by Curry, Edna
Pastor Jim mercifully cut his graveside remarks short. Dark clouds scudded across the sky and a sudden gust blew Corey’s hat off. It sailed over the green grass and landed in a puddle beside the service road. I heard him swear under his breath and half expected him to jump up and go after it, but he stayed put as Pastor Jim said the final prayer and began shaking hands with the family. Patti took a red rose from the bouquet on the casket and at last everyone began to leave.
As I headed to my car, I saw Arnold, Corey and Patti standing beside her car, arguing. I wished I were close enough to hear what they were saying. The sheriff’s car sat on the service road and he stood near it, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings. I wondered if he’d learned any more today than I had, which at the moment, seemed to be nil. I decided to detour over to him for a chat.
As I approached, he eyed me suspiciously. “Hi, Lacey. You look nice in that black dress. You should get prettied up more often.”
“Thanks,” I said. “What’s new with Agnes’ case?”
“Nothing I can tell you about,” he said, frowning, his eyes on the people heading to their cars.
“Did you figure out where she went Friday afternoon?”
“Not yet. They didn’t capture her plates anywhere.”
“I know.” I murmured, fighting to keep my umbrella open in the wind.
His gaze snapped to me in surprise and he frowned. “You checked that?”
“Of course. It’s public info, Ben.”
“Well, yeah, I guess it is.”
“Agnes drove less than two hundred miles since her oil change on Thursday,” I said. “But even to get that many miles on, she had to have gone at least to the Twin Cities.”
The sheriff scowled at me. “How did you know about her getting an oil change on Thursday?”
I shrugged. “It was in her calendar on her computer, Ben. And I compared the sticker the garage put on her windshield to her odometer, after you brought her car back to her house.”
“Huh,” Ben grunted. “I suppose you’re right about the mileage. She couldn’t have put on that many miles in one day just driving around our area doing her usual charity stuff.”
“Speaking of driving, I think Corey was here before he said he was. He traded in a new Camry for that junker he’s driving on Monday.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You do?”
“He admitted it when I questioned him yesterday. Said he’d met Agnes at a restaurant on Friday and asked her to loan him some money, but she wouldn’t. So he traded cars for the money he needed.”
“Did he say what he needed it for?”
“He finally admitted he had to make a payment on some gambling debts to a loan shark.”
I nodded, and then hesitated. It wasn’t the best time to tell him, but I decided I’d better do it anyway. “And did you know that Lulu flew in a week ago?”
“Oh, yeah?” He turned a startled gaze on me. “Why?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. I haven’t asked ‘cause I don’t think she’d tell me the truth.”
“Hm. Interesting.” Ben’s eyes continued to scan the people as they moved to their cars.
“Do you still have custody of Agnes’ computer?”
Ben turned back to me and tipped his head as though trying to figure out why I’d ask that. “Yeah. I’m still hoping to find some free time to go through some of her files. Why do you ask?”
I chewed my lip, then admitted, “I got a strange email that claimed to be from Agnes this morning. Or at least it was sent from her email program.” Wrestling with the umbrella, I pulled a printed copy of it from my purse and handed it to him. “Who would have access to her computer? Could it just be Tom, playing a trick on me?”
He scowled as he read the email. “Naw, not likely. Tom knows I don’t approve of tricks about business. What makes you think this came from Agnes’ computer?”
I leaned close to him and pointed to the account numbers. “It was sent from her account, see? Wait a minute. That’s her cell phone account. I guess I’ve been reading her email so much that I recognized it as hers, but I forgot that’s her cell account, not her computer address.”
Ben frowned. “So somebody’s still using her cell phone. Or at least someone used it to send this message, sent around nine this morning. Well, that tells me her phone’s not at the bottom of the lake. So I suppose we should quit looking for her purse there, too. Most likely the perp took that as well as her cell phone. Thanks, Lacey. I’ll see if the cellular company can trace this message for me. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
I nodded and went on to my car, happy that Ben had acknowledged my help for a change.
I ducked inside my car, folded my wet umbrella and turned on the heater, then shivered as it blasted cold air at me. I quickly turned it off again, remembering the motor had to warm itself up before it could warm me. Most of the other cars had already left the cemetery, so I had no trouble driving out to the main road.
***
I returned to the church, reveling in the warmth of indoors after the chilly spring outdoor air. I hung up my coat in the already crowded coatrack by the door and followed the crowd to the basement where the ladies of the congregation were serving a generous lunch.
The delicious scents of fresh made coffee and a variety of hot dishes floated through the well-lit rooms and the murmur of many voices blended into a hum of sound, occasionally broken by a child’s cry or laughter.
Joining the line at the well-laden, long serving table, I filled my plate with hot dishes and salads, then took a seat at a table as near to the family as I dared. Some people I didn’t know soon filled the other chairs at my table, and after greeting them politely, I could just eat and listen to others. I ate slowly, hoping to overhear something useful. As soon as people finished eating, some began coming to the family table to give them hugs and condolences, then leaving. Most of the conversations were predictable. I noticed that Corey hadn’t returned to the church for lunch. He hadn’t had an umbrella at the cemetery, so maybe he’d gotten too wet and had gone back to his motel to change.
I sipped three cups of coffee and was almost ready to give up and leave in disappointment, when a heavy-set man in a suit who’d kept to the background, came to talk to the family.
Patti seemed surprised when he handed them each his card and introduced himself as Herbert Anderson, a Minneapolis lawyer. “I had the honor of being Agnes’ lawyer,” he said. “I have her will. Perhaps you, Arnold and Corey could meet me at Agnes’ house tomorrow morning for a reading?”
Arnold perked up his ears and eyed the middle aged man, his expression lighting up. He nodded agreement. Lulu frowned and said nothing. She always seemed to let Arnold do the talking when they were together, I’d noticed.
But Patti blanched and sputtered, “I thought Rolly Billings was Agnes’ lawyer? He said he had a will she made.” Her head swiveled as she searched the room for him. “I don’t see him right now.”
I glanced around for Rolly, but I didn’t see him in the crowd either. Some people were now standing around, talking before leaving.
Mr. Anderson smiled and pushed back his thick eyeglasses. His red, sweaty face soon had them sliding down his nose again. “I believe you’ll find the will Agnes made with me is more recent and thus supersedes any older one,” he said. “But, of course, you may tell Mr. Billings he’s welcome to attend and present his document if he chooses. I’ve asked the Sheriff to attend as well, and all documents will, of course, be officially filed at the County Courthouse for probate.”
Patti looked nonplussed at the lawyer’s highhanded arrangements. Finally she nodded agreement.
“I don’t see Corey?” Mr. Anderson said.
“I’ll let him know about the meeting,” Patti assured him.
“Good. Shall we say, ten o’clock?” Mr. Anderson asked.
“Fine,” Patti said and looked at Arnold for agreement. He nodded and Mr. Anderson left.
Glancing ar
ound, Patti caught my eye. She rose and stepped over to my table. “You heard?” she asked.
I nodded, wondering what this turn of events meant.
Her forehead creased. “What do you make of that? Do you think he really has a later will?”
“May I see his card? I’ll check him out. But I’m sure if the will has to go through probate, he wouldn’t present one unless he’s legit. The court will oversee whoever Agnes listed as her executor.” I copied the information into my notebook from the business card and handed it back to Patti.
“Could you attend this meeting tomorrow, Lacey? It should be okay if he’s invited the sheriff and Rolly to come.”
“Sure,” I said, pleased. The meeting with Mr. Anderson tomorrow morning sounded interesting. At least this time, I wouldn’t have to search for the information later. I would learn first-hand what was happening.
With a nod, Patti went back to her table to greet more townspeople who were waiting to speak to her.
The crowd was now thinning, so I left as well, making a quick stop at the bathroom after all that coffee. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining as I stepped outside. I ambled over to my little red Chevy, enjoying the suddenly lovely spring weather. A soft breeze ruffled my hair and the air smelled fresh and clean after the rain.
I started my car and began to back out of my parking spot when, in my rear view mirror, I saw Sheriff Ben run to his car. Something was up. I paused to watch him roar out of the church parking lot and race down the street, his siren wailing.
On impulse, I followed him, promising myself, I won’t get in the way. I’ll just find out what is happening and then keep on going.
Ben was driving full out, so I couldn’t keep up with him. I didn’t dare speed for fear of getting a ticket for sure. He didn’t like gawkers anyway, so he or his deputies wouldn’t hesitate to cite me. But right now, he had his mind on something else. I kept going on the street he’d taken, watching for trouble. I pulled over as another deputy’s car flew past me, following Ben’s.
Then another siren sounded behind me and I saw a fire truck in my rear view mirror. Again, I pulled over to let it go on by and followed, a bad feeling curling in my gut as I realized we were on the road to Agnes’ house.
A block farther on, I saw that I was right. Several fire trucks and police cars were parked in front of Agnes’ rambler. Smoke curled from a broken office window and firemen were pouring water in through it. Another siren blared, announcing the arrival of an ambulance.
Wasn’t everyone at the church who had any reason to be here? I parked and raced close, asking the nearest fireman, “What happened?”
“Stay back out of the way,” he snapped, barely glancing at me.
I moved back as he ordered and whipped out my cell phone to call Patti. After several rings, she answered.
“Patti, it’s Lacey. There’s a fire at Agnes’ house.”
“Oh, my God. I’ll be right there.” She hung up without asking any more.
Just then, two firemen appeared at the front door. They carried someone outside and put him on the cart the ambulance crew had brought up to the house. I eased closer, trying to see who it was without getting in their way. Finally I caught a glimpse of a man’s dark blonde head and realized it was Corey. He appeared to be unconscious. They had an oxygen mask over his face and worked over him for a bit, then loaded him in the ambulance and roared out of the yard, sirens blaring.
Why had Corey been at Agnes’ house? Had he decided to stay there instead of at the motel where he’d been before? I’d seen him at the cemetery in the rain. Had he come back here to change into dry clothes?
Patti drove up and parked at the curb. A moment later, our local reporter, Joyce parked behind her and dashed after Patti as she ran toward the firemen.
“I’m the owner’s niece. What’s happened?” she asked the nearest one.
“Just a small paper fire. A kid riding his bike reported it. A guy was inside, unconscious. Apparently someone knocked him out, then set a wastebasket full of paper on fire near the curtains and a bookcase. Guess they thought the whole house would go from that, but we got it out without much damage.”
Patti gasped. “Who was inside the house?”
“I don’t know. A young man. You’ll have to ask the Chief or the sheriff, Ma’am. We’ll suck out as much smoke as we can.”
Patti glanced around and saw me, then hurried over. “Do you know who was inside?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I just got a glimpse of the man, but I think it was Corey.”
“Corey?” Patti frowned. “What would he be doing here? And why didn’t he come back to the church after the graveside service?”
I shrugged and suggested, “Was he maybe staying here and came back to change clothes? He looked pretty wet at the cemetery.”
“No, I’m sure he wasn’t staying here,” Patti said. “I saw his car at our motel this morning.” She hurried over to ask the sheriff where the ambulance had taken him. Joyce hung close, listening.
The firemen had now dropped their water hoses and some went inside again. I waited and watched, hoping to learn something more before I left.
Apparently the fire was out. I eased closer to listen to the fire chief talking to the sheriff.
“Looks like someone knocked him out and set the fire to try to finish him off,” the chief said.
“It was arson, then?” Ben asked.
“Definitely.”
“Was the man inside my brother Corey?” Patti demanded, coming up to the men.
Ben turned and nodded. “Yeah, Patti. It was. I think he’ll be okay. He looked unconscious and I’m sure he took in a lot of smoke.”
“Where did they take him?”
“River Valley Hospital. That’s…”
“I know where it is,” Patti cut in. “Thanks. Will someone secure the house here?”
“I’ll have a deputy see to it,” Ben said.
Patti nodded and ran to her car. Arnold pulled in as she started out, and they stopped to confer through their car windows. Then Patti went on and Arnold backed out of the driveway and followed her. A minute later, Joyce drove out, too.
I really hate hospitals, so I let them go, hoping for a look inside before they closed up the house. But the sheriff nixed that idea, telling me to leave, that he was calling it a crime scene, so it was off limits. “What’s the crime?” I asked.
“Attempted murder and arson,” Ben snapped. “And you stay out of it. Whoever is doing this stuff is obviously dangerous.”
***
Knowing Patti would call me if she learned anything from Corey, I went back to my office. There I took Scamp for a quick run along the lake and then made a pot of Earl Grey tea. I’d had enough coffee for the day.
I sat at my computer and did a background check on Herbert Anderson, using the info I’d copied from his business card. As I expected, he was a reputable lawyer in Minneapolis, working in a very successful and top rated firm that had a half dozen partners.
I had no doubt Agnes had chosen well. The question was, why had she abandoned her father’s partner and his son, Rolly, to do business with Mr. Anderson? And did this have anything to do with her father’s death? Had the arsonist arrived at Agnes’ house first and then Corey found him there? If so, what had the arsonist been trying to find there? Had Corey interrupted him? Or had it been the other way around? And what had Corey been doing there?
Too many questions that I didn’t know the answers to. I sipped my tea and continued searching. There had to be answers somewhere in her files. Ignoring my other work, I settled down to go through those files, one by one.
Remembering Corey’s remark that he didn’t believe Agnes’ stock market game was just a game, I again went through her list of passwords, looking for something that might hide a money market or brokerage account.
On impulse, I downloaded the last few statements in each of the bank accounts I’d found earlier and looked for large transfers of money.
If I could figure out where her monthly income was coming from, maybe I’d find the main trust fund or whatever it was.
Finally I found a paper trail. And then, once I had the cryptic name she’d given it, I found the link, username and password for it. A brokerage account.
Whoa! Corey was right. There were actually three brokerage accounts, all with six figure balances! The main one was only in Agnes’ name and held at least triple the balance of Patti’s which was held jointly in Agnes’ and Patti’s names. The third and smallest was in Agnes’ and Corey’s names.
Pulling out my cell phone, I transferred the picture I’d taken of Agnes’ wall chart of their ‘stock market game’ to my computer and enlarged it. I was right. The accounts in Patti and Corey’s names matched those on the wall chart.
The game was real and transfers from Agnes’ brokerage account to her regular checking account showed where Agnes had gotten her monthly income. It hadn’t come from her father at all, as she’d apparently led people to believe, but from her own skill in trading stocks online.
And she’d apparently taught Patti to do the same. Did Patti really think it was only a game? Or was she, as Agnes apparently had, hiding her wealth behind the guise of a ‘game’?
But if Agnes had taught Patti to play the market, why would Patti kill the goose that laid the golden egg, so to speak? Wasn’t Agnes’ knowledge of the market more valuable than the current balance of her accounts?
***
After a couple of more hours, Scamp rose from his rug beside me and barked, reminding me I hadn’t let him out for quite a while. I slipped on a jacket and took him for a run along the lake path. When we returned to the house, sprinkles of rain hit my face. I looked up between the tall pine trees and saw dark clouds moving in. We were going to get more rain.
