by Ritter, Todd
Claude uncrossed his legs, sighed, crossed them in the other direction. “And that was part of the problem. Constance kept buying new items. Because the museum building itself is on the state registry of historic places, we get some cash from the government. And there were fund-raisers, of course. Raffles, things like that. But as soon as the money came in, it went out again. Constance would spend it almost instantly on some godforsaken antique she insisted that the museum just had to have.”
“And I suppose,” Kat said, “she wasn’t too keen on selling anything.”
“She hated that idea more than charging admission. So we were left with too many items to put on display and no money in our bank account.”
“Sounds like the historical society was on the path to bankruptcy.”
“It was,” Claude said. “And had things stayed the same, I’m sure that would have been the end result.”
Kat arched an eyebrow. “You’re making Constance’s death sound like it’s a good thing.”
Her former teacher stared her down. “I’m sad that Constance is dead. I truly am. But this fire most likely saved us.”
“How so?” Tony asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Claude said, shaking his head in a fit of teacherly exasperation. “Insurance money. Practically every item in that museum was insured. Because of this fire, the historical society stands to gain millions.”
“Were there any other members who knew about the insurance policy?”
“We all did,” Claude replied. “Every single one of us.”
Kat’s heart started to beat faster, an excited thumping deep in her chest. Claude Dobson might not have been able to give her and Tony much information about who attacked Constance and started the fire, but he did provide something equally as valuable—a motive.
9 A.M.
“Do you think one of them did it?” Kat asked Tony once they were back in his car.
Nick, who had spent the time waiting for them sprawled across the backseat in boredom, lifted his head. “Who did what?”
“Members of the historical society,” Tony said.
“One of them might have killed Constance,” Kat chimed in.
Tony started the car and slipped on a pair of aviator shades. With the sunglasses, black suit, and determined set of his jaw, he looked more like a Secret Service agent than a state police detective. A big Secret Service agent. Lieutenant Vasquez was so huge that Kat was surprised the car didn’t tilt over on his side.
“The key word here is might,” he said. “I’d immediately suspect one of those history geeks if they all hadn’t been at that party when the fire broke out.”
“One of them wasn’t,” Kat said. “Emma Pulsifer told me she left around midnight.”
By this time Nick had sat up and was poking his head into the front seat like an impatient child on a car trip. “That would give her plenty of time to swing by the museum and try to start a fire. Maybe she thought Constance was gone. But when Constance caught her in the act, Emma had no choice but to knock her over the head.”
“I don’t think Emma is strong enough for that,” Kat said. “Wallace Noble really thinks this was the work of a man. I do, too.”
On their way out of Claude Dobson’s house, Kat and Tony had formed a plan. They’d split up and question the other two members of the historical society—Burt Hammond and Father Ron—simultaneously. Only now Tony was rethinking that strategy. Kat could tell by the way he stroked his Dick Tracy chin, lost in thought.
“I think I should talk to this Emma Pulsifer myself,” he said. “Kat, I assume you can handle the other two on your own.”
Kat didn’t dignify the comment with a response. Of course she could handle a mayor and a priest. She and Burt Hammond didn’t get along, it was true, and she’d hadn’t been to church—any church—in years. But questioning them would be easy enough. She had a bullshit detector that was swayed by neither bureaucracy nor God.
“What can I do?” Nick asked.
Tony shot him a glance in the rearview mirror. “Realize you’re no longer a cop and go home.”
“Hell will freeze over before that happens.”
“Listen up,” Tony said. “I got serious shit for letting you get involved with the Olmstead investigation.”
“I’m the one who told you about the Olmstead case,” Nick shot back. “And if I remember correctly, you’re not the one who solved it, either.”
Listening to their back and forth, Kat pinched the bridge of her nose. A headache was coming on. She got them when she was tired. And when two former colleagues argued in her ear.
“Enough,” she said with a finality that silenced both men. “Tony, you talk to Emma. Nick and I will interview the others. Then we’ll meet up in two hours to compare notes.”
“Fine.” Tony shook his head, letting it be known he still thought it was a bad idea. He then turned to face Nick. “You have to follow three rules. First, let Kat do the talking. Second, seriously, let Kat do the talking. Third, don’t slow her down.”
Kat wasn’t sure about the first two, but the third rule went out the window as soon as Tony dropped them off in front of town hall. Nick struggled with the steps leading up to the front entrance, leaning heavily on his cane. Once inside, he insisted on taking the stairs to the mayor’s office on the second floor.
“You know you don’t have to be so stubborn around me,” Kat said as she waited for him at the top. “We could have taken the elevator.”
Nick was out of breath by the time he finally reached the second-floor landing, pushing his response in labored puffs. “Elevators. Are. For. Sissies.”
“And for former cops who destroyed their knee while saving my life.”
“You’re welcome, by the way.” He walked right past her, the thump of his cane echoing off the marble floor. “Now let’s go see the mayor.”
That turned out to be easier said than done. Mayor Hammond’s outer office, where his secretary normally sat, was vacant. So was his inner office, with its wide-windowed view of Main Street. Granted, it was a Saturday morning, but Burt kept his office open until noon on those days. It was something he prided himself on—going out of his way to be accessible to Perry Hollow residents, even on a weekend morning. Except, apparently, that morning.
Kat stepped into his empty office. It was exactly what you’d expect from a small-town mayor with big-time ambitions. A Pennsylvania state flag hung next to Old Glory. Plaques and commendations covered the walls. Since the mayor was single and childless, the photos on his desk weren’t of family. Instead, there were pictures of him glad-handing semifamous people. Kat spotted one of the mayor with the governor. Another showed him smiling next to a running back for the Philadelphia Eagles. Beside that was one of him shaking hands with an attractive woman in a short skirt and high heels, whom Kat didn’t recognize. Maybe a former Miss Pennsylvania. Or the star of a reality show. You could never tell with Burt Hammond.
“Are you looking for the mayor?”
Kat whirled around to see his secretary standing in the doorway. She held an arm out in front of her, a hanger dangling from a well-manicured finger. On the hanger was a pale blue shirt draped in clear plastic. Of course, Burt Hammond was the type of person who sent his secretary to pick up his dry cleaning.
“We are,” Kat said. “Do you know where he is?”
“He’s at the rec center. You know him and the Halloween festival.”
The Halloween festival, planned for later that night, was one of the mayor’s pet projects. It had once been Perry Hollow’s biggest annual event. A parade down Main Street. Everyone in costume. An influx of visitors from across the state sipping hot apple cider. Then the Grim Reaper had struck during the middle of it and all hell had broken loose.
This year Burt had decided to scale it down, moving the festival to the ancient rec center two blocks from Main. Although Kat was sad to see the downsizing of an event she remembered fondly from her childhood, it made sense from a public-safety st
andpoint. Plus, after what happened the year before, she doubted too many out-of-towners would be flocking to Perry Hollow to take part.
So they left the mayor’s office, intent on finding him at the rec center. In the hallway, Kat turned to Nick as he limped toward the stairs.
“Call me a sissy,” she said, “but we’re taking the elevator.”
The Perry Hollow Athletic Center was a square and squat building that always reminded Kat of a giant concrete block dropped in the middle of town. Built in the forties when the mill was running at its peak, the rec center was a relic of more prosperous days, a reminder of when the town had money for public buildings with state-of-the-art amenities. Seventy years later, it was still in use, although it had lost its state-of-the-art designation sometime during the Eisenhower administration.
The inside of the rec center was just as old and run-down as the outside. Walking past walls painted institutional gray, Kat noticed about a dozen things that needed improvement. Every third bulb of the buzzing fluorescent lights seemed to be out. Missing tiles in the floor left more gaps than an old man’s smile. The place was so empty and dim that Kat was relieved to enter the gymnasium, which was bustling with people and was in the process of being festooned with Halloween decorations. A little color went a long way, even if it was mostly orange and black.
The workers in the gym were a select group of put-together mothers who seemed to have endless time and energy. Kat, who secretly referred to the group as the PTA Mafia, was wary of all of them. They always appeared friendly, smiling and saying how proud they were that the town had a “woman police chief.” But she often detected a note of superiority in their voices, and more than a little bit of pity. They assumed—incorrectly—that she would rather have a husband who earned six figures and a normal son that she could drive back and forth to soccer games. Well, she did have a normal son, who was pretty damn good at soccer. As for the husband, she had had one once. Looking at how that had turned out, Kat wasn’t sure she wanted another.
As she stepped farther into the gymnasium, a few members of the PTA Mafia offered obligatory waves before turning their attention to Nick. He was like catnip to those ladies. Handsome and intense, he was all the more mysterious now that he used a cane. The rumor persisted around town that he and Kat were having a secret, torrid affair. Yet another reason the women in the room stared at her with disdain as they stuffed straw into half-finished scarecrows and wrangled costumes onto mannequins on loan from the town’s dress shop. Quite simply, they were jealous.
Other than Nick, the only male in the gymnasium was Burt Hammond, who stood in the middle of the basketball court, the center of attention. It was, Kat knew far too well, where he liked to be.
Luckily for Burt, his height—inches past six feet—made it easy for him to stand out in the crowd. So did the fact that his frequent trips to the tanning bed left his skin taut and bronzed, even in the middle of winter. Then there was his mole—a dime-sized spot on his chin that the mayor used to his advantage. When he walked down Main Street, it was with his chin jutted forward, so people could tell from a distance that it was he who was approaching.
Burt’s real job was owner of a lawn-mower dealership on the outskirts of town. But his passion was politics. Mayor Hammond lived for shaking hands, kissing babies, and presiding over town council meetings. He also liked to boss people around, Kat included. Standing alone at center court, he barked orders to two soccer moms balancing on ladders while trying to hang a banner across the far wall.
“It’s still crooked,” Burt said. “A little to the left.”
One of the soccer moms—nervous atop the ladder—made an adjustment.
“More, please.”
Another adjustment, another shaky move by one of the moms.
“There,” Burt said. “That’s perfect. Thank you, ladies.”
With the banner hung and the members of the PTA Mafia descending their ladders with relief, Kat stepped onto the basketball court. Burt frowned when he saw her. His typical greeting.
“I’m assuming this is about Constance,” he said.
“It is.”
“I thought so. It’s a damn shame what happened. Losing the museum was hard enough. But losing someone like Constance, well, I’m not sure how we’re going to recover, quite honestly.”
Kat was surprised by Burt’s sincerity. They had butted heads over budget issues so many times that she honestly thought he didn’t have a sincere bone in his body. But just before she got too impressed, he added, “And the timing couldn’t be worse. I’ve spent a whole year trying to convince people that Perry Hollow is a great place to come visit. Now this happens.”
“We’re doing everything we can,” Kat told him. “The state police are involved. A lot of people are working hard to find out who did this.”
“And you’re here to ask me a few questions, right?”
“We are,” Kat said, jumping right in. “How well did you know Constance? Were you two close?”
“We weren’t friends, but we were friendly. We agreed with each other on most historical society business.”
“Were you very involved with the historical society?”
The question came from Nick, who had slid next to the mayor before violating Tony’s first two rules.
Burt took a moment to size up Nick the same way he had examined the banner on the wall—with critical disdain. “And who might you be?”
“Nick Donnelly,” Kat said. “He’s assisting in the investigation.”
“I remember now,” the mayor said, eyes drifting to Nick’s cane. “You’re that state police detective who was fired for assaulting a hospital worker.”
“That’s me.” Nick kept a death grip on the handle of his cane, most likely to keep himself from beating Burt over the head with it. “Although the assault was justified.”
“About Constance and the historical society,” said Kat, eager to change the subject. “Were you an active member of the group? Emma Pulsifer said it was more ceremonial.”
“She would say that.” Burt sniffed. “Emma often enjoys belittling the contributions of others. I was as active a participant as everyone else.”
Over his shoulder, Kat saw one of the soccer moms waving to get their attention from the sidelines. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but you’re going to have to clear the court.”
The soccer mom was standing near the emergency exit, her hand hovering in front of a fat, red button stuck to the wall. When she pressed the button, the gym floor began to hum beneath their feet. Kat and the mayor hurried to the sidelines, knowing what was coming next. Nick, blithely unaware, remained at center court.
“You better hurry,” Kat told him. “Unless you want to get wet.”
Nick remained in place a moment, confusion scrunching his face. Then the floor opened up at center court, forming a crack that ran the width of the gym floor. Nick yelped as he limped to Kat’s side, never taking his eyes off the widening fissure. When it had opened a couple of feet, he finally saw the crystal-blue water rippling directly beneath the gym floor.
“Is that a swimming pool?”
“It is,” Kat said. “Just like that scene in It’s a Wonderful Life.”
In the movie, Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed accidentally did the Charleston right into the pool when the gym floor above it retracted. Folks in Perry Hollow were more careful about it. Whenever the need arose to make the transition from floor to pool, everyone in the rec center knew it was coming. Usually, a lucky child was plucked from the pool or gym floor to make the switch. Kat remembered pressing that red button when she was a kid. She still got a vicarious thrill whenever James was given the honor.
Nick looked equally awed as he watched the gym floor slide away. “I didn’t know these things still existed.”
“They don’t, really,” Burt said. “This is the only one on the East Coast. Honestly, this place shouldn’t be in use anymore, but we have no choice. For years, we’ve been trying to come up with ways t
o fund a new rec center. But the budget gods are always against us.”
Kat kept her eyes on the receding basketball court. The pool beneath it had roughly the same dimensions. Fifty feet wide. Almost a hundred feet long. Because it was so old, there was no shallow end. It was eight feet deep the entire way. Not an ideal thing to have in the middle of a Halloween party.
“Why are you opening the pool now?”
“The floor’s been malfunctioning,” Burt said. “We’re testing it to make sure it doesn’t open up when there’s a bunch of kids on it. And if it does, we want to see how much time we have to clear them away.”
From what Kat could tell, time wasn’t on their side. Within a minute, the basketball court was gone, replaced by the shimmering surface of the pool. Just as soon as it was fully open, the floor started to close again. When the basketball court had finished sliding into place, it was time for another test and the floor split apart once more.
As the floor continued to open and close, Kat went down the same list of questions that were asked of Claude Dobson. She received the same answers. Yes, Burt suspected that Constance was busy working on something that she planned to reveal that night. No, he had no idea what it was. No, he had never heard the name Brad Ford. And just like Claude, he failed to mention any skeletons, literal or figurative, hidden within the museum.
“I’m assuming you knew the historical society was experiencing money trouble,” Kat said.
“I did,” Burt replied. “In fact, Constance stopped by my office last week to ask if there was room in the budget to give the museum more money.”
“And was there?”
“Of course not. The money just wasn’t there. She was upset with me, naturally. She said that as a member of the historical society, I should do more to help it. But my hands were tied. I’ve had to turn down lots of requests for more money. Just the other day, I had to say no to Dutch Jansen when he asked if funds were available to hire some of the volunteer firefighters on a full-time basis. He got mad at me, too.”
