Dead in the Water

by Denise Swanson

Because the Fine Food factory was located northeast of town, between Scumble River and Brooklyn, adjacent to the railroad tracks that ran through both communities, Skye had been worried it might have been damaged in the tornadoes. But the receptionist who answered Skye’s call had assured her that the closest twister had passed a mile south of the huge complex and it was business as usual at the plant.

  When Skye asked to see Jared Fine, the company’s CEO, she had been given an eleven thirty appointment and told that Mr. Fine would be happy to talk to her about poor Mr. Lyons. The receptionist had seemed genuinely sad about Zeke’s death, which was nice to hear. The information that Carson had dug up on the man seemed to indicate that he led a fairly isolated life and Skye had feared few people would mourn his passing.

  As they drove to the meeting, Skye stole a glance at her father-in-law. A few years ago, Carson had considered buying Fine Foods. He’d hoped to persuade Wally to manage the local company and, in turn, eventually lure him into taking over CB International in its entirety.

  When Fine Foods became the center of a murder investigation, Carson had been forced to withdraw from negotiations. His corporation acquired only companies that had squeaky-clean public reputations and Fine Foods’s image had been badly tarnished.

  Skye wondered if her father-in-law had ever regretted his decision to rescind his offer on the factory. For her part, Skye was glad Carson hadn’t acquired it for his empire. Its dated facility and hulking equipment gave her the creeps.

  The working factory was bad enough, filled with huge bins and sacks the size of refrigerators stacked on wooden pallets, monster-sized mixers, and endless conveyor belts. But the boneyard, where out-of-date apparatuses and broken machinery was stored, was the stuff of nightmares.

  Especially since the last time she’d been in the plant, a killer had chased her through the building, intent on silencing her forever. In the dark, stalked by a madman, the place had felt like a demonic amusement park and she was the intended sacrifice.

  Skye was lost in that chilling memory when Carson guided the Hummer through the gates of the Fine Factory. Returning to the place where she’d been terrorized sent a shudder down her spine. Her father-in-law shot her a concerned look and switched off the vehicle’s air-conditioning.

  Skye didn’t want him to worry about her, so she kept silent about the real cause of her shiver. Thankfully, they didn’t have to go anywhere near the area where she’d been pursued by the killer, which allowed her to regain her composure and thank Carson for adjusting the SUV’s temperature.

  After they parked in one of the spots marked VISITOR, they headed toward the office entrance. Although it was hot and humid, the sky was gray and the clouds were flat. It was almost as if the tornado had thrown off Illinois’s usual climate pattern and the whole town had been blown to a different geographical region.

  Impatient to get out of the weird weather, Skye barely waited while her father-in-law opened the building’s glass door for her, then hurried up to the front desk. After giving the receptionist her name, Skye and Carson were escorted down a narrow hallway, where Jared Fine’s secretary showed them into his office.

  When Skye and Carson entered the room, Jared was sitting behind a huge glass-and-metal desk, staring at his computer monitor, but he immediately rose to his feet to greet them. Gesturing to the leather-and-chrome visitors’ chairs, he resumed his seat and waited silently.

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Mr. Fine.” Skye eased into the low, sling-like chair, hoping she’d be able to get back out of it. “I believe you’ve met my father-in-law, Carson Boyd.”

  “Of course.” Jared’s blue eyes widened. “Has the conglomerate you work for reconsidered acquiring Fine Foods, Mr. Boyd?”

  “No. Sorry. I’m just here on escort duty.” Carson crossed his legs. “With the twister and all, my son is tied up.” He shot a look at Skye. “My sole purpose is to make sure that my daughter-in-law and grandbaby are safe.”

  “Oh.” Jared shoved his hands through his curly, gray-blond hair, disappointment flashing like a neon sign across his face.

  “But I have been keeping an eye on your company and you’ve made some exceptionally shrewd business decisions.” Carson smiled. “For instance, moving your corporate offices out of Chicago and taking advantage of the property you already own here in Scumble River was a huge savings. And continuing your expansion in the southern states was extremely smart.”

  “Thank you.” Jared’s pudgy fingers drummed on the desktop. “We are doing much better than when you were considering purchasing us.”

  “As I mentioned to your secretary,” Skye interjected, “I’m here as the Scumble River police psychological consultant. As a member of the department, I’m looking into Zeke Lyons’s murder. I understand he worked for you for many years.”

  “Yes.” Jared pursed his lips. “Zeke was a valued part of the Fine Food family.”

  “Did he bring any concerns regarding the company’s books to your attention?” Skye asked.

  “He wouldn’t have come to me about that.” Jared wrinkled his brow.

  “Why is that?” Skye asked. “I’m assuming that after being with you for thirty years, he was head of the accounting department.”

  “Not precisely.” Jared cleared his throat. “Zeke was never in our Chicago offices and has always worked out of this location. He preferred to remain in the trenches. He wasn’t the type who sought a leadership position.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want a promotion?” Skye asked, taking a legal pad from her tote bag.

  “Well…uh…the thing is,” Jared stuttered, “I guess I don’t know why.”

  “Had he ever been offered advancement?” Skye tilted her head.

  “Not in so many words,” Jared hedged. “But he never indicated a desire for one either. He wasn’t a man who liked change.”

  “In that case”—Skye tapped her pen on her notepad—“I’m a bit shocked that he would decide to marry so late in life. Marriage is a big change. Adjusting to a spouse can be quite a stressor.”

  Carson let out a chuckle and Skye nudged his calf with her foot.

  “Absolutely.” Jared scratched his jaw. “We were all astonished when he passed out the invitations to the wedding.”

  “But?” Skye sensed there was more to the story than Jared had mentioned.

  “But when one of his colleagues expressed his surprise, Zeke told us that he’d loved Billie for years and years.” Jared shook his head as if amazed. “He stated that the day she finally said yes to his proposal was the happiest of his life.”

  “Interesting.” Skye jotted down a reminder to revisit this subject when she finally located the elusive Mrs. Lyons. “You mentioned Zeke’s coworkers. Were there any who didn’t get along with him?”

  “Not that I ever heard.” Jared laced his fingers over his belly. “Zeke pretty much kept to himself. He didn’t interact much with anyone.”

  “How about during his breaks?” Skye probed. “Who did he sit with at lunch?”

  “I can ask his supervisor,” Jared offered. “However, every time I saw him, he had his head buried in a book.” The CEO paused, then said, “Wait. Occasionally, he and one of the secretaries talked about their dogs.”

  “May I speak to her?” Skye requested. “I promise not to keep her too long.”

  “Sorry.” Jared shrugged. “She moved away about six months ago.”

  “Then I’d like to talk to Mr. Lyons’s supervisor.” Skye returned her legal pad to her purse and when Jared didn’t respond, she added, “If I could do it now, it would save me a return trip.”

  “Certainly.” Jared leaned forward and pushed a button on the telephone. When his secretary appeared a few seconds later, he rose and said, “Please show our guests to the accounting offices and tell Mr. Bandar he has my permission to speak freely to them.”

 
“Thank you.” Skye struggled to rise from the low-slung chair, finally having to accept her father-in-law’s assistance to get to her feet.

  She shook Jared’s hand and Carson did the same as he said, “We appreciate your cooperation.” He hesitated, then added, “I really do think it was for the best that your family didn’t sell the company. I’m glad it’s doing well.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” Jared resumed his seat and turned his attention back to the computer monitor he’d been gazing at when they arrived.

  His secretary led them down a narrow corridor to an outside exit, then across a small concrete apron. She ushered them through a door leading into what had been a warehouse last time Skye was at the factory. Apparently, after closing the Chicago corporate headquarters, the space had been repurposed to hold, among other departments, the accounting offices.

  Jared’s secretary walked past half a dozen gray-fabric-covered workstations before pausing outside one that was slightly larger than the others. This cubicle had a gold nameplate with ABE BANDAR engraved in a fancy font, as well as a frosted panel fastened over the top of its frame.

  Skye had never seen a workstation with a door before and mentioned that to the secretary, who said, “When we moved out here from Chicago, Mr. Bandar complained about losing his private office and said a cubicle was just a padded cell without a door.” The secretary chuckled and pointed to the screen. “A few days later, Mr. Fine had this contraption installed.”

  The sheet of molded plastic was mounted on two wheels and the secretary knocked lightly on the flimsy surface before sliding it out of the way. The man inside looked up from his computer monitor and frowned.

  Jared’s secretary gestured to Skye and Carson and said, “Abe, this is Skye Denison-Boyd and Carson Boyd from the Scumble River Police Department. Mr. Fine would like you to fully answer their questions.”

  Skye thanked the secretary, who after making sure they didn’t need anything further, nodded and left.

  Abe Bandar leaped to his feet and said, “Please sit down, Mrs. Boyd.” He gestured to the only chair other than his own, then looked at Carson and asked, “Shall I have a chair brought for you as well?”

  “I’ll stand.” Carson leaned against the wall. “We won’t be long.”

  Resuming his seat, Abe asked, “How can I assist the police department?”

  “As you probably have already heard, after the tornadoes, Zeke Lyons was found dead,” Skye said.

  “Yes. It was quite a shock.” Abe gestured to the partition behind his desk. “Zeke and I have shared a cubicle wall since I was relocated to this facility.”

  “What you may not know is that he was murdered,” Skye continued.

  “Oh my.” Abe’s dusky complexion turned gray and he asked, “By looters?”

  “Possibly.” Skye took her legal pad from her purse. “But the evidence suggests otherwise. The method seems more personal.”

  “But who would do such a thing?” Abe asked. “Zeke really wasn’t the type to inspire much in the way of passionate feelings. Neither positive nor negative ones.”

  “Did he have any concerns regarding Fine Foods?” Skye asked. “Perhaps something he found in the accounts that didn’t quite balance?”

  Abe shook his head wildly. “No! Never! There haven’t been any problems with our books. And if there were, Zeke would have certainly brought it to my attention immediately. That’s my job.”

  “Any issues with any of his colleagues?” Skye asked, figuring Zeke’s supervisor would know more about the man’s interpersonal relationships with his coworkers than the company CEO.

  “Zeke kept to himself.” Abe shrugged. “He was an introvert.”

  Abe leaned forward and Skye observed his shoes barely touched the floor. She’d noticed that he was shorter than her own five foot seven, but hadn’t realized he was that tiny.

  “So you hadn’t been aware of anything unusual with Zeke?” Skye asked.

  “Well…” Abe rubbed his bald head. “He did mention regretting that he’d agreed to serve on the Scumble River city council. Evidently, his mother-in-law had pulled some strings and insisted. She wasn’t happy with his lack of social status in the community.”

  “Why didn’t he want to be on the council?” Skye made a note on her pad, then looked at Abe.

  “The mayor was proving, uh…uh, difficult,” Abe said carefully.

  “In what way?” Skye asked, glad that Zeke’s supervisor wasn’t from Scumble River and didn’t seem to know that Dante was her uncle.

  “His Honor was pressuring him to vote the party line,” Abe said.

  “On any matter in particular?” Skye wrote DANTE on her pad with a big question mark.

  “Zeke mentioned that he had some concerns regarding several minor issues.” Abe held up his hand before Skye could open her mouth. “And no, I don’t know any particulars about those issues.”

  “Was there any other city council business that he was worried about?”

  “There was a vote coming up about something Zeke said he wasn’t at liberty to discuss.” Abe laced his fingers over his belly and played with the chain of his pocket watch. “But Zeke did say that in good conscience, he couldn’t go along with the mayor.”

  “That’s very useful information.” Skye underlined her uncle’s name, intending to question him about the matter as soon as she left the factory.

  “I’m afraid that’s about all I know.” Abe’s tone was apologetic.

  “You’ve been very helpful.” Skye started to rise, then when she heard a voice speaking to someone in the next cubicle, she sat back down.

  The comment Jared had made about Zeke loving Billie for years and years and that she had finally accepted his proposal had been bothering Skye. Suddenly, it occurred to her that maybe Abe could shed some light on the matter. Zeke may not have confided in his supervisor, but as the man had pointed out earlier, they did share a cubicle wall. There was a chance he’d overhead something.

  Clearing her throat, Skye said, “I understand that Zeke was recently married.”

  “Yes.” Abe looked at her quizzically. “I think it was about a year ago or maybe a little more.”

  Pretending ignorance, Skye asked, “How long did Zeke and Billie date?”

  Abe smiled. “Zeke had been courting Billie as long as I’ve known him.”

  Skye raised her brows. “Wow. Any idea why he didn’t ask her to marry him sooner?”

  “He did. I believe he had proposed every Valentine’s Day for the past twenty years.” Abe shook his head. “We were all shocked when she said yes.”

  “Did Zeke tell you how, after all that time, he persuaded her to marry him?”

  “All Zeke said was that Billie finally realized that life was passing her by.”

  “I wonder what changed her mind,” Skye murmured.

  Chapter 15

  “But I thought all witches were wicked.”

  —Dorothy

  Night had been long, miserable, and extremely frustrating for Wally. After supper, while the men upstairs had guzzled beer and whooped it up, he’d forced himself to consider what would happen once his father paid the ransom demand. Almost none of the possible scenarios were comforting.

  It hadn’t taken a mind reader to figure out that the majority of the gang members hated the police. Keeping an officer alive had obviously rubbed most of the bikers the wrong way. Odds were slim that they would just let him go once they had the money.

  Despite Tin Man’s argument that the bikers were better off not adding “cop killer” to their résumés, Wally hadn’t been willing to take that chance. He’d continued to work on the tape around his wrists and had been making some progress when the basement door had squeaked open.

  Tin had assured Wally that he was the only one with a key to the lock, but the footsteps stumbling down the stairs seemed
a lot lighter than his. Immediately, Wally had slumped over and pretended to be asleep. Tin had removed the blindfold after Veep had left and the last thing Wally had wanted was to see any of the gang members’ faces.

  A hand had smacked his cheek, forcing Wally to open his eyes, and Boo-Boo had stood in front of him, glaring. The teenager could barely remain upright and had been unmistakably plastered. Wally had increased his efforts to loosen the duct tape. This might be his chance to escape. If he could get his hands free, he should be able to overpower the wasted adolescent and grab his weapon.

  “It’s all your fault.” Boo-Boo poked Wally in the chest. “You made me look like a loser and now the guys might not vote me into the club.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” Wally soothed. Drunks were often irrational. “I take it you’re on probation?” When Boo-Boo nodded, Wally continued. “Then I’m sure they’ll cut you some slack.”

  “I’m tired of everyone treating me like someone left the bag of idiots open and I escaped,” Boo-Boo slurred.

  “I bet when you come back here carrying a cool quarter million, they’ll all be impressed.” Wally was glad some of Skye’s counseling skills had rubbed off on him. “And they wouldn’t have that moola without you taking me hostage.”

  “Yeah.” Boo-Boo puffed up his chest. “None of them ever brought in that kind of bread.” He frowned. “Your old man better not screw it up.”

  “He won’t,” Wally assured the guy, as he worked loose another corner of the tape. “I’m his only son. Dad will definitely pay up.”

  “Must be nice.” Boo-Boo scowled, his rage clearly beginning to ramp up again. “My old man wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.”

  “How about your mother?” Wally asked trying to calm him back down.

  “She died when I was fifteen. She was killed in an accident coming to pick me up from an after-school detention.” Boo-Boo blinked and Wally thought he might have seen a tear. “My old man blamed me for her death. Dad crawled into a bottle and never came out.”

  “That’s a shame.” Wally picked at the one last strip of tape keeping his wrists together. “Wasn’t there anyone who you could go to? Grandparents or maybe your teachers? My wife’s a school psychologist and she helps kids in that situation all the time.”