by Beth Urich
“Point taken,” Tom said.
Jack asked, “What is it you want to know about Lex?”
“We understand he and you were good friends and had been in business together at Riverside Mercantile for many years when he abruptly left the company,” Sid said.
“To be accurate, the store didn’t become Riverside Mercantile until Etta merged her store with ours in 1942. Nevertheless, Lex, Etta, and I were close school chums and the friendships continued into adulthood."
"Why did Porter leave the store?” Sid asked.
“He wasn’t happy with the direction we were taking.”
“Excuse me,” Tom interrupted, “by we you mean you and Etta?”
“Yes. Lex wanted to run the store one way. We had other ideas. Although we tried to compromise with him, he decided to go it alone. He opened his own store.”
“But he couldn’t compete with us,” Randy added.
Tom glanced at Jack for confirmation.
“That’s correct,” the elder Brighton said. “They did okay, but he decided to find work up north, in Kansas City, I think.”
“Why didn’t his wife and son go with him?” Sid asked.
“I couldn’t answer that question.”
“When did Lex come back to Branson?” Sid asked.
Jack shook his head. “He didn’t. I’m sure I would have known if he had come back.”
“You don’t know what happened to him after he left for Kansas City?”
“Exactly,” Jack said, glancing at his attorney.
“That takes care of it then,” Keith said, coming to his feet. “Are there other issues to discuss today?”
TOM AND SID SPENT THE remainder of the day trying to run down Julie’s boyfriend and reviewing building department personnel files for potential bribery candidates. As Sid speculated, many workers left Chicago for Branson in the early nineties.
At four o’clock, Tom stacked everything neatly on his desk. “My eight hours were up several hours ago. No more phone calls. I’m going to go pick up Katie and we’ll meet you and Shirley at the pizza place in one hour.”
When Tom pulled into the motel parking lot, Kate was already waiting by the office. He figured her day had probably gone like his and she was ready for a night out. He would prefer to test drive Sid and Shirley’s relationship another time, but the commitment had been made. He would not be able to convince Kate otherwise.
“Did some perp beat you up?” she asked, scooting into the passenger seat.
“Thanks. You look pretty great yourself.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you weren’t your usual incredibly handsome self. But I detect a bit of tiredness in those sexy blue eyes of yours.”
“Good recovery. I could have used some of that finesse today.”
“Bad day in cop city, huh?”
“Like every day since that stupid oak stump flipped up those remains.”
“I bet you’ve met all kinds of interesting people. And you get to interrogate them without making a lot of excuses or manipulating your way into their lives.”
“You mean like the lady who smoked like a chimney and nearly bit our heads off because she didn’t know where her boss was?”
“Sounds charming. Where was that?”
“Some flea market. But I don’t want to talk about any of the interesting people I’ve met in my line of work. I want to have a special evening with my newly reestablished girlfriend on a double date with my partner and his new girl. No. I’m lying. I wish we were going to my place or your place for a quiet evening alone together. But I know how much matchmaking means to you.”
“Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
“So, you don’t want to talk about work?”
“Right.”
“Why didn’t you say that?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kate lingered in bed and tried to attach Tom’s description of the lady from the flea market to a woman she had seen recently. She couldn’t quite remember where or why she had run into the smoking chimney. Ordinarily she wouldn’t worry about it, but she was curious why Tom encountered the woman and felt compelled to satisfy that curiosity. She considered her natural inquisitiveness an asset rather than a neurosis, given her current occupation.
Answering the phone in the living room, she was pleased to hear Shirley’s voice. “I’m glad you called,” Kate said.
“Before you tell me why, I have to thank you from the bottom of my heart for setting me up with Sid,” Shirley said.
“You must have had a good time after the movie.”
“Don’t get too excited. We talked for a while and he left.”
“That’s it?”
“He did kiss me goodnight.”
“Sounds exciting to me. I knew you two had something going in the restaurant.”
“And you’re glad I called because?”
“Where did we see that crazy old woman who was smoking one cigarette after another?”
“What?”
“I seem to remember you were with me, but I can’t remember where.”
“What brought this up?”
“Tom mentioned this woman that worked in a flea market that smoked like a chimney. I was trying to figure out the connection.”
“Tory’s Treasures. She was yelling at the clerk at the counter about something as we arrived. She didn’t stop smoking the entire time, even lit a couple cigarettes during the lecture.”
“Bryan Porter’s place?”
“So, is Tom having an affair with this lady?”
“Very funny. He said he was trying to find her boss. I guess he meant Bryan. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
“That does not sound like the Lois Lane of Tri-Lakes Newspapers.”
“I’m sure Tom wanted to speak to Bryan about that suit or something.”
“Oh, by the way, I spoke to my dad about Bryan. Apparently, the marriage had been of the shotgun variety. As it turned out, the not quite twenty-year-old bride lost the baby.”
“Good lord, Bryan had to be in his thirties.”
“Yes. And, in the spirit of the decade, he tried to make a go of the marriage. It did not work out. In other words, she dumped him.”
“What did your father have to do with it?”
“He intervened with the bride’s family, who insisted on ... shall we say ... a settlement.”
“Ah. Curious, but not relevant to the events of this decade.”
“Probably not. Well, I have to go. Thanks again for Sid.”
Kate hung up and tapped her index finger on the receiver. Bryan’s marriage isn’t important, but why Tom drove out to the flea market to speak to the man might be.
BRYAN’S BUILDING WAS larger and the merchandise less treasured than Kate remembered. As she recalled, she and her old friend may have indulged in a glass or two of wine before going on the flea market binge tour that afternoon.
“Is the manager available?” Kate asked.
“Not today,” the young girl at the counter said with a snicker.
“Does he have a second in command?”
“I guess his cousin Sylvia. She’s in the back office. Take aisle four.”
Kate made her way beyond the ten or so rented stalls along either side of the aisle. At the end of the row the large picture window framed a small office and its occupant—a gray-haired smoking chimney. The reporter tapped on the glass and waited for the seated woman to wave her to the door.
Kate entered, then took an involuntary step backward, overwhelmed by the stench of stale smoke. “My name is Kate Starling, Tri-Lakes Newspapers,” she said, offering her card.
Sylvia crushed out her current cigarette—forcing several butts to overflow the large ash tray—and accepted the business card.
“You wrote those articles about the crafts fair. They were interesting. Brought back memories for me. I’m not that old but I’ve been around for a few.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed them. Maybe you can help me wit
h some information.”
“What about?”
“As a follow-up to the articles, I would like to do a series on the antique stores in Branson. They’re crafts fair cousins, after all,” Kate said.
“I think they’re the central attraction for tourism in this town.”
“Exactly,” Kate said with a smile. She stole a breath of air from the hallway and eased into the room. “May I sit here?”
“You bet.”
“I understand from the clerk that you are the owner’s cousin.”
“Correct. But I’ve been involved with flea markets, I mean, antique stores, for lots longer than Bryan.”
Kate made the mistake of asking how the stores worked and Sylvia was off and running with every aspect of the flea market business. She continued the occasionally interesting diatribe for several minutes as Kate took notes. The reporter waited for Sylvia to pause and light a cigarette before interrupting.
“Wow. This is great. You’ve given me a lot for my articles.”
“When will they be in the paper?”
“First, I have to convince the editor to do them. I’m still accumulating information for my proposal,” Kate said moving toward the door. “How long have you been working with Bryan?”
“A little over fifteen years. I worked at several other places, but Bryan needed a manager so I agreed to help him out. Didn’t hurt having my accounting skills, either.”
“I’ll bet. The reason I ask is my boyfriend used to work for Bryan when he was a kid. It would have been before you started, though.”
“What’s his name?”
“Tom Collingwood.”
“Detective Tom Collingwood?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“Met him a week or so ago. He came to see Bryan.”
“Hmm. Small world. We don’t discuss work. It leads to too many arguments, if you know what I mean.”
“I can imagine. Anyway, your boyfriend is a nice man. He explained everything to me about the test. Made me feel okay about doing it.”
“Test?”
“Some new thing to help with an old case they’re trying to close. I’m not sure how I can help, but I guess I’ve been around long enough to qualify.”
“Did it have something to do with Bryan?”
“I don’t think so,” Sylvia said.
“But you said Tom was looking for Bryan, right?”
“No, the test thing happened later. He called me about that separately.”
“I’m glad he took care of you.”
Sylvia smiled.
“Thanks for your help. I’ll let you know about the articles,” Kate said, not wanting to push Sylvia about the test. Maybe a subtle question to Tom about old open cases, would be an exception to the off-limits-topic rule. But she doubted it would be that easy.
HELEN’S STAFF MEETING went on longer than usual. It was more of a pep talk to stimulate ideas for articles during the upcoming winter months when the town would be in off-season shut down mode. All the young and eager part-time reporters chimed in with ideas for feature stories. Helen, to her credit, was gentle with her comments and encouraged everyone to bring her proposals as soon as possible. Kate drifted in and out of daydreams in which she scored major points for exposing Allen’s unethical, maybe even illegal, shortcomings.
“Something humorous to share, Kate,” Helen asked.
Kate scanned the room to see who was laughing loudest. She scooted forward in her chair and straightened her back. “Turns out I’m planning an article revealing the long-unnoticed crimes of a prominent Branson businessman.”
More laughter.
Helen said, “In that case, I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She paused for effect then said, “Okay, everyone, get to work.”
“Can I have a moment?” Kate asked, following Helen to her office.
“I have a couple items to discuss with you also.”
Helen closed the door and sat in the chair next to Kate. “I attended a small group of area business owners last night. The attendees were a strange combination, including Larry Allen and Harold Wainright.”
“That is a bit odd,” Kate commented.
“I managed to speak to Wainright before the activities began. He said you weren’t a real problem. He understands you need to follow up.”
“How nice.”
“I asked him about working with the chamber and, as with you, he claimed he enjoyed the meetings, but hadn’t developed any real business relationships. He was enjoying his retirement far more than he expected he would.”
“So, what was the meeting about?”
“The announced purpose was to discuss Branson’s future, which is innocuous enough. But the conversation quickly pinpointed the findings of the survey. Keep in mind, I would not have known that fact if you hadn’t shared the preliminary report with me.”
“What was said?”
“Nothing specific in terms of plans. Mainly ideas about making Branson a viable location for large corporate meetings. But the give and take between Allen and Wainright was more interesting than the discussion in general. The smooth way they ping-ponged the conversation and manipulated the rest of us to bring up certain suggestions was impressive. Even I was drawn into this rather exciting think tank atmosphere.”
“What game are they playing?” Kate asked.
“Maybe it’s not a game. Maybe they want to stimulate the debate and do what’s best for the town.”
“You’re right. That’s got to be it,” Kate said, not trying to stifle her sarcasm.
Helen raised an eyebrow. “In any case, they were tight at the meeting. I’ve checked around with some contacts in town who confirm that the two are on the same wavelength ... whatever that means.”
“It means they are both in it for the big bucks and I don’t mean for the city.”
“We know they’re playing coy about their relationship at least to the press.”
Kate smiled. “I’m still hoping for the big exposé.”
“What’s happening with the article about the fires?” Helen asked.
“Not much. I have a draft ready, but unfortunately there’s no consistent pattern. The properties, all residential, belong to several different individuals or companies. Although many of the houses were located on the downtown lakefront, others have been vandalized throughout the county. None of the damage was particularly serious, all was covered by insurance.”
“Had the owners been approached to sell?”
“Some.”
“Okay, send me the draft and any other info and we’ll decide what to do.”
As soon as Kate got back to her cubicle, she sent the files to Helen. She was almost ready to leave for her appointment with Phil Bingham when the phone rang. It was her friend Libby from the city engineer’s office.
“Hey, good to hear from you,” Kate said.
“Thanks, but I don’t have anything earth-shattering to report,” Libby said.
“But you do have something.”
“I spoke to Calvin about the lot and a lack of a follow-up plan,” Libby said. “He told me not to worry about it.”
“Isn’t part of your job worrying about details and loose ends?”
Libby didn’t respond so Kate asked, “So I’m guessing that’s not all you have for me.”
The secretary cleared her throat. “It seemed uncharacteristic for Calvin. So, I ...”
“Go ahead,” Kate urged.
“I reviewed his meeting calendar and noticed something. Larry Allen and Calvin have had several meetings over the last five or six months. What is unusual is that the meetings had no purpose. I mean, they weren’t scheduled through me with a particular topic. That’s how official meetings are handled and those are generally group sessions. These were simply penciled in by Calvin on his personal calendar, which indicates to me that they were last minute.”
“So, what do you make of it?” Kate asked.
“I think I’ve caught your overactive imagination.�
�
“Sorry, there’s no cure for that.”
Libby chuckled. “Look, Kate. I have no idea what this means, but this is all I have. It’s probably nothing.”
“You’re right. Don’t worry about it.”
KATE RUSHED OUT OF the office and headed down the street to see Phil. “Sorry I’m late,” she said as she tapped on his open door.
“No problem. Pull up a chair. This won’t take long.”
Phil shoved some papers and a book to the side of his desk and took a file from the cabinet beside his chair. He placed the copy of the agreement in front of Kate.
The margins were full of words with arrows pointing to various paragraphs or phrases in the document. Although the words didn’t make sense to Kate, she assumed they referred to cases, or laws, or something. She squinted to read some of the smaller handwriting.
“Sorry. I got carried away with my notes. Let me bottom line it for you.”
“That would be great. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
“In my opinion this partnership agreement is a valid contract, written in straightforward terms ... not necessarily legal jargon or format ... but clearly stated. It specifies that the agreement includes the three individuals and their heirs. As with any contract, verbal or otherwise, the identification of the participants must be validated. In the case of this written document, it would be necessary to validate signatures and to verify the age of the paper and ink.”
“Could an heir make a case for a share of the partnership?” Kate asked.
“The validated document would be a good start. If someone has a superseding document or if any party denies the agreement’s authenticity, the case becomes more complicated.”
“I understand,” Kate said.
“You’ll want to keep this copy with my notes, just in case.”
“Thanks, Phil. I appreciate your checking this out for me. Send your bill to the newspaper to my attention.”
“I never charge red-headed reporters for a simple legal opinion,” he said with a wink.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
