by J. C. Kenney
As a truck in need of a new muffler rumbled down the street, one thing was certain. The only way I was going to get anywhere in this investigation was by narrowing down the time frame during which Valerie got pregnant.
I needed a chronology. It had to include as much information about Valerie during the months leading up to her disappearance. What did she do? Where did she go? Did she have a routine? Where did she work? If she had money, how did she spend it? Building the chronology would be like putting together a puzzle. The picture would become clearer with each fact that was put in place.
The time frame I was becoming interested in wasn’t when Valerie disappeared. It was when she got pregnant. Everything had to be based on that.
The voice of reason in my head spoke up to say that I was searching for a motive for Valerie’s murder when there might not be one. It could have been a senseless tragedy in which her pregnancy wasn’t a factor at all.
No.
Valerie Briggs wasn’t a victim of a random act of violence. The killer had gone to too much effort to dispose of the body for it to be random. My gut told me that much. When it spoke, I was wise to listen.
I went back into the apartment and began digging through Valerie’s things, because my gut also told me that’s where I’d find the key to unlock this mystery.
Chapter Eight
I got up early the following morning and began caffeine consumption immediately. The task at hand this day had me completely anxiety-ridden. As I munched on a plain piece of toast, I sent up a prayer that I’d survive my mission—soliciting donations—without throwing up.
There were some tasks in life I didn’t like but did anyway because they were important. Like reconciling clients’ royalty statements to make sure the figures matched the number of books sold. Math wasn’t one of my strengths. I was a word person through and through. But it was critical that I took the time to make sure every one of my clients’ royalty statements were accurate down to the penny.
Asking businesses for donations to the 9/11 Memorial event was not that kind of task.
I was on the committee because I’d been asked to breathe new life into Rushing Creek’s observance of the event. I’d done my share of work, or so I thought, by telling my fellow members what had been done to mark the solemn occasion in New York.
Once the committee listened to my suggestions, I offered to help in any way I could—as long as I could stay in the background. I didn’t want to speak at the event, have my photo taken, or be quoted in an article. All I wanted was to be given a specific assignment, like setting up chairs or making sure drinks were cold.
I hadn’t counted on my fellow committee members taking the position that raising funds counted as behind-the-scenes work.
I’ll freely admit I’m weird. I won’t hesitate to tell someone on the street about one of my clients’ books. But to ask someone for money? Despite exhausting every possible angle under the sun to get out of the assignment, there was no escape. I found myself rehearsing my sales pitch while giving Ursi a goodbye kiss on one of her ears as I left the apartment. There were fifteen businesses on my list.
Lord help me.
My first visit was to Borus Insurance. Ted Borus was my insurance agent. He’d set me up with a renter’s policy and a general liability policy for the agency. He was a good guy, with Rushing Creek roots as deep as anyone’s.
His grandfather started Borus Insurance after World War II. There were stories he made his sales pitch to every household in three counties when he was starting out. Ted’s father took the reins in the nineties and expanded the business to include financial planning. Health problems in recent years had forced him to pass the baton to Ted, but the elder Borus still worked one day a week.
Ted was born at Creekview Hospital, spent twelve years in the Rushing Creek school system, and joined the family insurance agency after college. He and his wife, Savannah, had been married fifteen years. I often crossed paths with her and their three kids at the library. His company sponsored youth sports teams and had underwritten a recent renovation to the high school baseball field.
In short, whenever Rushing Creek needed something, Borus Insurance was ready to step up. In over seventy years of doing business, the Borus family had truly lived the company’s slogan, We’re Here for You.
Given the company’s reputation of generosity, I figured it would be the perfect place to make my first solicitation. I could use the hoped-for positive response to give me confidence to approach the other businesses on my list.
The agency was in a historic two-story brick structure just around the corner from my building. By the time I arrived, I’d rehearsed my pitch seven times. As I pulled open the front door, I knew what I wanted to say. I had my fingers crossed I hadn’t overthought it.
I was greeted by the radiant smile of Felicia Johansson, the agency’s office manager. Between her closely cropped platinum blond hair and the funky red and gray ensemble she was wearing, Felicia looked like a twin of the singer Annie Lennox.
“Allie, my dear.” With the grace from a lifetime of ballroom dancing, she left her spot behind the reception desk and gave me a hug. While I preferred a handshake, Felicia preferred to hug. I never said no to a Felicia Johansson hug. Outside of my family, she gave the best hugs in the world.
We were exchanging pleasantries when her phone rang. “Ted’s running late. He should be here in a few minutes. Why don’t you help yourself to a cup of coffee?”
After brewing a cup of Kona blend in the Keurig machine, I perused the office décor. The wall behind Felicia was covered with plaques and certificates the agency had been awarded. There was no shortage of customer service accolades. The oldest award was dated 1949. The most recent was only a few months old.
Photos of forty years’ worth of Little League baseball and softball teams sponsored by the agency graced another wall. It took a while, but eventually I found one with Luke in it. He was in the front row, down on one knee. A red ballcap with a white wishbone-style C obscured his eyes but couldn’t hide his wide grin.
I chuckled at the boyish enthusiasm emanating from the boys in the photo. My brother loved baseball but gave it up when it became clear that his real athletic talent was on the basketball court. These days, he was content playing softball in the parks department league. Of course, he loved to talk smack that he could have played outfield for the Cincinnati Reds if he’d been born in a different era.
“I remember that team. We lost to them in the league championship.” Ted tapped a fingertip on Luke. “Your brother was good.”
I smiled. Accepting compliments directed toward me made me want to hide under a blanket. I loved hearing them when they were made about my family, though. I’d even come to enjoy hearing nice things about Rachel. That development would have made teenage Allie barf. Times had changed, and me, with them. Like the old saying goes, with age comes wisdom.
“That’s high praise coming from you.”
Ted had been an all-state baseball player in high school. Everyone agreed he was the best ever to come out of Rushing Creek. He was drafted right out of high school by the Kansas City Royals but opted to go to college in Florida on a baseball scholarship.
His plans of making the Major Leagues went up in smoke when he tore up a knee during a preseason workout his freshman year. He lost the scholarship when he was found passed out on the pitcher’s mound at the school’s baseball stadium. His blood tested at three times the legal limit for alcohol.
At the age of nineteen, his baseball career had come to a tragic end.
Ted returned to Indiana, earned a degree in business, and joined the family business. It was the ultimate cautionary tale about the importance of getting a good education and always having a plan B.
Stories of excessive drinking dogged him to this day, though. It was a nasty side effect of the dramatic way his days as an elite ballplayer ended. Despite his denials of a problem, some rumors wouldn’t die. Still, he’d made the best of a bad sit
uation and I, for one, was happy to have him in town.
“Just calling it like it is. Felicia tells me your 9/11 Memorial committee is looking for support. How can I help?”
“I’m soliciting financial contributions.” In a single breath I gave him my pitch, making sure he couldn’t get a word in edgewise until I was finished.
“Wow. That was a mouthful.” He grinned. “What do you think, Fee?”
“It’s a good cause and you should give her what she asks for.” She looked up from her computer screen. “And if you don’t, I’m going to tell her to find another insurance agent.”
My cheeks got hot, but Ted laughed.
“The Boss has spoken.” He gestured toward his office. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
Ted led me down a short hall, adorned with more awards and a few framed thank-you letters from clients. As he fished out his keys to unlock his office, I glanced at the door across the hall. A brass nameplate was affixed to the door. Anthony Borus, Sr. Ted’s father.
“Is your dad ever going to retire?” When Ted and I did business, he always came to the apartment. Before now, the only time I’d visited the agency was to pay my premium. I did it in person to help make sure I got out of the apartment.
“Not if he has any say in the matter. The old man will probably outlive me.” He chuckled. “Dad has some clients who aren’t ready to turn their portfolios over to someone as inexperienced as me. Their words, not mine. In their eyes I’ll always be Tony’s kid.”
Kid wasn’t the term that came to mind when we entered his office. Chief Executive or Captain of Industry was more like it.
A massive glass and aluminum desk gleamed under light provided by unobtrusive recessed ceiling fixtures. Two computer monitors occupied one corner of the desk, a small stack of mail and other documents had been placed on the other.
As Ted waved me into a visitor’s chair upholstered in luxurious black leather, I gawked at the stunning scenery on the wall to my left. Flat-screen monitors spanned the wall at eye level. The screens came together seamlessly to display an outdoor scene so sharp, it was like I was looking through real windows.
“Do you like it? It cost me a fortune, but I hate being cooped up in here without any natural light. I can change the scenery to dozens of different settings.”
He pressed a button on a remote and the screens morphed from a parklike setting featuring mature trees to a grassland prairie with snowcapped mountains in the background. Another click and it morphed into a tropical beach, complete with palm trees swaying in the breeze as an orange sun hung over the ocean.
“Nice. I sure don’t have a view like that at my apartment.” Hopefully, I sounded duly impressed. To be honest, I loved the views from my home. For my money, the vibe I got when hanging out on the deck couldn’t be beat. Still, discretion suggested playing nice with a potential donor was better than absolute candor.
“I’m glad you like it. Dad thinks it was a waste of money, so I have one setting that matches the wallpaper. For when he comes into the office.”
We shared a laugh, then got down to business. The committee’s budget had been prepared assuming that each of our gold-level supporters, of which Borus Insurance would hopefully be one, would donate one hundred dollars. If Ted could afford a high-end video system for his office, he could afford a donation larger than a hundred bucks.
Fingers crossed.
“I won’t bore you with my pitch again. We’re hoping this year’s 9/11 Memorial Service will be one the community will remember for years to come. Your support can make that happen. Can we put you down for five hundred dollars?”
He closed one eye and rubbed the eyelid. It struck me as a tell. Here was a man who was a big wheel in town. He no doubt wanted to contribute, but my request was more than he was counting on. To counter with a smaller amount risked making him look like a cheapskate.
“That’s a lot of money. What kind of name placement will the company get for that?”
Good comeback. A sign of a skilled negotiator. I could respect that.
“Exclusive platinum-level sponsorship designation. Your company name and logo will be placed at the top of all promotional materials and advertising, as well as prominent signage the day of.” I wasn’t authorized to make these offers. We didn’t even have a platinum level until I’d made it up seconds ago. What the heck. I’d beg for forgiveness.
“Sounds good. I’ll ask Fee to write a check. Back in a sec.”
While I waited for Ted to return, reveling in the glory of my success, I studied the shelving unit. It was made of the same materials as the desk, but the style hadn’t caught my attention.
The photos had.
Like the computer monitors on the wall, the pictures offered a glimpse into Ted’s psyche. There was a shot of his family on horseback in the shadow of the Rolling Hills State Park riding stables. Another showed Ted and his wife on a boat. She was waving to the camera while he had one hand on the steering wheel and another around her waist. There were shots of the kids in front of the Eiffel Tower.
The prototypical family man.
Then another photo caught my eye. Fifty or so people were assembled on the deck of the Rushing Creek Community Center. It wasn’t necessarily the folks in the shot that interested me. It was the inscription at the bottom:
Rushing Creek High School Twenty-Year Class Reunion
The date was obscured by the frame, but based on some of the faces, I already knew when this group finished high school. It was the year Valerie would have graduated.
Had she not been murdered.
“And here you go.”
I turned at Ted’s voice. He offered me the check with a smile that featured teeth as straight as railroad tracks and white as new-fallen snow. A dentist somewhere was making some decent cash from the man.
After a round of thanks, I seized an opportunity to do a little sleuthing.
“I see your class had their twenty-year reunion at the community center.” I pointed toward the picture. “Looks like you had a good turnout.”
“Yeah. This past June. We had a good time. Your brother and the rest of the parks department people did a great job with the place.”
“Valerie Briggs was in your class, wasn’t she? It must have been a shock when you heard the news about her.”
Ted looked away for a moment. Perhaps an attempt to keep his composure?
“She was. Since I’m class president, I made it a point at every reunion to ask for a moment of silence in her memory. And in the hope that one day she’d turn up healthy and happy.” He slid into his chair. His normal charm and swagger had evaporated in the blink of an eye. “So much for that now.”
Shame overcame me for bringing the issue up. The discovery of Valerie’s remains had visibly shaken him. Still, I had questions, and who better to start with than the class president?
“What do you remember about her?”
He rubbed his chin. “It’s been so long now. We had a few classes together. She ran with a different crowd. A bit of a party girl from what I remember.”
“What do you mean by that?” I kept my tone friendly.
The “party girl” euphemism made me want to scratch out the eyes of anyone who used it. In my view, it was a pejorative term used against females by people who wanted to control them. It was nothing more than a tactic to diminish women who wanted to enjoy themselves with a few drinks. Just like men did.
“If someone was having a party, she was there. Don’t get me wrong, none of us were angels, but when the weekend hit, Valerie and her friends were ready to tear things up. Most of the girls back then drank beer or wine. Not the Four Horsewomen. They liked whiskey and didn’t say no when someone offered them some weed.”
“Did anyone ever get in trouble for the drinking?” Thanks to my conversation at the Pub the night before, I knew the answer already. Still, I wanted Ted’s take, especially given the stories about his drinking.
“Bobcat Burgess crashed his car
a few weeks after we graduated, but that’s all I remember. The people I hung out with were athletes. We didn’t drink. It would have hurt our performance.”
“Do you think Valerie did something dumb that led to her disappearance?”
He shook his head. “I sure hope not. If I had to guess, she was probably messing around with Ron Spade. He was old enough to buy her booze. Maybe she was doing him some favors in exchange. And we know what Spade turned out to be.”
“Do you think Spade killed her?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that Valerie had a bad home life and was running with a sketchy crowd. In my business, I have to be honest with people. And to be honest, I can’t help but wonder if she got herself into something she couldn’t get herself out of.”
Harsh words, but when looked at through a lens that went back twenty years, understandable, too.
“What was it like when word got out that she’d disappeared?”
“I was out of town with my folks for Christmas vacation, so I don’t know what things were like when she actually went missing. I got back the weekend after New Year’s. Everyone was still pretty freaked out.” He stared at the reunion photo. “That first day back at school, there were a lot of tears. People were giving each other looks out of the corners of their eyes, too. No one knew if her disappearance was a one-off or if more girls were going to get kidnapped. It was crazy.”
Ted’s computer beeped. “I’m sorry to cut this short, Allie, but I have a call I need to prep for.”
“No worries.” I waved the apology away. “Thanks again for the donation. And for your candor about Valerie.”
“You’re looking for her killer, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. “Her mom asked for my help. I couldn’t say no.”
He shook my hand. “That’s the Rushing Creek spirit. Best of luck to you. Let me know if I can help.”
I made my exit after asking Felicia to email me a high-resolution Borus Insurance Agency image for use in the memorial’s promotional materials. I should have been preparing for my next solicitation pitch. Instead, all I could think about were Ted’s comments about Valerie.
