had managed were on all of their minds. Mine was on Guenther and his gun.
I cleaned up the plates and went back to the kitchen to fill up a small pot of coffee to take back to the guys. On the way, Mary and Hazel stopped me to ask about Tippi and Marcy. I repeated my story and made a hasty exit when both women looked at me suspiciously, I thought, or probably imagined.
I’m definitely no good at pretense. Best if I stay out of sight.
“Want to see what Gus found?” Mr. Wittekind said when I returned.
“You bet.” I made an effort to concentrate on the printouts. The columns of names and figures blurred and danced in front of my eyes.
Applebee pointed to a column of figures labeled “Payroll.”
“Lucky for us,” he said, “We’re not dealing with the sharpest pencil in the box. See these names? Those are people on EldaWeiss’s—meaning Guenther’s—payroll. Supposedly people he’s paying to do the roofing, dry wall, the electrical work, and so forth.”
“Okay. So what’s the problem?”
Mr. Wittekind chuckled.
Applebee said, “Oh, there’s no problem unless you think having people who used to be married to you or dead celebrities or your livestock on your payroll is a problem.” He waited for me to catch up.
“What?” I looked closer at the names. “Who are Sadie and Petunia Hoffman? Guenther told me he didn’t have any kids.”
“Sadie’s his horse,” Applebee said. “I was introduced to her when I accompanied Ada and the little gooslings from the day care center on a visit to Guenther’s farm. I think Petunia is his pig.”
“What about Fred, Lucy, and Ethel Weiss? What’s this Elda Weiss? Isn’t that the name of the contractor?”
“Elda Weiss is, or was, Guenther’s ex, who ran off with the organ guy. Weiss is her maiden name. I knew her from when she and my daughter were in high school together.” Mr. Wittekind said.
“The others I’m just guessing he picked because he’s a fan of the I Love Lucy Show,” Applebee said. “ They all live at 1951 Copacabana Drive, Hollywood, California.” He added, “I never took Guenther for a guy with a sense of humor.”
“No,” I said, “there’s nothing funny about him.”
Applebee gave me a puzzled glance.
“I’m confused,” I said, “and don’t take this the wrong way, but how is it Gus didn’t catch this before?”
“Gus said Herb B. set it up so each month he would cut a single check to EldaWeiss to cover the contractor, or Guenther’s, expenses. He would break it down into payroll, supplies, and materials. He attached time sheets categorized by job such as roofer or electrician and the receipts for purchases. It would then be the general contractor’s responsibility to make those payments. If Guenther was padding the bills he submitted to Herb B., he could make a nice profit.”
Applebee said, “Not brilliant but it does the job.”
“But there’s an audit every year,” I said. “I remember how crazy Herb B. is getting ready for it.”
“Gus thinks this is all recent. Probably started with the remodel. Apparently the business end of running this place is not Herb B.’s strong suit.”
“What is?” Mr. Wittekind interjected.
“Right,” Applebee said. “Maybe he started out just seeing a way to get a new roof for himself, and somehow Guenther got involved and things snowballed—literally.”
THIRTY-SIX
Applebee wanted to keep our findings under wraps while we investigated Herb B.’s scheme further. Mr. Wittekind was all for storming into the director’s office and confronting him with what we knew for sure.
“Absolutely not,” I told Wittekind. The tw
o men looked at me, surprised. “Too much at stake,” I said and left them to their own conclusions.
I went back to Herb B.’s office and pressed my ear to the door. I could hear Guenther’s voice and Herb B.’s sniveling responses. Gus was silent—or worse.
Perry came down the hall. I nodded and walked toward the men’s room and waited until Guenther let him into the office before I went back.
“What have you done?” Perry’s scream was followed by a crash and what sounded like the cry of a wounded animal. I heard more crashes and yells, and then Guenther’s voice, urgent, low, his words too muffled to make out what he was saying.
The door opened and I hugged the wall behind it. Perry came out, blood dripping off his upper lip, his nose swollen. The door was pulled shut from the inside and locked. Perry dabbed at his nose as I followed him to the kitchen. I busied myself pouring another cup of coffee. Ignoring me, he made a makeshift ice bag from a dishtowel and a handful of ice from the freezer. He pressed the cloth to his lip while he rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out a bag of chips and a can of soup. He balanced the food in his free hand and stuffed a can of soda in each pocket. After a quick look around, he left.
I waited before I went after him. He was heading to the clinic. I stood back, waiting for the sound of the key in the lock and the door to open. There it was. I slipped into the hall just in time to see Perry’s backside disappear into the room. He shut the door behind him. I listened for the click of the lock but heard nothing.
Now what?” Do I rush in or wait until he starts to come out? I eyed the door to Herb B.’s office. I worried Guenther might show up at any minute. I decided to risk it and waited for my chance. Whatever I did had to be done noiselessly lest Guenther hear us.
I could hear Perry talking in low, soothing tones.
Marcy’s childish voice was shrill and loud. “I want to go home. You got to let us outta here.” Then crying.
I imagined Tippi wrapping comforting arms around the child to calm her and fought the urge to bust into the room, ready to beat the guy senseless.
