I touched Clarence's arm. "If you want to track down one of the killers and have a nice chat, go for it."
"And you will be doing what?"
"Tacking down Kenneth. I want to get the drop on him if he's still in town. I have a hunch that he might have some answers. He will know something that is helpful, even if he doesn’t necessarily know it."
"Be careful of him."
I grinned. "After our last encounter, he better watch himself."
Just then the waitress came over to the table. "Sorry for keeping you waiting," she said. "I hope you folks are having a nice day. Let me tell you about our specials."
"I'd love to hear about them," I said, feeling my stomach growl at the mention of food. I tried to convince myself not to get too excited as I heard the litany, but bodies are not swayed by logic or willing to remember that anyone can combine enthusiasm and ignorance to make dull food sound good, as this nice lady managed to do.
Alas, when the food came, smelling wonderful, a single bite was enough to let me know I was going to be very glad when we were finally heading back to Destiny's Point for several reasons.
Chapter Seven
My decision to start my research, my part of the hunt for the artifact, by tracking down Kenneth was actually a selfish or at least self serving choice. It was based much more on emotion than any logic. Sure, I thought he’d probably be able to shed some light on the dark happenings in Traverse—after all, he'd been here longer than we had and had a chance to root around, so picking his brain, learning what he’d learned, made sense. But mainly I wanted to confront him.
When I’d first met Kenneth, I'd thought he was a likable guy. He was writing for a tabloid and I wanted to be a reporter and it’s likely that I let that color my vision of him. And, at first, he’d been helpful. Later, when he’d shown his true colors, or maybe just another side of who he was—he'd set us up—I was hurt. I was never sure if it was deliberate, but he sent us off on a wild-goose chase that dropped us into the lap of the Cabal. I wanted to know why he'd done that. We'd been getting along pretty well, and all I could figure was that either he was actually one of them or he was a sleaze who'd sold us out.
The young man who manned the front desk at the hotel didn't know him and if Linda Blakely was right (and I was sure she knew her beans when it came to the town), that meant the only place left to look for him was the motel just out of town.
"So do we go out there and corner him?" Edgar asked.
I knew he was perhaps even more offended by what seemed to be Kenneth's treachery than I had been. "No, we let our fingers do the walking."
Edgar looked at his hand and wiggled his fingers. "That makes no sense," he said.
I laughed at myself. Of course, he didn't get it. A ghost who probably was born in the Victorian era wouldn't understand my ancient joke. It was a line from a commercial for telephone books, which were practically extinct anyway. "You are right. It makes no sense. I'm going to call first and see if he is there."
I called and told the desk clerk that I was looking for my brother. As it turned out, I didn't need to be so sneaky. He was registered under his own name. "I can't give you the room number," he said. "But he's in his room and I could put you through to him."
"No, don't bother him," I said. "He's been working hard and might be napping. I just wanted to make sure he arrived safely." I didn't want the man alerting Kenneth to the idea that he was being hunted. He could easily make a run for it. I knew where he lived, but playing chase is not fun.
"Do you want to leave a message for him?" the man asked helpfully.
"No. That's okay. I'll try calling his cell phone later." Then I hung up before he could ask why I hadn't done that in the first place.
"Now we go out there and corner him," I said, grabbing my purse and car keys.
"Oh boy. This is the good part," Edgar said as he drifted out toward the car. That was Edgar... our ghost of action.
I PARKED THE CAR IN front of the motel, but back a ways, across from the row of rooms and under the shade of a big maple tree. It seemed like a good spot. Then, with Edgar fidgeting anxiously in the seat next to me, I called Kenneth.
I really did have his cell number. He'd given it to me during our first encounter and I assumed that a reporter couldn't afford to change his number on a whim as he would have given it out to a lot of people who might have leads for him. Happily, I was right.
I had reason to believe he’d remember my voice, and when he answered I just said: "Hey there, Kenneth. Remember me?"
Clearly, he did, because he hung up. Next to me, Edgar was digging in the glove box, taking inventory of old receipts for gas. "Now what?" he asked.
"We hold tight. I don’t have the room number, but I’m sure he'll be out here in a minute," I told him. “Let’s get a little closer.” With that in mind, I got out of the car and moved toward the row of cars parked right in front of the rooms. It would’ve been nice if I’d known which was his, but I didn’t.
Then a door opened and I saw him come out, glancing around nervously. He had a bag in his hand and he put the strap over his shoulder and headed toward a car. I walked over. He didn’t see me, and when he unlocked the car with his key fob and opened the door, tossing his bag into the back seat, I opened the other door and slipped into the passenger seat. "Kenneth Parker you are an incredibly rude person," I said.
He sat behind the wheel, frozen in place, trying to decide what to do. "Rude?"
"First you betray me, send me into a trap set by a man who intended to kill me and then you try to slip out without saying hello. I'd call that rude at the very least, and I am a kind person."
"I’m sorry," he said. He gripped the wheel with both hands and his knuckles turned white.
"You’re sorry?"
"I didn't know."
"That you were getting me killed?"
"I didn’t know anything. I still don’t, really. I thought he was just another guy willing to pay me to keep you from getting the spooky things you were after."
"What is it with people always using the word spooky in such a negative fashion?" Edgar asked. “Spooky is just a quality of existence, not something bad.”
I remembered what Edgar had said when we first met him. "You're the one who thought he was a great person because he has nice teeth," I reminded him.
Kenneth looked at me. "Who are you talking to?"
"Edgar. You can’t see him, so it’s best if you just think of him as a higher power."
"Now that way of referring to me is excellent. It’s good to hear something decent and appropriate used for a change," Edgar said. "Proceed with the interrogation."
"I didn't know the guy intended to hurt you or do anything bad to you at all. He just paid me to give you a message. That’s all."
"And you thought it was a practical joke, or what?"
"I didn't think anything. I just took the money and did what he asked."
"Then, if you don't think I'd be angry with you, if you hadn't done anything wrong, why are you trying so hard to avoid me?"
That startled him.
"Zounds! You got him with that one," Edgar said.
I couldn't remember ever hearing anyone say "zounds" before. "Is that like gadzooks?"
"More or less."
Unable to hear Edgar, Kenneth looked at me suspiciously. "Okay, I didn’t think he was exactly on the up and up and when I heard about all that happened later... I realized I’d messed up, but at the time I had no idea he was dangerous." He turned his head away. “Just a little sleazy.”
"And he paid well?"
"Yes. And after I agreed, well he made it clear that if I didn't do exactly as I was told... okay, he scared me. And yes, I knew he might hurt you, but I was terrified. Call me a coward."
“You’re a coward,” Edgar said.
He probably was, but I understood. Walter could be intimidating. That didn’t let Kenneth totally off the hook in my book though, and I couldn’t be sure he was telling the
truth anyway. "So what are you doing here?"
"Here? At the motel?"
"In Traverse. What are you doing here in Traverse?"
"Me?"
I looked around. "Do I have to spell everything out for you? I don't see anyone else but you and me."
"Well, that is downright hurtful," Edgar said.
“I want to know how you ended up in Traverse. Why are you asking about the murdered mayors?”
He hemmed and hawed a bit. “Just following a lead,” he said.
“A lead that might get me killed? Or am I the lead, and you are reporting what I’m doing to someone... someone who pays well.”
“That’s not fair,” he said. His feelings were hurt, but he finally realized I wasn’t going to leave without an answer. “My being here had nothing to do with you,” he said.
“Had nothing to do with me? As in, it had nothing to do with me but does now? What does have to do with me?”
“Maybe it has to do with you, but I didn't think so. Until now.”
“So we can take that as a definite maybe?” Edgar asked.
"Explain yourself."
He squirmed in his seat. “I've been wanting to move up, get out of writing for the tabloids. I've been hoping to catch the interest of some better, more mainstream publication. I heard about these murders and thought there had to be a crime angle I could freelance to a magazine.”
“And?”
“It turned out to be more woo woo stuff. No hard facts, no hot breaking news, just the same spooky speculation the tabloid loves. I felt doomed. It reminded me of the way you were looking for spooky things and this seemed just the ticket.”
“So of course, you called me with the news.”
“You don't pay. And I didn't know anything had happened to you. But one of the guys I’d met before asked me to let him know about the same sort of leads, anything weird, but big. And they pay well. He gave me a number to call. After I talked to the crazy lady at the city hall...”
“Linda?”
“Right. After she told me the story and I did some research, I decided there wasn't a crime story here, so I called the number they left me.” He smiled. “They had the money in my account in an hour. Direct deposit. I didn’t even have to pay the fees for other services.”
“What have you learned? Besides the joys of doing business with evil people, I mean. About the murders.”
“Not much. Nothing I could use as a hook for an angle. The sequence of murders is curious, but all I can do is turn it into yet another tabloid story. I’m thinking, THE TOWN OF DEAD MAYORS. Or would you prefer, THE TOWN WHERE YOU WOULDN’T WANT TO BE MAYOR?”
“THE TOWN OF DEAD MAYORS?” I asked.
His eyes flashed. “Yes. Shorter, with a ring to it. Can I use that?”
“Sure.”
“Other than that, all I know is all the killers were close to the victims, usually friends. They were all found at the scene, with bloody hands. The victims all happened to be mayor and they were all stabbed. Other than that the victims have nothing in common.”
“So no story for you?”
“Just a lurid headline in the tabloids, although I might get a bonus for it. I did some interviews with the widows of two mayors. They don’t know anything really, but one claims her husband came to her in a vision.” He shook his head. “That’s why I decided that if there was a real story it was probably some kind of freaky artifact thing.”
“So take your money and run?”
“Basically.”
“So the people you called... has anything come from that?”
Kenneth weighed his answer carefully, before admitting the truth. “That’s part of why I was leaving tomorrow. When you called I was trying to move that up a little.”
“What happened?”
“A guy showed up. He got here fast... really fast. I don’t know...”
“A creepy guy?”
“Right. Creepy, sort of. He didn’t look creepy, but being around him was just... ugh.”
“A tall, bald guy that looks weird if not creepy.”
“You’ve met him?”
“No, but Linda has and she described him to me. He sounds like someone that should be easy to spot.”
“He doesn’t look creepy, or act creepy,” Kenneth said.
“No?”
“But I know what she means. When he’s around, you feel creepy.”
“And what did the creepy guy say?”
“He was very pleasant. He said I should leave. The town. He said it would be bad for me if I stayed here.”
“And you should leave. I don’t know if you are telling the truth, Kenneth, you should know that the creepy bald guy works for a very nasty group of people.”
Kenneth put up a hand. “I should mention that he’s very polite.”
“Maybe so, but his organization, the Cabal, isn’t.”
“Jesus, even the name is sinister.”
“It’s gotten that way. Basically, cabal is just a word that means they are a secret group that works to promote their own cause. The dirty part is that they often use intrigue to accomplish that, and this crowd, this particular Cabal doesn’t seem to have a very high standard when it comes to the ethics of their actions.”
Kenneth swallowed. “Right. What do you want me to do?”
“I think you should take their advice and get out of town right away. They don’t care who gets hurt. You are free to do what you want, but consider what happens if they decide that your usefulness is at an end, that you are no good to them anymore? Or worse, what if they think you aren’t willing to take direction? Think about what bad guys do with the people they no longer need.”
I could see him growing pale, although compared to Edgar his skin was pink and robust. “I see.”
“Go and when you are safely away, I’d like you to think hard about this.”
“About what?”
“You are a nosy guy... I mean that in a good way. But your instincts and profession mean you encounter these things. The next time you see something that suggests an artifact is at work, I’d like you to consider all the risks and rewards before deciding who to call about it. I don’t pay, but I don’t hurt people. Well, to be honest, I try not to hurt people, if I can help it.” As he sat there, stunned, I opened the door and got out of his car.
“I’d call you,” he said. I heard the weakness in his voice though. He was saying that to please me. Not that I cared. When the time came I was sure he’d consider his choices. I didn’t know whether he’d prefer money or my assurances but I wasn't going to worry about it. I'd gotten my answer. In the scheme of things, Kenneth wasn't a player—he was played.
As he drove off, Edgar giggled. “That was an interesting little tete a tete. Now what?”
“Now I think I need to call Clarence and warn him that the scary man wandering around town works for the Cabal.”
“The man from the cabal... wasn’t that the title of a book by a Frenchman?” Edgar asked. “Dumas, or one of that crowd. If it wasn’t, it should’ve been.”
Chapter Eight
When he hung up the phone, Clarence felt that he had reason to be pleased with himself. The warden had been extremely helpful. The man he wanted to talk to had been a model prisoner and he’d be delighted to have a visitor. So he arranged an interview. With luck, that meeting might reveal some useful information.
Even though he was just laying the groundwork, he felt he was making definite progress.
The only dark side of things came from Cecelia's warning. When she'd called, she'd told him what Kenneth said—Linda Blakey’s scary mystery man worked for the Cabal. That wasn’t good news but at least now they knew who he was and what he looked like. It would be hard to miss a tall, bald man that everyone thought looked sinister. That was a small advantage, but he’d take it. It was some comfort that the guy wouldn't catch him by surprise.
“Let’s go out to the prison,” Clarence told Cecelia over the phone. “I got permission to meet w
ith him today. The warden says he loves to talk to people.”
“There’s too much to do, Clarence. I think we need to divide and conquer. You go ahead. We will track the bald guy down, or at least find out what he is up to.”
Clarence didn’t like that idea very much, but what to do? “I assume your mind is made up? I can’t get you to wait until I get back before going after him?”
She laughed. “I won’t go after him. I’ll just find him and see what he’s doing.”
“Okay.” Once again they were going into action and, as usual, Clarence had mixed feelings about Cecelia’s approach. Her willingness to jump in with two feet both annoyed and intrigued Clarence. Cecelia was brave and he admired her for that. But with her always acting that way, he found it hard. He felt bad letting anyone you cared about court danger. That was just natural and Clarence liked Cecelia more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. Liking her that way, being attracted to her, was another kind of danger. Unlike Cecelia, he didn’t consider himself brave.
But she wouldn’t budge. She would never budge. That left him with no choice. With her occupied, Clarence was on his own. At least he could take a positive step forward.
He’d noted that next door to the hotel was a rental car place. He went downstairs and found that the young lady behind the counter was happy to provide him with a battered Toyota for the day. "Do you need directions to some place?" she asked, her tone of voice making it clear that she would prefer it if he didn't.
"All I need is a map of the area," he said. She tore one off from a pad of maps. It wasn’t a good map and he wondered how recent it was. But he found the place he was looking for easily. Given that there was only one road passing through the town, it wasn't difficult. The State prison was clearly marked.
"That's about an hour drive," the girl told him. She'd been watching the line his finger traced on the map. “You have relatives there or something?” She actually seemed almost curious.
The Curious Case of the Cursed Dagger (Curiosity Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 3) Page 7
