She nodded. “Most likely. I’ll include that nugget in my crime report.”
The man lowered his notebook, his attention suddenly on us. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What crime report?”
Jamie’s hand went to her hip. “I’m with the newspaper. I do a column on crime in the area. Stolen goods ending up at a pawnshop? I know it’s nothing unusual, but with the funeral home twist, I’m sure readers will find it very eye-opening. Especially when they find out that you’re involved with it.”
The man narrowed his snake-like eyes. “I ain’t involved with anything.”
“You’re protecting someone,” I said.
“If I have issues, I take them up with the police. Not with prissy little girls.”
Fire ignited through me, but before I could retort, Jamie did. “Can you answer this: has this person brought in items before?”
“It’s a possibility.”
Well, that was something. Not much but I’d take whatever I could get. “How many more items?”
“Quite a few, truth be told. I didn’t know they were stolen. And not stolen from dead people, at that.”
“When did you find out that fact?” I asked.
“When that lady came in, claiming it was her mom’s bracelet. I didn’t think she was telling the truth. But I do know thieves try to use places of business such as mine to sell their loot. I don’t want anything to do with those kinds of people.”
I thought he was telling the truth. There was something about the set of his shoulders, his chin, that told me he had a lot of pride. He might be rude, and his store might be dirty, but the man thought of himself as a wise businessman.
Once we were back in my car, Jamie and I debriefed. “So, if I’m reading this situation correctly, all this centers around a crime theft ring that steals jewelry from the homes of dead people,” I said.
Jamie nodded slowly, still staring straight ahead at the pawnshop. “Aren’t there easier ways to earn money?”
“They can probably justify this. I mean, after all, this jewelry no longer belongs to anyone. Kind of. They probably think they aren’t hurting anyone since the owner is already dead.”
“That’s despicable.”
“It really is,” I said. “If this theory is true, then the body movers are behind it.”
“One would think. The other thing I don’t understand is that there doesn’t seem to be a lot of money involved. I mean, maybe they’re making a thousand or so dollars. Is it really worth it to go through all this trouble just for that amount? Is it worth it to murder someone?”
“Good questions. Maybe the person behind this is a family member of someone Travis and Chuck stole from. Maybe this person felt like Travis and Chuck were capitalizing on their loss. Maybe his anger was compounded with his grief and led him to be irrational—to a deadly extent.”
“It’s a possibility. But it does seem extreme.”
“Any time there’s a murder, that’s extreme,” Jamie said.
“I can’t argue with that.” I kept thinking. “What if there’s someone else involved with this theft ring?”
“Well, if there is a third person, then maybe the person in charge of coordinating these thefts is the one behind the murders. Maybe he wants more money for himself. Or the other guys were getting sloppy, and he was afraid they’d be caught.”
I leaned back into my seat, wishing I could make sense of things. But I needed more information first.
“At least, it’s a start,” I finally said. “It’s better than the nothing we had to go on before.”
“But where do we go now?” Jamie asked.
I let out a long breath. “That’s an excellent question. How would we find out who the ringleader is? I’m inclined to think it’s someone they worked with.”
“We’re getting closer by the minute. I can feel it.”
I agree. But, unfortunately, the faces that drifted through my mind as potential suspects were unnerving.
Ronald. Raul. Even Drew.
Despite my reservations, I decided to head to the funeral home so I could meet with the Hookers about the memorial service. I got there early in hopes of talking to Drew first.
I’d already called Chase and told him what I’d discovered. I figured I had enough information that it would warrant looking into, and Chase had agreed. He was going to see what he could find out.
There were only a few cars in the parking lot when I pulled in, Drew’s Mustang among them. The confirmation that he was here caused a rush of nerves to sweep through me. Uncomfortable conversations had never been my favorite thing. Not by a long shot.
Nor had I ever really liked funeral homes. They brought back too many sad memories. Mostly they brought back memories of being there after my dad died. Those were some of the hardest days of my life.
As soon as I stepped onto the plush burgundy carpet of the foyer, those memories rushed back with a vengeance. Grief hadn’t been as constant a companion lately, but it was still there, showing up like an unwelcome guest and lingering for as long as it pleased. Its presence showed that I’d loved and I’d loved well, but its absence helped me to look to the future instead of the past.
“Can I help you?” A woman appeared from an office in the distance. Recognition spread across her face. “We met. At the get-together for Travis.”
“Alicia, right?”
She nodded. “That’s right. And you are . . .”
“Holly.”
“Good to see you again, Holly. How can I help you?”
I wiped my damp hands on my floral-print dress. “I’m here to see Drew.”
“Do you have an appointment?” She fluttered her long eyelashes politely and patiently as she waited.
I shook my head, remaining somber. Was there any other way to act at a funeral home? “No, I don’t. If it’s a bad time, I can come later.”
“Let me see—”
Before she could step away, Drew emerged from one of the doorways in the distance. A wide grin spread across his face when he spotted me, and, for a moment, my nerves dissipated.
“I thought I recognized that voice.” He crossed the room until he reached me. “This is a nice surprise.”
He took my arm and led me into his office, where he shut the door. I settled onto the couch there. Drew sat on the other end, but still close enough that our knees slightly touched.
I stared at his warm, brown eyes a moment. I couldn’t believe I was here or that I was doing this. Those eyes beckoned trust, and Drew had been nothing but kind to me since we’d met.
That was the very reason I had to come to him with what I knew. It was the right thing. A lot of times the hard thing and the right thing went hand in hand.
“It’s good to see you,” he started.
“I’m sorry to stop by unannounced.” I glanced around his office, suddenly curious about his career. “Tell me about your job here.”
He leaned back. “It’s truly a family business, even though I’m the CEO. My mom is a funeral director. My dad oversees cremation. My sister and her husband do a little bit of everything, but mainly act as funeral attendants.”
“I had no idea you had such a large staff.”
“It’s surprising how many people are needed to make sure things run smoothly.”
“I thought you had a brother also,” I said. “Didn’t I see you with him at the memorial lunch?”
His gaze darkened. “I do. Raul. He doesn’t want much to do with the business, although he will fill in on occasion. This line of work just isn’t his cup of tea. Nor is anything that requires empathy.”
“Ouch.”
Drew shook his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s been a bit of a thorn in my side lately.”
“It sounds like you guys are opposites.”
“In every way.”
I could tell he didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I decided to give the conversation a break.
“So, are you hands-on or are you the businessman here?
”
“A little of both. I do the embalmings, usually. I meet with the family and explain their options. I review the forms for bone and tissue donation—”
“You do that here? I thought it was done in the hospital.”
“Organ donation is. I work with a local company, Life Force, to secure the bone and tissue. There’s quite a bit of paperwork, however, that needs to be filled out first. It can be time-consuming. My brother, Raul, was actually a recipient of a tissue donation.”
“Really? May I ask why?”
“He has some heart problems,” Drew explained. “He needed to have a valve replaced, and they were able to secure what was needed from a tissue donor.”
“That’s pretty amazing.”
He shifted his weight. “I don’t suppose you came in expecting to hear all of that.”
“No, it’s all very interesting, though.” I pressed my lips together, this conversation feeling like a weight around my neck that wanted to strangle my words before they could escape. “I wish I was here just to be social.”
He flinched ever-so-slightly. “I wish that was the reason you were here as well. What’s going on, Holly? I can tell something is bothering you.”
I drew in a deep breath before starting. “Two things. The Hookers asked me to come and help them plan the memorial service.”
His eyes widened. “That sounds awkward.”
“I’m going to have to tell them the truth, but I keep avoiding it. So here I am. But I got here early to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
I handed him the paper with the addresses on it. “Is there any way you could cross-reference these addresses with clients who have used your services here?”
He stared at the paper. “I . . . I suppose I could. It would be tedious but possible. What’s going on?”
“I know this is going to sound crazy, but I talked to a woman today whom I met a few years ago through my job as a social worker. Her mother recently passed away, and she used Wilford for the arrangements.”
“Okay.” He straightened his sleeves, his intense gaze never leaving mine. But there was also a softness there, a compassionate undertone.
Keep going, Holly. You’re not done yet. “She found a piece of her mother’s jewelry at a pawnshop recently. The last time anyone saw it was in her mother’s room when she died. Her mom was supposed to be buried with it.”
I held my breath, waiting with dread for his reaction. But I hadn’t spelled everything out yet. There was still more to be said.
Drew’s eyes widened, but his voice remained soft. “What are you saying, Holly?”
“She believes someone took the bracelet and sold it to the pawnshop to make some extra cash.”
“Who is she looking at? Family? A lot of people are in and out during those final moments.”
I rubbed my lips together. “She believes it was one of the death transportation response—” What were they called again? My mind went blank. “Deceased haulage specialists?”
Drew’s eyes sparkled. “Just call them what everyone else does: body movers.”
“Got it.”
The sparkle in his gaze disappeared. “Holly, I have a hard time believing that anyone I hired would ever do that.”
I paused, trying to choose my words kindly so this didn’t turn into a turbulent conversation. “Then how did it happen?”
“Are you sure this woman is telling you the truth? You know how people are litigation happy nowadays. Maybe this is one of those cases, like the people who plant dead mice in their soda cans and then tell the world the bottling company put it there.”
Again, I paused. “I can see where you’d want to question that. But I don’t believe she’s lying. And, if what you’re saying is true, she would have gone to a lawyer or maybe even to the media. She talked to me instead.”
“Why did she do that?”
“Because there are only a few people she trusts around here. I’m one of them.”
He leaned back and pressed his lips together. “I can’t stomach the thought of someone I know doing this.”
“Do you have any other ideas on how this could have happened?”
He hung his head, swung it back and forth, keeping a hand across his forehead. I let him have his moment to process this.
“She’s certain no one in her family did this?”
I nodded. “She said there were very few people in and out.”
“I see.” He let out a long sigh. “Would you give me her name?”
“Rita Chaplin.”
He crossed the room and reached his computer. He typed in a few things before leaning back with a grunt.
“What is it?”
“Travis was one of the people who picked up her mother.”
I closed my eyes. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“What about these other addresses?” He studied the paper with a frown.
“They’re other people in this area who reported jewelry thefts in the past three months.”
“And you think . . .” His voice faded. He knew exactly what I was getting at. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“If you could keep it just between us for now. There’s someone else involved with this, Drew, and we don’t know who that is yet.”
“I understand.”
I considered myself a pretty good reader of people, and I felt certain that Drew was telling the truth. “I’m sorry, Drew.”
“No, I’m glad you came to me. Thank you. I suppose this makes more sense now. Maybe Travis and Chuck were in some kind of business together, stealing jewelry from the deceased. It’s despicable.”
“It is.”
“Have you told the police yet?”
I nodded. “I did. I realize it has the potential to make your business look bad, and I apologize for that.”
“No, it was the right thing to do.”
My stomach clenched. “There’s one other thing. Remember that Travis and Chuck both ended up dead.”
He blanched. “You think someone killed them over this?”
If only I knew that. “We don’t know how deep this goes or what’s really going on. Questioning people could put you in danger.”
Just then, someone knocked at the door. When Drew opened the door, I saw AJ standing there. Only he looked different. He wore a suit and tie instead of his suspenders and bowtie.
“Hey there.” Recognition flickered across his face. “We met before.”
“That’s right. At Travis’s memorial lunch.”
“That’s right. Drew and I had a meeting. Do I need to reschedule?”
I stood, having no intentions of interrupting Drew’s schedule. “I actually have an appointment.”
As soon as I said the words, voices drifted into the office. The Hookers.
I was going to have to tell them the truth.
And I wasn’t looking forward to it.
Chapter Eighteen
“Is there anything here you see that you’d like to keep in Travis’s memory?”
Mama Hooker stared at me as we stood in the living room of Travis’s apartment.
As I feared, my talk with them hadn’t gone well. Even though I’d told them Travis and I weren’t together, they’d insisted that I’d been an important part of his life.
They’d also insisted that I still help with the memorial service, and then they’d asked if I wanted to go to Travis’s place with them to go through a few things. I’d almost said no. I should have said no. But the nosy part of me found the word “sure” coming from my lips.
So here I was.
Travis’s apartment was pretty unimpressive. Not only was it rundown, but I’d seen a cockroach when I’d walked up the stairwell. His neighbors yelled upstairs. The whole place smelled like trash that hadn’t been taken out in weeks.
The inside was no better—mostly hand-me-down furniture from the eighties. Leftover food rested on the kitchen counter and on the dining room table and on the entertainment center. Pile
s of magazines and newspapers were stacked against one wall.
I glanced around, knowing that Mama Hooker was waiting for my response.
“I . . . uh . . . I don’t know,” I finally said.
“I’m surprised he doesn’t have any pictures of you here.” Mama Hooker frowned.
“How’d you get your hands on the ones you had at the lunch?” I’d been meaning to ask them that.
“He mailed them to us, of course.”
“Of course.” I walked toward the bookcase and picked up another picture of Travis with someone else. A guy. They both held fish in front of them, and the green background made me think they were camping. “Who’s this?”
“Jason Lewis,” Mama Hooker said. “Certainly you met him.”
She must have forgotten that I hadn’t really been dating Travis.
When I didn’t say anything, she continued.
“They’re best friends. Did everything together.”
“He didn’t come to the luncheon,” I said.
“That’s because he was in Wisconsin visiting his family. He came back Tuesday. We’ve already spent quite a bit of time with him. But then he had to go back to work at that appliance store downtown.”
“Did he ever tell you about this table?” Papa Hooker knocked on a wooden coffee table.
“I can’t say he did.”
“I built this for him,” he said. “He went through this James Bond phase and drew up the plans for this himself.”
I stared at the boxy table. “Is there something James Bond-y about it?”
“Well, of course. Check this out.” Papa Hooker reached beneath the ledge around the top. A moment later, a door popped open.
My eyes widened when I saw stacks and stacks of cash inside.
I knew one thing: there was no way Travis had gotten that money through small-time jewelry theft. Something else was going on here.
“So, Travis had a stash of money hidden in a secret compartment in his coffee table?” Jamie asked me that evening as we shared some gluten-free pizza.
I replayed the incident in my head. I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t been there. “Ten thousand dollars.”
Random Acts of Fraud (Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries Book 5) Page 14
