by Lois Winston
The door opened. Robert Joy wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a navy-blue windbreaker. Not the well-dressed executive of an up and coming venture. More like a bum in hiding. My skin prickled with excitement.
His eyes gave me the once over as he asked, “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
I swallowed my last minute reservations. Finding the killer would make Hogan’s Glen safe for my family. “I’m Cleo Jones. We met at the funeral the other day. I was hoping you might have some information about this development.”
“You interested in building out here?”
“I’ve been living with my mother since my divorce and it’s time to move out. If I build out here, what sort of time frame are we talking about?”
His eyes gleamed when I mentioned the word divorce. Maybe I should have worn torn sweats so that he wouldn’t think I was on the make. This was not the occasion for panty hose and a flattering dress.
“For a pretty little thing like you, I’d do a rush job. Four to six months from when we break ground, weather permitting.”
If he wanted to assume I was a stupid female, maybe I should play along. I wasn’t doing too well in the role of brainy sleuth. “Ooh. Six months is a long time. I was hoping there might be a model home or something I could purchase and move in right away.”
“There’s nothing here, except for the old farmhouse, and there are other plans for the farm house. It’s going to be a community center.”
His gaze swept my length again, lingering on the curvy parts. I shivered. Not because I was interested, because I felt like I was being slimed. I would need a shower after this. “Six months. I don’t know if I can wait that long. I was interested in living here because I heard it was going to be part of the city. I want sidewalks and curbs and a quiet residential neighborhood. Mama’s house is on the main road.”
“Not a problem, sweet thing. This development has annexation written all over it. You’ll have as many city amenities as you desire.”
Including tawdry sex with the developer if I didn’t watch my step. I couldn’t think of a worse fate. Nausea rose in my throat.
Forget acting stupid. I wanted real answers. Not some condescending pat on my head by the male in charge. “Doesn’t that have to be approved by the town council?”
Robert Joy winked at me and handed me some glossy brochures. “I’ve been assured the approval process is a mere formality. It’s greased.”
“Greased? Like a brownie pan?”
“Sure thing. Look those papers over. We have something for every budget. If a single-family home is too pricey for you, we’ve got several styles of town homes planned as well.”
I stuffed the brochures in my purse, glad not to be holding what he’d just touched. I’d decontaminate my purse as soon as I got home. This guy was so sleazy, he had to be guilty of something. “It’s the six months wait that bothers me.”
“Six months goes fast when you’re building your dream home.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Drop over anytime. I’ll give you a guided tour once we start breaking ground.”
“You’ve already sold some parcels?”
He nodded. “Sales are brisk. You definitely want to jump in on Phase I. The prices increase next month. White Rock is the deal of a lifetime.”
I’d had enough of his leering at me. Nothing could be as good as the deal I had right now. Room and board and all I was out of pocket was the cost of groceries and utilities.
Hurriedly, I backed out of there and sped off. Robert Joy was a hustling salesman. How far would he go to do his job? Had he killed Dudley when he found out that Dudley’s promises weren’t within his realm?
I needed to know more about Robert Joy’s background. He didn’t arrive in Hogan’s Glen without a history. If I worked at the bank I could run his credit report. If I was a cop I could check his arrest record. Only I wasn’t a banker or a policeman. I was an accountant.
With my computer. I could easily search for previous Robert Joy developments. Those places probably had Homeowners Associations. It wouldn’t be unusual for an accountant to contact them, offer them her services, and inquire about the developer.
I disliked men who talked down to me. I disliked men who leered at me. So Robert Joy already had two strikes against him.
Plus, I didn’t want the murderer to be someone I knew. I wanted it to be a stranger like Robert Joy and I wanted him to go directly to jail.
The developer had been right about one thing. Six months wasn’t a long time. I’d been with Mama for much longer than that and we hadn’t killed each other yet.
Maybe I’d been going about this sleuthing all wrong. What if it wasn’t a money angle? I hadn’t considered revenge or passion as motives.
Most of the town had a grievance against Dudley, but the bank guard hadn’t been overtly rude to anyone. Since I didn’t know much about the bank guard, I had to focus my investigation on Dudley’s murder.
Who had hated Dudley enough to lure him out on the golf course when no one else was around? If I knew that, then I’d know who killed him. My thoughts were logical, but my growing uneasiness was not.
Identifying the killer would put me right in his path. I didn’t know the first thing about killers, but I would willingly give my life to protect my family. I hoped it didn’t come to that.
TWENTY-FOUR
After calling Homeowners Associations for three Robert Joy developments I found on-line, I felt like Goldilocks. Greenbrook Farms curtly informed me they had a big gun CPA firm on retainer, Jackson Meadows might consider replacing their current CPA if my price was cheaper, and Fox Hills was desperate for a CPA.
I seized the opportunity and tootled down the road to meet the frantic treasurer of Fox Hills. Kamikaze interstate traffic kept my full attention on the way there. I wasn’t sure why people tolerated this congestion all the time. Even with our recent crime wave, I’d be glad to get back to Hogan’s Glen.
“How lucky for me that you called this morning,” Geraldine Young said as she showed me into her two-story brick home, a shy toddler riding her hip. Geraldine was a vibrant brunette in her late twenties. She wore a white blouse, designer jeans, and a toe ring. “I phoned ten CPA’s in the last twenty four hours and none of them could do this audit right away.”
“Homeowners Association Audits are a growing part of my accounting business,” I said, handing her my business card. The slate floor in her spacious two-story foyer told me a lot about the quality of the houses Robert Joy built. He might be a sleaze bag, but he knew how to put a house together.
“I’m glad to work you in this time, but I don’t routinely do things last minute.” Over the years, I’d found the need to be firm with new clients. If you let them walk all over you at the start, then your relationship was doomed to a series of disappointments. I wanted to learn about Robert Joy, but not at the expense of gaining a bad client.
“This is a one-time emergency, I assure you,” Geraldine said. “Our previous Association treasurer died in an auto accident six weeks ago. I just got the books and his records last week. It took me a few days to go through everything, and I was horrified that we were overdue for the yearly audit.”
“Your Financial Report is completed?”
“Yes. I have everything set out for you in the kitchen. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.” I sat down at an oak table in a room painted the rich red hue of Arizona rock formations. While she strapped her baby in a high chair, I flipped through the records.
The Financial Report for the three-hundred-member association showed that this group had a good start on their Capital Reserve Fund. Bank statements, a copy of the association checkbook register, invoices, assorted receipts, and the General Ledger were included in the expandable folder. Everything looked relatively straightforward.
All right. I had myself a legitimate client. Now for the digging part. “Is there anything I should know about your Association?”
Geral
dine handed her baby boy something that looked like a pretzel but smelled like a graham cracker. “What do you mean?”
I sipped my coffee and remembered I was being subtle here. “Are there any outstanding issues that don’t appear in past years’ records?”
“You mean stuff like did the developer mismanage the Association fund before we took it over?”
“Something like that.”
“There was a problem with timely snow removal the first winter, but Chad Browning, our judge in residence, got that problem straightened out right away.”
Delinquent snow removal wasn’t particularly heinous. If I wanted real dirt on the man, I needed to ask more pointed questions. “One of the reasons I called you is that your developer is building up in my area now and I had some questions about Robert Joy’s integrity. Did you know him?”
Geraldine caught the baby’s cookie on the fly. She looked like she might bust out laughing. “He hit on you, too?”
I nodded. Satisfaction zoomed through me. This was what I’d navigated through death-defying traffic to learn.
Geraldine’s brown eyes twinkled. “Robert Joy thinks he’s God’s gift to women, but don’t hold that against him. He’s all talk in that department. Fortunately, he builds a great house.”
I chewed my bottom lip. I’d wanted the man to be guilty of something that might indicate deviant tendencies. If she didn’t want to talk about the personal stuff, maybe she’d talk about his professional abilities. “You haven’t had any trouble with inferior products being substituted in your home or things not being as specified in your contract?”
“No. I wouldn’t be here if I had. What’s the bottom line here?”
Through the doorway I could see the adjacent room cluttered with toys. Geraldine splurged on her kid but she didn’t own one piece of dining room furniture. She didn’t look like a person who would be easily swayed from her path in life.
My best bet was to lay my cards on the table. “His current development is dead in the water. He doesn’t have the approval he needs from the town council to annex White Rock into the city. Without that approval, the number of dwellings he can build on that parcel of land is limited. Since his arrival, we’ve had two murders in our small town. I thought if I asked around, I might find out more about the man behind the development.”
Alarmed, Geraldine picked up her son and hugged him close. “You think Robert Joy is a murderer?”
I hadn’t meant to upset her. The baby cried and Geraldine looked as if she might join him. Okay. Maybe there was such a thing as too much honesty. I scurried to do some damage control. “I don’t think anything. He’s a stranger to our town, someone I don’t know much about. It’s easy to point fingers at people you don’t know.”
“Who died?”
“The banker who brokered the deal for the development and a bank security guard. Do you think that if Robert Joy got mad he might act aggressively towards a man who thwarted his plans?”
Geraldine pulled her son’s hands from her mouth. “My husband and I came out here a lot while our house was being built. Robert Joy was very hands-on and kept close tabs on his work crews. I never once saw him do anything violent.”
I could just imagine the phone calls Geraldine would make when I left her house. There would be a slander suit on my desk before I returned to my office. “I never said he did anything violent. All I said was that I didn’t know him very well. If you say he’s nonviolent, I believe you.”
“Do you have kids?” Geraldine asked.
“Two daughters.”
“No wonder you’re worried. If anything happened to my little guy, I’d be devastated.”
Worry united mothers around the world. I thanked Geraldine for her coffee, her information, and her business, then headed home. If the sleazy developer wasn’t the killer, who was? The field narrowed back down to folks I knew well. Bummer.
~*~
A handwritten note addressed to me was in the Gray Beast that afternoon when I went to pick the girls up from school. I don’t normally get notes in my car, but I didn’t have time to read more than the envelope because I was running late. Whatever was in the note could wait. I shoved the unopened envelope in my purse and sped off.
With all the police activity in my yard two days ago, I was uncomfortable with my daughters walking the four blocks to and from school. Our neighborhood was probably the safest it had ever been, but I had reached emotional overload. No amount of my kids telling me how uncool it was for them to be picked up by their mother reached me.
I needed to know that my girls were safe. The world was not a nice place and I couldn’t just sit back and trust in the goodness of my fellow human beings. Not when my babies were at risk.
As I waited in the queue of minivans and SUVs, Lexy walked with her friends over to the car, bubbling all the while about the middle-school yearbooks that had just been distributed. Charla strolled by alone, looking for all the world like she didn’t know us. In my rearview mirror I saw her stop to fool with her purse, check out the parking lot in her compact mirror, and then duck in the backseat. She hunched down low and said, “Drive.”
I drove, but only because they were both in the car. “This isn’t a bank heist, Charla. And hello to you too.”
“Mom.” Charla drew my name out into two irate syllables. “Don’t do this to me. It’s so embarrassing to be seen in this ugly car. Why are you still driving the same car you drove in high school? Why can’t you be a normal mom and drive a minivan?”
When I was her age, I’d thought the Gray Beast wasn’t cool either. However, this perpetual motion machine never broke down, and best of all, it was paid for. I couldn’t in good conscience trade it in just because it wasn’t what the cool moms were driving.
And I couldn’t idly stand by while she badmouthed our reliable car. Someone had to speak up for the Gray Beast. “Hey, this car is practically a vintage automobile.”
Charla shoved on her sunglasses and scrunched down below window level. “Practically vintage doesn’t count. It means this car is old as dirt.” She gestured towards the line of cars exiting the parking lot. “Look. Even the nerdy kids drive newer cars than this old dinosaur.”
“This car is one of the safest on the road if there’s an accident,” I said. “Besides, it’s transportation. A ride is a ride.”
Charla turned sixteen next year. Maybe I would get another car for me and teach her to drive the Gray Beast. I didn’t want her to be driving around in a car that would collapse like an accordion at the slightest nudge. The Gray Beast was solid. “You’ll feel differently in a year or so.”
“No way. I will never like this car. You’re ruining my life by forcing me to be seen in this rust bucket.”
There wasn’t an ounce of rust on this car. Even though we’d bought it secondhand, Daddy had religiously insisted the car be washed and waxed with regularity. He would be shocked at how I’d let the car’s appearance decline. It no longer gleamed from frequent hand waxing, but the dull patina suited its personality much better.
With a flash, I realized I had just repeated a conversation I’d had with my father when I was about Charla’s age. He’d bought the Gray Beast through the newspaper when I was fifteen.
“Cars like this don’t come along every day,” he’d said.
I’d been just as horrified as Charla, but then I’d realized that driving gave me freedom from parental oversight, and I’d changed my tune. Driving this sturdy car hadn’t hurt me one bit. Charla would just have to adjust that attitude of hers.
Lexy piped in about the yearbooks again, and then we were home and doing the homework and supper and watching TV thing. It wasn’t until my bedtime that I remembered that note I’d found in my car. What was that all about?
I padded down to the kitchen and retrieved the plain white envelope from my purse. Everyone else had gone to bed and it seemed as if I was all alone in the dark house. Was the note from Jonette? She hadn’t called today. Maybe she’d wri
tten a quick thank you for her rainbow dinner and tucked it in the car.
Or maybe it was a card from Rafe. A man with such luscious bedroom eyes surely had poetry lurking in his soul. It wouldn’t be beyond him to slip over here on his way to work and leave a romantic poem in my car.
With those warm and fuzzy thoughts in mind, I ripped open the envelope. Warm and fuzzy flew right out the window. My blood chilled as I unfolded the single sheet of white copy paper inside.
This was no love note. The page was dotted with glued on letters cut from glossy magazines, the kind of thing a serial killer might send to a victim.
Dear God. What had I gotten myself into? Had the other two murder victims gotten similar notes prior to their death? Had my fact-finding trip to Far Hills this morning rubbed someone the wrong way?
I couldn’t quite catch my breath.
Britt Radcliff’s words came back to haunt me. He’d warned me to stay out of this because I wasn’t expendable. I couldn’t imagine what my daughters would do if something happened to me. Worse, I wouldn’t get to see them grow up, to help them dress for prom, to watch them graduate from college, and to dance at their weddings.
My hand shook so bad I had to put the sheet of paper down on the counter before I could read it. The very first word was misspelled and that made me wonder about the intelligence of the person sending the note.
Cum to the maintenance shed at the golf course tomorrow morning at dawn to find out who killed Dudley. Don’t tell anyone or the meet’s off.
I read the note twice to be sure I understood. I was to go to the golf course, alone, at a time when no one else would be there. My first reaction was—absolutely not. Never in a million years.
Letters like this one weren’t written with the recipient’s best interests at heart.
Who sent it? I had no idea.
Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? I looked at the words again, studying them separately and individually, as if they were pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Surely, if I could just calm down, I could figure this out. The instructions were direct, but some words were misspelled.
