Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets

by Terry Odell

  The elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and Megan marched down the hall, her pace slowing as she approached the door. She hesitated before knocking. “I hate to wake them.”

  “If so, we’ll apologize for disturbing them. You’re the one who insisted we rush up.”

  “I guess I can be impulsive.”

  She thought she saw Justin’s lips curve upward before he fisted his hand and lifted it toward the door.

  “Wait.” She grabbed his hand before he knocked. “What if they’re…you know…not sleeping?”

  “Geez, I thought I’d finally shaken that picture out of my head. I guess then we’ll really apologize for disturbing them.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case,” she said. “I mean, it sounded like last night would be…and it’s awfully soon after, considering…if they even—”

  Justin shut her up with a glare and rapped on the door. “Oma, it’s us.”

  Megan pressed her ear to the door, hearing nothing but silence. She knocked. “Rose? Sam?” Still no response.

  “We could go to my room and call,” Justin said. His color deepened. “They might not…you know…want to come to the door.”

  “Call their cell,” Megan demanded. “There’s no point in all this speculation. I’m getting a stomach ache.”

  She leaned over, trying to see the display on Justin’s phone as he scrolled through contacts. “Don’t you have them on speed dial?”

  He scowled. “I didn’t even know they had cell phones until I got here. And if you hadn’t forgotten your charger, we could be using your phone to find their number, because they called you, remember?”

  Megan fished her phone from her purse and pushed the power button. Nothing. “It’s dead. Sorry.”

  “Got it,” Justin said. He lifted the phone to his ear.

  She watched, trying to read the expression on his face. He shook his head. “Voice mail.” After a pause, he said, “Hi, Oma. It’s Justin. Please call when you get this message. We’re okay, but we’d like talk to you as soon as possible.”

  “Tell her how to hit call back,” Megan said. “And not to call me instead, because my phone’s dead.”

  He rolled his eyes. “There should be a prompt telling them how to return the call when the message is over.” He snapped the phone shut. “I know they have my number. I programmed it for them myself.”

  “Try Sam,” she insisted.

  He did, with the same result.

  She pounded on their door, taking her frustrations out on the wood. “Rose? Sam?” All she got for her efforts was a set of sore knuckles. She turned and leaned against the door, fighting panic. When there was no response, she conceded the battle. Panic emerged victorious.

  ###

  Gordon copied the letter and envelope, then placed the originals into a paper evidence bag before adding it to his pending folder. He punched Megan’s number into his cell phone. Before she answered, Colfax burst into the office.

  “Got something,” he said.

  Gordon hit the end button. “What?”

  “We can put Will Johnson and Al Stein together—or their phones, anyway. They were both in the same place at the same time.”

  “You got the cell tower data?”

  “Yep. Took a little tap dancing, but you can call me Fred Astaire.”

  “Excellent. Shall we go pay another visit to Mr. Johnson?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Colfax grabbed his jacket from the hook. “I’ll drive.”

  Gordon tugged his off his chair. “We going to play good cop, bad cop?” he said as they drove.

  “Only if I get to be good cop,” Colfax said.

  Gordon frowned. “That won’t work. I live here. I prefer the locals think of me as someone they can trust.”

  Colfax laughed. “I figured you’d say that. You can be Officer Friendly, then. I think I have a nice length of rubber hose in the trunk.”

  Gordon huffed. Colfax might be a damn good detective, but his sense of humor was wearing thin. He was also grinning like the proverbial canary-eating cat. “What else should I know before we start talking to Johnson?” Gordon asked.

  “You didn’t ask where those phones were,” Colfax said.

  “So, tell me.”

  “We put it not far from the faked car accident. We can’t pinpoint the exact location, but it’s within half a mile.”

  Gordon’s heart rate kicked up. “Time?”

  “Maybe an hour before. We don’t have precise time of death, or time of the crash.”

  “They wouldn’t be talking on the phone to each other if they were both in the same place. I can see them hooking up, verifying where the other one was, especially if they were off the road.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Colfax said.

  “Maybe one arranged a meet with Karl Franklin, lured him off the road, and the other did the killing. Given the state of Johnson’s health, he’d probably be the arranger, not the killer.”

  “Agreed.” Colfax turned down the lane to the B&B.

  “What do you know about the good Mr. Stein?” Gordon asked.

  “Not a lot. Mechanic. Works for a garage in Steamboat. No arrests or warrants.”

  “Thought all your fancy databases and big-city contacts would know what he ate for breakfast.”

  “Not quite. I couldn’t tell if he had his eggs scrambled or poached.”

  Gordon shook his head in exasperation.

  “Seriously,” Colfax went on. “He’s living in a big house, with three vehicles, and pays all his bills in full. Lives higher than expected from a garage mechanic’s salary, but we’ll need more cause to dig any deeper.”

  After convincing the Richardson sisters not to announce their presence, Gordon and Colfax strode past the women’s disapproving frowns and went upstairs to the Iris Room.

  Gordon gave the door a sharp rap, then moved out of the doorway. “Mr. Johnson. This is Police Chief Hepler and Detective Colfax. We’d like a minute of your time, please.”

  “Definitely Officer Friendly,” Colfax muttered.

  After some shuffling sounds, the door opened. Willard Johnson blinked, rubbed his eyes, and ran his fingers through sleep-tangled hair. “You come to arrest me?”

  “No, sir. It’s like I said. We have a few questions.”

  “Unless you want us to arrest you,” Colfax said. “You done anything we should arrest you for?”

  “No, no. Come in. I was asleep. Takes awhile for my brain to kick in.”

  Colfax marched into the room and went straight for the bedside table, where he lifted a pill vial from several lined up in a neat row beside a stack of paperbacks. Squinting at the label, he held it at arm’s length. “Potent stuff. You take a lot of this?”

  Johnson swiveled his head toward Colfax, then gave Gordon a bewildered look. “I have prescriptions for those. What’s this about?”

  Colfax set down the pill vial, picked up one of the paperbacks, and clumped across the room, a scowl on his face.

  “Relax, Mr. Johnson.” Gordon smiled. “May I call you Will?”

  “Um…yeah, why not.”

  “Will, why don’t you sit down? Get comfortable.” Johnson took the only chair in the room, so Gordon sat on the bed, assuming a relaxed posture. Colfax stood in the doorway, thumping his knuckles against the book.

  “You met with a Mr. Stein on Tuesday. Can you tell us what you did?” Gordon said.

  “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Cut the dumb act,” Colfax said. “We know you were together.”

  “But…but nobody could have seen us,” Johnson said. “He said so.”

  “We don’t need witnesses,” Colfax said. “We have proof. What was it? Drug deal? Or maybe a lover’s meeting? Interesting reading material.” He tossed the book to Gordon.

  Gordon started to set the book on the bed when the cover caught his eye. His cop radar bleeped like Angie’s alarm clock.

  “What are you talking about?” Johnson said.<
br />
  Gordon lost some of his Officer Friendly expression when he addressed Johnson. He strode to the night table and examined the books more closely. “The drugs may be legal, but we can arrest you for breaking and entering.”

  “Hey, wait. I didn’t break in anywhere. What are you talking about? Nothing illegal about reading romance. You can buy those at any bookstore. Old, sick man like me, I enjoy a little fantasy.”

  “What would you say if I told you we found another book like this one in the apartment above Daily Bread?” Gordon asked.

  Guilt flashed like a neon sign from Johnson’s expression. He mopped his brow with a sleeve. “I told you, I’m sick. All the drugs, treatments. I had to lie down, just for a few minutes. Get out of the bright lights. Saw the waitress come back from the storeroom and set the key down. I took the key, went in, saw the stairs. And the door at the top wasn’t locked. I didn’t touch anything, I swear. Just took a quick lie-down on the couch. I put the key by the register where I found it.”

  Gordon and Colfax did a quick non-verbal consult, Colfax’s slight head bob indicating Gordon should take the lead.

  “We’ll see what the woman who lives there has to say. For now, you were waiting for Mr. Stein, weren’t you?”

  Johnson nodded. “I live in Utah. They’re…conservative, you know.”

  “Cut to the chase,” Colfax snapped. “What does that have to do with your business with Mr. Stein?”

  For Gordon, everything clicked into place. “Stein’s your supplier, isn’t he?” he said. “The Richardons let you use this address?”

  Johnson bowed his head. “It’s all legal.”

  “Medical marijuana,” Gordon said.

  “Yes. Stein’s my official caregiver. Like I said, it’s all legal. Bad enough I have to travel this far, and the amounts I can get are controlled. Lyla and Flo understand. But they don’t want me smoking in the house. And even though it’s legal, they don’t like the exchange happening here.”

  “So, you were meeting Stein and getting your drug fix,” Colfax said.

  Johnson’s head snapped up. “Hey, you try living with the pain and the nausea sometime.”

  “And you didn’t run into anybody?” Colfax went on. “Just the two of you, doing your thing out in the woods?”

  “Woods? What woods? We were at a scenic overlook. I got in his car, got my stuff, and left. There weren’t any other cars around.”

  “Stein happen to mention seeing more…patients?” Colfax asked. “Maybe a Karl Franklin?”

  Johnson shook his head. “Never heard of him. Stein and I didn’t talk. It was a business transaction, plain and simple. It sucks that it has to go down like this. The marijuana works, but I’ll be dead and buried long before Utah legalizes it, even under controlled conditions.”

  Gordon took a long, hard look at Johnson, and another one at Colfax. He stood and offered Johnson his hand. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Johnson. Good luck.”

  Johnson’s bewildered expression returned, but with a layer of gratitude mixed in. “Um…you’re welcome.”

  Gordon closed the door behind them. The silence filled the staircase like a winter snowstorm as he and Colfax walked down. Flo and Lyla sat in the living room. Flo was knitting, Lyla reading a magazine. Both women stopped at their approach.

  “How many?” Gordon asked.

  Flo set her magazine aside. “In the past two years, maybe six. They deserve some comfort.”

  “Would you have a Karl Franklin among them?” Colfax asked.

  “No,” Flo said. “We merely allow them to use this address. We don’t grow or distribute, Chief Hepler.”

  Gordon nodded. “If you do, make certain all your paperwork’s in order.”

  Colfax didn’t utter a word until he pulled into the parking lot behind the station. “Guess we can scratch Johnson off our list of suspects. You want to do anything about his using Angie’s place for a nap?”

  “I’ll let her know to be more careful with the key.” Relieved that he wasn’t going to get into a debate about marijuana for medical purposes, Gordon unlocked his office door. Colfax entered and made himself at home.

  “I suppose it’s possible that Franklin showed up during the deal and started raising a ruckus.”

  “Makes no sense,” Gordon said. “It’s legal—or close enough, as far as I’m concerned in this case. Why kill someone? And how could that tie in with Betty Bedford or the Kretzers?”

  “Damned if I know. What I do know is that we eliminated two suspects, so we need a whole new guy. I’ll verify Stein’s who Johnson says he is. And I’ll see what’s up with our background check on Franklin. It should have come through already.”

  And Gordon needed to call Megan and Justin. “You do that. I’ve got a couple of loose ends to tie up.” He tossed his hands in the air. “Budget crap,” he said, hoping Colfax couldn’t read the lie.

  “Ah, it’s good not to be the Chief. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  After Colfax left, Gordon tried calling Megan again. Straight to voicemail. He stared at the unfamiliar script on the copy of the letter he’d made. He hadn’t learned to read German in the last hour. He picked up the phone and called the Frontier Hotel in Denver. “This is Gordon Hepler, Mapleton Chief of Police,” he announced to the receptionist. “I have a confidential fax for one of your guests. Justin Nadell.”

  The clerk promised to watch for the fax and ensure it got to Justin.

  “Thanks.” He typed a quick cover sheet and headed for the fax machine.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Justin wrapped his arm around Megan’s shoulders. “Deep breath. Let’s think.”

  “Think? I hope your brain is working better than mine, which is caught in an instant replay of someone hurting them. Where could they be?”

  Justin knew he had a lot of those same pictures in his head. “We can’t jump to conclusions. We have to stay calm.” He wasn’t all that convinced either, but speaking rationally helped clear his mind. “We’ll check with the concierge. They must have tour records. We’ll check the lounge, the restaurant. Maybe they’re having a nosh. If we can’t find them, I’ll see if I can get hotel security to let us into their room.”

  “Good. That’s a plan. Action. I can get behind that.”

  Her smile had him almost believing it. He tried not to think of what could happen. There was no guarantee that whoever had broken into the car was connected to Betty Bedford or his grandparents.

  He kept Megan close during the elevator ride. Her theory about sharing the stress seemed to be spot on. When the elevator chimed and the doors slid open at the lobby, he squeezed Megan’s hand. “We’re going to be concerned, but calm. Rational.”

  “Speak for yourself,” she muttered.

  “Megan—”

  “I know, I know. Calm. Rational. But try telling that to my stomach. I hope I don’t barf all over the concierge.”

  He glanced around, spotted a small alcove with a house phone and bench. Hands on her shoulders, he steered her into it. He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face. “We are two people, justifiably concerned about our relatives. We are going to ask for help. We are not going to make demands, or do anything else that would create an antagonistic situation.”

  She closed her eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. “I know. I do this kind of troubleshooting for a living, for God’s sake. I spend half my time putting out fires.”

  “You don’t troubleshoot for people you love, though. Pretend it’s another meeting fire you have to put out.”

  She nodded, and flashed a quick, tentative smile. “I can do this.”

  “We can do this.” He leaned down and threaded his fingers through her hair, tilting his mouth to hers. The kiss was explosive, as bright and fleeting as a bolt of lightning.

  They separated, and Megan’s eyes met his. “That seemed to work,” she said. “Even more than holding hands. Let’s go.” Back straight, head high, she marched toward the concierge desk.
/>   He strode after her. Once this was over, he was going to have to explore the Megan attraction thing. It might not hold up when stress left the equation, but it would be worth finding out.

  Who was he kidding? Once this was over, he’d be back at work, and Megan would be back planning her events.

  He scanned the lobby, hoping to see a stream of people who looked liked they’d been sightseeing all day. No streams. Only a harried set of parents trying to keep their offspring in tow.

  After a fruitless inspection of the lounge, restaurant and gift shop, he headed toward the concierge’s desk.

  “What about the spa?” Megan asked.

  “I can’t see them splurging, but the concierge can check that for us.”

  “Okay. I can do this.” Megan fluffed her hair and smiled, first at him, then at the woman behind the concierge desk.

  “Hi,” Megan said. “I hope you can help us.”

  From her tone, Megan had pulled everything together. Definitely calm, confident. Rational. Justin let her talk.

  “Yes?” The woman looked up, a perfect hospitality industry smile on her face.

  “Our grandparents,” Megan continued. “They’re here celebrating their anniversary, and took a city tour this morning. We didn’t think to check with them about which tour, but they should be back. We checked, and they’re not in their room. Can you help?” She glanced in Justin’s direction. “They’re in their seventies, and they get confused sometimes.”

  He managed a worried frown instead of a snigger at the thought of Oma and Opa being as feeble as Megan had painted them.

  “Oh, of course. I certainly understand. If they purchased their tickets here, we’ll have a record. What are their names?”

  “Kretzer,” Justin said. “Rose and Sam.”

  The woman opened a drawer and set a receipt book on her desk. She leafed through a few pages. “Yes, here they are. It was a Medallion tour. The bus left here at nine-thirty. It was due in at two. If you’d like, I can call to verify.”

  “Please,” Megan said. Justin heard the strain creeping into her voice.

  They waited while the woman made the call. “Thank you,” she said, and hung up the phone. “The tour picked up six people from the hotel this morning, and we had six tickets sold. They don’t track names, but it’s reasonable to assume your grandparents were on the bus. It got back at two-fifteen, and six people got off.”