“I’ll give you 24 hours, Mr. Taylor.”
Richter stood and pulled a folded contract from his back pocket. He threw it on the desk before making a confident exit toward reception. He barely missed running into Gracie, who led an overweight yellow Lab to a run at the end of the corridor. Jim glared at the unwelcome visitor’s back, the contract clutched in his hand. Richter was out the door and striding across the parking lot to the waiting yellow car.
“Trudy, I’ll be back later,” Jim said through gritted teeth.
He stalked out the front door and let it slam. The bell jangled raggedly. Trudy nodded, looking puzzled. She shook her head and answered the ringing phone.
*****
The big pickup bounced and growled its way through the woods to the silver trailer. Toby was loading the back of his rusted, beat-up truck with Roscoe’s UFO equipment. Roscoe squatted on the ground, tapping on a black box with a screwdriver. Jim had run through at least four scenarios for his confrontation with Toby as he jostled up the long driveway. He still wasn’t sure what approach to take. He stepped down from the black F150 and sauntered over to Roscoe, his hands thrust in his pockets.
Roscoe finally looked up, apparently oblivious to the fact a truck had pulled into the driveway.
“Why, good morning,” he greeted Jim.
“Hi. What’s happening?” Jim asked.
“We’re loadin’ up this research equipment to haul up to the Meadow,” Toby said, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Anybody besides me drop by here today?” Jim went on, biting back further comment.
“Just that lowdown weasel, Richter,” Tobias groused. “Why?”
“What did he want?”
Tobias stooped to pick up another box of miscellany.
“He wants my land. That’s what he wants. It’s the same garbage he was sayin’ to me before D. B. was killed. Except now I wised up to his game.” He heaved the box over the rusted tailgate; the parts clattered when the box hit the truck bed.
“What garbage is that?” Jim asked with interest. He squatted down with Roscoe to examine whatever the black box was. Still uninformed, he stood and looked at his extremely distant cousin.
“He wants that back piece behind the pond.” Tobias jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Says he wants it as a wildlife preserve with the land he’s bought next to it. I don’t believe a word of it.”
“He owns land up there?”
“Yup. He bought three pieces on Jemison Road. Hansen’s woods and a couple of other parcels. About 75 acres, all told.” Tobias wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and leaned against the truck. “What are you gittin’ at anyway?”
Jim hesitated. He didn’t want to set the volatile man off, but he had to know. “Did you threaten him while he was up here today?”
“Threaten him? Did he say I did? How do you know all this?” Tobias’ eyes narrowed into slits. Color rose in his creased, unshaven cheeks.
Roscoe stood, holding the black box, his eyes as big as saucers. Without comment, he took it to the pickup and placed it gently into the front seat.
“Well, did you?” Jim demanded. “You do know you’re out on bail, right?”
“I didn’t threaten him. He threatened me though.”
“You didn’t happen to have a shotgun out here?” Jim just wanted to get to the bottom line.
Richter was a smooth operator, and it’d be easy for him to spin Toby’s reactions any way he pleased. Jim could picture the sly and malicious man working Toby over.
“It’s up there on the porch.” Toby pointed toward the small, roughly constructed overhang on the trailer. “I’m keepin’ it there when I’m workin’ outside. We’ve got a lot of rabies this year. Shot a skunk just yesterday that was sick.”
“Ahem, if I might interject, Jim.” Roscoe cleared his throat nervously. “Mr. Richter was rather verbally threatening to Mr. ... uh, Tobias. He was merely standing next to the shotgun. I was working in the shed over there.” Roscoe nodded toward the rusty roofed storage shed. “I don’t believe Mr. Richter saw me.”
Jim smiled sourly and shook his head. “You always seem to be around at the right time, Roscoe. How do you manage it?” Inwardly he blew out a sigh of relief, hoping it was true.
*****
Kim signed her name with a flourish to the discharge of mortgage that lay on her attorney’s desk. Her face was flushed with triumph when she looked up at the portly man. Dean sat next to her, stony-faced, his jaw working slowly in agitation.
“It’s done. Please do whatever you need to do to make this official,” she said, handing the pen back to Nolan.
He signed beneath her signature and put his notary stamp on the document.
“I’ll have it recorded today. Don’t worry,” Nolan said, snatching up the paper. He checked it over and seemed satisfied. “I’ll get Christine to take this right over to the clerk’s office.” He punched in his secretary’s intercom number. A heavyset woman, with frizzy, short gray hair and reading glasses that hung from a gold chain around her neck, plodded in to take the document.
When the door closed, Dean leaned forward, his jaw set. “Now I want to talk about the partnership agreement. I’m not going to be cheated again. Not this time.”
The secretary ambled to the reception area. “I’m going to the clerk’s office,” she told the receptionist. “I’ll be right back.”
*****
Christine had just settled back in the chair to check her email when she heard the front office door slam, and a loud male voice demand to see Nolan. The receptionist was doing her best to calm the man, but Christine grudgingly hauled herself up to see if she could assist.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” she enquired.
The man whirled around to face her. “I need to see Mr. Schmidt immediately. It’s about his client, Mrs. Jackson. It’s vital to settling our case.”
The voice suddenly clicked with her. She’d heard the condescending voice plenty of times. And now she got to meet the irascible Ben Richter face to face. Good looking, well sort of, but what a pain in the ear!
“Mr. Richter, if you’ll have a seat, I’m sure Mr. Schmidt will want to see you. After he finishes with his client, of course. He has a very heavy schedule today.” The big woman smiled and easily led him to the large black leather couch in the waiting room.
“Oh, right. Of course.” Richter seemed momentarily disarmed by her coolness.
“Let me get you some coffee while you wait. Cream? Sugar?”
“Uh, no … yes. Black is fine. Thanks.” He stroked his beard and perched on the edge of the sofa.
The young, attractive receptionist sighed, rolled her eyes, and went back to her computer screen. Christine handed the man a white foam cup, which he practically grabbed from her.
“How long do you think he’ll be?” he demanded, regaining his arrogant tone.
“I’m not sure, but let me know if you need more coffee.”
She returned to her desk and brought up the instant messaging software to warn Nolan. The lawyer’s suite had a convenient back door, which had assisted many a client in disappearing to the parking lot before there was a scene in the office. She and Nolan hated scenes, and she had a bad feeling Mr. Richter rather enjoyed them.
Chapter 26
Gracie wasn’t sure how it happened, but she was going to Isabelle’s house for tea. In the back of her mind, a vague recollection of Isabelle mentioning the afternoon soiree nagged at her. For all she knew, she’d pitched the invitation. Isabelle had swept into the office, alternately chastising and begging her to attend. Gauging her cousin’s insistence, Gracie’s best guess was that Isabelle had forgotten to invite her and just realized her error. So, by rights, she should’ve been thoroughly insulted by such a last-minute summons for what she knew would be an uncomfortable and formal affair. It was just to show off some redecorating Isabelle had done. Why it was so urgent was unclear. But Isabelle had verbally bludgeoned her with guilt—h
ow she needed Gracie’s support during her grief recovery, which was unlikely, and then warbled about how fabulous Carla Jenkins was as a decorator. However, the deciding factor was who else was on the guest list.
She smoothed back a few stray curls that always managed to escape her ponytail. Teatime was at four o’clock. She could only hope Jim would be back, and she’d have time to shower and change. The familiar diesel rumble of his truck caught her attention. She shuffled a stack of papers together and dumped them into her in-box for later. Haley trotted out to reception to greet Jim.
He strode into the office, his eyebrows knit over stormy blue eyes. Patting Haley’s head, he stood by his recliner as if deciding whether to sit or stand. Haley flopped down by Gracie’s desk chair. Gracie clicked the shutdown on her computer. She looked up, surprised by his surly expression.
“Whoa, what’s going on?”
“Toby’s done it this time. He’ll be back in jail by tomorrow.” Jim tossed his baseball cap onto the desk and grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator.
“What’s he done now?”
“Threatened Ben Richter with a shotgun or possibly threatened him. He says he didn’t. Who knows? Between Toby and Roscoe, I don’t know who’s lost more marbles.” He slumped into the recliner and took a swig from the can.
“Why would Toby threaten Richter?” Gracie locked her desk drawer, dropping the key in a paperclip container.
“It’s that stupid land. Richter is bound and determined he’s going to get it. Today he only wants the back portion, which is a new twist.”
“What’s the big deal with that land? There’s something more to the whole thing.”
“I don’t know. Toby’s lawyer called while I was up there. He told me that Kim discharged the mortgage today.”
“I knew she wanted to do it. I guess she didn’t waste any time. The land is his free and clear now. That must be a relief.”
“Ha! Not likely. Toby will do something to ruin his good fortune. I just don’t know …”
She swiveled the chair, back and forth, looking at the wall clock. “Well, I hate to break up this meeting, but I received a royal summons for afternoon tea.”
Jim looked at her in surprise, pushing his baseball cap back from his forehead. “Really? What brought that on?”
“Isabelle just has to show off some redecorating project, which needs to be properly oohed and aahed over. It’ll probably be a real snorer except that she told me Ms. Harkness, Streeker’s aide, would be there along with the wife of the New Energy guy. Knowing Isabelle, she’s got something up her sleeve with these women. It might be an interesting intelligence-gathering opportunity.”
“Might be,” Jim agreed. “We need to find out the real story soon, because Toby isn’t going to sell that land to anyone. He told me today. They’ll have to pry his cold, dead fingers off the deed.” Jim finished the Coke and tossed the can in the wastebasket.
“You be careful,” he warned.
*****
Cars lined the one side of Crescent Lane you could park on legally. No parking signs guarded the other side of the street. And parking was at a premium for this event. Gracie was late and not fashionably so. It was almost 4:45 by the time she walked up to the heavy oak door of the huge arts-and-crafts style house. A large wreath of fresh peonies hung on the front door. Her stomach churned with nerves. She hated these kinds of social gatherings. She’d rather be throwing tennis balls for dogs.
A caterer’s van sat under the shade of the maples that stood in the middle of the circular driveway. A black Mercedes was parked in front of it. The door opened, and Gracie was greeted by a frazzled looking woman wearing a white shirt with “Kate’s Katering” embroidered on the pocket. Isabelle hadn’t messed around with this tea event.
The sound of voices came from the dining room, which was to the right of the foyer. Steeling herself for disapproval, Gracie smiled at the caterer, smoothing her French-braided hair. She could only hope that her navy blue Shantung silk-cropped pants with the matching short, fitted jacket passed muster. The chatter in the dining room momentarily stopped when she stepped through the doorway.
Her mother, who’d predictably been looking for her, scurried to greet her and whisper, “You’re late. Really late, Gracie.”
“I know, Mother. It just couldn’t be helped. I found out two hours ago I was coming,” she hissed back.
Theresa frowned. “You should have gotten the invitation weeks ago.”
Gracie shrugged. “What do you think?” she asked, motioning to her outfit.
“It looks perfect on you. I told you that was a good buy.”
Gracie nodded distractedly. She was more interested in looking around to make sure her targets were in attendance.
The wives of the deep pockets in Deer Creek were present and accounted for, but she didn’t see Cynthia Harkness anywhere. Everyone was dressed to the nines, mostly in pastel dresses or suits. It was a good thing she hadn’t come in what she really wanted to wear.
Petit fours, scones, shrimp, mushroom caps, and tiny sandwiches were on fine china tea plates. There wasn’t much tea to be found, but most were enjoying what looked like pink champagne. Silver trays of graceful champagne flutes were staged in strategic places. She looked toward the large living room, which was a straight shot from the dining room. Isabelle was in deep conversation with Carla and another woman whom she didn’t recognize.
Theresa touched Gracie’s elbow and whispered, “Go get some food. It’s wonderful. And mingle.”
She rolled her eyes at her mother, who was already talking to her sister-in-law, Marlene. Her aunt glanced over at her and smiled. Aunt Marlene was looking downright spring-like in a linen lavender suit. Her father’s sister was tall with wavy steel gray hair that brushed her shoulders, and she had a bosom you could park a casserole on.
Gracie turned her attention back to the food. Darlene Evans buttonholed her as she picked up a napkin and plate to start through the buffet line.
“Isn’t this a great room?” she gushed. “Make sure you get Carla’s card.” She flashed a black and gold business card from her jacket pocket. “They’re at the end of the buffet.”
Gracie nodded and saw a silver dish with a pile of cards near a teapot. She hadn’t even noticed the room when she walked in. She had to admit it was a beautiful dining room. A bay window had been inserted in place of the old picture window. A border of stained glass trimmed the top and bottom of the window. The trim and crown molding looked properly arts and crafts. The hardwood floor gleamed with an aged patina. Gracie wondered if it was reclaimed flooring or new. The area rug under the obviously custom table was deep red. The rug pattern had been picked up tastefully in the stained glass.
“It is beautiful,” Gracie admitted.
“Isabelle spent some serious money on this room,” Darlene said appreciatively. Her eyes swept over the elegant peony centerpiece and candles on the long dining table.
“No doubt. She never does anything halfway.”
Most of the women were gradually moving to the large patio area at the rear of the house. Darlene and Gracie went with the flow. The warm afternoon was inviting, and Isabelle’s HGTV-perfect gardens were the envy of many. Isabelle, of course, had a gardener who came weekly. She’d ruin a perfectly good manicure otherwise, Gracie ruminated tartly. It seemed everyone ahead of her was commenting on the landscaping. The waterfall was the real attention grabber. Gracie filled her plate with cucumber sandwiches and a delicate pink-iced petit four. She caught sight of the caterer, who looked exhausted. She leaned against the kitchen counter with her eyes half-closed. Gracie slid into the kitchen, a grin on her face.
“My cousin can wear you out in no time,” she joked.
The woman looked startled and backed away from the counter.
“I’m sorry. Was there anything you needed?” She was plump, with rosy cheeks, a straight short nose, and a neat pageboy cut that just brushed the collar of her shirt.
“Not a thing. I’
m trying to avoid the crowd, but appear social at the same time. I’m Gracie Andersen. The hostess’ cousin.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Kate.” Her face remained guarded.
“I know from long experience that Isabelle is a challenge to work for,” Gracie said, stuffing another sandwich in her mouth.
“Well, ‘challenge’ is a good word for it. Plus one of my assistants called in sick just before the party. It’s been a wild day.”
“Ooh. That is tough. Everything is delicious though. Have you been doing this long?”
“Thanks. I was working at a restaurant in Geneseo and decided to strike out on my own last fall. Even with the bad economy, I’ve been pretty busy. Mostly political fundraisers and some weddings.”
“Political fundraisers. Really?”
“Surprising, right? A friend of a friend got me hooked up with Congressman Streeker’s aide, Ms. Harkness. I’ve done several for them, which has made getting my business going pretty smooth … so far.”
Gracie stopped mid-bite. She wiped the corner of her mouth with a white linen napkin. “Cynthia Harkness? Is she here today? I think Isabelle told me she was going to be around.”
“She’s been outside on her cell phone for the last few minutes.”
Kate pointed through the kitchen windows. Gracie peeked through the brown tab curtains and caught a glimpse of the tall, athletically built woman, talking intently on her phone.
“How is she to work for?” Gracie picked up a stuffed mushroom from a silver tray on the counter.
“Tough, but okay. She definitely knows what she wants. Ms. Harkness got me a job with New Energy too, so I can’t complain.” The caterer turned to grab trays of sandwiches and skewered shrimp. “Excuse me. I’ve got to replenish the table.”
Guests were filtering back into the house for more food and drinks. Isabelle caught sight of Gracie in the kitchen and immediately made a beeline for her. Gathering her intestinal fortitude, Gracie pasted on a smile and walked from the kitchen.
Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) Page 13
