“Yeah, that does seem weird,” Kathy agreed and took a sip of her coffee.
“And it sounds like Tammy was right about the dead guy’s identity.”
“Do you think others suspected the same?” Kathy asked.
“Maybe. But, honestly, although I’ve been here for ten months, I’m more familiar with my bait shop customers than my neighbors.” She bit her lip. “I’m going to get on the computer to see if I can find a more complete report.”
“You do that,” Kathy said and got up from her chair. “I need to get sustenance.”
Tori retreated to the makeshift office and fired up her computer. Moments later, her online search hit pay dirt. “Kath, come here,” she called.
Moments later, Kathy stood behind her, nibbling her muffin and gazing at the computer screen. She read the story headline: “Ward County Downing Victim Identified.” She leaned in closer to take in the details.
Although the body was badly decomposed, it was identified as Charles Mark, a man who disappeared some twenty-five years before. That said, he was also identified as Mark Charles, a man who had lived on Falcon Island for at least two years.
“Yeah. How did they get two different names for one set of DNA?” Tori asked.
They read further into the story where the answer was forthcoming.
It seemed that both men were registered into the state’s criminal and missing persons database. Charles Mark had been declared a missing person decades before and, despite what Detective Osborn had initially told them, Mark Charles hadn’t exactly been reported as missing some five months before by a neighbor, but by the owner of the house Charles had been renting when eviction procedures started. Police said a database cross-reference had matched the two identities.
Kathy shrugged and took another bite of her muffin, chewed, and swallowed. “Now that they’ve identified him, we can get on with our lives. Which reminds me; I’m waiting for a box of sample soaps to come. Have we even looked in the mailbox lately?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. Since I’m dressed, I’ll go see.”
“Great.” And Kathy picked up her cup for another swig of coffee.
Tori trudged through the damp gravel parking lot to the newer, rural mailbox, wishing she had put on a jacket. Kathy had installed the mailbox soon after she’d officially moved in as a kind of house-warming gift. It was big enough for boxes of stuff they ordered, and Kathy’s decorating magazines no longer got mangled. But the most interesting piece of mail they’d neglected to collect the day before was for Tori, not Kathy: A bulky envelope with a return address of Shepherd Enterprises Ltd.
Tori didn’t wait to get back to the house, tore it open, and scanned the cover letter.
Dear Ms. Cannon,
Thank you for speaking with me late last week. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more details about the exciting plans I have for your property and businesses, but if you’ll look through my proposal, I’m sure you’ll be as enthusiastic as me at the possibilities.
Feel free to give me a call and we can discuss our future together in more detail.
Sincerely,
Rick
Tori glanced through the eleven-page document, which was part-sales pitch, part-legalese. She’d study the document, all right. But her inner red-alert claxon had gone off and she wondered if she should consider the pages as possibly toxic.
“Anything for me?” Kathy called and began peeling the paper surround from yet another of her jumbo homemade muffins.
Tori handed her the lone magazine.
“Oh, goody—something fun to read tonight.”
“If you’re not too tired.”
“What have you got there?”
Tori flopped down on the chair opposite Kathy. “Rick Shepherd’s proposal for The Lotus Lodge.”
Kathy frowned. “You don’t sound happy.”
“I haven’t read it all, of course, but it looks like if we went into business together, I’d be the silent partner. He even wants to knock down this house. Where would I live?”
“Even worse, where would I live?” Kathy asked. “I’m already squatting.” She pushed Tori’s plate closer. “Eat.”
“I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
“You don’t have to go into partnership with him,” Kathy said reasonably and pulled the top off her muffin.
“Without a partner, I don’t think I could ever afford to upgrade the business and reopen The Lotus Lodge.”
“Maybe you should show the contract to Lucinda Bloomfield. Maybe she’d give you better terms.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure I want her to know everything I’ve got going.”
“That’s the most important part of being a business partner,” Kathy pointed out.
“And why you’re smart to stick to the decision not to have one?” Tori questioned.
“I don’t know. I’m not in the same situation as you. It might be that I’d want a partner someday. I’m not kidding myself; managing an inn is already a lot of work—and I haven’t even opened yet.”
“Are you regretting the whole idea of running a B and B?” Tori asked, concerned.
“No, but this setback with the crappy guests has given me a lot to think about.”
There was no time to consider Shepherd’s proposal because Anissa’s battered old truck pulled up outside the house. She got out, walked up to the door, and knocked before entering. “Hey, ladies, got an extra cup of coffee available?”
“You know where the cups are,” Tori said and nodded in the direction of the appropriate cabinet. Anissa had started the day so many times at the Cannon Compound that she really needed no invitation to join them.
“Have a muffin,” Kathy said and pointed to the counter where another two muffins sat. “Zap it in the microwave for thirty seconds, and it’ll taste like it just came out of the oven.”
Anissa got herself a plate, nuked the muffin while she doctored her coffee, and then sat down at the table, not bothering to take off her sweat jacket.
“What are you going to work on today over at the house?” Kathy asked.
“Sorry, Kath, but I got another job. But both of you might be interested in what it entails.”
“That sounds like a bit of a mystery,” Tori said, pushing the proposal aside and unwrapping her own muffin.
Anissa sported what could only be called a shit-eating grin. “Not so much.”
“Spill it,” Kathy ordered.
Anissa held out her hands in submission. “Well, it seems that your dead guy was renting a house on Falcon Island.”
“That we knew,” Tori said authoritatively. She’d told Anissa about hers and Kathy’s conversation at the hardware store the evening before during their fast-food supper. “And?” Tori asked.
“When Mark Charles dropped out of sight and didn’t pay his rent for several months, the owners began an eviction process. They live out of state, but a neighbor told them about me and it just so happens that they called me to clear out the place.”
“But what about the cops?” Tori asked.
“Apparently, they’ve already been through the place, but I’m betting they aren’t as sharp as you two gals. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find something they overlooked.”
“Or is it that you’re looking for two unpaid helpers to clear out the place?” Tori asked wryly.
Anissa smiled. “Maybe. Are you going to refuse the opportunity?”
“Heck no!” Tori declared.
Anissa turned to Kathy. “And what about you?”
“After all the work you’ve done to bring my pitiful wreck of a house back to being a welcoming home I can be proud of—and for far less than you deserve to be paid—how could I say no?”
Anissa smiled. “I was hoping you’d be game because the owners want the place cleared in only two days.”
“Wow,” Tori exclaimed, “that seems unreasonable.”
“It is. But I need the work,” Anissa said honestly.
“Then
we are at your beck and call,” Kathy said. “Or at least I am.”
“Since the school district didn’t call—I’m all yours, too,” Tori said.
Anissa smiled, but then her lips flattened into a frown. “There’s just one problem. They can’t deliver a Dumpster to the island because the bridge to it won’t take the weight. So we’re responsible for getting everything to the dump ourselves.”
“Then it’s a good thing you and I have pickups,” Tori said.
“And it’s a good thing the dead guy didn’t choose to live on one of the other two islands that don’t have a bridge, otherwise we’d be hiring a boat to get the stuff out.”
“When do we start?” Kathy asked.
Anissa smiled. “As soon as we finish breakfast.”
11
It was another cold day on Lotus Bay, especially with the stiff wind blowing from the north across Lake Ontario. Tori and Kathy piled into the pickup at just after seven, turned onto Old Ridge Road until they came to the T in the road, heading down Lake Bluff Road for several miles with only the radio as a diversion.
Nearing the island, Tori drove her truck across the bridge and onto the rutted road, looking for number forty-seven.
“It sure is dark around here,” Kathy commented.
“Wait until the trees are fully leafed out—then it’ll be even darker.”
“So what’s the point of living on one of these islands?” Kathy asked.
“Beats me.”
It turned out they didn’t have to identify the house by its number, as they spotted Anissa’s truck sitting in a grassy area not far from a rustic cabin that looked like it had seen better days.
“About time you malingerers got here,” Anissa called and tossed a big black garbage bag into the back of her truck.
“We were only ten minutes behind you,” Tori exclaimed and eyed the pile of trash already in the back of the battered blue pickup.
“More like twenty,” Anissa groused.
“I thought Kath and I were supposed to go through the stuff to look for clues,” Tori protested.
“Believe me, you weren’t going to find any clues in old beer, tuna, and baked bean cans. This is stuff that’s going to be recycled. You gals can go through the paper and other crap to see what you can find, but first, can you help me get the kitchen furniture out?”
“Furniture?” Kathy asked, perking up.
“Most of its crap, but there are a couple of pieces in other parts of the house you might like to think about refinishing.”
“Can we just take anything?” Tori asked uncertainly. It seemed so…crass, digging through a dead man’s things and taking what they liked.
“Yes. Otherwise, it’s destined for the landfill. Whatever we can keep out and repurpose is better for the environment,” Anissa commented, handing the women pairs of heavy-duty leather gloves. “Come on, let’s get to work.”
Tori didn’t know what she was expecting to find inside the cabin—but for some reason, she wasn’t prepared for the gargantuan amount of trash that was piled in the kitchen. Thanks to the improved weather, things had started to rot and the stench was unbelievable.
“Here, take a mask. You’re gonna need ’em,” Anissa advised.
Anissa had already taken out several large bags of trash, but it hadn’t made a dent in the mess.
“Are there likely to be mice in here?” Kathy asked, sounding squeamish.
“Uh-huh,” Anissa said. “Tori and I will scare them away.”
“I don’t like mice, either,” Tori protested.
“You who handles worms and other disgusting bait all day long?” Anissa inquired.
“I wear gloves.”
“And you’re wearing them now, too.”
They each took a bag and began shoving trash into them. Nothing looked to be of particular value on the floor or counters and soon the three of them had the majority of trash cleared, much sooner than Tori had anticipated.
“Now what?” Kathy asked.
“Tori, you start going through the drawers, and Kath, you take that cupboard over there,” Anissa said and wrenched open the cabinet under the sink.
Tori pulled open the nearest drawer, which was filled with tarnished silverware. “Kath, take a look at this.”
Kathy abandoned her cabinet and hurried over. Tori handed her a serving spoon. “Wow, this is very close to the cutlery I bought at the auction last month.”
“That’s what I thought.” Of course Tori remembered it. She’d helped Kathy polish over two hundred pieces of the set.
“Can I have it?” Kathy asked Anissa.
“Sure. Stow it in a box and put it outside so it doesn’t get mixed up with the trash.”
Kathy took over emptying the drawer and Tori went to the cabinet Kathy had abandoned. In it were a mix-and-match stack of chipped plates. The patterns were pretty, but they were worthless as is. But then Tori remembered the broken china pendant Tammy at the hardware store had worn. What if she could learn to make similar jewelry? Maybe it would sell in the bait shop. Lots of women came in with their husbands and boyfriends. She shrugged. Maybe she’d just appropriate these chipped dishes…just in case.
Other finds included a grimy milk glass vase and compote found under the sink, and equally filthy depression glassware in pink and green, all of which was saved from being chipped by virtue of it having resided in the back of several cabinets. Kathy claimed that, too. Anissa wasn’t interested in appropriating anything; her only motive was to get the job done as quickly as possible.
The meager items worth saving weren’t the kind of things a man like Mark Charles would have owned anyway, but Tori figured they had been part of the rental house. But Anissa was told “everything must go,” so there was no guilt in taking what they pleased.
By the time they finished clearing the kitchen—with plenty of visible mouse poop but no sign of a live mouse, Tori was happy to note—it was after nine, and the backs of both pickups were full. “We’d better head for the dump.”
“I can keep going,” Kathy volunteered.
“Okay,” Anissa said, pulling off her gloves. “We might be gone as long as an hour.”
“There are still plenty of trash bags I can fill. Maybe by the time you get back, I’ll have enough bags ready to fill at least one of the trucks.”
Tori gave her friend a skeptical look. Her back was aching, and sitting in the truck for the better part of an hour was preferable to more bending and stooping. But Tori wasn’t fooled. She knew Kathy intended to scope out the rest of the house looking for hidden treasure—and didn’t for a moment blame her friend for wanting to snoop unobserved.
Kathy listened as the two pickups roared down the road and suddenly found the quiet rather eerie. She wasn’t usually the nervous type but found herself locking the back door before she ventured into the living room. It, too, had piles of trash and dirty clothes. Mr. Charles (or Marks) hadn’t been a neatnik. With a trash bag in hand, Kathy began picking up the dirty clothes, paper, and plastic plates and cups. A dusty stereo sat in the corner, surrounded by scratched and cracked CD cases. Most of them were bootleg copies by heavy metal bands—not her taste in music—but she managed to turn the thing on and tune in the soft rock station in Rochester to keep her company while she tidied.
The living room furniture was a mix of yard-sale finds and some filthy upholstered pieces, including a rickety recliner, a beat-up wooden coffee table, and a number of greasy, dust-caked tray tables in various degrees of destruction. Nothing to do but toss them out the door to be loaded on the next batch of detritus destined for the dump.
Kathy took a moment to stand in the middle of that mess to think. Now, where would a slob keep his important papers? Probably the bedroom. Maybe in a drawer or under the bed.
She again thought about the possibility of mice and shuddered. Well, she was a big girl, and if she screamed loud enough, she’d probably terrify the mouse (or mice) as much as she’d be frightened at seeing it or them.
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Gathering her courage, Kathy kicked her way through the mess and headed for the bedroom. No doubt the cops would have already thought about the best places for a man who’d been in hiding to secret his treasures. Shoe boxes and plastic grocery bags were probably as secure as anything the man could have chosen.
The bedroom wasn’t as messy as the rest of the house, but the sheets on the bed were positively gray. There were signs a dog had been in residence at one point, thanks to the large grimy-and-hairy bed that Kathy found stuffed in a closet. She hadn’t seen any other signs, but then maybe the dog had eaten dry food. If it had only consumed canned food, Anissa might have tossed those empty cans in with the rest of the recycling.
If Charles—or Marks—had had a dog when he’d disappeared that second and final time, what happened to it? Would the neighbors know?
A small dresser drawer contained an odd collection of yellow pill bottles—maybe fifty or more—standing in neat rows, all of them stripped of their prescription labels. The collection wasn’t complete, for there was room for at least one more bottle. Had the deputies taken one for analysis? The caps weren’t childproof, and Kathy had no problem opening one, surprised to find it was filled with nothing more than small white dried beans.
What the heck?
Had Mark Charles been a gardener? That didn’t make sense. Seed packets never came with the amount of beans that the pill bottles contained. Had the guy been using the bottles as some kind of accounting system? Kathy had read romances where cops put a bullet in a jar for every time they had sex. If Mark Charles used a similar accounting system, he was one horny guy indeed.
Kathy took a picture with her cell phone, and then into a trash bag they all went, along with the clothes in the other drawers. Nothing unusual there but brown-streaked underwear and sweat-stained T-shirts.
Stacks of yellowed newspapers were piled beside the bed. Kathy remembered seeing a YouTube video where a hoarder had hidden money between the pages of newsprint. Could Mark-Charles have done that, too? Was it worth her time to look?
Kathy pulled out her phone and set a timer for ten minutes. She’d give the task that long and then she’d abandon it for more positive purging.
A Reel Catch Page 8
