The Dead Detective Agency (The Dead Detective Mysteries)

by Peg Herring

  “I’ll call him. What’s his cell number?”

  Abe’s face flushed and his gaze wandered to the right. “Mr. Pollard is an old-fashioned guy. He doesn’t take calls on weekends.” Tori heard his excuse for the lie. He’ll know soon enough.

  It was clear from his expression DeMestrie didn’t believe Abe. “I’m going to find him, with or without your help.” Pulling out his phone and his notebook, DeMestrie found and punched in the home number of Carmon Calley and hit the speaker button. They all heard the phone ring twice and then heard someone pick up.

  Carmon answered in her usual businesslike voice, but loud music behind her produced a contradictory image. Tori smiled to herself. Carmon listened to Slipknot while she did her weekend chores?

  “It’s Detective DeMestrie, Ms. Calley. I need to speak with Amos Pollard right away.”

  “Mr. Pollard is unavailable.”

  DeMestrie’s eyes met Abe’s, acknowledging he’d told the truth that far. “You must have a number where he can be reached in emergencies.”

  “He doesn’t like to be disturbed on weekends.”

  “I’ll keep it brief, but as I said, it’s important.”

  She hesitated, but loyalty to her boss won. “I can ask him to call you. That’s the best I can do.”

  With grudging thanks, DeMestrie ended the call, obviously irritated, and rose to leave. “I’ll be hearing from your boss soon, Mr. Gougeon. Don’t think I won’t be watching you in the meantime.”

  “Go right ahead,” Abe growled. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  DeMestrie closed the door firmly behind him, his steps echoing down the walkway like angry drumbeats.

  Inside Abe’s head, Tori was beginning to understand. Abe had been serving the interests of PLK, and now she knew why. Abe resented DeMestrie’s insinuations, worried about Madison’s absence, and was faintly amused by the thought of the police questioning Amos Pollard about him. Uncle Amos will put them straight in a hurry!

  Uncle Amos! It took a few moments for Tori to sort through the rush of thoughts in Abe’s mind and locate the ones she wanted to hear. Amos Pollard was Abe’s great uncle. It was he who had given Abe the car, the job, and the task of finding out what was wrong at PLK Investments.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  We Shall Overcome

  Madison slumped dispiritedly in the pit, considering unlikely options, when Talbert appeared yet again, looming over him like a Titan. “I’d rather not risk a shot with someone snooping around out there, but I need a few hours’ lead time. I think I’ve found just the thing to muffle your calls for help.” Daryl disappeared, but his pleased grin seemed to lag after him.

  Madison felt some relief. If Talbert was unwilling to kill a cop in cold blood, he had some hope of rescue. Not much in this godforsaken place, but some.

  There was the sound of something being dragged, and Talbert reappeared. “I’m going to tuck you in, Detective.” With some effort, he pulled a rolled tarp up to the edge of the pit. In several more trips he added weight along the length of it: a small engine, an old wheel, and something that might have been an alternator. Once the tarp was held in place lengthwise, he unrolled it, running comically from one end to the other to spread it evenly over the pit. As he worked, darkness and the smell of old canvas enveloped Madison. More weight thudded into place on the other three sides. Madison was cocooned inside, and he feared Talbert was right. His cries for help would bounce off the tarp, heard by him alone.

  “If and when they find you under your shroud, I’ll be long gone,” Daryl’s muffled voice assured him. There was no other sound except the soft closing of the rear door. Madison imagined the padlock clicking together, truly closed this time, leaving him in the pit that would soon become his grave.

  Abe watched DeMestrie back out of the driveway. With sudden decision he moved to his briefcase where he took out a PLK staff directory and headed for his own car. Hope she’s home melded with tell her everything. When Tori realized where he was headed, she was pleased. Things were going to get interesting. She only hoped Abe’s decision would be useful for her purposes, and for saving Madison’s life.

  In front of Carmon’s house, three teenage boys on the narrow sidewalk stared in amazement as the Ferrari pulled into the drive. “Sweet!” exclaimed one with pants far too baggy for efficient movement. Nearby, three duffle bags sat on the ground, each with a baseball glove fastened to its strap.

  Abe gave them a brief wave and hesitated. Which door? The front appeared too formal. He chose the side door. As he passed along the walk, Tori saw Carmon through the window before Carmon noticed Abe. She was in the kitchen, cleaning a pair of tennis shoes with a damp rag. The same music, or maybe a different band of the same ilk, blared in the background, but she appeared oblivious to it. Abe knocked loudly to be heard over the din inside.

  “Abe!” Carmon’s eyes widened when she came to the door. Fear? Suspicion?

  Thinks I’m evil. “Hi, Carmon. I need to talk to you.” Her expression revealed doubt. She glanced nervously behind her. Abe put his hands out in a plea for understanding. “I’d never hurt Tori, you know that.”

  At that moment the music stopped abruptly, there were footsteps down a hallway, and a young man entered the room. He was almost as beautiful as Carmon, a fact that probably made him uncomfortable. His hair was buzzed and his clothing masculine, probably to minimize the softness of his brown eyes and the smoothness of his face. He stopped, surprised by the visitor and unsure of what Abe’s presence meant. Slung over one shoulder was a large gym bag, stuffed with whatever boys need when they leave home for more than an afternoon.

  Carmon put the shoes she had been cleaning into the side pocket of the bag. “Abe, this is my brother. Cory, Abe, from work.”

  “Hi.” The kid’s voice was soft, his smile genuine.

  “Cory’s heading out with the baseball team,” she explained. “The coach is taking them on an overnight to see the Tigers play.”

  Abe looked at the kid. “Cool! Who’s the foe?”

  “The White Sox.”

  “Ooh, even better!”

  A horn tooted out front and the boy glanced out the window. “They’re here.” They looked out and saw the other three boys crowding into a squared nine-passenger van.

  Cory asked his sister a question with his eyes, and Tori guessed what it was. Is it safe to leave you here with this guy?

  There was a moment of hesitation. Carmon looked at Abe, and Tori saw her struggle to make up her mind. Carmon, who had learned over her lifetime not to trust people in general, had to decide whether she trusted this man in particular. Unless she voiced her fears, she’d be left alone with someone who might be a killer. Seconds passed. “Have a good time at the game, Little Bro.”

  “I will.” Now Cory’s eyes begged her not to embarrass him in front of company with too much affection.

  “And behave yourself.” Her hand reached for him automatically. Cory relented and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek.

  “I’ll see you. Nice to meet you, Abe.” He went out the door, and they watched him run to the van, waving comically as if they had begun to pull away without him.

  “Nice kid,” Abe commented.

  “Yes, he is.” She watched the van pull away, and then turned to Abe. “Please, sit down.”

  Taking two clean mugs from the cupboard, she poured two cups of coffee, added the spoon-and-a-half of sugar Abe customarily took to one of them, and set it in front of him. The kitchen was tiny and set up for two: two chairs, two placemats, two magnetic boards on the refrigerator listing things to be done, one labeled “Cory” and the other “Me.”

  Abe proclaimed the coffee perfect, although from the singing sensation in his body, Tori deduced he’d had enough caffeine today. Ignoring her own cup, Carmon turned her steady gaze on him. “I’m sorry, Abe. I told Detective DeMestrie you were no killer, but I had to be honest.”

  “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I lied to you, and now I want
to make it right.”

  Her stiff posture softened, and he, too, relaxed a little. Speaking slowly at first but gaining confidence as he found the words, Abe told her the truth.

  Inside him, Tori listened with as much interest as her friend did. Although she had put together some of it from his disjointed thoughts, it was important to understand it all. For Carmon, it was truth from a man she undoubtedly wanted to believe in. For Tori, it was why she died.

  “Amos Pollard is my great uncle. There was some huge flap in the family when my mother married my dad. I guess he wasn’t the right sort of people for the Pollards of East Grand Rapids. Mom broke contact with everyone except Uncle Amos.”

  Carmon’s lips twitched slightly at the familial reference, as if she couldn’t imagine Pollard as anything but Mister.

  “He’s always been good to us: gifts at Christmas and my birthday, letters of congratulation when I passed a milestone. I never met him until my mom and I moved back here after Dad died. At that point, Amos became more than a distant uncle who sent cool gifts. I chose to go into investing because of his influence.”

  “But he never mentioned you or your mother.”

  “Mom is still bitter over her family’s rejection. We kept it quiet for her sake.” He smiled. “She wasn’t too happy about the Ferrari, but she got used to it.” He ran his thumb along the floral design on the coffee mug. “A year ago, things changed. Amos told me he’s dying of cancer.”

  “That’s terrible!” Her hand came toward Abe involuntarily, but she pulled back, wrapping it around her own cup instead. “I knew something wasn’t right, but he always insists he is fine.”

  “He didn’t want anyone to know. I understand, because my mom is the same way about her Parkinson’s. They dread being pitied. I think it’s in the Pollard bloodline.”

  “Now I understand why he is unreachable for days at a time.”

  “Treatment.”

  “I noticed he often looks worse when he returns.”

  Abe nodded grimly. “When did chemotherapy ever qualify as R and R?”

  Carmon’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back as he continued. “He’s going to ignore ‘the problem’ until he can’t ignore it any longer.”

  “Yes, he’d take that attitude.” She managed a smile. “He’s quite a man.”

  “That he is.” Abe turned businesslike. “When he told me about the cancer, he also told me his suspicion there is something wrong at the firm. Some time ago, rumors began circulating about our clients experiencing big losses. Since we have had no more bad luck than anyone else in this economy, Uncle Amos suspected someone is undermining PLK.”

  “You mean telling lies about us?”

  “Cheating our clients.” Abe stood and paced the small kitchen. “He blames himself. With his cancer, he hasn’t been as vigilant as he once was.”

  “No one would expect it with such a terrible illness to fight.”

  “Unfortunately, the partners weren’t chosen with the idea they might someday manage the firm. Amos had the administrative talent. He always assumed—” Abe stopped, embarrassed, and Carmon finished.

  “He assumed you would take his place when the time came.”

  Abe grimaced. “He thought he’d have time to bring me along slowly. Given ten years, even five, I could probably step into the role of lead partner. Now I have months instead of years. It would be a stretch even without the chaos caused by crime, murder, and police investigations.”

  “You’ve got the instincts for it, though. I’ve heard people say it.”

  He shrugged off the compliment. “Amos chose me, and I’ll do my best. But first and foremost, we needed to find out what was wrong at PLK.”

  “How could we not notice unhappy clients?”

  “Because the problem isn’t with clients we have. It’s with people who believe they are PLK clients. Amos checked our files and found nothing, but he had a feeling something was going on.” Abe raised his hands, palms up. “So he recruited a spy.”

  “A spy?” Carmon’s brows rose in surprise. He nodded.

  “Who could resist it? I became my uncle’s mole at PLK.”

  Chapter Forty

  I Can See Clearly Now

  Seamus’ cop host would have been a joy to know if the circumstances had been otherwise. He helped many people in the course of his day: tourists in need of directions, kids upset with a storeowner who they claimed harassed them, and a cabby cheated out of his fare. What he didn’t do was hurry back to the station house, which is what Seamus wanted. Even near shift end he took his time, stopping to chat with some teens who might or might not be up to no good.

  Finally, Seamus could stand it no more. “Toilet,” he whispered. “Toilet. Toilet.”

  It took a few more repetitions, but finally the young cop’s mind took up the idea. Gotta take a leak. He moved faster, and Seamus settled in, satisfied he was at last on the way.

  Carmon seemed both confused and relieved at Abe’s revelation. “Mr. Pollard asked you to find who’s cheating PLK?”

  “He’s determined to fix whatever isn’t right. I wasn’t done with my degree, of course, but he said that made it perfect. As an intern learning the ropes, I could look over everyone’s shoulder, ask lots of questions, and in general make a pest of myself. Hopefully, I’d find out who is cheating and how they were doing it.”

  “That’s why you were always asking questions! And why you wanted to get into Tori’s computer files.”

  “Yes, I wanted to compare them with what I gleaned from my own snooping.”

  “So was it you who caught Daryl?”

  Abe shrugged modestly. “He was easy. Just too slippery to be honest. Amos and I thought we had solved the problem, but even after Daryl left, things didn’t add up.”

  “Someone else was cheating.”

  “Talbert had a partner, but we didn’t know who.”

  Carmon smiled slightly. “Did you suspect me?”

  He looked into the bottom of his coffee cup. “Not just you. It could have been anyone except Tori, who came after Daryl left.”

  “So you couldn’t trust anyone else.” Carmon’s relief was evident. What she’d thought was interest in Tori and disinterest in her was actually due to the mission Abe had been given.

  “I decided early on that the secretaries were pretty unlikely. It had to be a broker, someone with access to everything.”

  “So you narrowed the possibilities, with Tori’s help.”

  “Tori didn’t know she was helping. She just thought I was curious about the business.”

  Tori was tempted to say something in Abe’s ear, to get back at him for deceiving her, but she was too interested in his revelations to interrupt.

  “But then she died.” Carmon hesitated slightly before the last word.

  “Yes.” Abe tucked his bottom lip under for a moment. “At first I had no idea her death might be connected to my work at PLK. Even when Jennise died, I thought of it as two separate events. But when the news reported Daryl Talbert’s death, I became concerned.”

  “What does Mr. Pollard say about all this?”

  “He wanted it kept quiet, but DeMestrie told me this morning Daryl Talbert is still alive.”

  “He didn’t commit suicide?”

  “Apparently he killed someone else to give himself a chance to get away.”

  Carmon’s expression revealed shock and surprise. “That’s awful.” She turned her dark eyes directly to Abe’s. “Who at the firm is helping him?”

  “Both Daryl and Tori worked mostly with Pardike and Falk. Chances are it’s one of them.”

  “But Falk has a heart condition.”

  Abe raised his brows ironically. “Does a bad heart mean a guy can’t be a crook?”

  “It’s just hard to believe. Neither of them is likeable, but they both dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”

  “Smart practice. Makes people think you’re honest.”

  “Pardike is greedy enough to cheat,
I suppose. Falk is difficult, but he doesn’t seem the type to take chances.” She sipped her coffee distractedly, and Tori thought there was more she might have said but chose not to.

  “That’s what I thought too, at first, but consider this. Falk’s client list has been declining, but he makes no effort to win new clients.”

  “I thought it was because he was near retirement.”

  “But even when easy cases fall into his lap, he doesn’t bother to pursue them. Tori asked once if she should refer prospects to one of the other brokers, and Falk got very angry. He said her job was to hand the information to him, and he didn’t need a secretary telling him how to operate.”