Sleuthing at Sweet Springs (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 4)

by Maggie Pill

  “His name is Enright Landon, and no. Stan Wozniak never left the two of us alone, so I didn’t mention the specific site. I didn’t think it was any of his business.”

  “Stanley was there?”

  “Yes, and he was actually kind of nice to me. It was creepy.”

  “Stanley’s never nice unless he wants something,” I said. “I can’t imagine he’s forgiven you for standing up to him.”

  “My thought exactly.”

  I couldn’t think of a way Stanley connected with Gail Sherman, but I filed the information away. “Someone should ask this Landon if Sweet Springs is a good possibility for bottling. Shall I do that?”

  “I don’t know if you’re the right one for the job,” Barbara said. “Landon isn’t the type you can practice your arts on.”

  Barbara doesn’t like my interview style, because schmoozing is totally foreign to her. Where she’s direct, I’m conversational. Where she demands, I encourage. My way works better—at least for me. She’d never get answers just by lowering her eyelashes.

  In addition to her disapproval of my interrogation technique, I suspected Barbara was a little peeved at me, since I was winning the Comma War. I’d found three articles claiming the Oxford comma is fading from usage. Newspapers gave it up long ago, admittedly because they’re concerned about space. Language luminaries such as James Thurber and H.L. Mencken disapproved of it, and the New York Times Style Guide (from 1937, but old doesn’t mean it’s wrong) discouraged its use, saying too many commas slow a reader’s progress.

  I’d sent Barbara links to each article. Her reply had been a terse text message: You can have my Oxford comma when you pry it out of my cold, dead hands. The girl is nothing if not serious.

  “I’ll play dumb and say I don’t understand the process,” I told my sisters. “Mr. Landon will never guess we suspect him of being in collusion with Gail.”

  “We don’t,” Faye objected before adding, “Do we?”

  “Gail didn’t think of this scheme by herself. This Landon guy comes to Allport and all of a sudden there’s interest in a lake that’s been ignored for centuries. I’d say they met somewhere, got to talking about water for some reason we’ll never understand, and ended up hatching a plot to sell Sweet Springs to the highest bidder. He has the contacts; she’s got the skills to talk the residents into selling their land.”

  “Give me a second,” Faye said, and I heard a keyboard clicking.

  As she worked I went on, “If someone is murdering people, it’s much more likely to be a man. Women are much less violent overall, don’t you think?”

  A derisive snort told me Barbara didn’t necessarily agree. “Maybe I should be the one to contact Landon,” she said. “We’ve met, so there’s a basis for further conversation.”

  “What are you going to say? ‘We met at WOZ the other day but now I need to talk with you again because I suspect you of arson, abusing old ladies, and murder’?”

  Faye broke in. “Gail Sherman was the agent who sold Enright Landon a home last spring in the Huron Delight Subdivision, 821 Sand Lane.”

  “Great. I’ll go out there this evening.”

  “Retta, maybe—”

  “Barbara Ann, it isn’t like I need to understand the intricacies of English punctuation to talk to this man.” I let my tone hint at underlying meaning. “You two need to think up a reason for Faye to meet Ms. Sherman. Maybe she can say she’s interested in buying Mr. Marsh’s house. If Gail is willing to help her do that, we’re going in the wrong direction and have to rethink our theory. If she puts road-blocks in your way, she’s probably trying to save the property for her bottling scheme.”

  “Fine.” Barbara’s tone betrayed irritation that I was getting my way, but she couldn’t argue with my logic. “I’ll handle the arrangements with Mrs. Chou. Let’s meet here at ten tomorrow morning and see what we’ve found out.”

  To prove to myself I didn’t care what Barbara thought, I called Rick and arranged to see him later that evening. I made it a casual offer, mentioning I’d be in town on business and could meet him for a drink. His quick reply told me he was more than willing, and I began looking forward to furthering our relationship. I went to make my bed, thinking as I worked that Rick might get lucky and join me there tomorrow, after I met Enright Landon and decided if he was a likely partner in Gail Sherman’s plot.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Faye

  When I went into the kitchen to make lunch, Gabe’s truck was parked beside the house. I guessed he was in the workshop with Dale and, noting the time, also guessed we’d have a guest for lunch. Accordingly, I made three grilled-cheese sandwiches, set out a jar of pickles, and filled a large bowl with potato chips.

  Dale and Gabe came in right on time, and I asked if Gabe would like to share our meal. He graciously agreed.

  For a while the conversation was all about his repaired truck and his new job. I affirmed that the truck looked like it was brand new and listened as Gabe recounted his tasks at the moving company. “I work afternoons. First I wash the trucks and get them ready for the next day. After the staff leaves, I get the office squared away. Mr. Bobier likes everything in the right place.”

  Gabe was learning the requirements of moving and storage, and we got a brief lecture on the steps involved. “You don’t just throw things in,” he said. “You have to plan, so when you want something it ain’t behind three other things.”

  I didn’t have to contribute much, because Dale was actually interested. He seemed fascinated to hear how movers loaded a truck and planned their route to minimize problems like low bridges and narrow streets. I’d never realized it took so much effort, but then, I had no reason to care. Watching Dale and Gabe, I was pleased my husband had a friend to sit and chat with, even if that friend was the last person I’d have imagined.

  When we’d finished eating I started clearing the table, but something Gabe said piqued my interest. “—they let me ride along so I could see what they do. It was just out to WOZ Industries, but still.”

  “You were at WOZ yesterday?” I asked.

  “Yeah. They were putting stuff into storage and Cal—he’s the driver—let me carry some of the smaller things out. I set them on the ground beside the truck, and Jerry—that’s the other guy—he decides how it should go in so the load is balanced and all.”

  “What were they moving?”

  Gabe shrugged. “Furniture and boxes full of papers and some old office machines, like a printer and some computers. I guess they got a new guy out there, some genius type, and Mr. Wozniak let him redo his office and buy all new furniture for it.”

  Dale nodded. “They say if Stan likes you, you’re golden.” With a grin he added, “And if he doesn’t like you, you’re gone.”

  Something funny came to Gabe’s mind. “There was this woman there that wanted to give us advice on how to do our jobs. Jerry knew her, I guess, because he told her to go back to making up stories about property values.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Gabe shrugged. “I guess she sells real estate, but Jerry didn’t think much of her. He told us later that she lied to his cousins about this house they bought.”

  “Lied?” Dale frowned. “Can real estate agents do that?”

  “Not supposed to. Jerry said she mentioned a little problem with the septic system, but it turned out they had to redo the whole thing.”

  “That’s not right.”

  “I know. She had a place in all those papers they have you sign that mentioned it, but the cousin missed it.” He shook his head. “He should have taken her to court.”

  I hadn’t had much to do with real estate in general, but in any profession there are those who play fast and loose with the rules. “Did Jerry mention the woman’s name?”

  Gabe took a slurp of his Coke before answering. “He never said her last name, but I’m pretty sure he called her Gail.”

  ***

  Going undercover, as Retta calls it, isn’t
my favorite thing. I don’t like pretending to be someone I’m not, and I hate deceiving others. Still, I was the one Gail Sherman hadn’t yet met, so it would be me who sounded her out about selling land on Sweet Springs. When I called, I learned she was due in the office at three. As I finished cleaning the kitchen, Retta called to ask what I planned to wear. She rejected the first three outfits I described.

  “Wear the black and tan jacket I bought you for Christmas last year,” she ordered. “Put black slacks with it—you do have black slacks, right?”

  “Yes.” I tried to quell the Duh! in my voice, but aside from my jeans, black pants are all I own.

  “Okay. We’ll have to hope the blacks match up.”

  I was confused. “Black isn’t just black?”

  “Of course not, silly! Anyway, put a bright top under the jacket and add some jewelry that didn’t come from Wal-Mart—Barbara will have something you can borrow.”

  I tried not to be resentful. She wanted to help, and if Barb’s report was correct, Gail Sherman was the type who would judge me by my clothes and jewelry.

  “Have you got a little hat?”

  “A hat?” I had a couple of toques that kept my ears warm when I had to be outside for any length of time in winter, all of them slightly ratty. She was thinking of my graying, blunt-cut hair, which I sliced off with scissors whenever I got tired of dealing with it, and trying to figure out how I might hide it. “No.”

  She thought about that. “Okay, fluff your hair with your hands before you go in, and don’t comb it afterward. With luck she’ll think it’s one of those made-to-look-messy styles.”

  “Anything else?” I was still trying not to sound sarcastic.

  “Put on a little blush. You’re kind of pale. I don’t suppose you have a stylish fall coat.”

  “I have a hoodie for not-too-cold and a corduroy for getting-kinda-cold.”

  She groaned softly. “Wear Barb’s navy one. It’s a little outdated, but it’s good quality.”

  I ended the call, shaking my head at her concerns. Do people really worry that much about how they present themselves to the world each day?

  An hour later I showed up at So-Rite Realty, dressed according to Retta’s commands. Barb’s coat was unbuttoned, since there was no way it would close across my chest.

  Both agents were present, but I approached Gail’s desk after tossing the other woman a smile I hoped indicated the choice was nothing personal. Once we’d done introductions, Gail asked me to sit down. When the other agent excused herself to meet a client, I got down to business.

  “I just drove up from West Branch,” I told her. “A friend called to tell me I should look at some property before word gets out that it’s going up for sale.”

  “Nice to have friends that keep you informed.” Gail glanced at the map on the wall behind her. “Where are you looking?”

  “Sweet Springs. She says the heirs of an elderly man who died out there will probably sell his place.”

  Something went on behind her eyes. “Who told you that?”

  Tilting my head as if to excuse the refusal I replied, “Private source. Do you know anything about it?”

  She tried to make her expression rueful, but it looked smug to me. “I’m afraid you were misinformed. They’re going to keep the property in the family.”

  I frowned. “My friend was pretty sure they’d sell.”

  “They did consider it, but in the end they couldn’t see it go to strangers.” Setting her fingers on her keyboard Gail said, “I can show you some similar properties on other lakes in the area.”

  “No, thanks. I really like Sweet Springs.”

  Her fake eyebrows descended. “There was a woman in here the other day asking about land out there. Do you know her?”

  “No.” Keep it simple. Don’t explain.

  “You look alike. She’s a lot younger than you but still.”

  “No,” I repeated.

  “Another woman came in wearing a coat a lot like the one you have on. She let me think she was from the court, but I found out later she wasn’t. She looked like you, too. Same eyes, same smile.” Gail sat back in her chair and glared. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  The heat of embarrassment rose up my neck. “I used to stay with a friend out there when I was a kid,” I said, but my voice sounded weak. “I thought it would be nice to retire there.”

  “What friend?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Who was the friend you stayed with? I know everyone who ever lived on Sweet Springs.”

  “It was years ago. You’re too young to remember her.”

  “Liar!” Gail’s voice rose to a shout, and I flinched. “Something’s going on here, and I don’t like it. You people are up to something, and I will find out what it is. When I do, things will happen. It might be a lawsuit. It might be a PPO to stay away from my aunt. It might be charges filed with the Allport police. Somehow I’ll make you take your noses out of my business.”

  “Ms. Sherman—”

  “Don’t bother to lie anymore. You aren’t even any good at it.”

  Marshalling my dignity, I rose. “If you can’t help me with the property, I’ll let you get back to your work.”

  Gail didn’t bother to answer, but her glower followed as I left the office. I kept my face averted, since it was burning. I had told my lies badly, resulting in Gail connecting me with Barb and with Retta. Now we were all on her radar. Still, I’d accomplished one thing. We knew now that Gail wasn’t going to let anyone buy property on Sweet Springs if she could help it.

  ***

  I stopped at the Meadows before returning home in hopes Clara would be well enough to answer some questions. As I entered two aides stood chatting at the front desk. One whistled and the other said, “You look nice, Mrs. Burner. Been to a funeral?”

  “Nope, just a normal day.”

  Going on I saw Glenda at the meds cart. “Hey, Faye.” She patted the sleeve of Barb’s coat. “Is there a funeral today?”

  My lips went stiff. Can’t a woman wear nice clothes without people assuming she’s headed for church? “None I’m aware of.”

  Clara was working on a Sudoku puzzle, and to my relief, her face brightened when she saw me.

  “Faye, it’s good of you to stop by.” Gesturing at the puzzle she said, “Keeps my mind occupied.”

  “I don’t have much to report, but we’re working on your case,” I said, sitting on the opposite end of the bed. We’d agreed to wait for more complete information before sharing with our client. “And I have a question.”

  She set the book aside. “Go for it.”

  I’d begun to consider the practicalities of setting up the scheme we suspected. If Gail was indeed trying to interest a water developer in Clara’s property, she might well have shown it to him at some point. “Did your niece ever bring anyone with her when she visited your place?”

  Clara gave the question some thought. “Not to the house.” My hopes took a dive, but a moment later they rose again. “Someone came with her once, but Gail came inside alone.”

  “Did she say who was out there?”

  “A friend. They had plans to do something later.” Clara bit her bottom lip. “When she came to see me, Gail seldom stayed long. We’d have a cup of tea, she’d tell me about her work, and then she’d say she had to go.”

  “She didn’t invite her friend in for tea?”

  “No. I wouldn’t have known anyone was out there except I happened to glance out and saw someone on the dock. When I mentioned it, Gail said her friend was probably taking pictures.”

  “Was it a man or a woman?”

  Clara patted her lips with her index finger as she thought. “I only saw the person from the back and from a distance. I remember blue jeans and one of those sweatshirts with a hood. It was pulled up and tied, so I didn’t see hair length or color.” She frowned, trying to remember more. “Brown shoes.”

  “Tall?”

  “Fo
r a woman, perhaps, not for a man.” Clara rubbed her forehead as if trying to stimulate her memory. “I said she should have brought the person in, but Gail said, ‘My friend doesn’t like meeting new people.’ The next time I looked out, he or she was gone, back in the car, I suppose.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Retta

  Huron Delight was indeed delightful, if you didn’t mind your house sitting fifteen yards from your neighbor’s. The development contained a half-dozen architectural styles, individualized by use of color, trim, and placement. Sometimes the garage was on the left; other times it was on the right. Some had a small portico out front; others had a long porch with evenly-spaced columns.

  I hadn’t called ahead to announce my visit, not wanting to give Mr. Landon a chance to think about why a second person from the Smart Detective Agency was seeking him out. (I hadn’t won my sisters over to the idea of changing the name of our business to the Sleuth Sisters yet, but they were coming around. I could sense it.)

  The air was fresh with the tang of Lake Huron, half a football field away. Ringing the bell, I stepped back and waited. When I glimpsed movement behind the sidelight, I stood up straighter and smiled. Good posture is essential, and a smile makes you look ten years younger.

  A woman opened the door, which was unexpected. From Barbara’s description of Landon, I’d pictured a bachelor, married to his work and suspicious, even fearful, of women. There a lady of the house, though, and she was the type the word alluring was coined for. Though not classically beautiful, she had the kind of tall form that makes any clothing style look attractive. I guessed her to be in her late twenties. Long, dark hair hung perfectly straight to her shoulders, at which point it curled inward just enough to frame her face. Her eyes were large, and artful makeup made them seem like the dark pools romance novels love to mention. Her best feature, high cheekbones, was accentuated with the lightest touch of blush. A woman after my own heart, she’d made the effort to look attractive despite the fact that she wasn’t expecting company.