Connections

by Beth Urich

  “Correct, but that’s been almost twenty years ago. Jack said he’d rebuild them for me to honor Clay.”

  Tom said, “Did Kate tell you what happened several days ago at the property?”

  “No, we only discussed when Clay and I were first married and building the store.”

  “I’m sorry, Etta. I assumed you were aware that while a crew was clearing the lot they unearthed human remains.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by clearing the lot,” she said.

  Thrown for a moment by her greater concern with the clearing than the discovery, Tom said, “They were in the process of removing all the trees.”

  “That’s not possible,” she said. “Jack promised to leave it as it was.”

  Sid said, “Maybe they’re clearing to rebuild your husband’s store?”

  “They wouldn’t have to remove all the trees,” Etta said as she moved from her chair to the mantle. She touched a photo of a young couple, then turned to face the detectives. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure how I can help you.”

  Tom said, “Would you have any idea how someone came to be buried on your lot or who it might be?”

  “I can’t imagine. Where was it?”

  “Beyond the tree line towards Roark Creek,” Sid said.

  “Clay and I didn’t build beyond the southeast corner. I remember trees covered the lot and adjacent properties clear down to the water. I don’t know more about it.”

  Tom stood up and took a card from his jacket pocket. “Thanks for your time, Etta. If you remember anything that might help us with the investigation, please give us a call.”

  Etta took the card, then followed the detectives to the door. “Maybe Jack can remember something.”

  “Thanks again,” Sid said as they left the porch.

  Tom waved to Etta and closed the passenger door.

  “Quite a feisty lady,” Sid said as he turned onto the highway. “She seemed genuinely surprised. Struck me she is more concerned that someone was clearing the lot.”

  “I agree. In any case, she denied knowing about the burial or who it might be.”

  “So, either she doesn’t know, has forgotten, or is lying,” Sid said.

  “Good summary, detective.”

  “Thanks. By the way I confirmed Brighton will be at his office this afternoon. Should we head over now?”

  “Why not, we’re on a roll.”

  THE RECEPTIONIST SHOWED the policemen into a small conference room next to the waiting area. Mercifully, the soft music playing in the oval room didn’t follow them.

  “Mr. Brighton will meet you in here,” she said closing the door on her way out.

  A large window overlooking Commercial Street dominated the outside wall. The other walls were covered with mostly old black and white pictures. Tom recognized Etta and both Jack and Randy Brighton in several shots. The detective was finishing the gallery tour when the door at the opposite end of the room opened.

  Jack Brighton was dressed in jeans, a work shirt, and heavy boots.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Gentlemen, I was at the construction site.”

  He shook each officer’s hand and introduced himself.

  Tom said, “Detective Sergeant Tom Collingwood and this is my partner Detective Sergeant Sid Green. Thanks for making time for us.”

  Jack took a seat at the table. “Am I in trouble?”

  “We’ve come to discuss your lot on St. Limas Street. Are you aware of the recent discovery?” Tom asked, wanting to avoid any surprises.

  “Yes. In fact, a reporter filled me in this morning.”

  “Kate Starling?” Sid asked.

  “Yes. While she was interviewing me about Fortune Enterprises, she asked about Etta’s lot. I’d been out of town for several days. As I told Ms. Starling, I haven’t been on the lot since 1975 when the city of Branson complained about the dilapidated buildings and we razed them.”

  “Why are you clearing the land now, Mr. Brighton?” Sid asked.

  “Technically, I’m not. My grandson runs the project development for my company. He requested the clearing permit.”

  “Without your knowledge?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Was he unaware of your promise to Etta Stupholds?”

  “You’ve spoken to Etta. I haven’t had a chance to discuss it with her. I would guess she was angry when she found out.”

  Tom said, “I’d say more confused and surprised.”

  “Larry was unaware of the importance of the lot to Etta or my promise to her. He is trying to prepare it for a future development deal.”

  “But he said nothing to you?”

  “He’s in charge of such things. Frankly, I’d forgotten about the promise until Kate brought it up this morning.”

  “You didn’t take the promise seriously?”

  “Quite the contrary. If you know Etta, you know I took the promise seriously. But I suppose you could say I hadn’t got around to keeping it.”

  Tom said, “Sorry, we have to ask. Do you have any idea who was buried on the lot?”

  “Absolutely not. Etta vacated the property when Clay died in 1942. We rented the buildings to a few tenants for several years, but then the lot sat unattended.”

  “Would you have a list of the tenants?”

  “I’ll have my secretary get you the names. It might take a bit of research in our old files, so be patient.”

  “Archives can be a challenge,” Sid agreed.

  Tom handed him a card. “Your secretary can call when the list is ready. If you think of anything pertinent to the investigation, please give us a call.”

  “Absolutely,” Jack said, but Tom was skeptical.

  CINDY WAVED ON HER way to the administrative area counter. “My newest best friends,” she said, handing Tom the key to the archive room.

  Tom said, “We’ve been busy all morning, but we were hoping to get back to it.”

  Sid elbowed Tom and whispered, “Don’t forget to ask her.”

  Cindy said, “Ask her what?”

  “Can we check out some of the boxes and take them to our offices to work on as time permits?” Tom said.

  “I’m sorry, it goes against policy.”

  “You can’t make an exception for two trust-worthy loyal policemen?” Sid asked with a grin. “We promise to lock them up at night.”

  Tom chimed in, “After-all, the building is secure. Right?”

  “I’m not allowed to make an exception. And ... FYI ... the building is not secure in the truest sense of the word. It is locked and it is unlikely someone would break in. It is even less likely someone would consider stealing these records. And the final ... and my personal favorite ... we’ve operated this long without control, why now?”

  “Okay, we get it. But you said you are not allowed to make an exception. Who can?”

  “City Clerk or Mayor. I suppose the City Council, but that would be a longer process.”

  Sid said, “None of those are good options.”

  Tom shrugged and nudged Sid. “Time for our little chat with the Building Department.”

  “You need to get Palmer to talk to the Mayor,” Sid said as the men crossed the lobby. “The witness room is too small to deal with the ongoing investigation, especially on a restricted time basis. And copying the records is not practical.”

  “Passing the buck, works for me,” Tom said, tapping on the manager’s office door frame.

  “Come on in,” Leatherman said. “I’m afraid this may be brief. I’ve spoken to Bryan Porter several times about his suit against Branson and his complaint to the state. Unfortunately, he didn’t provide anything beyond the documents themselves. In his mind, they made his case.”

  “Fortune Enterprises is called out in both filings,” Tom said.

  “He singled them in the majority of the allegations. Other companies are included as well, but most of the named architects worked on Fortune projects.”

  “What is your opinion of Porter?” Tom
asked.

  “He seems like a very frustrated man. My inspectors tell me he’s been making idle allegations for years.”

  “Did something happen to escalate his idle threats to formal claims?” Sid asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. When I try to get him to be more specific ... offer witness corroboration or other proof ... he won’t or can’t. I’m not sure which. All he’s done is bring up valid points about the timing issues in the permit process.”

  “Completing a building as large as the new office complex before the permit is issued is a bit more than a timing problem.”

  “I wish it were as clear cut as that.”

  “Explain, please,” Tom said.

  Leatherman sighed and shook his head. “I’ve already explained all this to the City Attorney. He’s addressing every point in his brief for the judge.”

  “Please, give us the rundown. We’re trying to help you and the City Attorney.”

  “I guess I’m frustrated by this issue taking up so much of my time.”

  “We understand.”

  Leatherman continued, “Specifically, on the office complex, the permit itself was late. But the plans were in the review process and, for the most part, work was approved to begin, albeit verbally, after review of specific areas. Inspections were performed properly and work approved before the crew proceeded to the next task.”

  “None of these verbal approvals were documented.”

  “Only by inference with the inspection reports. But, for what it’s worth, this is how this department has worked for decades. The county isn’t even this organized. Both governments are taking steps to improve the process and to be within accepted building codes. If we’re going to do as much construction as larger cities, we must embrace their procedures.”

  “And the state’s investigation?”

  “In the beginning steps. Upon completion, they’ll have recommendations. If they find that an architect or engineer merits censure, they will take an appropriate action. Neither the suit against the city nor the complaint with Missouri is a criminal indictment.”

  Tom said, “I guess it’s our job to see if criminal charges should be filed. Thanks for your time. Please keep us posted.”

  Once in the lobby, Sid asked, “Do we know anything we didn’t know before we had that meeting?”

  “Did we expect to learn anything?”

  “Good point. Back to the witness room.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shirley struggled to fasten her seatbelt as Kate pulled away from the hospital and drove the short distance to the merger with US 65 North, “What’s the rush?”

  “No rush. I have things to do,” Kate responded.

  “You’re welcome by the way.”

  “For what? Oh, right. Thanks for coming with me on such short notice.”

  “Not a problem, but why did you want me to go with you? I’m sure you can find your way to the courthouse and maybe even to the recorder’s office.”

  “I appreciate your confidence,” Kate said, matching Shirley’s sarcasm. “I knew you were off early this afternoon and we haven’t seen each other in a while.”

  “We had lunch two days ago.”

  “You know, childhood friends can be extremely irritating,” Kate said, glancing at Shirley.

  “I had noticed that myself,” Shirley sniped.

  Kate turned onto F Highway and didn’t speak again until the turn toward Forsyth. She glanced at Shirley and said, “Tom and I had dinner last night.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Maybe.”

  Shirley laughed. “Aha. You brought me along today so I’d tell you everything will be okay between you two ... like it used to be or better.”

  “That would be a great relief. Can you issue a guarantee with the prediction?”

  “Afraid not, Katie. Life doesn’t come with guarantees. But you can’t not do something because you’re afraid to fail. Consider how you approach your job. The thought of failure never enters your mind.”

  “But he kissed me.”

  “And that terrifies you.”

  “What terrifies me is that I kissed him back.”

  “All you can do is go with the flow. Enjoy the moment. Worry about now, not when.”

  “Three clichés without taking a breath. That’s a record for you.”

  “Seriously, it will be fine. You two were a great couple.”

  “In high school.”

  “So?”

  “What about all that’s happened?”

  “Are you telling me you two still haven’t discussed your breakup and his marriage?”

  Kate shook her head.

  Shirley laid her head against the seat rest and groaned. “You two need to communicate.”

  “What happened to worry about now, enjoy the moment?”

  “Katie, you can’t start fresh if you’re both holding back. That’s probably what’s doomed your other reconciliation attempts.”

  “I know you’re right, but your relationship record is no better, Miss Divorced-after-four-years-of-marriage.”

  “First of all, that’s not fair. Our situations are different. Second, we are not discussing me. We are discussing you and Tom. Third, I didn’t say relationships were easy or that I knew how to make one work.”

  “Maybe I’ll wait until you figure it out, then you can help me with mine.”

  “I would guess you have a long wait.”

  They pulled into a spot at the courthouse, and the two old friends walked silently to the entrance. Kate turned left toward the recorder’s office. “Where are you going?” Kate said when Shirley turned in the opposite direction.

  “You’ll be okay. I’m going to visit some friends. You don’t know them.”

  “Why does my best friend since kindergarten have friends who I haven’t even met?”

  “You know, Katie, you think too much. See you right here in thirty minutes.”

  The entrance door revealed a large red arrow pointing to a take-a-number station and leading to a short hallway all of which facilitated the line of customers Kate found waiting around the corner. She retraced her steps and took the next number. In a few minutes, one of the three on-duty clerks waved her forward. She gave him her business card as she checked his nametag.

  “Hi, Evan, my name is Kate Starling. I’m a reporter for Tri-Lakes Newspapers. I’m doing research for an article about new developments in Taney County, particularly how the Branson boom has affected real estate activity this decade.”

  Evan leaned on the counter, an incredulous expression on his face. “You may want to narrow that search period a bit. We’ve been a bit busy the last couple of years.”

  “Let’s start with the last two or three years, since the 60 Minutes piece,” Kate said.

  “How about I give you a copy of the logbook for this year. All liens, lien releases, and deeds are recorded. You can look it over and ask for details on projects of interest.”

  “That would be great,” Kate said, happy to get whatever she could.

  “We charge an admin fee for the copies.”

  “No problem.”

  Evan returned to the counter several minutes later and handed Kate thirty pages. “That will be seven-fifty.”

  “Seems like a lot of pages for less than a full year.”

  “As I said, we’ve been busy.”

  Kate’s wallet contained two one-dollar bills. “I’ll be right back.”

  “They all say that,” Evan chuckled.

  Good as her word, Shirley was waiting in the hall by the entrance to the building. Even better, she had the cash Kate needed for the copies.

  “Here you are,” the reporter said, handing Evan the required fee. She smiled sweetly. “Can I call you to get more info on particular projects?”

  “You bet,” he said. “When you call, ask for Evan.”

  Passing Shirley in the hall, Kate said, “Ready to go?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Thanks for the c
ash. I’ll buy lunch next week.”

  “Next week? Can’t we have lunch today?”

  “It’s almost three in the afternoon.”

  “I forgot the ‘no lunch after twelve’ rule.”

  “I have things to do before the day ends. You can enjoy the rest of your day off.”

  Kate stopped in front of Shirley’s house and said, “I appreciate your going with me.”

  “You’re welcome, I’m sure. When we have lunch next week, I’ll want a full report on your discussion with Tom.”

  Kate shook her head and grimaced, and then drove away without comment. She wanted to pick up the permit log from Claire before they closed. She thanked the secretary and confirmed their lunch date for the following week. Never hurts to cultivate your sources, Kate mused.

  Instead of going next to Etta’s, as she had planned, she decided to visit Larry Allen at the new office complex site. The project trailer sat about a hundred feet from the main building on an island of bare ground. In preparation for paving, the remainder of what would be the parking area had been leveled and graveled. Although the site lacked landscaping, the building exteriors appeared to be finished. Judging from numerous contracting vans dispersed on the lot and the flurry of men carrying tools and materials in and out of the building, the interiors of the five-story central structure and two-story wings were works-in-progress.

  Kate found Allen, alone, in a makeshift office in the mid-section of the cramped trailer. He braced himself against the wall with one hand as his other traced over a blueprint covering a small worktable. A light-yellow polo shirt stretched across his well-developed shoulder and back muscles and disappeared neatly into his navy-blue slacks.

  He shook his head, shifted his weight onto the other foot and bent closer to the plan, every dark wavy hair in place. An architect’s lamp clamped to the table edge cast shadows on his profile, revealing chiseled features she hadn’t noticed before. She waited in the passageway, but his concentration held fast, so she tapped the wall with one knuckle.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  He turned toward her and stretched to his full height, his frown somewhere between startled and annoyed. His politician’s greeting materialized, displaying perfect white teeth set evenly over a square jaw. But the reflex action disappeared quickly when he recognized his visitor.