“That’s good,” I said, smiling. Luke’s explanation sounded plausible to me, and the detectives could confirm the job offer from Foster Security easily enough. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ll see you about an hour before the party starts tomorrow.”
“Okay, Laurel, and thanks again for all your help.”
“Glad to do it,” I said, making my exit.
Home again, I looked over my list of party supplies, added a few items, and faxed it to Tracey at work, in case she wanted to add anything. After a quick game of fetch with Bear, I added the class rosters I’d picked up earlier to my notebook and double-checked my calendar to make sure the dates I had noted for the classes were correct.
I’d almost forgotten that I needed to prepare for a class on fall wreath-making that I was teaching the next week. I printed project handouts for the students who’d be taking the wreath-making class. Then, I unzipped the side pocket of my suitcase, removed the handouts from Saturday’s DIY earrings class, and replaced them with the new project instructions that I’d just printed. Usually, if I had only a few left, I simply discarded them and printed a new batch if I decided to repeat a project, so I grabbed the earrings project instructions and dropped them into the wastebasket under my desk. Unfortunately, the receptacle was nearly overflowing before I added them, and the papers slid to the floor.
Muttering to myself, I stooped to pick up the papers and realized that one of them wasn’t my project instructions at all. Now where had that come from? I must have picked it up somewhere by mistake. I remembered photocopying handouts in the office at the community center last week. Someone had left a paper on the photocopier’s platen, and I’d set it aside without examining it. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. The photocopy machine in the office had the bad habit of rejecting originals unless they were placed directly on the glass. It was easy to forget to remove the original. I’d done it myself a few times.
Looking at the stray piece of paper, I noticed a handwritten list containing the names of four of the board members of the Hawkeye Haven HOA. Beside each were scribbled notations. Although I had some difficulty making out the handwriting, it was clear that the notes beside each name indicated a reason to blackmail the person listed. Bingo! Hadn’t Luke suspected as much?
Rachel Casswell’s name topped the list. Although I didn’t know her personally, I knew she’d been the vice-president of the HOA before Victor died, so according to the HOA’s rules, if the president were no longer willing or able to serve, no new election would be held, and the vice-president would automatically take over as president. That meant Rachel was now the board’s president. Luke had already told me that Victor had threatened to reveal something about her that she didn’t want known if she didn’t vote his way, and what she didn’t want known was right in front of me in black and white. Rachel Casswell had had a felony conviction in Illinois. According to the note, she’d been convicted of embezzlement and had served a two-year sentence in the state prison. If that information were true, and I thought it probably was, Rachel wouldn’t want anyone at Hawkeye Haven to know about it.
The next name on the list was Edna Elkins. I knew Edna. She’d taken several of my classes, and I remembered thinking, when I attended that HOA meeting with Liz, that Edna had never been a shrinking violet, yet she hadn’t objected to anything Victor said or did during the meeting. Right in front of me was the reason for her silence. Edna, a retired nurse, had re-used a hypodermic needle when she’d given a patient an injection, and the patient had later developed hepatitis C. Edna had lost her job, her nursing license, and her malpractice insurance, and she had pleaded “no contest” to charges of criminal negligence and the reckless endangerment of her patients. She’d been lucky to receive a suspended sentence. Strange, I thought, she certainly hadn’t lost her self-confidence because of the incident. I’d often heard her dispensing medical advice during class. I shuddered to think that the other students always listened to her with respect because they thought an experienced, retired nurse would know what she was talking about.
The third name on the list was Luis Cardoza. I’d never seen the man until the night of the HOA meeting, and he hadn’t said a word during the time I’d been there, but I remembered what he looked like. Another quiet board member—quiet because Victor knew something that Luis Cardoza wanted to hide. Unlike the two women, Luis’s secret wasn’t a crime, but a personal matter. When Luis had decided that he no longer wanted to marry his fiancé, she had been devastated by his rejection. When he refused to relent, she threatened suicide, but he didn’t take her threat seriously. Unfortunately, she took an entire bottle of sleeping pills and never woke up. Luis blamed himself for her suicide—a mortal sin, according to the Catholic Church. Having noticed a St. Christopher’s medal hanging on a gold chain around Luis’s neck, I believed that Luis was Catholic.
Peter Harvey, whose name was last on the list, sounded familiar to me, although I hadn’t recognized him at the meeting. Now, where had I heard that name before? I couldn’t remember, so I googled “Peter Harvey” and added “Center City” to see if any pertinent returns came up, and I saw that he was a member of the Iowa State Board of Commerce, which wasn’t extremely high-profile, but made the news occasionally. No wonder his name sounded familiar. I must have heard it on a newscast. Since Peter Harvey was the only person on the list involved in the public sphere, whatever he was hiding could have ramifications that went well beyond Hawkeye Haven. I gasped as I read that he’d been fired from a management position in an eastern construction company after a building he was responsible for had collapsed. After unproven allegations that Peter had bribed a local housing inspector, he had resigned from his job and moved to Iowa. He was never charged. Perhaps he hadn’t done anything wrong, but a cloud of suspicion could still hang over him, even though the building’s collapse had occurred nearly twenty years ago, and, as a public figure, even one without an especially high profile, Peter Harvey undoubtedly wouldn’t want the bribery allegations to become public knowledge.
Good grief! The majority of the HOA board members of Hawkeye Haven really did have something to hide, and, according to Luke, Victor wasn’t above taking advantage of what he knew about each of them to swing votes his way. I wondered who had left the list sitting on the copy machine and whether or not the person had realized that it was missing. Possibly, Victor himself could have left it there, or perhaps he’d shared it with someone—Patty?—who had made copies. The list didn’t seem like a document that Victor would leave lying around in plain sight on his desktop, but someone could have searched his files for it. Offices at the community center were sometimes locked, sometimes not, although it didn’t seem likely that Victor would have left his office unlocked if he’d kept such inflammatory information in his files. Another possibility was that someone with a master key had unlocked Victor’s office and searched it. I surmised that Patty, Victor, Luke, and Max, the head of maintenance, all had master keys, but maybe others did, too. It might not be too difficult to borrow a master key and then replace it, which caused the list of possibilities to expand.
Bottom line: unless someone admitted to leaving the list on the photocopier, I’d probably never know who had done it. But maybe it didn’t really matter. What did matter was that there were more suspects than ever in Victor’s murder, and I knew I needed to turn the list over to the police.
Searching my kitchen junk drawer for Detective Wesson’s business card, I located it wedged under a rubber-banded stack of coupons that I’d clipped but would probably forget existed. I might remember to use a coupon at the supermarket a couple of times a month, if that. Last year’s savings from couponing probably amounted to all of twenty dollars. Thumbing through the coupons in the stack, I found that all except one had already expired. An extreme couponer, I was not. Plucking out the one current coupon, I stowed it in my handbag and deposited the rest in the garbage can.
I realized I was stalling because I didn’t want to call Wesson. The las
t time I’d seen him, I’d flounced out the door of the community center without bothering to tell him good-bye. I’d been angry that he’d seemed to question my good faith. Although I’d had plenty of time to cool down since then, I still felt nervous about talking to him.
Giving myself a mental swift kick, I picked up my smartphone and called him. He answered on the second ring.
“Wesson.”
“Lieutenant Wesson, this is Laurel McMillan.”
“Yes, Laurel?”
“I called you because I’ve come across something that might help in Victor Eberhart’s murder investigation.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I was sorting through some papers, and I found one that wasn’t mine. I must have picked it up when I was photocopying some handouts for class last week at the community center.” I felt as though I were babbling.
“What is it?”
“It’s a list—a list naming four of the board members of Hawkeye Haven, along with reasons that they could be blackmailed. I think Victor was using the information to get them to vote the way he wanted, although I don’t know why that would be so important to him, but maybe one of them tried to put a stop to it permanently.”
“Hmmm. Interesting. I’ll need to get that from you. If you’ll be home later, I can stop by to pick it up.”
“Okay.”
“Around eight o’clock work for you?”
“That’s fine.”
Well, I’d done it now. I’d have to see Wesson again, but what choice was there? I felt obligated to turn over the list to the police. After all, there were four more people with possible motives for wanting to kill Victor. I supposed the only alternative might have been notifying his snotty partner instead of Wesson, but, despite my nervousness at the prospect of seeing the handsome detective again, I’d never for an instant considered calling Detective Smith.
Half an hour before Wesson was due to arrive, I was already pacing the floor. I’d changed my clothes three times, finally settling on a bright turquoise-colored sleeveless maxi dress, beaded brown leather sandals, and long earrings with sterling silver chain that brushed my shoulders. I’d applied make-up with more care that I’d taken in months, and I’d tamed my unruly auburn hair so that it fell in soft waves.
Although I’d scolded myself for dressing as though I were going on a date—Liz was the only woman I knew who dressed up and wore full make-up for lounging around the house—I wanted to look my best when Wesson showed up. I’d been trying to deny the fact that I felt attracted to the man, but I’d finally had to admit it, if only to myself.
The doorbell rang, startling me, and Bear barked and ran to the door. Unless someone else was there, Wesson was early. My stomach did flip-flops as I cautioned Bear to get back. I gazed through the peephole to see who was there. It was Wesson, all right. I took a deep breath and swung the door open.
“Hi, Lieutenant.”
“Wes, remember?”
“I remember,” I murmured, as I motioned for him to come in.
Blocking Wes’s way, Bear danced around him, and he stooped to pet my canine companion. Bear responded enthusiastically by dropping to the floor, rolling onto his back, and holding his paws up under his chin.
“Oh, Bear,” I sighed. “Give the lieutenant—uh, Wes—a break.”
“That’s okay, Laurel,” Wes said, rubbing Bear’s tummy. “He’s fine. You like a belly rub, don’t you, boy?”
As if to answer him, Bear panted his approval, and I couldn’t help laughing at the dog’s antics.
“Bear likes attention; that’s for sure. Have a seat, Wes.” Wesson sat on the sofa, and Bear plopped at his feet.
“He’s a nice dog, Laurel. Have you had him a long time?” Wesson didn’t seem to be in a particular hurry.
“Five years. I adopted him from an animal rescue society when he was just a pup.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a dog myself, but I work long hours, so I’m not home much. In fact, I have to go back to work tonight.”
“Those are long hours. Have you had a chance to have dinner?” What was I saying? I was the world’s worst cook, but I supposed I could at least offer a hungry man a sandwich. After all, he hadn’t had to come to my house to pick up the list. He could have asked me to deliver it to the police station, or he could have had someone else pick it up for him. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked Smith to do it. The thought of seeing that abrasive woman again made me cringe.
“Yeah, I grabbed a burger and fries at the Burger Inn on the way over.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Would I ever, but I’m on duty.” His eyes crinkled merrily, and I knew he was teasing me, but I played it straight.
“A bottle of water, then? Coffee, iced tea, a soft drink? Take your pick.”
“Water would be great.” I stepped into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of designer spring water from the fridge, and handed it to him.
“Thanks. Guess I should get down to business. The paper you found?”
“Right there, on the end table.” I nodded toward the table where I had left the list, and Wesson half stood to reach the paper that sat on the table at the other end of the sofa.
Glancing at the list, he seemed surprised. “You didn’t tell me it was handwritten,” he said sharply. A familiar wave of annoyance washed over me.
“You didn’t ask,” I said irritably.
“Sorry, Laurel, it’s a policeman’s curse—treating everyone as though they’re suspects.”
“Hmmph—how charming. You must be a very popular guy,” I said sarcastically.
“Not very,” He smiled disarmingly. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Frowning, he studied the list. “This handwriting is awful. It’s almost impossible to read.”
“Yes, it’s pretty bad, but I managed to make it out. Want a translation?”
“Sure, that would be helpful.”
Sitting beside him on the sofa, I took the list and pointed to the words as I read them to him. Sitting so close to him, I felt uncomfortably nervous, and my hand trembled slightly, but Wesson didn’t seem to notice. At least, he made no comment. When I’d finished reading, I gave the list back to him and hurriedly moved from the sofa to the facing loveseat.
“Maybe one of the board members named on the list killed Victor,” I said. “They wouldn’t have been happy about Victor’s using what he knew to get them to vote his way.”
“How do you know he did that?” At least his question didn’t make me feel as though I were being interrogated this time.
“I don’t know positively about Edna Elkins, Luis Cardoza, or Peter Harvey, but Luke told me that he overheard Victor threatening Rachel Casswell, and he thinks Victor had some hold over others on the board because Victor always managed to swing every vote the way he wanted it to go. Other people noticed that, too, and wondered how he accomplished it.”
Wesson was staring at me quizzically.
“You can confirm that with Luke,” I offered.
“I’ll talk to Luke about it, but not because I don’t believe you, Laurel. It’s just procedure.”
I nodded. As annoying as it was, I was beginning to realize that much of Wesson’s job consisted of dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.
“Now, when you called me earlier, you mentioned that you found the list at the community center. Would you mind going over how you found it again?”
Everything with Wesson came down to an interrogation, but at least he’d asked if I “minded” this time.
“The only thing that I can imagine could have happened was that I accidentally scooped the list up with my class papers when I was using the photocopy machine last week. I remember finding a paper left on the photocopier—it happens all the time, so I didn’t really think much about it. I set the page aside, and I didn’t even realize that I had it until I was sorting through my class papers this afternoon. That’s when I called you.”
Wesson nodded. “Who has access to the copie
r?”
“Just about everyone. It’s right out in the open, in the HOA office’s reception area, and everyone who works in the office uses it. So do the instructors and anyone else who works in the building. It’s available for the residents to use, too.”
“No code or key card?”
“No. Like I said, it’s pretty much wide open.”
“As you suggested, the board members named may have had a motive for killing Eberhart, but the list itself doesn’t prove anything. We don’t know where it came from. We don’t know who compiled it. We don’t know that the information on it is accurate; in fact, the whole thing could be a total fabrication, someone’s lame idea of a practical joke.”
“I thought of that, but considering what Luke told me, I thought the list might shed some light on the situation.”
“It could at that, and you did the right thing by turning it over. I never know where a lead might take me. We’ll look into it.” Wesson folded the paper and tucked it into his front shirt pocket. He leaned back on the sofa, picked up the water bottle I had given him, and drained it. “Guess I was thirsty.”
“Would you like some more water?”
“No, thanks; I need to get back to the office. I’ll be lucky to get home by midnight.”
“All work and no play—”
“You got that right. It wouldn’t hurt to take an evening off.” He looked at me speculatively. “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow evening?”
Whoa! I hadn’t seen that coming. The lieutenant had gone from Mr. Official Police Detective to Mr. Potential Boyfriend in a flash. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the Miss-Potential-Girlfriend role, but Tracey’s words came back to me, advising me that I needed to move on with my life, and that meant making room in my heart for romance again. Maybe she was right.
“I’m afraid that I can’t tomorrow night.” Seeing the disappointment on Wes’s face, I hastened to add, “But I could go the following night. Tomorrow, I’m helping with a going-away party we’re having for Bessie.” I could tell that Wes hadn’t recognized Bessie’s name. “You know—the guard who was attacked.”
Death by Association Page 13
