by Judith Mehl
Nick refilled their drinks and returned. “The question here is, ‘How off the wall would it be for him to go from thinking it unfair to helping her in crime?’"
As Nick described Shag, Kat was able to draw a picture in her mind. The young adult dressed in wild baggy pants, sported unshorn red hair that often escaped the shoelace securing it behind his head, and that always conflicted with his shirt color. He exhibited an IQ off the charts, noticeable every time he spoke. But Shag seldom did. In the ten days Nick worked with Don, interviewing employees, inspecting the premises, and staking out the showroom, the computer guru had said about three words, interchanging between “yeah,” and “no way,” depending on the question. Nick later gleaned signs of intelligence from overhearing his phone conversation intimately discussing Java Scripts and Proust in the same sentences.
When Nick had investigated the kid’s background, he discovered the typical high school student, lip rings, grunge clothes, parents with green lawns and no crab grass, expectations and no prospects for their clever offspring. Shag had drifted into Don’s business, established a website for Magic Carpets, and even designed a few advertising campaigns. Don was enthralled. Shag managed to maintain full-time status by filling in his security and computer work with stocking the showroom floor early each morning.
Kat offered to study a handwriting sample of Susan’s as soon as Nick could secure one. Hopefully, they could find some old samples at Magic Carpet. Shag’s writing covered numerous sticky notes always plastered on the computer and desk. Nick had snagged the wrinkled-up cast-a-ways and presented them to Kat with a hopeful look. She frowned as she studied each piece. “There are definite signs of at least impulsiveness here. It’s difficult to make an assessment from such small pieces of paper. His writing is exuberant and running off the page but that’s easy to do on a two-inch sticky note.”
Nick stowed them away, wondering if he would have more luck if he switched out the two-inch note pads for the largest pad available.
Meanwhile Maddy and Kat scheduled a meeting with Paul Ruggiero for the following day on their lunch hour. Nick was uncomfortable with the idea, but hoped for safety in pairs. Then again, he was uncertain how well that worked when the pair was Maddy and Kat. She could see it in his eyes but was impressed that he didn’t say anything. To distract him, she relayed their concerns earlier that day with Rita Mae Dobbs handwriting.
“That reminds me. I couldn’t reach her at school today. I’ll try Rita Mae at home and see if we can meet soon.”
“Please be careful.”
“Nick, she’s in her seventies!”
“Just don’t let her know why you’re questioning her.”
“That’s becoming difficult. How’s this, “Would you care to tell me why your handwriting says you’re deceitful and maybe a liar?’”
Nick winced and she played coy, “Not the best come-on? I’ll try for more subtlety.”
Kat came back a while later. She and Maddy would see Rita Mae the next day.
Her baffled look tempted Nick to inquire what was up.
“Rita Mae sounded almost eager to talk with us. She even agreed to switch around her schedule to fit us in as soon as possible. Surprisingly she didn’t even ask the nature of the meeting.”
Nick agreed it was puzzling but admitted he could come up with no possible reason for the woman’s response. He warned her once again to be cautious.
Confirming the time with Maddy, Kat mentioned the spy software to her, bemoaning the fact that they hadn’t used it earlier on certain people. “But, you know the next best thing?” They both said simultaneously, “Dennis!”
Minutes later, Kat explained to Nick that she and Maddy were going to make a quick stop at Dennis’ house to discuss his help with the investigation. Nick was so engrossed in his plans to finalize the carpet caper that he didn’t inquire why they needed to corner Dennis this late at night. Kat felt fortunate she didn’t have to sidestep the legality of what she had in mind, grabbed her purse, and rushed out the door. As she drove away, she pondered what she could specifically ask Dennis to do without incurring his wrath.
Dennis looked startled to see them but showed no surprise at their request. “Can you work your way into Lauri’s computer and look for incriminating evidence?”
Kat often requested he use his computer expertise to help solve a crime, but he raised his brows in disbelief at the question. “Oh ye of little faith. It’s not whether I could do it, but whether I choose to. It’s definitely an invasion of privacy. Why are you certain Lauri will implicate herself? What makes you so sure she’s guilty?”
Kat saw the soapbox coming but couldn’t sidestep fast enough. Besides, Dennis’s help would be invaluable here so she quietly folder her hands in her lap and listened.
“People don’t talk on the phone any more. They reveal their innermost selves in chat rooms and e-mail. Do we have the right to listen in?”
The discussion on ethics and morality became three-sided when Maddy joined forces with Kat. No surprise to Dennis, who tossed ethics issues out like baseballs that needed batting away.
He added, “The easy availability and low cost may have profound implications for privacy. And what about the legality? This just feels bad.”
They assuaged his guilt by reminding him of the higher good, and assured him that it was definitely legal, more or less. Their details about laurel toxins and the Latin names enabled him to look for their use on Lauri’s computer. Maddy suggested he also look into the chemical aspect. Maybe Lauri had purchased the compound and used it in tea or something.
Kat could tell Dennis was hooked when he started making notes as they talked their ideas through. When he added his own, she knew he would delve deeply.
They had determined through hearsay that Lauri did not have a home computer. She was like many faculty members who spent their spare time in their offices, often working, but also using their computers for personal gain.
He finally agreed to take a quick. He told Kat how he would convince Lauri she had a computer problem. Once Dennis revved up about how it’s in the network switches, most people glazed over. Dennis seldom snooped. When he did, he did it right.
Chapter 18
Wear your boxing gloves when dealing with an angular writer—they’re usually spoiling for a fight.
“Handwriting Analysis Self-Taught” by Joel Engel
Some thought him arrogant. Others found him profound. Most felt he had promise. The man himself attached no particular significance to their thoughts, satisfied that in due course he would venture into prosperity on his own. But Paul Ruggiero had lost and lost big. And now he was perplexed. Why would a university public relations person need to speak with him urgently? His week had deteriorated from ungodly to horrific. Did he need to end it by being badgered with questions?
But he hadn’t become a successful businessman by ignoring people, and maybe Katharine Everett could solve some puzzles for him in the process. His business partnership with Ed Ambrose had failed long before the man took his last breath, though it was just recently that Paul had discovered how abysmally.
They’d built a first-class tennis center. There had only been one other in the Poconos—that one specialized in tennis and racquetball. Ambrose had convinced them that most of the resorts didn’t have indoor tennis courts. What he didn’t say was that there was no need because most of the clientele coming to vacation in the area were golfing fanatics. Paul found that out when the books stayed permanently red.
Paul recalled how Lauri Carmichael, Ambrose’s girlfriend, sold her property and gave the money to Ambrose for the venture. Paul invested most of his own savings and his reputation, working with the contractors and others he’d known all his life. Ambrose also had conned Andrew Noble, a dour financial investor, to participate.
The building rose, unique in its style and stunning in its intent. But the contractors waited to be paid, the center had gone bust, and most of the investments were lost.
&n
bsp; As he settled at his prized oak desk while he waited for Ms. Everitt to arrive, he studied the paperwork Ambrose presented him months earlier. Reviewing these before, he found nothing to point to the center’s failure, but maybe this time he would catch the flaw, the reason the figures didn’t pan out as planned.
Ambrose used nationally known and successful tennis resorts like La Quinta and Hotel del Coronado as examples of what he wanted for the Pocono tennis resort. What he hadn’t investigated was the renovation these resorts were undergoing, changing court space to health spas or worse. The American lifestyle had changed dramatically since tennis became a popular sport in the 70s and 80s. Moms who stayed at home and played tennis then, were part of the work force now. Today’s kids learn hand agility on the latest Nintendo and play station games and foot dexterity on roller blades.
Paul was out of town when the man died, but rushed back. Some thought to attend the funeral of a friend but most knew it was to shore up his loses. He agreed reluctantly to this meeting hoping their information would garner him some semblance of redemption with the local businesses that he owed.
But when Kat arrived, she was accompanied by a tall, well-honed man with a grip like a wrestler. “Paul, I’m Katharine Everitt. This is my husband, Nick Donnelly.”
The little contretemps where Nick insisted on substituting for Maddy in this crazy scheme wasn’t evident in either of their demeanors. When Maddy begged off the appointment because of a last minute meeting with a dean, Kat planned to interrogate the man on her own. That’s when Nick intervened.
Kat felt perfectly safe after reviewing Paul’s handwriting with Maddy, but Nick’s belief in their handwriting ventures didn’t reach far enough to waive her risk of danger with a possible killer.
“A dying business is a powerful motive for murder,” Nick had said.
Kat, on the other hand, had seen nothing violent or devious in Paul’s handwriting. There were no sharp endings and his strong, large-sized writing revealed a broad-minded person, open though assertive, self-assured, with a definite manner of the inspired man. She ruled him out as a killer but hoped he could aid their search in finding one.
Meanwhile, Paul was all grace and charm.
“Welcome, welcome. May I offer you something to drink or eat?” he said while leading them to a couple of chairs.
Paul’s eyes darted back and forth between Kat and Nick. She bombarded him with questions as they sat down in the elegantly upholstered chairs, but they were friendly, inane questions. Nick smiled, laced his fingers rhythmically, and watched Kat operate. Paul pondered their approach. They’d entered his office, all friendly and courteous and pleased he would see them. Was this a ruse to trap him into words that might have him arrested for a murder he didn’t commit? His long fingers attempted unsuccessfully to slick back his unruly curls. What now? Who could he trust?
“Um. Okay. So I hated the guy. But I wasn’t alone.”
Kat nodded sympathetically as she scanned the room. Paul filled the silence. “He scammed me out of my money, like he did many others. But I lost my reputation as an honorable businessman because of him. That I can’t forgive or forget.”
It appeared Kat was waiting him out as she slowly paced past the display cases and moved the knickknacks around slightly, poking one here and there for a better view.
Paul finally broke down. “Listen, never forgiving someone and killing them are two different things. I may have had cause, but fortunately, I was otherwise occupied 250 miles from here when he was killed. I told the police the same thing. They haven’t been back.”
Nick questioned him carefully on the timing, and Kat showed mercy by switching back to a discussion on the tennis center and its downfall. She was curious, especially in light of the latest reports she’d found on the bright future of tennis.
He explained his theory on Wii and Xbox games. Kat agreed with the theory to a point, but regaled him with her current research on the comeback of tennis, even to small towns and cities. He debated her information, based on his bottom line. If they were playing, they weren’t playing in his tennis center.
Her report gave Paul cause to reconsider his plans to close the building. Maybe he was just a tad ahead of his time and things would work out. Could he hold off total financial ruin long enough to cash in on the new wave of interest? His mind veered off in that direction and Kat and Nick could see they’d lost him. Assuming the police had already checked out his alibi, they saw no reason to consider Paul a suspect. He wasn’t a participant but an investor.
Before they left he mentioned that he and Ambrose had another business investor, Andrew Noble. Asked to describe him, Paul hemmed and hawed. “Well, he’s mildly rich. Not swimming in it, mind you, but floating enough that he loaned us the balance we needed without too much inquiry into the center. I wish now he had researched more thoroughly. Instead, we both left it up to Ambrose.”
As he spoke he pulled a framed photograph off the wall. The mayor, Paul, and another man grinned in a row.
“This is Andrew.”
Kat held the photo closer and studied Mr. Nobel. Andrew appeared to be a sour and aloof man. He could have stepped right out of a fifties TV ad with his bottle-brush mustache, wire-rimmed glasses, and pointed collar. He looked quintessentially honest. Was he? Kat vowed to find out.
The interview ended, but Paul Ruggiero’s attitude prompted her to do more investigation into the future hopes of tennis. A former Mountain View University graduate served presently as the United States Tennis Association president. Since he became president the association unveiled the USA Tennis High Performance Program as part of a venture to develop tomorrow’s champions. It was an ongoing cooperative effort between tennis players, associations, governments and volunteers.
His goal to take tennis to the people was developing well, with attendance at the 2012 U.S. Open setting an all-time record. Kat wrote Ruggiero a quick memo directing him to the Tennis Association for details that might help him.
Maddy and Kat stopped by Nick’s office to examine Susan’s handwriting. Don Chaste, the owner of Magic Carpet, Inc., found numerous sources of samples in the files. Kat carefully weeded through those that looked hastily written, knowing they wouldn’t provide an accurate assessment. The rest furnished a thorough report.
Susan has mildly narrow line spacing and with the other traits like confusion in her writing and tangled words led them to believe her mental clarity was reduced. Kat knew that the more crowded and tangled the writing, the more confused are the writer’s thoughts and feelings. “She’s impulsive and sees things only in terms of how she feels about them and how they affect her,” Kat told Nick, who paced impatiently behind them as they studied the writing.
“She has angular writing—always looking for a fight, and little room for flexibility. It looks like she is driven to make decisions and act on them. She also has a high crossed ‘t.’ It indicates high goals; she works hard to advance herself to get what she wants.”
Nick voiced gratitude for the interpretation. “Doesn’t prove her a thief, but sure makes me want to explore further.”
Nick worked through dinner so Maddy and Kat headed over to Rita Mae Dobbs’ house after a quick fix at the local diner. They’d never been to Rita Mae’s home. It was something you’d never forget. Hundreds of frogs grinned, peered, and leered at them. They leapt through waterfalls, swam in ponds, cavorted permanently suspended in gel. Made of fabric, ceramic and metal they served as paperweights and flying angels and clocks. Some were as small as a fingernail, others taunted from huge wire cages, others were wire, sponge, and cuddly cloth.
Maddy took it in stride as she met Rita Mae in the foyer and handed the woman her flowing cape. Kat lingered behind, her head swiveling from one frog to the next. She carefully sidestepped a beautifully hand-knotted rug sporting frogs and attempted to retain a bland appearance when she turned the corner and almost bumped into bright orange and yellow poisonous wooden frogs hanging on the wall.
“Wonderful, aren’t they,” Rita Mae cooed as she quickly hung Kat’s coat and followed behind. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
The two women felt fortunate that the living room sported every day looking sofas and chairs. With difficulty they pulled their minds back to the purpose of their call. Kat recovered first and opened with a general discussion of handwriting analysis. Maddy listened while observing that the normally conservative woman with calf-length dresses was wearing a short jumper, revealing never-seen-before bandy legs.
Though Rita Mae was quite intrigued with the concept of handwriting analysis, she appeared puzzled at the urgency of the subject. Kat finally clarified.
“You see, Rita Mae, we’ve been investigating the murder of Ed Ambrose. One way we hoped to reveal suspects was by studying their handwriting. How a person writes can give certain clues as to their nature and intent.”
“Fascinating, fascinating. How can I help?”
“Well, your handwriting perplexed us. You are being deceptive about something, especially where you mention your activities on Monday night.”
Rita Mae laughed but didn’t respond.
“Bingo is an innocuous pastime. We were wondering if you would explain why we are sensing something else?”
The elderly woman placed two fingers over her mouth, her thumb on her chin, lost in thought. The two amateur interrogators exchanged furtive glances.
Finally Rita Mae responded. “I think we need some drinks for this. What would you like?”
Expecting tea, Kat said, “Any kind is fine.”
Rita Mae walked over to an elegant rosewood cupboard and revealed a dozen bottles of liquor. “I think some of this is in order. Are you sure you don’t have a preference?”
Settled with their Bailey’s, they listened to her confession. “I’ve never told anyone this before. You have to promise secrecy. I can’t be compromised. Though I suppose if I lost my job it wouldn’t matter at this point. It’s the principle.”
