Crime & Punctuation

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  “Are you telling me you think he was stalking you?” She tried to hide her disbelief, but it came through loud and clear.

  “No. I’m saying I saw him a couple of times, and then he tried to run me down.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “If I knew, believe me, I would tell you.”

  “And you’re certain it was deliberate? You didn’t just panic because the SUV got too close to you before you noticed it? You were walking in the middle of the road.”

  Her attitude was beginning to annoy me. “Okay, first of all, it’s not a road or a street, it’s a private drive. There’s not supposed to be through traffic. Second, if you go look at that field you’ll see the tire tracks where he followed me. There’s no way that was unintentional.”

  “And you got a good look at the driver?”

  “I told you I did. Well, enough of one. He’s a big guy. Huge hands.” I stopped short of adding the flaring nostrils. That detail would only help identify him if he was angry at the person confronting him.

  “Hair color? Eyes?”

  “Sorry. I have no idea what color they are. The only time I was close enough to have noticed, I was busy getting the bum’s rush.”

  “Yes, you did say you were trespassing.”

  “Can I take back that confession? I wouldn’t want you to have to arrest me.”

  My attempt at humor went over like a lead balloon. I sighed and waved off whatever she was about to say.

  “Officer Blume, I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know why this man came up behind me in the Alley in his SUV, but he did, and when I moved off the pavement and onto the grass, he chased me all the way to Cheryl Soretto’s property line. When I swerved, he swerved. He was definitely trying to hit me.”

  “You’re certain you haven’t had any other encounters with him?”

  “Yes.” Then I reconsidered. I’d spent some time during the last week or so driving around Lenape Hollow, revisiting old stomping grounds and promising myself I’d come back to certain spots when I had more time. “Once or twice there might have been a blue SUV in my rearview mirror, but it’s a popular vehicle. I can’t swear to you that it was the same one.”

  The theory that Paul Klein had been following me didn’t cut any ice with her. I bit back a sigh. It’s no fun when someone doesn’t believe you. I wanted to remind her that I was the victim here, but sarcasm wouldn’t help my case.

  I took a couple of deep breaths and told myself to look at the situation from Officer Blume’s point of view. She undoubtedly found it difficult to imagine anyone stalking an old broad like me. To be honest, an account of someone thrown into a panic by a vehicle suddenly coming up behind her doesn’t sound like much when it’s written up in a report. You had to be there.

  I wondered how quickly grass sprang back after someone drove over it. If my accusation was dismissed for lack of evidence, I’d be labeled “the senior citizen who cried wolf” at the Lenape Hollow police station, and no one there would ever take me seriously again. If I were to call in another complaint, they might not even show up to investigate. They’d assume it was a false alarm.

  “The break-in the other day was real,” I reminded Officer Blume, “and so was today’s incident. I was nearly run over. Maybe Paul Klein didn’t mean to hurt me, but he was definitely trying to give me a scare.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  The only theory I could come up with—that he’d been ordered to follow me—was one I didn’t think I should share with a police officer who already had a skeptical look on her face. She’d hear any accusations I made against Greg Onslow or Alan Van Heusen as the paranoid, possibly senile ravings of a batty old lady.

  Officer Blume managed a tight-lipped smile. “I just want to make sure of the facts before I start questioning people, Ms. Lincoln. Is there any possibility that you could be mistaken? It doesn’t sound like you got that good a look at the driver.”

  “I saw enough.”

  “And you say it was an SUV? Blue?”

  “Yes. Dark blue.”

  “Not black?”

  “Blue,” I said firmly.

  “But you didn’t notice the license number?”

  “Would you, under the circumstances?” Once again I held up a hand to stop her from replying. “Never mind. You’re probably trained to look for things like that. Well, I’m not. I was too busy trying to save my skin.”

  “Okay. Well—”

  “You’re very young,” I blurted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  The unexpected question seemed to throw her off her stride. “Twenty-five.”

  Something else struck me then. “Did you grow up in Lenape Hollow?”

  “Yes, I did.” She started to rise, but I caught her arm.

  “Humor the nosy senior citizen. Did you go to school with Tiffany Scott?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I heard a thread of annoyance in her voice and released my grip before she could shake me off.

  “I have no idea, but it was the fact that she wanted me to edit the novel she’d written that brought me to her husband’s attention, and Paul Klein works for Mongaup Valley Ventures.”

  “Tiffany wrote a novel?” The idea seemed to surprise her.

  “She did, and a lot of the people in her life appear in it only thinly disguised.” That was stretching the truth, but my lie was rewarded. Ellen Blume’s eyes widened. “It’s a murder mystery,” I added, “so of course police officers show up as characters.”

  A distinct worry line appeared in her forehead. “Why are you telling me this? Am I in it?”

  “I don’t think so, but I do wonder what you thought of Tiffany.”

  “She was a spoiled brat.” This time Blume succeeded in getting to her feet. “Excuse me, Ms. Lincoln. I’m going to take a look at that field now.”

  I watched her progress from my front window. She drove her police car into the Alley, parked, and stood staring down at the grass with her hands on her hips. Then I saw her head turn. Her body assumed a listening stance. A moment later, she was back in the cruiser and had activated both siren and lights.

  “So much for that investigation,” I said to Calpurnia.

  Since my cat had taken over the chair I’d just vacated and was now engaged in a vigorous tongue bath, she did not respond.

  Chapter 35

  I hadn’t been overly concerned about my personal safety after my laptop and backups were stolen. The burglar had gained entry by smashing a pane of glass in the back door and reaching inside to turn the knob on the deadbolt. To keep that from happening a second time, I’d had one of the carpenters nail a sheet of plywood over the hole. It was big enough to cover the remaining panes as well. A new door, without a window, was on my “to buy” list. The front door and screen door hadn’t been damaged. They’d simply been left open when the thief chose to leave that way. In a nod to caution, I’d added a security chain.

  There were two other entrances to the house. The one through the cellar was protected by both a padlocked bulkhead and a sturdy, windowless door that had a bar across the inside for good measure. The other way in would require the use of a garage door opener, after which an intruder would have two more doors to get through before he could enter the main part of the house. What had once been a small, enclosed side porch was now a tiny sunroom off my temporary office. I suppose someone could climb onto the garage roof and gain access through the balcony over the sunroom that opened into my future office, but I thought that highly unlikely.

  All in all, I had no reason to think that my home was not secure. I hadn’t been worried about anyone else trying to break in . . . until Paul Klein tried to run me down.

  I suspected he’d been acting on orders from his boss. That meant Onslow, or maybe Van Heusen, thought I knew more than I really did. Too bad I was still completely in the dark. I sighed. Was I really safe? Is any
one? I shivered when I thought of the night ahead. Except for my guard cat, who hadn’t been much help the last time, I’d be alone in this big old house.

  I reached for the phone.

  By sunset, I was the proud owner of a brand-new security system. I’d had to dip into my rapidly dwindling financial reserves to pay for it. The premium I’d shelled out for immediate installation on a holiday had further depleted my bank account, but I told myself that my peace of mind was worth the expense. My nest egg wouldn’t do me any good if I was dead.

  I read the manual while I ate supper, after I’d printed it out from the company’s website. Using up that much paper for a poorly written tutorial put me in a grumpy mood, one that didn’t improve when I realized that I wouldn’t be able to leave my brand-new, super expensive security system activated during the day. With workmen in the house, the thing would be going off every five minutes.

  The more I read, the more I wondered if I had just made a costly mistake. It was going to be a pain to remember to reset the alarm every time I was alone in the house. It was certain to go off by accident on a regular basis, if for no other reason than that I hadn’t been fast enough to punch in the code. I hadn’t yet memorized the random set of numbers, and thirty seconds isn’t much time.

  I told myself to stop finding fault. At least I didn’t have to remember a password that combined letters and symbols with numerals. I found those extremely provoking when they were required by online sites, always for the customer’s security, of course. For the customer’s headache is more like it.

  After spending the entire evening with that manual, I had more questions than answers. My biggest concern was whether the system kept working if the power went out. If the material I’d printed out included that information, I couldn’t find it. I very nearly phoned the security company and told them to come back and rip out the whole thing. I could always buy a gun to protect myself.

  “Right,” I said aloud, causing Cal to open one eye. “Not a good idea. I’d be more likely to shoot myself in the foot than I would be to scare off an intruder.”

  On that cheerful thought, I abandoned the printout and went to bed.

  Chapter 36

  After a restless night, I got up early and lingered over coffee while waiting for the carpenters to arrive. They were nearly done with what had turned into a more complicated project than I’d anticipated. The upstairs hall had always contained a lot of waste space. I’d conceived the idea of reconfiguring the back bedroom—my future office—so that it would incorporate some of that excess. Take out a wall and a door in one place and add the same a few feet closer to the staircase, I said. Easy, right? Wrong. After much discussion of load-bearing walls and other alarming topics, the contractor came up with a plan. I was certain I’d love the result, but it was taking much longer to achieve than I’d anticipated.

  By the time I refilled my cup, I’d come to the conclusion that I’d overreacted to the previous day’s scare. Officer Blume, no matter what doubts she might have had about my claims, could be trusted to question Paul Klein. After that, he’d know that the police were aware of what he’d done, even if they didn’t charge him with anything. If he had any brains at all, he’d realize that if anything happened to me, he’d be the first one they’d suspect.

  Had he been trying to kill me? On somber reflection, I doubted it, but if he’d hoped to frighten me into dropping my search for proof that his boss was a crook, and possibly a murderer, he had chosen the wrong way to do it. Nothing would make me happier than finding enough evidence to put the whole crew—Onslow, Van Heusen, and Klein—behind bars.

  I considered what I could do to find answers. I’d opened one avenue of investigation, the bullying of female employees of Mongaup Valley Ventures, but had never gotten around to following up on it. I thought back to the little Ronnie had told me when I’d broached the subject with her. She’d recounted what she’d called “unfounded rumors” of sexual harassment at MVV. Then she’d said that Tiffany had been jealous of a woman who worked for her husband, a woman who had subsequently left the company. Immediately after sharing that tidbit, Ronnie had speculated that it might have been Van Heusen who’d been interested in the woman, not Onslow. At the time, I’d felt certain that she knew more than she was saying, and I’d been right. She had been keeping mum about her afternoon teas with Onslow’s second-in-command.

  I considered trying to worm more information out of George, the electrician who’d warned me that Van Heusen was a bully, but he’d finished his part of the renovations and moved on to another job. Besides, I didn’t think he knew anything substantive. He’d just wanted to let me know I could call on him for help if I felt threatened by the man. George had also implied that Onslow mistreated his wife, but that could mean anything from embarrassing her in public to actual physical violence. He’d been short on specifics.

  At that point in my ruminations, the work crew arrived. Once they were upstairs, I booted up my laptop and revisited the website of Mongaup Valley Ventures. Their handy photo album of top-level employees was not accompanied by a list of names of those in the lower ranks, but there was something new on the home page. Mongaup Valley Ventures had an opening in their publicity department. Those seeking interviews were told to come to MVV headquarters during regular business hours to fill out an application.

  With a bounce in my step and a big smile on my face, I headed for my bedroom. It had been my parents’ room when I was growing up, and it has a large walk-in closet. Although I’d tossed most of my “teacher clothes” when I retired, I’d kept a few of the nicer outfits. They were hanging at the back. The first two pantsuits I tried on revealed all too plainly that I’d gained a few pounds since I’d last worn them, but the third ensemble looked well enough. After forcing reluctant feet into low heels, I unearthed a matching purse and headed for MVV.

  The headquarters of Greg Onslow’s company was housed in what I remembered as a discount superstore that sold surplus goods and fire-sale items. Sometime in the last few years the building had been spruced up and converted into the nerve center of a business empire. The words MONGAUP VALLEY VENTURES were written ten feet tall in bright red letters on a sign atop the flat roof of the building.

  I took the time to drive around the parking lot before I went inside, keeping an eye out for a dark blue SUV. Since I didn’t see one, I hoped that meant the police had Paul Klein in custody. Running into him here would be awkward, to say the least.

  In the lobby, a pretty young receptionist—dark haired, green eyed, and well endowed—smiled at me and asked if she could be of any help. I fed her my prepared story—I was looking for a job. This appeared to confuse her. I don’t suppose she’d seen many applicants with as much mileage on them as I have. She asked me to wait while she contacted the personnel department.

  “Is this a good place to work?” I asked when she informed me that someone would be right out to talk to me.

  “I like it.”

  “You’re on the front lines out here. Any trouble with irate investors?”

  Those big green eyes widened even further. “Why would there be? This is an excellent company doing good work for the community.”

  “What about the bosses? I won’t work for the grabby type. Not anymore. You would not believe what I’ve had to put up with through the years!”

  Although faint color stained her cheeks, I couldn’t tell if it was because she’d been forced to deal with that sort of man on the job or because she was too young to appreciate how far women in the workplace have come in the last fifty years. Before she could formulate an answer, a door opened behind her and a deep but obviously female voice boomed a good morning.

  “Come on back,” she said, gesturing for me to precede her down a long hallway lined with offices. “I’m Ariadne Toothaker, head of personnel. And you are?”

  “Michelle Lincoln. Pleased to meet you.”

  To her credit, Ms. Toothaker didn’t bat an eye at my appearance, although she must sur
ely have thought it strange that someone my age was seeking an entry-level position. Once we reached her office, she studied me while I filled out an application. I was fairly certain she was trying to think of a way to let me down easily . . . without running afoul of a charge of age discrimination.

  “So,” she said when I handed her the completed form, “why is it you want to work for Mongaup Valley Ventures?”

  “I need to work. Period.” I returned her assessing gaze with interest. Her photo on the website didn’t do her justice. She was tall and sturdily built with a no-nonsense haircut and perfectly applied makeup. She wore a dress-for-success skirt and blazer combination in a muted shade of red. Her ivory-colored blouse had a loosely knotted bow at the throat.

  “The position we have available is designed to provide opportunities to climb the corporate ladder. The pay is low to begin with, and you’d be expected to put in long hours.”

  I kept my expression bland and asked myself what I’d want to know if I was really after the job. “Benefits?”

  “We have a fairly standard package of health insurance, retirement plan, vacation and sick days, maternity—” She broke off, cleared her throat, and tried again. “We like to hire people who are in for the long haul—individuals who are willing to commit to staying with Mongaup Valley Ventures for the next five, even ten years.”

  I smiled. “My health is excellent. I expect to live at least another ten years, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  She dropped her gaze to the application and skimmed over my credentials. I’d answered the questions honestly, since there didn’t seem to be any point in making things up, although I did omit my current profession as a freelance editor from the list of previous jobs.