A dusty straight-back kitchen chair sat in the corner of the room. She grabbed it and plunked down, picking up the first newspaper and shaking it. The middle fell out—not the way to do it. She picked up the stray sheets and plucked another section. This time, she held the folded sheets by the corner and shook. Nothing fell out, but it didn’t fall apart, either.
It was obvious that the deputies hadn’t gone through the papers, since the farther down the stack she went, the older the news. Kathy had almost gone through the entire pile—covering more than a year of stale journalism—when the timer app sounded. “I’m done,” she announced to the empty room, but there were only a few more papers left to go through. “Oh, what the heck,” she said and shook out the next few on the pile. With one section left to check, she hit pay dirt. A piece of paper fell to the floor. She picked it up and looked at what appeared to be a list of names and telephone numbers with a couple of them starred. On the back side was some kind of memorandum with the county’s official seal at the top of the page. It was smudged with dirt and as Kathy skimmed over the six or seven paragraphs she involuntarily yawned. It would seem the phone numbers and names meant more to its former owner. And what the heck could those names and numbers represent? And why had Mark Charles hidden it away?
Setting the paper aside, Kathy took the pile of newsprint out to the kitchen. Anissa would want to recycle that, too. Back in the bedroom, she found a brown paper sack that was filled with yet more papers. It took less time to go through them; most were store and money order receipts. But one piece was bigger than the others: a yellowing envelope. Kathy set the bag on the chair she’d abandoned and picked up the envelope. It wasn’t sealed, but the flap had been tucked inside. Pulling it back, she saw a discolored Valentine. The faded pink heart had probably once been red and sat on a dirt-speckled background. In the middle of the heart were lines that looked like notebook paper, and printed on the front were the words You’re cute. I mean really cute! Kathy opened the card and her gaze was drawn to the girlish script written at the bottom of the card.
Charlie,
Luv you always!
Lucinda.
12
After dropping off their cargos at the dump and the recycling center, Tori followed Anissa’s pickup back to Falcon Island. Kathy must have been very busy during the hour or more they’d been gone, for bags of trash were lined up outside the cabin. Kathy sure knew how to clean and organize. But there was something a lot more important on Tori’s mind.
“Hey, Anissa—are we going to take a lunch break any time soon?”
“Lunch?” She repeated the word as though she’d never heard it before.
“Yeah, you know. You sit down and consume food—and maybe a drink.” A margarita sure sounded good about then, but not while there was still so much work to do.
Anissa frowned. “We going back to your place?”
“No. I don’t have much in the fridge. Cunningham’s Cove is right down the road a ways. They serve sandwiches as well as dinners.”
“That’d be cutting into my profit,” Anissa grumbled.
“I didn’t ask for you to pay for us,” Tori said pointedly.
“Are you trying to make me sound like a cheapskate?”
“No!”
Anissa’s stomach took that opportunity to growl.
“And you’re hungry, too!” Tori accused. “Besides, they have a working bathroom and this dump,” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, “doesn’t.”
Anissa nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Let’s get Kath and go. But we should try to be back here within the hour.”
“The sun doesn’t go down until almost eight o’clock. We’ve got plenty of hours left to work today.”
“All right. Why don’t I go down and grab a table and you and Kath catch up with me?”
“We’ll only be a minute behind,” Tori promised, and headed for the house, while Anissa got in the truck, revved the engine and backed out of the lot once again.
Tori yanked open the cabin’s screen door, but found the main door locked. “Kath?”
Kathy arrived a few seconds later, hanging onto a big black plastic bag filled with yet more trash, and let her friend in. “Sorry, I was in the bedroom.”
“How’s it going?”
“Except for the furniture, I’ve got the bedroom nearly cleared out. And what ’til you see what I found.”
“Can you save it for a bit? Anissa went to Cunningham’s to get us a table for lunch.”
“Oh, yeah?” Kathy said and whipped out her phone to check the time. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Let me grab my purse, then I want to douse my hands in sanitizer. This place is filthy.”
Tori pulled the door shut behind them and they headed for the pickup. She started the engine and pulled back out onto the dirt road. “So what did you find?”
“I may as well wait until we’re at the restaurant so I can show Anissa, too.”
“Whatever,” Tori said, even if curiosity began to niggle at her brain.
While Kathy massaged a huge dollop of sanitizer between her fingers, Tori kept her gaze intent on the road. She turned right, heading for the restaurant. Only a smattering of cars dotted the small dirt and gravel lot across the road from what looked like a little cottage with colorful neon beer signs glowing in the front windows. Looks were deceiving because most of the restaurant was situated away from the bar and on the lower level. It was so dark inside it took long seconds before Tori’s eyes could adjust. She looked past the big fish tank on the left and didn’t see Anissa at the bar or the few tables that overlooked the marina.
“Your friend is downstairs,” said the female bartender.
“Thanks,” Tori said. She turned to Kathy. “I’ll meet you downstairs. I gotta visit the little girl’s room.”
Kathy nodded and walked past the bar and over to the steps leading down. By the time Tori joined her friends downstairs, they were both perusing the menu. She took a seat and grabbed the one in front of her place setting.
“What’s the special?”
“Soup and half a sandwich—tuna or egg salad.”
“I think we’ve had enough egg salad to last a lifetime,” Anissa said pointedly. Tori’s grandfather, Herb, was famous for making it and seemed to eat it just about every day for lunch.
“What’s the soup?” Tori asked. Cunningham’s always had two soups on offer, and they were good.
“Vegetable beef or cream of Brussels sprouts.”
“Oh, that sounds disgusting,” Tori said with a frown.
“I’m trying it. I’m open to anything that isn’t made with bugs as an ingredient,” Kathy said and folded her menu shut.
“Me, too,” Anissa said, and she, too, pushed her menu aside.
“All right. Where’s the waitress?”
“Waiter. He said he’d be right back with some water.”
And sure enough, a young, sandy-haired guy with a sweating plastic pitcher arrived at their table. “Have we decided what we want?” he asked as he filled their glasses.
“We’re going to make it easy on the chef. Three tuna half sandwiches and soup,” Kathy said.
“Great. I’ll put your order in. Help yourself to the soup,” he said, nodding toward the salad bar where two covered, heated tureens steamed away.
Anissa got up, heading for the salad bar, but Tori turned to Kathy. “You said you had something to tell us.”
“Show and tell you.”
“I’m intrigued, but I’m also starved,” Tori said and got up to get her soup. Kathy soon followed and a minute later they were breaking into oyster cracker packets and taking their first sample of Brussels sprouts soup.
“Hey, this isn’t half bad,” Anissa said as the others plunged their spoons into the creamy green glop.
“I’m shocked,” Tori said. “I actually like it.”
“I knew I would,” Kathy said confidently, dipping her spoon into her bowl once again.
“So t
ell us your exciting news,” Tori said and bit into one of her oyster crackers.
“News?” Anissa asked. “Did you find something in the house?”
“I sure did—and it’s sure to be explosive.”
“Well, don’t blow the place up until after we get our sandwiches,” Tori advised as Kathy reached for her purse and took out her cell phone. She tapped on the gallery button, made a few swipes and handed Tori the phone.
“Look at this?”
Tori’s brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
“Pill bottles filled with dried beans.”
“What?” Anissa said and stopped spooning up her soup.
“Lots of them. I found them in a dresser drawer.”
“Why would anyone save beans?”
Kathy told them her theory.
“Nobody that guy’s age was getting laid on such a regular basis,” Anissa said.
“My point exactly,” Kathy said.
“Where did he get all those yellow pill bottles?” Tori asked. “Scouring people’s recycle bins?”
“Tammy at the hardware store said he came into Warton on a regular basis—and she specifically mentioned that he went to the drugstore.”
“Big deal,” Anissa said.
“Not one of those bottles had a label—just the shards of sticky paper left behind from pulling them off,”
“Weird—but not necessarily suspicious,” Tori said and ate some more soup.
“But that’s not the pièce de résistance.” Kathy replaced her phone and took out an envelope. “Take a gander.” She passed it to Tori, who pulled the card from the envelope.
Tori glanced at the wording on the front before opening it. She took in the signature and her eyes widened. “Shut up!”
“What? What?” Anissa demanded, making a grab for the card, which Tori easily surrendered. She glanced at the signature inside, but her eyes merely narrowed. She looked up at her companions, brows furrowed. “So?”
“So—how many women in Ward County are named Lucinda?” Kathy asked. “I’m betting only one.”
Anissa passed the card back to her. “Yeah, and this thing is decades old. The fact that Lucinda Bloomfield knew the dead guy back in the day has absolutely no bearing on the present, let alone his death.”
“But how can you be sure?” Kathy demanded.
“I don’t like that woman,” Anissa said, and with reason. Lucinda had harassed Anissa’s father to sell his property so that she could get water access to moor her forty-foot yacht and he’d refused. But since Anissa had taken over the property, the two women hadn’t spoken more than once or twice. “But the fact she knew this guy years ago—before he disappeared the first time—doesn’t mean a thing. Hell, I declared my love to at least five guys when I was in high school—and I’ll bet you did, too.”
Kathy frowned and glanced at Tori. The truth was, Tori had been an awkward tomboy and it wasn’t until college that she’d had a real date. And since then, she hadn’t exactly been batting a thousand when it came to successful relationships, which was why she was thirty and still had a female roommate.
“Did you find anything else worth mentioning?” Tori asked.
“Just a list of names and telephone numbers. It was hidden in an old newspaper.”
“How’d you ever find that?” Anissa asked.
“I shook them all looking for money.”
“Say what?” Anissa asked.
Kathy explained.
“Isn’t something like that exactly what the cops should have been looking for?” Tori asked.
“You’d think. But it could be entirely innocent, too.”
“Then why was it hidden?”
Kathy shrugged.
“So, what are you going to do about these developments?” Anissa asked and took another spoonful of soup.
“Me?” Kathy asked.
“Yeah, you!”
Kathy said nothing, but then her gaze swung to Tori.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“The card would seem to be an important piece of evidence, and you’ve got an in with Lucinda,” Kathy stated.
“In what way?” Tori asked.
“She wants to be your business partner.”
“And I don’t know that I want a business partner.”
“You don’t have to actually tell her that. Play coy.”
“And say what?”
“That you’d need to see a proposal in writing. And then you can ask her about her relationship with Mark Charles, or Charles Marks—whoever he was.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Not at all,” Kathy said. “In case you forgot, we found that dead guy on my property.”
“It isn’t all that unique an experience,” Tori said, but then shot a look at Anissa, whose father had been found murdered on the Cannon Compound. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to take offense.
“Just yesterday you told me your priority was Swans Nest—not Mark Charles.”
“That was yesterday,” Kathy asserted.
Tori shook her head and turned her attention back to her cup of green goop, which was rapidly cooling.
The only sound they heard for the next minute or two was of spoons scraping the sides of china. It was Anissa who finally broke the quiet. She turned her attention to Kathy.
“Are you going to call Detective Osborn and tell him about your finds?”
She shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to.”
“I still don’t see how the card is relevant,” Tori said.
“That’s up to the detective to decide,” Kathy said authoritatively.
Probably so, Tori decided. But for some reason, she didn’t want Lucinda Bloomfield to have a part in the man’s death. How would she even know the man she’d had a relationship with had returned to Lotus Bay? But then, Lucinda seemed to know everything that went on in the area—including Tori’s businesses. She had no reason to trust the county’s richest woman who lived up on the hill above Resort Road, and yet for some reason … she wanted to.
13
It didn’t take as long to clear the cabin as Kathy anticipated. Tori and Anissa had taken what they hoped was their last trip to the dump while Kathy stayed behind to assess the items they’d saved. Among them were a couple of tables they agreed they could refinish and try to sell on Craig’s List, the cutlery, Tori’s box of chipped and broken dishes, and a box of assorted odds and ends. It sure wasn’t much to show for a whole lifetime.
Kathy heard the sound of an engine and looked out the front window to see a car pull up next door. A woman, who might have been in her early fifties, got out, closed the car door, and moved to stand before the cabin. Seeing Kathy, she waved.
Kathy moved to the door and went outside. “Hi,” the woman called. “I’m Diane Brewster. I live next door.”
“I’m Kathy Grant. I’m here to help Contractor Anissa Jackson clear out the house.”
“From the looks of it, you pulled it off pretty quick.”
“There were three of us working on it all day.”
The woman shook her head, taking in the cabin. “This used to be such a pretty little house—until it became a rental. Do you mind if I come inside and take a look?”
“Sure.” Kathy led the way and they paused in the kitchen.
Diane’s frown was tinged with sorrow. “Oh, what a mess,” she said, taking in the grimy walls, the broken cabinets, and the ruined floor.
“How long was this house a rental?” Kathy asked.
“Ten years. It hasn’t been pleasant to live next door to the squalor. We thought about moving several times.”
“Were you the one who called Anissa to clean up the place?”
“I told the owner about her. I heard she was the one bringing that decrepit house at the south end of the bay back to life and turning it into a B and B.”
Kathy tried not to look sheepish but didn’t entirely succeed. “That’s my house.”
“Oh, well, it’s something to b
e proud of—now.”
“Thanks. We’ve put a lot of hard work into it.”
Diane indicated the kitchen. “Maybe the owner will hire her to fix up this place just enough so they can dump it.”
“Anissa does beautiful work,” Kathy was proud to say. But there were other things on her mind. “Did you know Mark Charles well?”
Diane shook her head. “We didn’t speak often—and when we did, it was about his dog,” she said none too kindly.
“I saw a dog bed stuffed in one of the closets. Was it a nuisance?”
“Yes, barking all day and half the night. He left the poor thing tied up out in back year-round. I called animal control several times, but they said as long as it had water and shelter, there was nothing they could do. When Mark disappeared, I came over and got the dog. He’s been ours ever since, and he’s a totally different animal now. Friendly, happy, and finally living a good life. He’s currently at my sister’s house while her husband is out of town—supposedly protecting her, but I suspect he’s just being spoiled. I’m worried Jill might not give him back.”
Kathy smiled. She liked hearing happy endings to animal abuse stories. They seemed all too rare in poverty-ridden Ward County.
“What else did you know about Mark?”
“You mean Charlie Marks?” Diane asked.
Kathy nodded.
Diane shrugged. “Only that he disappeared a long time ago. The Mark I knew kept to himself. I suspect he didn’t want anyone to know he’d come back to the area.”
“But why?”
She shrugged. “We figure he must have done something criminal. He didn’t seem like a model citizen. He had a shifty look to him—wouldn’t look you in the eye. We were glad that he kept to himself.”
Kathy nodded. “What kind of work did he do?”
Again, Diane shrugged. “Odd jobs, I’d guess. He didn’t seem to have a schedule of any kind. He’d toss a rusty old mower into the back of his truck a couple of times a week. We figured he mowed lawns for some of the people in the area. He might have done other work for people, but not anybody around here.”
Maybe that list she’d found wasn’t all that unique after all. It could have just been the names of Mark’s customers.
A Reel Catch Page 9
