Class Conspiracy: A Hank Lancaster Mystery

by Ace Beckett

  “You don’t enjoy your work?”

  “I don’t like it or dislike it. It’s a job. After the payoff I’ll never have to do another job and that’s fine with me. I’ll be relaxing on beaches, drinking the finest whiskey and chasing women. Although with the women I’ll let them chase me and I’ll only let the best looking ones catch me.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  As I drove to Bay Tree County I had in my pocket a list of the names of several people in Stephen Bates’ high school graduating class. I hoped he had listed the chatty, talkative students of Winter Springs because I wanted to have long conversations with them.

  Traffic was moderate on the highway. In Florida you wish for moderate traffic but on many highways is no such thing as light traffic anymore, except if you’re traveling at 3 a.m. I hit the gas pedal and sped around a rumbling truck headed toward some Wal-Mart store. Swirling dark clouds blocked out the sun besmirching Florida’s motto of being the Sunshine State. On the plus side it was one of the few days in Florida where the car’s air conditioner was not needed. Being directionally challenged I appreciated the GPS device, even though on this trip only three directions were needed. Take I-75 to I-10 then turn left, after about 75 miles take the exit to Winter Springs. Even being directionally challenged I figure I could follow those instructions.

  When my phone buzzed I reached for it and put it to my ear.

  “Hello. I just wanted to say I love you and wasn’t that a great movie last night?”

  “Aww, I love you too but I think Hollywood took a few liberties with Pasternak’s novel.”

  “Hollywood always does but it wasn’t too bad and it showed Omar Sharif during his most handsome days. He was almost as good looking as you.”

  “One of the things I love about you Astrid is you are the sweetest liar,” I said with a huge grin.

  She laughed. “I can return the compliment and say you are too when you tell me my rear end isn’t too big.”

  “It’s not,” I chuckled. “Every woman thinks her rear is too big and most of the time it’s not true. Your rear is perfect for your size, as is the rest of your beautiful self.”

  “Flattery will get you everything, at least with me. Anyway, do you know when you’ll be back?”

  “Sorry, honey, I have no idea. This case is puzzling and I have a lot of pieces but I don’t know how long it will take me to put them together.”

  “Just keep it peaceful. I’d like for you to solve this case without your gun ever being drawn.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  She laughed again and hung up.

  By the time I had pulled into yet another motel – this time the Holiday Inn – on the edge of Winter Springs. Wyland had called and set up a meeting over dinner. He recommended the Texas Steak House on Pine Avenue. He told me it was about three blocks from the Holiday Inn.

  The motel desk staffer smiled as if my walking up to the counter was the high point of day. Her smile reflected the warmth of a Florida sun in July with her flawless complexion and stunning green eyes.

  “Do you have business in Winter Springs?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do,” I said. I decided not to say “I’ll be hunting down a vicious killer here.” I thought it might dampen the greeting.

  I lugged the suitcase and overnight case into the second floor room. The steak house was dimly lit but I did make out at Wyland at a rear booth. He waved me over. He was eating a salad and drinking a beer when I slipped into my seat.

  “Tell me you have already solved the case and the culprit is in the county jail. Or at least you had discovered a vital clue that pinpoints the killer,” I said.

  “No, on both counts unfortunately,” he said.

  “So we still have no clues that will stand up in court?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re full of good news today,” I said.

  He drank more of his beer. “We’re in the business of tracking criminals and they don’t voluntarily leave clues behind. It’s a shame but that’s the way life is.”

  A waitress walked over to take our orders. I wanted a T-bone and Wyland ordered a sirloin steak with trimmings. I decided to break with routine and ordered a Pina Colada to sip on instead of bourbon and coke. Variety is the spice of life.

  Wyland stabbed his salad with a fork and brought a mass of green stuff with orange dressing to his mouth. He munched slowly and then swallowed.

  “I do have some good news. I made contact with the local organization promoting the 20th year reunion of Mr. Bates’ high school class. Next year is the gathering but they’re making plans now.”

  “Always nice to be prepared,” I said. “I suggest we talk to a few of those people. Are they making e-mail contact with their fellow classmates?”

  “Yes, e-mail and Facebook and on every other segment of the social media. In fact an organization has been formed to assure the reunion runs smoothly.” He reached into coast and bought out a piece of paper with three names on it. “They’re establishing a data base to keep track of all the graduates.”

  “Frankly, I’m not good in organization but I appreciate it when I see it. I should also add I have money in my advertising budget so let’s use it.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Beg your pardon?”

  “I suggest we contact the chairman of said group and ask him to send a message to the class for us. A message that states we are investigating the deaths of three of their classmates and that we are seeking information about any connection between the three deceased students. If there is a connection at least one student in the class should know it and we might get some responses.”

  He tossed his fork in the salad dish. “Good idea. One of the chairwomen of the event is Nancy Bundy. I’ll talk to her tomorrow and see what she says.”

  “I think both Mary and Harper must have been well liked by classmates. From their descriptions they were very friendly people. Keegan seemed a bit more of a loner but even so, I assume their friends would like to help solve their murder. We give our names, numbers, motels rooms, and e-mails in the announcement.”

  “There has to be a connection between them, there must be,” Wyland said.

  “Maybe, but I’m not assuming anything about this case. If you get the chairman to send out our request we’ll have to wait for a reply. Did you notice that the great fictional detectives such as Peter Gunn and Mike Hammer never waited? They were always action oriented. They just went out a beat somebody up. Patience is not one of the virtues usually ascribed to private detectives.”

  Wyland frowned. “Do you often go off on tangents like this? It must drive your girlfriend bonkers.”

  “Hey, I have creative thought processes.”

  “Which like I said, must drive your girlfriend bonkers.”

  “She puts up with it pretty well,” I said.

  The Pina Colada was very good but when I got back to the motel room I mixed a Bourbon and Coke and flipped open my lap top. There were too many questions in this case, too many questions with no answers for that matter. I surfed the net or rather a number of newspapers and was about to quit and watch some bad television when a photo caught my attention.

  I had punched up a page from the Cross Creek News, which was a low circulation daily. I looked at the inside pages there was a half-page of wedding announcements and then I saw a familiar face. Murray Laurie, wearing a suit and tie and looking spiffy, as we say in the South, was announcing his engagement to Ms. Janice Coltan, an attractive blonde who stood beside him. Both of them looked very happy and it read that the marriage was scheduled for early next month.

  Murray Laurie didn’t waste any time. Two months after his wife’s death he finds another lady to marry, I edged the chair back but keep looking at the screen.

  “Don’t get suspicious, Hank.” I said aloud. “He might have known Ms. Colton for years and they…renewed their friendship after the death of Mary. It’s possible as a friend she rushed over to comfort Murray after the tragedy and wh
en she did they grew closer together.”

  That was possible. In fact, I had known two cases where something similar happened. One involved a widower who rushed to help a friend who had recently lost her husband, they had known each other for years and soon had more than just a friendship. They later married and were very happy together. The other case was also very innocent; Two long-time friends had their acquaintance renewed their respective spouses died.

  So the engagement might be entirely innocent.

  But it still stuck at me, like a thorn that was caught in my shirt and scratched me when I walked.

  I went to bed hoping the thorn would be somehow eliminated by the next morning, but when I woke up, flicked on the percolator and the television, the thorn was still there, rubbing on my skin. After I showered and dressed and sipped some of the coffee, which wasn’t too bad, the skin still throbbed. I called Wyland and asked if he wanted to have breakfast with me, he said fine.

  Fifteen minutes later he joined me at a table at the Holiday Inn restaurant. The waitress had already place coffee and orange juice before us as Wyland eased into a chair and frowned.

  “Something wrong? You don’t exactly look upright and perky today. You look droopy, you have a frown that’s halfway down your chin.”

  I sipped the orange juice. “I look like a man who doesn’t like a nice theory disrupted. That’s always annoying.” I said.

  “Our homicide theory was disrupted?”

  “Let’s say there is a fact in evidence today that was not there yesterday.”

  “Somebody went to the police and confessed?”

  “Not quite that dramatic. Remember when I told you that I checked out the Mary Laurie case and I was suspicious about her death?”

  “Yes. What about it?”

  I checked online last night and it turns out her widower just married his second wife. In the picture, which was a bit blurred, he was grinning from ear to ear.”

  Wyland said nothing but ran his tongue over his lower lip and took a sip from his coffee the waitress had brought him.

  “Now you’re the one looking a bit droopy,” I said.

  “Eggs, bacon and hash browns,” he told the waitress. She scribbled in her pad and rushed off.

  “It could be a coincidence. People often marry quickly after a divorce or the death of a spouse. Actually I think men marry quicker than a woman will.” He coughed. “This doesn’t change the facts or our theory.”

  “It does slightly. We had assume the deaths of three people, all classmates of Mr. Stephen Bates, were connected and we also theorized the killer might be a member of the same class. Although doesn’t this happy little ceremony throw some cold water on that theory.”

  “Not necessarily. They may have had a happy marriage and Mr. Laurie had a long-time friend who, when there was an opening…”

  “Wanted to marry the man she carried a torch for, carried it for a long time in fact.”

  I eased back as the waitress set my plate down and set a plate in front of Wyland.

  “Will there be anything else?” she said.

  She was tall, blond, had a pleasant voice and sounded amazingly awake.

  “No, thank you very much,” I said.

  As she walked away I told Wyland she deserved a large tip.

  “Not easy being wide awake in the morning,” I told him. “And waitresses have to deal with people early in the morning. That’s not easy either.”

  “You must drive your girlfriend bonkers,” he said shaking his head.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. The bright yellow eggs were excellent as was the crisp bacon and I also liked the strawberry jelly in the little container the restaurant provided. When I’m at the store I always forget to get strawberry jelly.

  Wyland took a large forkful of hash browns and chewed them, then he suddenly pointed the fork at me. “I know of at least two cases when a husband married very quickly after his wife died. One was a friend of mine and I knew the other gentleman casually. In both cases there was nothing suspicious about their wife’s death and both second marriages have lasted and both couples seem very happy.”

  “Let’s hear it for happiness. There’s not enough of it in the world,” I said. “But I’m not really concerned with second marriages in general. In particular, I’m worried about one up in Cross Creek, North Carolina. Random thoughts come to me, such as ‘Did Mary Laurie have a hefty insurance policy on her life? Could she have had two insurance policies on her life?”

  “Being a private detective, Hank, you have a skeptical, sometimes cynical thought process. Sometimes that’s not good for you. You need to be accepting and open to the wonders of the world, the ironies of creation, the coincidences that make life strange and fascination.”

  I picked up my coffee cup. “Yea. I guess so. I may be getting too conspiratorial. So we should just forget the nuptials of Mr. Laurie?”

  “Heck, no,” Wyland said. “But isn’t it really irritating when you have to check out very little thing.

  I chuckled and sipped some more of my coffee.

  He rapped the table with his hand. “Have you ever had a case with everything went smoothly, from point A to point B, to point C with no interruptions or detours?”

  “Yes, I think once about six years ago. It was a minor case and it was solved in a couple of days. It’s enshrined on my wall.”

  “No doubt. You get one of those cases in a career. The rest are tough. This looks like it’s going to be a tough one and we just have to deal with this new unpleasant fact.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  He swallowed some more coffee “Yes. Since you have the names of other classmates of Mr. Bates and…may I assume he gave you some type of intro…”

  “Stephen promised to phone everyone on the list and tell them I would probably be stopping by to talk to them and he urged them to cooperate with me and respond to any questions I might have.”

  “OK, so that means I will travel back up to Cross Creek and poke my nose around a little more. I don’t think this is a clue, it’s more of a distraction but we have to check it out.”

  “I agree. Thank you for volunteering. I was getting tired of traveling.”

  “What with all the nice hotels and the good food? Boy, you get grouchy too easy.”

  “At times I prefer my own bed and my fiancée Astrid dozing beside me, when I’m with her I’m convinced all is right with the world.”

  He smiled. “We know better. All is not right with the world but we have been hired to make it right.” He sighed. “I’m been on the road too. I’m going to take a day off and relax and swim in the hotel pool. Tomorrow I will head up.”

  “I’ll take a day off with you. I imagine it might take a day or so to get any responses to the ad. Want to play a round of golf?”

  “I can use some relaxation before I go back on the hunt. Let me check with the local golf course to see if they rent clubs, if they do go have subpar rounds.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  On the 18th hole of the Torrey Creek Country Club my six-iron shot soared just over one hundred and seventy yards, bounced on the green and rolled toward the cup, stopping just two feet past.

  “Another lucky shot,” Wyland said. “You seem to hit quite a few lucky shots.”

  “Luck comes through practice on the driving range and on the putting green.”

  “Well, if you want to credit hard work and skill you’ll make the rest of us feel weak and inferior.”

  We climbed back in the cart and I pushed the pedal. The cart sped toward the green.

  “No, that should give you hope. All you have to do is practice and you can hit as many good shots as you want.”

  “Sounds too difficult,” Wyland said.

  On the green Wyland was a long way from the hole but he made a good putt. It curved about two feet beyond the cup and he knocked it in for a par. I rolled my putt in and made a birdie.

  “What did you get?” he asked as we sat back in
the golf cart.

  “Seventy-five, but this is an easy course.”

  “Nonsense I got eighty-seven, which is a good score for me.” He smiled. I enjoyed that. I needed a day to relax so tomorrow I can head for North Carolina.”

  “Keep in touch,” I said.

  I had slacks on and a towel around my neck when the motel phone rang. The voice on the line sounded anxious, words tumbled out of his mouth.

  “Is this Hank Lancaster?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Lance Austin. I was a friend of Mary and Harper, I was in the senior class with them. I just saw the notice. I’m also the vice-president of the Ford Dealership in town.”

  “Would you mind talking with me?”

  “I will be happy too. Where are you staying?”

  “Holiday Inn. Room 60.”

  “Would about eight be good?”

  “That would be fine,” I told him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Austin may have had a desk job but he looked muscled and in good shape. The biceps on his arm stretched the yellow sleeve of his golf shirt. A mesomorph, but his smile indicated he was a friendly man. He had brown hair, clear blue eyes and rugged features. I guessed he was at least six-two and there was literally no fat hanging over his belly. There was no fat anywhere on him. He gave my hand a firm but not overly forceful shake when he said hello.

  “Mr. Lancaster, I must say I was shocked when I say that notification via e-mail. I hadn’t stayed in regular contact with either Mary or Harper and I didn’t know they had died and then saw the notice that Dan Keegan committed suicide a couple of days ago. It totally shocked me.”

  He sat down in a chair by the desk. I sat in the other chair in the room.

  “I had not kept in contact with Stephen either. I ran into him a time or two but hadn’t had a long talk with him in years. I saw his name on the e-mail.”

  “He’s a man who kept in contact with a number of classmates. He was suspicious of the two, now three, deaths and hired me.”