Balancing more than one job was a hard gig sometimes.
As I walked down the hallway, I noted that the place smelled like microwaved meals. The scent, at the moment, wasn’t pleasing.
As I reached the end of the hallway, I could see a man who looked fortyish sitting behind a huge desk. He looked slightly awkward. Maybe it was his oversized ears or the way he paused a little too long before speaking. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, but something was different about the man.
As I glanced around his office, I saw a package of microwavable mac and cheese in the trashcan. Bingo! Stinky smell located.
“Ms. St. Claire. Thanks for coming in. What can I do for you?” He motioned for me to have a seat.
I did, and attempted a pleasant smile. “I’m here about Mythical Falls.”
“Mythical Falls. I’m very aware of that property. What about it?”
“I heard you had an interest in it. Your father does, at least. It’s a beautiful piece of land.”
“Yes, he does. He’s been trying to purchase it for years. What’s your connection with the property?”
“I’m a . . . consultant for Nate Reynolds. I’m there this week on the property, and I’m trying to convince him to sell also. I thought I would get some more information on the other possibilities out there before I submitted my advice to him.”
His eyes brightened with satisfaction. “I’ve been telling Nate to sell for years.”
I shifted, realizing just how many connections there were in this small town. “You know Nate?”
“I do. Our paths have a tendency to cross. I used to always razz him about Mythical Falls. It never did any good. He’s always loved the place.”
“I think it’s a disaster waiting to happen,” I said, taking on the role of devil’s advocate. “A bad investment for the future, especially for what he’s planning.”
He scowled. “It’s been the talk of the town—how Nate wants to make it a destination resort. We all know it won’t succeed. All these people will lose their money, further sinking the economy in the area.”
I wanted to argue with the man out of principle, but I didn’t want to blow my cover. I mostly just wanted to prove he was wrong. However, he did have some valid points. “There are much better uses for the land. I agree.”
“So what can I do for you exactly?”
I had the sense that this guy was desperate to prove to his father that he could follow in his footsteps. There was a certain eagerness in his gaze that was hard to ignore. “I was curious about why your father wanted this property so badly. What’s the lure? If I just had more insight, I might be able to convince Nate that this is all a bad idea and it would be more profitable to sell.”
“I doubt anything will convince him. But my father has always seen potential in that property. He wants to start a premiere retirement community there.”
“In the mountains? Some senior citizens would have a hard time managing the hills.”
“He has it all figured out. There are ways to make it accessible for seniors. We need something like this out here. We have an aging population, and an area like this would be much welcomed.”
What I didn’t understand was: why open something so upscale in an area that seemed so economically deprived? “Certainly there are other plots of land where his plan could work. Why the Mythical Falls property?”
“He said it’s special. Folklore has it that the actual spring on the property was once believed to be the fountain of youth.”
“How appropriate for a generation of seniors.”
“Exactly—plus, it’s peaceful. It’s quiet. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect for people who want to slow down.”
I shifted. “Speaking of your father, where is he right now?”
“He’s out of the country. In Brazil doing some kind of outdoor adventure. That’s what happens when you have more money than you know what to do with. He’s been there for the past couple of weeks, and he hasn’t given me a date when he’ll arrive back. I know what that means: it means he’ll come home whenever he feels like it.”
Out of the country? It was hard to murder someone when you were thousands of miles away. However, a man like Scotty Stephens could have quite possibly hired someone to do his dirty work twenty years ago. Who’s to say he wouldn’t do that again?
I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to go. “Thanks very much for your information. I’ll definitely take that into consideration when I meet with Nate.”
“No problem. I hope you’re able to convince him.”
I forced a tight smile. “Me too.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A s I walked back to my car some familiar faces caught my eye.
The Brilliant Brunke Brothers. They spruced up the flowerbeds along Main Street, working together like a well-oiled machine. Bill recognized me and waved me over.
“Good morning,” I called. I looked at the neat flowerbeds outside the office building, beds that were mulched to near perfect. “You guys work here too? For the Stephens?”
Bill laughed—not gracefully, but like he knew a joke I didn’t—and shook his head. “No, I’d never do that. We work for the city. That’s who maintains these streets. It’s not a full-time job—just once a week or so. But it keeps the paychecks coming in, and that’s good enough for us.”
“Understood. I’m sure Nate hates not having you at Mythical Falls today, especially with the workload he had.”
“Nate will have to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around him,” Grumpy called out from the flowerbed, grunting under his breath.
“Oh, Phil, who said he thinks that? He’s just a go-getter.” Happy. That had to be Happy again. “There’s nothing wrong with ambition . . . and a few positive thoughts once in a while.”
“Maybe I’d actually have some positive thoughts if I got some sleep at night,” Grumpy retorted. “But no, we have to stay up and plan—”
He abruptly stopped and looked at me. The rest of the brothers grew quiet also.
“Plan what?” I questioned. Could this merry band of brothers be behind some of the acts going on at Mythical Falls? I didn’t want to believe it.
“It’s nothing,” Bill said, giving his brothers a sharp glance.
I tensed, wondering what I was missing. “Should I be worried?”
Grumpy shrugged. “That depends on whom you ask. We are sworn to secrecy.”
“Oh, Phil, you make it sound so evil,” Happy said.
Before I could press for more information, someone across the street caught my eye, and I turned my attention from the banter between Cup Half Full and Cup Half Empty. Was that Seamus?
He obviously hadn’t seen me. He walked into the bank, talking in low tones with a woman I didn’t recognize. His companion was well-dressed, with long brown hair, a gray suit, and heels.
Bill followed my gaze and leaned on his shovel. “You met Seamus?”
I nodded. “Just briefly. He’s doing some roofing for Nate.”
“Worst contractor ever. I wouldn’t trust his work farther than I could spit.” To demonstrate, he actually spit across the sidewalk.
I raised my eyebrows, half afraid the Human Camel might turn his sights on me next. “Really?”
“He did some work for Quill. That roof was leaking again two weeks later during the first rainstorm we got.”
“That’s . . . unfortunate.”
“It’s shoddy workmanship. That’s what it is.” He raised his chin as if he dared someone to defy him.
I certainly wasn’t going to. “I’m surprised Nate hired him if his work is that bad.”
“I think Nate has some kind of weird connection to him, one where he feels obligated to hire him,” Grumpy called before shoving a mum into the dirt. “Not sure what’s behind it.”
Interesting. I nodded toward the bank. “Do you know the woman who was with him?”
Bill squinted, as if he might see through the bank’s walls. “Didn’t get a good g
lance at her. Sorry I can’t help. But I do know he’s not married, so it wasn’t his wife.”
I glanced at my watch again. I wished I could stay and see if I could catch a glimpse of her again. But I was already close to being late. I couldn’t wait any longer.
I jangled my keys. “Good running into you all again. I’ve got to go, though.”
Bill nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow at Mythical Falls. We’ve got more brush to clear away.”
If only finding the answers was as easy as clearing away the clutter in order to see better. On the other hand, maybe it was.
I needed to start by eliminating suspects. With any luck, I’d manage to do that with the same ease as the Brilliant Brunke Brothers cleared this flowerbed of weeds.
* * *
I finished up my training session on advanced fingerprints techniques—one of my favorite courses to teach—and packed up my things. The workshop had taken place in the next county over from Mythical Falls, which was too bad. I would have loved to pick the brains of the deputies involved in the murder of Caleb Kidwell and find out more information.
I glanced at my watch as I packed everything into the back of my sedan. Did I have time to make one more stop? I twisted my lips together as I thought about it. I figured I just might. After all, by the time I got back to Mythical Falls, it would already be dark, and I wouldn’t be able to get much work done. So why rush? While I was out here, I may as well make the most of my time.
With that thought in mind, I headed toward Whitehurst College.
I’d called Gardenia on my way into town, and she’d given me the name of some of Caleb’s friends, as well as told me what dorm they lived in. I figured I might be able to ask them some questions. If they were truly his friends, they wouldn’t mind answering and helping find their friend’s murderer.
Once on campus, I quickly found Bravenhurst Hall, but I not so quickly found parking a good four blocks away. I pulled my jacket closer around me as I started the hike toward the dormitory in the quaint college area. The street was lined with old houses that were now home to fraternities and sororities. A few clubs and cafes and a college bookstore were scattered in between.
By the time I reached the dormitory, I was shivering from the brisk mountain air. A student had let me inside, and I stood in the entryway several minutes, simply rubbing my hands together to regain feeling before proceeding.
I grabbed the first person I saw walking past who didn’t have a beer in hand. “Excuse me!”
The boy with spiky hair stopped and his eyes widened. “Yes . . . ?”
Had I officially crossed the threshold into old? That’s how I felt. It hadn’t been that long ago I was a student and working on getting my degree. Now I felt like I was decades older. The boy looked at me like I was a schoolmarm about to reprimand him.
“I’m looking for Tobin Michaels and Frank Bellary. Could you point me in the right direction?”
His face lit. “The Tobs and the Franz? Of course, I know them. I’m headed that way right now. Follow me . . .” He made a dramatic flare with his hands.
I didn’t argue. I followed him up two sets of stairs and down a dormitory hall where guys were hollering out their doors. A few might have even been wearing togas. I made it a point not to look too hard.
I tried not to make eye contact with any of them in an effort to appear professional—like a professional investigator, not a professional . . . well, you know.
We stopped in front of a room halfway down the hall, and the college-aged boy deposited me there. “Have fun!” He wagged his eyebrows up and down.
I straightened my coat before continuing. Before my hand could connect with the wood, the door opened and two beefy looking guys stood there. Both had thick heads and reminded me of football players. In fact, the two guys looked remarkably similar to each other, except one was blond and the other had dark hair.
“Whoa.” The blond backed up a step. “Who are you? Did Tommy send you?”
“Tomm—” I stopped myself, decided I shouldn’t even go there. I was wearing a black trench coat, and they were fraternity boys with overactive imaginations. “Caleb’s mom sent me.”
His eyes widened, and in one quick motion he pulled me inside his room and slammed the door. Panic pulsed through me as I realized the precarious situation I may have put myself in. When both guys backed away from me as if I was an unknown creature, I sensed they were harmless.
Don’t fail me now, instincts.
I sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the stench of dirty socks, old pizza, and expelled gas. It wasn’t pleasant, to say the least. But what did I expect from a guy’s dorm room?
The dark-haired beef-head narrowed his eyes as he studied me. “How do you know Caleb’s mom?”
I decided to play it straight. “She asked me to look into his murder.”
The blond’s eyes brightened like a scoreboard at the Super Bowl. “So, you’re like a P.I.?”
“Kind of. It’s complicated. But I’ve done this before. More than once.”
“So, you’re like, covert? Undercover? Secret?” The dark-haired guy wagged his shaggy eyebrows up and down. Maybe the eyebrow wag was a Whitehurst thing, but it was kind of strange.
“Well, Frank—?”
“That’s me,” the blond interjected. “But everyone calls me the Franz. Besides, no one thinks I look like a Frank.”
That meant the dark-haired boy was the Tobs.
If The Tobs was implying something, I had no idea what it was, but I wanted to stay in his good graces. “Okay, Tobs, would you be impressed if I said yes, I was undercover?”
“Totally.” His voice sank deeper.
I gave a curt nod. “Then yes, that’s what I am.”
Franz put his hands on his hips and narrowed his gaze. “What do you need to know? We’ve already talked to the po po. I’m not sure what else we have to say.”
I decided to get right to the point. Besides, if I stayed in his room much longer, my lungs would need to be fumigated. “People are saying that Caleb was about to burn down Mythical Falls when he died. What do you think about that?”
“No way.” The Tobs shook his head fervently. “He would never do something like that.”
“What was he doing on the property then?” I crossed my arms as I waited for his answer.
“I have no idea. Most people think it was a dare.” He leaned back against a dresser littered with beer cans—empty beer cans. Half of them clanked to the floor as he nudged the piece of furniture. A few other things also fell—some papers, rocks, and a bag of chips.
“What do you mean?” I remembered what Nate had told me, but I wanted to hear Caleb’s friends’ version.
Franz exchanged a glance with Tobs before shrugging. “We’re always doing dares here at the college,” Franz continued. “Mythical Falls is a favorite place.”
“I’ve heard about that. Some of the fraternities here are especially fascinated, right?”
“That’s right. It was good, safe fun. At least, it was until Caleb . . .” Franz looked away, his words choking in his throat. He appeared to be sincerely grieving.
“You said you didn’t think it was a dare. Why?”
Franz sighed, making it obvious that I wasn’t getting it. “Dares are public. Part of the adrenaline rush is having everyone knowing what you’re doing, so they can see if you succeed or fail. He never mentioned that.”
“Do you have any theories about what happened?” I softened my voice.
“You mean, besides the Bigfoot Strangler?” Tobs asked.
I should have figured the subject of the Bigfoot Strangler would come up. “Yes, besides Bigfoot.”
The Tobs leaned closer and lowered his voice. His breath smelled like cheese balls. Ew. “He’s real, man. And he’s out there. For reals.” He made some kind of mock gang sign that looked ridiculous.
“Moving along,” I prodded. I really hoped all of this wasn’t a gigantic waste of time or another lecture of the realit
ies of Bigfoot. “Any other theories? Any viable ones?”
“I have no idea,” Franz said. “No one disliked Caleb. He was the all-American boy. Smart, wealthy, handsome. At least, that’s what the ladies said. I think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. What other reason would there be?”
Tobs shifted. “Well, there was one other thing.”
My curiosity spiked along with my adrenaline. “What’s that?”
Tobs and Franz exchanged a glance. Finally, Tobs nodded, giving Franz silent permission to share whatever it was he wanted to share.
“Well, there’s this rumor . . .” Franz cringed, like he didn’t want to say his impending statement. But there was a look in his eyes—a look of concern. Or was it fear? Just what was going on here?
Not only that, but there appeared to be a lot of rumors floating around out in this area. I’d never lived in a small town, but everything I’d heard about them appeared to be true. “Okay . . .”
Franz leaned even closer, also expelling the scent of stinky cheese. “I heard Caleb having some whispered conversations on his phone the week before he died. I couldn’t make out everything that was said. But I heard something about money. It sounded intense. He hung up when I came closer, all secretive like.” He scrunched his eyebrows and raised his shoulders. “We were bros. I didn’t think we had secrets. But I was like, whatever, man.”
Who said guys didn’t have feelings? Franz was obviously hurt by the fact that Caleb didn’t share everything going on his life. At least that was true if I was following his train of thought correctly.
“What do you think Caleb was talking about?” I asked. “Any idea what his secret was?”
He glanced at Tobs one more time. “He seemed to have come into some money right before he died.” He clutched his chest in dramatic loyalty and persuasion. “I personally wondered if someone paid him to go on the property.”
The fear that had rippled over me turned into a cold, morbid curiosity. Mysterious money? Again? That couldn’t be a coincidence. “How do you know he came into money? Why do you think that?”
“I found one of his bank statements on the floor,” the Franz said. “I thought, at first, that it was mine, but after I looked at it, I realized it wasn’t.”
Thrill Squeaker: A Squeaky Clean Mystery (Squeaky Clean Mysteries Book 11) Page 9
