False Cast: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Series Book 5)

by S. W. Hubbard

  Frank scowled. “So he might have told any number of people that Cottlemeir would be at the cabin that weekend.” He turned back to his work. “Sorry for sending you clear over there on a wild goose chase.”

  “No problem.” Earl bit into his jelly donut. “The Moose is a fun place.

  Guess what someone tried to sell me at the bar.”

  “Weed?” Frank grinned. “Don’t tell me you made an arrest over there!”

  “Pills. But not the kind that get you arrested.”

  Earl reached into his pocket and produced a green and white bottle.

  “VitaVine.” Frank read the label aloud. “Is it some kind of vitamin? Did you buy them to counteract the effect of all those donuts?”

  “Nah. It’s not real vitamins, it’s some kinda bogus supplement. My mom and my Aunt Sheila got invited to a VitaVine party.” Earl swallowed the last of his donut. “They both bought a bottle—it’s pretty cheap—but the real point of the party was to recruit more people to sell the stuff. The lady who held the party kept telling them they’d make so much money, they could quit their jobs and work from home.”

  “I hope your mom didn’t quit her job.”

  “Nah, my mom always says there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Sheila was the one who was tempted. I told her to leave it alone—it’s called multi-level marketing, but it’s really nothing but a Ponzi scheme. We learned all about them in fraud class.”

  Earl studied the label of the pills. “‘A proprietary blend of minerals and herbs’. It’s probably nothing but baking soda and dried up grass. Did you know the FDA doesn’t regulate this stuff at all? You could make anything into a pill and sell it.”

  Frank held his hand out for the bottle. “And people do. But I’m surprised there’s anyone willing to buy it in Trout Run.”

  “That’s the point. The only way to actually make any money is to recruit more sellers. They all have to buy the pills they’re going to sell. Pretty soon, everyone you know is a seller, and no one’s left to be a buyer. And the only person to make money is the person at the top of the pyramid.”

  “Sounds like you really paid attention in fraud class. Did you learn about Nigerian Prince email scams, too?”

  “We did! It was really interesting.” A fine shower of powdered sugar fell off Earl’s fingers as he lectured. “You would think that everyone knows about that by now, but they keep doing it because it still works. The slogan of the fraud squad is, ‘There’s a sucker born every minute. That’s why we have lifetime job security.’ Did you know those operators actually share mailing lists of people who have fallen for scams? If you’ve fallen for one scam, you’re actually more likely to fall for another.”

  “Really? They sell lists of senile old people?”

  Earl kept up his lecture as he prepared for the morning patrol. “Actually, seniors aren’t the most common victims; they just tend to report the fraud more often. Younger people with financial problems and an over-confident personality are the most likely to get scammed.”

  “Huh. Well, there are plenty of people with financial problems around here. I guess one of them invited your mom and Aunt Sheila. What’s the hostess’s name?”

  Earl shrugged. “I’m pretty sure the party was in Verona. So the VitaVine network has spread from Keeseville to Verona.”

  Frank tossed the pill bottle to Earl. “But the buck stops at Earl Davis, fraud buster.”

  Chapter 29

  “Meyerson called,” Earl announced as Frank entered the office.

  “What did he want?”

  “Wouldn’t say. You’re supposed to call him.”

  Frank scowled. When Earl was a civilian Meyerson had always refused to tell him anything. But now that he was a sworn officer, surely Meyerson could get the stick out of his ass and treat Earl like a colleague, not a flunky.

  Frank swallowed his irritation and dialed.

  “Bennett. The CSI report on Cottlemeir’s truck and the cabin are in.”

  Frank tapped a pencil on his knee, rocking back in his chair. “Yeah?”

  “Negative.”

  “Negative for what?”

  “Gatrell. His fingerprints are nowhere in the cabin or the vehicle.”

  Frank sat up. “He wore gloves. We know he stole a pair. And what about he boots? The killer tracked through the blood.”

  “The tread marks don’t match the brand of boots Gatrell stole. And the print is approximately two sizes smaller than those boots.”

  “What about the bullet?” Frank could hear the desperation in his own voice.

  “Different caliber—25-20 Winchester. The gun Gatrell stole was a seven millimeter.”

  Frank hunched over his desk and gripped the phone. “No, it can’t…”

  “Gatrell didn’t kill Cottlemeir. I didn’t think it looked like his work. He’s a crackpot, not a killer.” Meyerson’s tone of voice changed from matter-of-fact to smug. “Looks like Gatrell’s not the menace you’ve been making him out to be. He’s just a crazy backwoodsman. If he can survive blackfly season, he might stay out there all summer. But when winter rolls around, he’ll have to come in. We’ll get him then.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re giving up looking for Ronnie?”

  “Resource allocation. I have a murder to investigate. I’ve spent too much money and manpower on Gatrell. I have no choice but to redirect some of my staff. I’ll keep a couple guys on the hunt for Ronnie, but I can’t afford more.”

  Click.

  Frank leaned back in his chair and kneaded his eyes. Penny scolded him for this habit, said it was damaging, but it sure felt good especially when the world he was looking at made no sense whatsoever.

  He told Earl the news without opening his eyes. Earl knew better than to offer the first opinion. The silence helped him think.

  How could Cottlemeir’s murder be the work of someone other than Ronnie Gatrell? How many dangerous lunatics could possibly be roaming the backwoods of the High Peaks at any given time? What were the odds?

  Chapter 30

  The news that Ronnie Gatrell hadn’t killed Joe Cottlemeir spread through the High Peaks faster than a flash flood, and with equally unpredictable results. People who yesterday had barricaded themselves in their houses because they were terrified of becoming Ronnie’s next victim now said they had never believed that Ronnie had killed that guy in the first place. Cottlemeir was an outsider, a downstater, and he must’ve been killed by the same breed.

  Frank replayed his vow to never eat at Malone’s again over and over in his mind. Why had he made such a scene? How would he live this down? He drove clear to Verona to eat at the sandwich shop there, then decided to go home early and take a nap. After all, he had to come back on duty tonight to direct traffic after the Spring Fling at the high school.

  Despite the relentless hammering and sawing of the workmen, Frank stole an hour’s nap with the benefit of Vivaldi played through his noise-cancelling headphones. When he woke, the workers had packed up for the day, and he found Penny in the living room threading the new curtains she’d ordered onto the curtain rod.

  “Thank goodness you’re awake. I thought I might have to drill the holes for the brackets myself,” Penny said.

  Frank shuddered. Penny’s tendency to eyeball instead of measure made her dangerous in the vicinity of power tools.

  “I solved the mystery of why Caroline won’t talk to you.” Penny said, handing Frank the drill.

  Frank paused in lining up the brackets. “How?”

  “I called Eric at work. We had a nice talk.”

  Frank descended the stepladder. “How do you know Eric’s work number?”

  “Unlike you, I actually listen when he talks about his job. I went to his company website and found his email. I told him how concerned we were and asked him to call me when he had a moment to chat. He called seconds after I hit send.”

  Penny was looking smug, a quality he didn’t find particularly endearing. But he was dying to know wh
at Eric had said. He would never have called his son-in-law himself.

  “And…”

  Penny crossed the room and picked up the framed photo of Estelle and Caroline from the bookshelf. “Do you know where this was the last time Caroline was here?”

  “How should I know? She hasn’t been here since that weekend in January when they all came up to go skiing.”

  “We had just begun the remodeling project a few days before. Remember the day the guys used sledgehammers to knock down the kitchen wall and my favorite vase crashed off the shelf in here?”

  Frank nodded. There had been some tears over that loss.

  “After that happened, I packed up everything fragile that might get broken, even if it wasn’t near where the men were working.”

  Frank gazed at the photo in Penny’s hand, the last one taken of his wife and daughter. Caroline and Estelle laughing, caught in a moment of candid joy. Two weeks later, Estelle was dead. “She thought I’d gotten rid of her favorite picture of her and her mom.”

  “She thought I made you get rid of it, and you agreed to keep me happy.” Penny smiled. “Don’t forget, I’m the wicked stepmother.”

  “And I’m the sad old codger trying to satisfy his trophy wife.” Frank set down his drill. “If only she knew, that photo made me realize—”

  “What?”

  “The first time I invited you here, I’d been nervous as a cat before you came, straightening up, wanting to make a good impression. I was thinking of putting that picture up in the guest room so you wouldn’t have to see it. But you arrived before I had a chance to move it. When you came into this room, you went straight for the picture. You weren’t uncomfortable at all. You really studied it. And you told me how beautiful it was. And that’s when I knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That I was falling in love with you.”

  Penny pulled him into her arms. ”I’ve never felt threatened by Estelle. She’s a part of you. In fact, I owe her a debt. She broke you in.”

  “That’s for sure. You wouldn’t have wanted the twenty-one-year-old me.”

  “Sometimes I feel her presence here. When Caroline wouldn’t speak to you, I was so worried. I didn’t want you to gain me if it meant losing her. One afternoon, after the workmen left, I sat in here and talked to Estelle, told her how I was trying but I couldn’t seem to get anything right. Cried a little.”

  “Don’t tell me she answered you.”

  Penny handed him the rod with the new curtains. “There’s no need to call the mental health clinic. I’m not hearing voices. But l did feel better. And later that night when I was lying in bed, the idea just popped into my head that I should call Eric. So here we are.”

  Frank set the curtain rod in the bracket and reached for his phone. “So I can call her right now and everything will be all right. Eric must’ve told her about the misunderstanding by now.”

  Penny lunged for the phone. “No! Caroline will be even madder if she thinks Eric and I have been plotting behind her back.”

  Frank massaged his temples. “This is too much for me. I know why she’s not speaking to me, but I can’t act on that information?”

  “You just need to be indirect, dear. How about this: write Caroline an email about something else—maybe send her an interesting article—and then in a chatty way at the end just mention how glad we are to have the remodeling almost over and Penny has been so busy unpacking the boxes of all the photos and knick-knacks she put away for safekeeping. How does that sound?”

  “I don’t chat in emails.” Frank banged the stepladder over to the other window. “If I send her an article, I just say, ‘I thought you’d be interested in the attached.’ ”

  Penny wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “The thing I love about you is the thing that’s screwing us to the wall here.”

  “What, my tactlessness?”

  “Your honesty.”

  Penny leaped up. “What if I send Caroline an email and tell her that when I unpacked the photo, I noticed the frame had gotten chipped. I want to have it reframed as a surprise Father’s Day gift for you. And then I can send two photo frame choices and ask her which one she likes better. Wouldn’t that work?”

  Frank felt two opposing waves rise up within him. One was a wave of love for his wife, who was willing to do anything to solve a mess she hadn’t had a hand in creating. The other was a wave of irritation at his daughter. What the hell was wrong with her? She couldn’t just say, “What happened to the picture of Mom and me that used to be here?” She had to sulk and fume and make everyone around her miserable?

  He swiped the screen of his phone. “Or I could just call her right now and tell her to stop being such a silly spoiled brat.”

  Penny squeezed his hands in hers. “Try it my way first, dear, please.”

  “It’s hard for her, Frank. She misses her mother. It’s not fair that I get to enjoy the boys instead of Estelle.”

  “She said she was happy for us. She gave me her blessing.”

  Penny ran her hand over his forehead, smoothing back hair that wasn’t out of place. “Saying it is easy. Living it is hard.”

  Chapter 31

  Frank trudged toward the patrol car as the last of the volunteers cleaned up after the annual Spring Fling. Traffic out of the school parking lot had been insane: parents stopping in the middle of the road, kids darting between cars, impatient drivers trying to pass on the right. His neon reflective vest, whistle, and color-tipped flashlight were insignificant weapons in the battle against drivers crazed to get home after three hours of tap-dance routines, feedback-infused guitar jams, and off-key renditions of Adele’s latest love ballad. He slid behind the wheel and rested his head with his eyes shut to get back his energy before driving home.

  Someone knocked on his car window.

  Frank opened his eyes to see Anita Veech peering in at him.

  He powered down the window. Strange that she was still here; he doubted she would have volunteered for the cleanup committee. And it was pushing eleven—Olivia should be in bed by now.

  “Hi, Anita—car trouble?” He hoped his tone was friendly and concerned.

  She shook her head, but didn’t speak. Then she took a deep breath. “Have you seen Olivia?”

  He bolted out of his slouch. “Seen her? What do you mean? She’s not waiting in your car?”

  Anita gave a half-shake of her head, more twitch than dissent. “I figured she’d be here, but she’s not.”

  Frank got out of the car. “Start at the beginning. Who did Olivia come to the Spring Fling with?”

  Anita shrugged. “She’s been talking about going for days. I didn’t really pay her much mind. Then I got home from work today and she wasn’t home. Usually she leaves me a note or sends me a text. She didn’t answer when I called. I figured she got busy makin’ plans.”

  “Busy with plans? Since when do twelve-year-olds get to make their own plans?”

  Anita looked down and kicked at the dirt on the shoulder of the road. “I figured she probably didn’t want to come to this show with me. She probably wanted to be with her friends. I figured she musta got a ride with one of them. So fine. I’d just come over here and get her when all the excitement was over. Except I didn’t see her come out. I saw that pack of girls she runs with and she wasn’t with them. So then I figured….”

  Despite the chilly spring air, Frank felt beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. “Figured what?”

  “She might be with those Bates people.”

  Those Bates people. Those parents who love her. Those guardians who supervise her.

  “You think she went back to Edwin and Lucy? Why? Did you and Olivia have an argument?”

  Anita shrugged. “No fights. But I don’t know what’s in her head. I thought you could call them.”

  Frank was already punching the screen of his phone. Edwin’s phone rang and rang. Of course, they were asleep by now. They hadn’t gone to the Spring Fling
. No need to be cruelly reminded of their childless state.

  As the phone continued to ring, another thought popped into his head. Maybe they had Olivia and were refusing to answer his call.

  Finally, a groggy Edwin answered. “Hullo?”

  Frank’s heart clenched. How could he ask this question? “Edwin, it’s Frank. Is…is Olivia there by any chance?”

  All signs of sleep disappeared from Edwin’s voice. “Olivia? Why would she be here? Wha—? You mean she’s not with Anita?”

  “Uh, correct. Anita is with me now. She thought Olivia might have gone…” He caught himself before the word ‘home’ left his tongue. “…gone back to the inn.”

  “Edwin? Edwin? What’s going on?” Frank could hear Lucy’s plaintive voice in the background.

  “I’m going to check her room,” Edwin said. “The back door is always unlocked. Maybe she slipped in and went straight to her bed.”

  Frank could hear the scuffling of their footsteps and the bang of the bedroom door opening. Then silence.

  “She’s not here, Frank. Where the hell is she?”

  “You said you didn’t see Olivia with her friends here at the Fling. Did you stop and talk to any of them?”

  Anita looked past him at the shadowy hulk of the high school. “They were with their parents. I didn’t want to…”

  Even through his rising anxiety, Frank felt a stab of sympathy for Anita. She still saw herself as an outcast here. Any other mother would have rushed up to the other parents, totally willing to ask for help. Anita was reluctant, afraid of their judgment. She knew the other mothers wouldn’t rally round her with concern and support. More likely Anita would face raised eyebrows…pursed lips…unspoken words.

  Can’t you keep track of your child?

  Aren’t you in control?

  He knew because the same thoughts were running through his head.

  “What about Jenny Kellum, the girl who received your letters from prison? Did you call her?”

  Anita gave a quick shake to her head. “Jenny and Olivia…they’re, they’re not really so tight anymore.”