by Sandra Balzo
Kate nodded and sat back in her chair. “That’s fair.”
I wasn’t done. “Two other conditions. What I tell you stays confidential until you go to press next Wednesday. That’s to your advantage as well as mine. You don’t want the CitySentinel to get a jump on you.” I was acting like I had a whole lot more information than I did, but it was working. I had Kate practically salivating.
I continued. “Finally, I know an honorable newswoman like yourself would never do this, but I’ll say it anyway. No special editions. The paper is printed on Wednesday next week and goes out on Thursday. Agreed?”
The expression on Kate’s face told me that the thought of a special edition had crossed this honorable newswoman’s mind. She agreed anyway.
I dove right in. “So, what happened at this morning’s recount?”
Kate grinned, suddenly all dark hair and rosy cheeks. She might be a pleasant person to have around when she wasn’t playing newspaper mogul. Without the scowl, you even noticed her snub nose and freckles.
“What didn’t happen?” She referred to her steno pad. “Let’s see, present were Rudy Fischer, his campaign manager—what’s his name, Paul Lukas?—and Chief Donovan, Laurel Birmingham, Sheriff Pavlik, Way Benson, Sarah Kingston and Gene Diaz.”
The last name caught my attention. “The town attorney?”
“Yeah, to make sure everything was on the up and up. Interesting thing is, though, he let it slip that Patricia Harper had made an appointment with him for yesterday afternoon.”
Yesterday, the day on which the recount had originally been scheduled. “You think she was preparing some sort of objection, in case the recount went against her?”
Kate looked speculative. “Or, maybe she was going to charge the town or Rudy with election fraud.” She nearly clapped her hands in journalistic glee.
“But that’s fairly standard isn’t it? Someone loses an election and they say the other guy broke the rules. Remember last year, when one of the supervisors complained about Georgia Armstrong forgetting that ‘Paid by’ line on the bottom of her flyer? They don’t overturn elections for that kind of thing, do they?”
Kate shook her head. “No, not usually, unless it has a material effect on the outcome of the election. Sometimes they just kick up a fuss to set themselves up for the next election.” I had to admit Kate knew her stuff when it came to the town’s inner workings.
“Well, I know Patricia was upset about this coin toss thing in case of a tie,” I said. “Did Gene say when she set up the appointment?” Since Patricia hadn’t known about the coin toss until Friday night, she would have had to call Diaz over the weekend to set up a meeting on that subject.
“No, why?”
I didn’t see any reason why I shouldn’t tell her, so I filled her in and then shifted the subject a bit. “I know about the ballot and that it disappeared. Did they do the rest of the recount?”
“Uh-huh. They did the recount first and that came out the same. Rudy by one vote.”
And what did that do to my theory? “Then what?”
“Then Gary gets up and goes to the file cabinet in the corner.” Kate was enjoying parceling out the information.
“Was it locked? Did Gary have a key?” I asked.
“Laurel Birmingham had given him the key the minute she found out the ballot was contested. Covering her butt, I assume.” There was no love lost between Laurel and Kate.
“Were there any other keys?”
“Laurel says no, but it was a file cabinet for crying out loud, not a safe. Who knows how many keys there might have been?”
I had to agree. In my old office, the file cabinets could be opened by just about any key you found laying around. Or by hitting it three times with your shoe. “So Gary goes to open the file cabinet and there’s nothing there?”
“Yup, he opens the top drawer, then the next, then the next. Nothing, except old stationery and paperclips. So Laurel gets on the phone to Sophie, her senile old ballot counter, to make sure she locked it in there. Of course, the old lady is absolutely positive it was in the top drawer in the front, but she probably can’t remember what day it is.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Sophie Daystrom seems pretty sharp.” Not to mention a little scary.
Kate flushed. “Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But here’s a ballot that nobody except her saw and now it’s gone. Maybe she put it somewhere else or maybe it doesn’t exist.”
“Have you talked to Sophie?”
“No, I tried to call her, but there was no answer.”
She probably had caller ID. “So what happened then?” I asked Kate.
“All hell broke out.” She smiled at the memory. “Rudy yelling there was never a ballot in the first place. Sarah saying that one of his cronies must have stolen it. Way arguing—”
I interrupted. “Wait a second, what was Way doing there?”
Kate shrugged. “I told you he was there. It was an open meeting.”
“So what was he saying?” I was nursing my newly-born distrust of Way Benson.
“Just that it really didn’t matter since Patricia was dead.”
I decided to plant a seed and hoped it would flourish in Kate’s fertile imagination. “Interesting. If he felt that way, why was he there in the first place?”
She hesitated. “Are you saying maybe Way had something to do with the ballot?”
I stood up. “I’m saying it’s awfully convenient that Patricia died when she did—for Rudy and who knows who else.”
Kate stood up, too. “Way Benson is a powerful man around here, Maggy.”
I laughed. “And a big advertiser, I suppose. Are you going to let that keep you from doing a thorough investigation, Kate?” The seed watered, I started to leave the garden.
Kate’s voice stopped me. “Oh, Maggy?”
I turned. Kate pointed at a purple leaflet on her desk. “I will get you back for siccing Langdon Shepherd on me. You know that, don’t you?”
She laughed and a shiver ran up my spine.
Funny how frightening a snub-nosed, freckled-face brunette can be when she puts her mind to it.
Chapter Ten
As I walked around the corner to Uncommon Grounds with the greasy bag from Goddard’s, I gave some consideration to the election and the missing ballot. Unlike Rudy, Way probably had the skill to re-wire the machine and electrocute Patricia. He also had access to Uncommon Grounds, since he owned the mall. But how could he know that Patricia would use the machine first and be killed?
Pavlik was right, it could have been any of us dead on that floor. Would Way—or Rudy—benefit from either Caron’s death or mine? I couldn’t see how. And what about the missing ballot? The only way it could pose a problem for Rudy was if it were a vote for Patricia. But who could have known that other than Sophie?
And then there was the point that Pavlik had brought up. How could the killer be sure that the espresso machine would kill its victim? Unless scaring us would serve the same end.
A blue Mercedes was in the parking lot and when I entered the store, David was talking to Caron. I gave him a quick hug. “How are you doing?” I asked.
He looked like he was doing terrible. He wore a suit and tie, but the white dress shirt looked like it had spent the night on the floor. “I’m sorry I didn’t return your messages. I just haven’t been functioning very well without Patricia. I just don’t understand...”
David grimaced and ran a freckled hand over his face. “The service will be at Christ Christian tomorrow at ten a.m. No visitation, I didn’t think I—we—could deal with that.”
“How are the kids, David?” Caron asked.
“All right, I guess. I just thank God that they’re in private school. They’re more insulated there than they would be at a public school. They’re not hearing all the...talk,” he finished.
I hoped David hadn’t heard quite all the talk either. I exchanged looks with Caron, who was crimson. “We’ll close the store tomorrow in Patricia’s memo
ry,” I told David.
He shook his head. “No. Please. Close so you can attend the funeral if you want, but you really should be open the rest of the day. This is a business, you can’t just close up.”
I have to admit I’d been concerned about opening one day and being closed the next, but I’d have done it nonetheless. “Maybe we’ll close nine-thirty to noon,” I compromised. “Does that sound reasonable?”
Caron nodded, seeming eager to move the subject away from the treacherous ground it had tread earlier. “That way we won’t disappoint the early crowd. It’s quiet around noon anyway.”
But David wasn’t paying attention to Caron, he was looking at the espresso machine. “Is this the machine?” he asked.
“No!” I was horrified. “They took the old one away for evidence. We wouldn’t, we couldn’t...”
David raised his hand. “It’s all right, Maggy.” He looked like a beaten man. “I have to go home and do some work. Can you make me a large skim latte to go?”
Making a latte with David watching was the last thing I wanted to do. But I did it.
I knew he was reliving what must have been Patricia’s last moments as I brewed the shots and poured them into a road cup. “Uh, any flavor in here, David?” I asked to break the silence.
“No,” he said. “Just plain.” I added fresh milk to the pitcher and pulled out the frothing wand. The same thing Patricia had done before...
Caron made an inadvertent sound, almost a groan, but David remained silent. I wasn’t sure why he was doing this. Maybe he thought it would be cleansing somehow. He waited as I brought the milk up to one hundred and sixty degrees and poured it into the cup, topping it with a bit of foam. Then he took the cup, thanked me and left, pausing to grab a couple of sugars from the condiment cart on the way out.
As the door closed behind him, Caron picked up her cheeseburger and walked into the office, leaving me alone.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Business picked up again around 2:00 in the afternoon. To our surprise, the afternoon customers were much younger, like around fifteen. Teenagers seemed to have found in coffee something that not only made them feel like adults, but also was legal and couldn’t get them pregnant.
By 4:30, the after-school crowd had thinned and we began our preparations for closing. By 5:30, the machines were cleaned and the floor mopped and Caron and I had departed, clutching white bags of leftover pastry. We had over-ordered on muffins and under-ordered on scones and Kaiser rolls. That, unlike some things, could be fixed.
When I got home, I fed Frank a blueberry muffin. I pulled out the pumpkin chocolate chip for myself and put a call into Sophie, the ballot lady. She didn’t answer her phone—prob-ably still hiding from Kate or out terrorizing clueless tourists at Goddard’s.
Taking a bite of muffin, I dialed Laurel, who actually answered and gave me a synopsis of today’s events at Town Hall, which pretty much paralleled Kate’s version. Then I asked the big question. “Is Sophie absolutely sure she put the
ballot in the file cabinet?”
“Yes!”
I guess she had heard the big question before. “Okay, okay. So who else had a key?”
“Sophie gave the key to me. I gave it to Gary. Was there another key? I don’t think so, but who knows? Any other questions you want to ask me that I’ve already heard from both Gary and the sheriff? Not to mention that McNamara woman. She’s hounding poor Sophie, so Sophie went to Miami for the rest of the week. That’ll drive McNamara crazy.”
I was all for that. “Did anyone else see the ballot, Laurel? Was anyone else there?” I shoved Frank, who was sniffing around my lap for crumbs, back with my bare foot.
Laurel was quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure. Sophie didn’t mention anyone else, but I suppose there were other poll-workers around.”
“So it’s possible someone knows what was on the ballot, even if Sophie doesn’t?”
“It’s possible,” she admitted.
“Okay, Laurel, thanks. Did you know that Patricia’s funeral is tomorrow?”
She did. The notice was in the CitySentinel. We said goodbye and hung up.
I mopped up the pool of drool Frank had left on the corner of the coffee table as he watched me eat my muffin. Then I went into the bathroom to run a nice hot bath. My feet and back hurt from the long hours of standing and my head hurt from the long hours of thinking. This stuff was harder than it looked.
As the tub filled, I left the bathroom to grab my pajamas. By the time I got back, Frank was lying on the towel next to the tub. I climbed over him and sank gratefully, if not gracefully, into the tub, sliding down so the water was up to my chin.
Way, with or without Rudy, was now my chief suspect. Motive? I’d have to work on that, but I was pretty sure it had to do with Way’s development projects. Way Benson was used to getting what he wanted from Rudy and the town board.
Maybe Patricia would have caused him trouble if she had been elected. Maybe Rudy was on the take. Maybe Patricia had found out about it.
That would explain her appointment with the town attorney, too. And if Patricia hadn’t been killed outright? Then maybe the killer figured a bad shock would be enough to warn her off.
I shook my head and the bathwater swish-swashed around me. Maybe this and maybe that. A call to Gene Diaz and another to Sarah to get the scoop on the real estate development dirt in town, were definitely in order for tomorrow.
But tonight, bed. Morning comes much too quickly when work starts at 6:00 a.m.
Caron apparently had gotten a second wind. By the time I arrived at 6:00, she had half the checklist complete. I put up a notice that we would be closed 9:30 a.m. to noon and got to work, too. Business was brisk, although not as brisk as it had been the day before.
Henry was in again and was practically garrulous, for Henry. He requested a half decaf, half regular cappuccino, saying he’d had trouble sleeping the night before. “I never sleep good anymore,” he grumbled.
“No? Why not?” I asked as I frothed the milk for his cappuccino. Already, I’d learned that someone’s health, especially if they were elderly, was a great conversation starter.
“Don’t know. Just know the older I get, less sleep I need. Taken to going out for a walk after the news, try to tire myself out; but even so, sometimes I don’t fall asleep until one, maybe two in the morning.”
Personally, I thought a walk in the night air at eleven might have the same effect on me. “Maybe the walk wakes you up, instead of tires you out,” I suggested.
Henry shrugged. “Most times it’s quiet and I walk down along the creek. Relaxes me. Though I can’t tonight. Thursday nights them hooligans are always down there making a racket. Barging around with flashlights, playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’ or something.”
I rang up his drink and handed him the change. “The kids around here like to play ‘Bloody Murder.’ I wonder if their parents know they’re out.”
The truth was half the kids in Brookhills weren’t as well supervised as their parents liked to think they were. Poplar Creek, which ran right behind the senior complex, was one of their favorite hangouts and, despite what I’d just told Henry, I didn’t think the teens were playing either ‘Cowboys and Indians’ or ‘Bloody Murder.’ More likely ‘Roll the Condom,’ though given the teen pregnancy and STD rates the CitySentinel had reported, maybe they weren’t playing by those rules either.
Taking his cup, Henry shuffled over to his corner, apparently socially spent.
Sarah Kingston was next in line.
“Sarah, I’m glad you stopped by,” I said. She’d saved me a phone call.
“Why?” Sarah demanded suspiciously.
“Because we want you to spend lots of money here. What did you think? Your sparkling personality?”
Sarah grinned. “That’s what I like, an honest business woman.” She glanced at the customer behind her and leaned in. “Did you hear about the ballot?”
I nodded and gestured for her
to meet me at the end of the counter, leaving Caron to take care of the next person in line. “So what do you think?” I asked. “Rudy? Way? Both of them?”
“Could be, although I don’t think it’s their style. Fact is, though, Way Benson stands to make a lot of money if Rudy and the board decide to tear down Summit Lawn School.”
“Why?” If I’d been Frank, my ears would have perked up. Then again, if I were Frank, I’d be home sleeping now.
“Because, my dear, Way owns the land adjacent to the school. Whether he buys the school and develops the land, or someone else does, he’ll win. They’ll need his parcel in order to go retail there.” She raised her eyebrows, wiggled her fingers at me and exited stage right.
I wondered how much Sarah meant by a bundle. Enough to kill for? I guessed that depended on the person. Summit Lawn was on Brookhill Road, the most valuable strip of real estate around. What’s more, the road was completely developed, with the exception of the school property itself. Speculation was that the land would be worth millions.
So which of the surrounding properties did Way own? On one side was a gas station, on the other, a tavern. Either or both could be torn down and replaced with new development with no tears shed by town officials.
Caron and I took turns changing in the back room and left the store at 9:45 for Patricia’s funeral. Christ Christian’s lot was full when we got there, and we had to park three blocks away. We barely made it in by 10:00.
Standing in the back of the crowded church, the chances of finding two seats together seemed remote until we saw Bernie waving to us. We made our way down the side aisle and excused ourselves all the way to our seats just as the music changed and David and the family were escorted to the front pews.
David was pale, but composed. Courtney, a pretty blond child, walked with him, holding his hand. Sam followed alone. The three filed into the front pew and remained standing. Langdon gestured for the congregation to rise to sing the opening hymn.
