Eccentric Lady

by Curry, Edna

  “Oh? Didn’t your parents leave you any money? Like life insurance?” Now that was a dumb question. I squirmed in my chair, embarrassed. Who was I to judge? Hadn’t my own Uncle Henry helped me out through college? Sure, my dad’s life insurance had paid for some of it, but without Henry’s help, I’d have had a much harder time getting through without taking out huge loans or taking time off to work.

  Her lip quivered again. “Not nearly enough, no. They left quite a bit of debt.”

  “I see. And you’ve already told Sheriff Ben that this is unusual behavior for Agnes?”

  “Yes. But he claims to know her and says she regularly leaves town for a week or two at a time. Says he has no reason to believe this time is any different from other times.”

  I sipped my coffee and nodded. “He could be right, you know. There might be a simple explanation.”

  She glared at me, suddenly angry, though her eyes were bright with tears. “Like what? If her cell phone died or she didn’t have internet access, she’d have found a pay phone to call me. She’s very responsible that way.”

  I shrugged. “There still could be a simple explanation.”

  “But if there isn’t, and she’s in danger or hurt, I’ll never forgive myself for not trying to find her.”

  I heaved a sigh. “Okay, we’ll assume you’re right and something is wrong. Do you have a picture of her? Do you know her auto license number?”

  Patti ran a hand through her hair, then picked up her expensive leather purse off the floor and opened her wallet. She handed me a photo. “Here’s a picture.”

  I took it and eyed the picture. I’d seen this lady around town a few times, just hadn’t known her name. A nice looking older blonde lady. I remembered her as neat, proper, polite and reserved.

  “I don’t know her car license number. But I’m sure she has it written down somewhere. There should be a bill for it in her files or something. Let’s go to her house and see if we can find it.” She picked up her mug, finished her coffee and set the mug on my desk.

  “All right.” I turned off the tape recorder and rummaged in my desk for a spare jump drive. I never knew when I might want to make a copy of some files to search later. Then I locked my house and we went out to our cars.

  I run a one-person private eye business out of my house on Long Lake. Solving my Uncle Henry’s murder started me in my own business here, and he left this house to me. He always called it his cabin, but it’s a big enough split-level that most people call it a year around house. Most summer cabins don’t have furnaces or proper insulation, so people only stay there during the summer months.

  My house is winterized and I have a nice office in the lower level with a large window overlooking the lake. I can’t complain, though sometimes, in this rural area an hour out of the Twin Cities, business is kind of slow. Like now. So I take what business I can get, however weird it sounds.

  ***

  Monday morning Corey Jones left the small motel on a side street in Minneapolis where he’d stayed the last few nights. He shivered and pulled his jacket closer around him against the early spring chill as he climbed into his car. He entered the car dealer’s address into his GPS, then turned the key to get the car started. Finally the motor caught and he raced out onto the street. He was running out of options.

  He’d met with his aunt for lunch on Friday at a restaurant near Maplewood Mall, but she hadn’t given him much help. He knew she was always helping his sister, but she’d turned him down. Patti had bragged just last week about how well her designer business in Chicago was doing. She’d said she’d never have gotten it going without Agnes’ loan.

  But the bitch wouldn’t loan him any money. He bet she had plenty, too. He’d talked to Rolly, their lawyer, a few months ago and he’d sounded like she was doing fine.

  Agnes hadn’t even trusted him with his college money. At least now, he was past that humiliation and out from under their thumb.

  Back in college, she’d put that damned Billings’ law firm in charge of paying his bills. And Rolly was a tightwad, wanting a list of every expense, whether it was books or a tank of gas. Wouldn’t trust him to manage his own money, like they trusted Patti. Damn them anyway. You’d think he was still a little kid on an allowance.

  But he’d pretended to be Rolly’s good friend, because every once in a while, Rolly let loose of some interesting detail about Agnes’s finances. Rolly’s dad, Harold Billings, had been the business partner of Agnes’ late father, Roscoe, in the cities. Then Roscoe had died about the time Rolly graduated from law school. So Harold closed that firm and moved out here. He and his son, Rolly had started their own firm. They must have made a pile of dough together. Probably still did, though Harold was retired now.

  Corey had hoped for some money when his grandparents passed on. They were really old now. But according to Rolly, Agnes was paying their nursing home bills, so they must not have anything left for him to inherit. Another door closed to him.

  When he’d called Agnes Friday morning and asked her to meet him for lunch, she’d guessed he wanted a loan again. She’d told him right over the phone that she’d need to see a business plan first for what he would do with the money. He’d agreed or she wouldn’t have even met him.

  What a joke. So at lunch, he’d told her it was a joint venture with a friend in Vegas and he just didn’t have all the details, yet. But he should never have mentioned Vegas. It always made her tighten her lips, frown and clam up. She should talk. She was always playing those damned stock market games. Wasn’t that gambling just as much as a poker game? But she didn’t think so, of course.

  She’d had the nerve to just shrug and say she’d wait until he got the business plans, and then changed the subject to his last sales trip to Japan. She wanted to know what he’d seen there of the earthquake damage and shit like that. What did he care about that? He’d just told her he’d only seen the company reps in Tokyo and hadn’t gotten to that area.

  When she left him without giving him a dime, he’d gone to a bar and gotten drunk, spending most of Saturday sleeping it off and nursing a bad hangover.

  So, now he’d have to try another source for the money he needed. He had to think of something, fast. His job didn’t pay nearly enough to finance his weekends in Vegas. And his ‘business partner’ there, also known as a loan shark, was getting impatient for the money he owed. All he needed was a stake at the poker tables.

  He drove to a used car lot and traded his almost new Camry for an older car. That gave him enough cash to live on for a while and to wire a payment to the guy in Vegas. Maybe it would satisfy him until he could convince either Rolly or Agnes to loan him more. Damn Agnes anyway. She would have helped Patti if she’d been the one to ask. Why not him?

  Turning up the noisy heater against the cold rain, he gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make his knuckles turn white. He hoped this old junker would make it back over the Rockies to California. The motor didn’t sound in too good a shape. He’d try his luck at Mystic Lake. Maybe the Indian Casino would pay out better than Vegas had. He just knew his luck would change. It always had, hadn’t it?

  ***

  Patti led the way to Agnes’ house, parking in the asphalt driveway of a large yellow rambler with a red brick chimney along one end. Nice digs, but nothing too spectacular, had probably been built new by her parents. The lawn was freshly mowed and red and yellow tulips bloomed in flower beds surrounding the house. Evergreen bushes marked the corners. Either Agnes loved to garden, or she hired a gardener.

  I parked beside Patti and got out. I peeked through the little window in the double doors of the garage, but the garage was empty.

  “No car,” I said as I followed Patti to the door.

  She nodded and rang the bell, though she seemed impatient, as though she knew it was a waste of time. After a second ring wasn’t answered, she pulled out her key and unlocked the door. I followed her inside the living room.

  “Agnes?” Patti called loudl
y. “Agnes? Are you here?”

  No one answered. I glanced around. The drapes were pulled back. Sunlight streamed in through the large front window revealing gleaming hardwood floors and very nice furniture. Bookcases filled with hardcover books lined one whole wall. Everything was neat and clean.

  “Is everything as you found it?” I asked.

  “Yes, except the drapes were closed. I opened them when I was here a while ago,” she said. “Agnes usually closes them when she leaves for more than a few hours. It discourages burglars, she claims. She has a timer she sets to change the lighting at various times, so no one will know if she’s home or not.”

  “Good idea.” I moved on through the living room to the hallway. It led to three bedrooms and a bath. “Does everything seem to be as usual here?” I asked.

  Patti nodded, glancing around. “Only her car, purse and suitcase and some clothes seem to be missing. Of course, I can’t be sure. I don’t really visit here that often any more. Usually we meet somewhere else.”

  One of the rooms held office equipment. A large desk with matching bookcases and file cabinets dominated the room. On one wall, a large corkboard sported colored pie charts and bar graphs. Stepping closer, I read the first one. It said, ‘Patti’s Portfolio.’ Each bar had the name of a company under it. The next charts were similar, but held only one sheet, saying, Corey’s Portfolio. It had only one bar saying, ‘Dow Jones averages.’

  “You play the stock market?” I asked in surprise.

  Patti laughed. “Hardly. That’s a game Agnes plays with me with a computer program. It started as a high school project, years ago. She seemed to really enjoy it, so we keep it up via email. It’s just another excuse to keep in touch, something for her to talk about besides her charity work.”

  “Your brother doesn’t play it?” I indicated his almost bare sheet.

  “No, he says it’s silly. So she said, okay, we’ll pretend the Dow Jones’ Averages are his choice. She gets a big kick out of beating Dow Jones.”

  “I see.” I indicated her computer. “Did you check her email?”

  “Yes,” Patti said. “I also checked mine on my laptop just before I came to your office and found nothing from her since I talked to her on Friday.”

  “I don’t really feel right about this, Patti. Don’t you think she’ll mind if we search for her auto license number? If she’s fine and just doesn’t have cell or internet access right now, wouldn’t she think we’re snooping?”

  “No, I’m quite sure she’ll understand that I’m only snooping because I’m worried.” Patti’s chin jutted out and she sent me a frustrated glare. She sat at the computer and opened Agnes’ email program. “Still nothing.”

  Patti opened the file cabinet and looked through her paid bills, finding her auto license renewal form with the number.

  I copied it in my notebook. “Can you check her bank account and credit cards? See if she’s using them somewhere? That would tell us if she did just go on a sudden trip.”

  “Okay.” Patti went back to the computer and tried opening her online banking files, but she couldn’t get past the passwords. “Damn. No luck. Maybe the bank will tell me?”

  “I doubt that. Privacy laws, you know.”

  Patti nodded. “That’s why I wanted the sheriff to investigate. He could get info we can’t, I’ll bet.”

  “True,” I said. “Let me talk to Ben. Maybe he’ll agree to look into this.”

  Patti shook her head and wet her lips with her tongue. “No, I’m quite sure he won’t. He sounded like he’d pretty much made up his mind. I wanted to kick him.”

  I shook my head. Ben usually had good reasons for what he did and I trusted him to do what he thought was right. “It’s worth a try, Patti.”

  “Maybe. But why don’t you try getting info for me? I’ve heard PIs can find out anything online.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but didn’t want her to see me do that. My gut feeling said Agnes was not going to like this if it turned out she was fine and just off somewhere doing her own thing. Pursing my lips, I agreed. “All right, I’ll give it a try. But I’d rather use my own computer. I have access to some databases there. I’ll just copy some of her files to investigate later. Maybe she left some clues in her calendar or wrote down some appointment she forgot to mention to you.”

  Patti shook her head. “Agnes isn’t like that. If that were the case, she’d have found some way to tell me and cancel our weekend. I know she would have.” She swallowed and her lips trembled, holding back a sob.

  “Okay, I’ll do my best.” I sat at her computer and backed up her files to my jump drive. Luckily, we both had PCs, so the files would be compatible to my system.

  When we went outside, a dilapidated Ford pickup with a trailer behind it sat at the end of the drive. A thin, middle-aged man turned from the flower bed to stare at us. “Who are you?” he asked in a gruff voice.

  “Who are you? And what are you doing here?” Patti returned, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  He frowned back at us and pulled out his cell phone, obviously ready to call for help. “I’m Jack Kent, Agnes’ employee. She hired me. What right do you have to be here when she’s not?”

  “I’m Agnes’s niece, Patti Jones, and this is Lacey Summers. I’m sorry, I don’t remember seeing you before when I was here with Agnes.”

  He nodded and pocketed his phone. “I see. Yes, she’s mentioned her niece and you look a lot like her, so I guess it’s okay. She didn’t say anything about having company, though, just said to keep things nice like I usually do. I mowed this morning and now I’m going to take care of the flower beds.”

  “Okay, carry on, then,” Patti said.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as we strode out to our cars. At my car, I paused to ask, “Are you staying in the area?”

  “Yes. I’m at the Lakeview Motel. I’ll stay for a couple of days, until I get some answers. I hope.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why not stay here at Agnes’ house and save the motel bill?”

  Patti glanced back at the house as she pressed the remote to unlock her car. “I—I don’t know. It just feels creepy here without her. Like I’m intruding or something, even though I’ve often stayed with her before.”

  Now she feels like she’s intruding. I sensed it from the time we arrived. I nodded and got into my car. “You have my number. Keep in touch and let me know immediately if you hear anything from her.”

  “Don’t worry. I will.” Patti got behind the wheel of her car and backed out, then roared down the highway.

  I called Paul’s mother, Nora Munson, who knows lots of people in town, and made a lunch date with her. I decided to talk to the sheriff first, so drove the ten miles over to Canton.

  As I drove, my mind churned with worry. Was Patti telling me the truth? It sure didn’t feel that way.

  Chapter 2

  Canton is our county seat, a quaint town of about three thousand people. It has an old-fashioned stone courthouse set in the center square with a ring of businesses around it that change occasionally, but carry pretty much the same type of merchandise and services. I parked outside Sheriff Ben’s office, a newer two story white frame building that also houses the jail. We don’t have a lot of crime here, so if anyone is sentenced to more than a few weeks, they get sent on to one of the state prisons.

  Deputy Tom was at his desk, guarding the front office as usual and manning the 9-1-1 calls and serving as dispatch. He likes that job, likes to feel he’s in charge of what’s happening in our county. Tom isn’t the brightest bulb, but is fairly honest and reliable, just the same. He believes himself very superior to women, who he thinks have no business in law enforcement, or in my case, in the private investigating business. He and I don’t get along very well, but he knows Ben and I go way back, so he won’t deny me access to him unless Ben is in a meeting with someone.

  He frowned at me when I walked in. “Still trying to pretend you’re a real PI, Lacey?”

  �
��Up yours, Tommy. Is Ben here?”

  He turned red at my use of the diminutive of his name, but waved me on back.

  Ben looked up from the paper he was reading and his lean, angular face lit up in a smile. He waved at the coffee urn and said, “Hi, Lacey. Help yourself to some coffee. What brings you over here?”

  “Just passing through,” I lied. I filled a Styrofoam cup with the dark brew that passes for coffee when Ben makes it. Taking a sip, I made a face and sat opposite him. “Bitter as usual.”

  He regarded me sharply. “Uh, huh. Right. That Chicago woman got to you, eh? I might’ve known she wouldn’t give up.”

  I shrugged and sipped more coffee. “You don’t think she’s right? That Agnes is missing?”

  Ben laughed. “I see you don’t know Agnes, do you?”

  “No, I don’t think I’ve ever met her. But I don’t do the church and charity stuff.”

  “Well, check with Paul’s mother. Nora can tell you she travels a lot. Nothing unusual about her being gone at all. She often goes for a week or two at a time.”

  “Without telling anyone?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. But she’s very independent. Her dad was a lawyer, had plenty of money and was a pretty tough guy, too. Nobody liked to cross him.”

  “And Agnes takes after him? I got the impression she was pretty much a homebody, except for her volunteer work. Doesn’t have a job or anything, does she?”

  Ben shook his head. “No, she comes and goes as she pleases. No set schedule that I know of.”

  “Then you did look into this a bit?”

  “Well, I made a couple of calls, just to be sure. Her niece was pretty mad. She even threatened to sue me for not doing my job.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then got up and refilled his coffee and grabbed a glazed doughnut from the box sitting there. He held the box out to me. “Want one?”

  “Yeah, thanks. My favorite.” I bit into the sugary confection, savoring the yeasty texture. “You have the best bakery over here.”