by Cathy Pegau
Caroline rubbed a tic that flickered at the corner of her left eye. After a moment, she resumed walking. Charlotte kept pace with her.
“No. And I wouldn’t have asked him to kill Lyle, even if I thought he’d do it. Lyle and I had our problems, and I’ll admit he could be brutal at times, but I didn’t hate him enough to have anyone kill him.”
But perhaps, given time, she would have? Or would have done it herself? No sense in speculating about a crime that would never happen.
“What about Otto?” Charlotte asked.
Caroline sighed and shook her head. Not in denial, more like resignation. “Otto. He and Lyle had a few run-ins.”
“I understand they were at odds over your late husband’s business practices.” That was all the detail Charlotte had, but maybe implying she knew more would get Caroline to expand on the subject.
“They were, and rightfully so,” she said, skirting a pile of dirty snow on the walkway. “Lyle enjoyed being the king of Cordova hardware. Otto threatened to start a boycott and bring in his own materials.”
From what Charlotte had seen of his inventory list, it seemed he’d more than threatened. But eliminating a business rival would defeat Otto’s free market ideals. Unless something got out of hand.
“Do you think Otto had the wherewithal to kill him?”
Caroline barely hesitated. “Given the proper circumstances, I think he’s capable of all sorts of acts. Otto is a volatile man. He sticks to his guns and is hard to move.”
“So you think he could have done it,” Charlotte said.
“I think it’s possible.” Caroline emphasized the last word, clearly unwilling to make blatant accusations. Knowing Otto Kenner’s temper, Charlotte couldn’t blame her.
They were almost to the Times office, and Charlotte had a question she wanted cleared up. “Caroline, what happens if you don’t retrieve the papers in the box?”
The widow’s brow furrowed. “Lyle has grown children from his first marriage, down in Seattle. They hardly ever contacted him after we moved here, but they are happy to take his money. Despite his actions with me, he always tried to do right by them financially.”
“And without the papers in the box they get everything?”
Caroline smiled, but it was brittle and forced. “Almost everything. I’d have the house here. They’d get all the business and life insurance if the old copies of his will and insurance policies on file down there are the most recent ones. He told me he’d made a new will and took out new policies with different lawyers and a different insurance company, but never gave me details.”
“But you were his wife.”
“Indeed. It’s something he’d been holding over me for years. If I stayed married to him, played my part, and kept my affairs quiet and discrete, I’d inherit.” She let out a humorless laugh. “I asked myself every day if it’s been worth it.”
Adam had said Caroline was truly devastated by Lyle’s death. She didn’t sound devastated to Charlotte. “So having Lyle dead works in your favor.”
They stopped outside the Times office. Caroline turned to her, dark eyes hard. “Not if I don’t have what I need. With him dead and the papers missing, I’m at the mercy of lawyers and his children.” She took a long slow breath. “That’s the point I want to make, Charlotte. Lyle’s death wasn’t in my best interest. I didn’t do it, obviously, and I didn’t have Adam do it. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop pursuing that line of thought.”
“The truth, whatever it is, will come out one way or another, Caroline.” Charlotte sympathized with the woman and wanted to believe Adam was innocent, but claims of innocence to mislead an investigation weren’t new tricks. “If there’s any proof that Adam had a hand in this, the marshal’s office will find it. If Adam’s innocent, then the best thing he—and you—can do is be honest and cooperative.”
“And do what, admit to the entire town I’ve been sleeping with another man? Tell them my husband was a horrible human being? That will do more harm than good.” Caroline pulled her gloves on in short, quick movements. “We are innocent, and I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d leave us alone.”
She continued down the walk, arms swinging stiffly at her sides.
Charlotte watched until Caroline turned the corner, presumably headed back to her home. Did the lady protest too much? Did she know more than she was letting on? If not, why come to Charlotte? To plant the seeds of innocence? Caroline had defended herself and Adam, but she implied Otto was capable of killing Lyle.
What, exactly, had been going on between the two men? More than disagreements over the price of nails and hammers, Charlotte would wager.
Charlotte turned around and made her way toward City Hall. All she needed was a quick look at the public records, specifically land holdings, to find the location of Squint Bauer’s warehouse.
* * *
The night couldn’t fall fast enough for Charlotte. Even though it was dark by six in the evening, she waited another hour to reduce the chances of being seen by someone heading home for dinner. It was, perhaps, the longest hour ever, as she talked herself into and out of her plan a dozen times, knowing it was potentially dangerous. Otto Kenner couldn’t do anything if she was on public property or property owned by someone else. Not legally do anything himself, anyway. But knowing his temper, and his attitude toward her, he might not care if she wasn’t breaking the law this time.
Dressed in a pair of her brother’s old trousers, a thick shirt, an old coat Mr. Gibbins had left behind, and her heavy winter boots, Charlotte tucked her hair up under her hat, wrapped her scarf around her face, and set out toward the row of warehouses down on the road to the canneries. She was able to use the streetlights for a short part of the journey, but once she got to the burned ruins of Fiske’s Hardware, she had to rely upon the full moon. There was a flashlight in her coat pocket that she’d turn on if and when she was sure no one was about.
According to the city records, Bauer’s lot was roughly a block and a half past Fiske’s. He owned three good-sized buildings, leasing two of them to locals. One was Kenner’s, of course, and the other, she’d learned, was storage for Clive Wilkes’s transportation operation. Clive used his Studebaker Touring Car as a taxi, but also owned an open-bed truck, tarps, straps, and other equipment required for large, heavy loads. The other Bauer building was used by the Bauers themselves for their plumbing and heating business.
It was the building at the back of the property, tucked into the shadows, that Charlotte sought. A few dozen feet from the nearest neighbor, the warehouse Otto Kenner used was far enough away to allow him to work on carpentry projects without interruption by or interruption to his neighbors. With its main doors facing away from the others, it allowed a certain amount of privacy as well.
Charlotte followed the frozen, rutted footpath around the first two buildings, avoiding the road on the other side of the buildings and staying in the shadows where she could. If anyone came along, she had little option but to dash behind a scraggly, ice-rimed bush.
As she drew closer to Kenner’s building, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath and listen. Nothing from the buildings she’d passed. Nothing coming along the path or the road that she could see or hear. Focusing on the structure ahead of her, Charlotte thought she heard voices. There were no windows on this side, just weathered planks and snow drifts.
Before reaching the corner at the front, Charlotte moved off the packed snow of the path and pressed her left shoulder to the wall. Anyone checking would see her boot prints in the untouched snow, but maybe they’d think it was a kid or something. Better to have them see her prints later than risk being seen right in front of Kenner’s business. Creeping along, her boots crunching softly in the snow, she listened for others, especially wary of hearing Otto’s gruff voice. She reached the corner of the building.
There. Low voices and the sound of wood scraping on wood from inside.
Charlotte removed her hat and crouched down. Slowly, she
eased forward to peek around the corner. The front of the warehouse was open, with a wide door slid aside to allow a dark green truck with an enclosed bed to have backed in. A regular-sized door was closer to her, no more than ten feet away. The vehicle’s engine was off, as were its headlights, and a dim light glowed from deeper within the building. There was no way to see what was inside because of the truck and her viewing angle.
“Five hundred, just as we agreed,” an unfamiliar male voice said. Charlotte could vaguely make out a figure near the driver’s door.
“The next shipment might take a bit,” Otto Kenner replied. He had to be standing right near the man, but she couldn’t see him. “I’ll let you know when it comes in.”
“Sounds good.”
The man climbed into the truck and started the engine. He didn’t turn on the lights as he pulled away, and Otto had the warehouse door almost closed by the time the rear of the truck cleared the opening.
Damnation.
What were Otto and the man doing there after typical business hours? What shipment was coming in?
If she could only get inside and see what Otto kept there.
Charlotte started to rise. A strong hand clamped down on the lower half of her face. A thick arm wrapped around her chest, grasping her too-large coat and yanking her backwards. She would have screamed if she could have drawn a breath, but she could only gasp into the heavy leather glove over her mouth.
Chapter 12
Charlotte threw herself back, hoping to surprise her assailant and break loose. She landed on top of him. He grunted, but didn’t release her. She twisted in his arms, or tried to. He was strong and held fast.
“Charlotte, it’s me,” James said in a fierce whisper. “Stop thrashing about.”
Breathing hard through her nose, she stilled. James?
Slowly, he released her, removing his hand from her mouth. She started to turn over. He grabbed her shoulders, stopping her. “Be still and quiet,” he whispered again. “He might be coming out.”
Charlotte froze. Sure enough, the door no more than ten feet from them squealed open. It shut hard. Keys rattled.
Would Otto turn this way to head home?
Boots crunched on frozen mud and snow, heading in the opposite direction. A motor wheezed, then roared to life. Not a car, by the sound of the engine. A motorcycle? In this weather? The roar faded away as Otto returned to town.
Charlotte sat up, kneeling in the snow, and turned toward James. She could barely make out his face in the shadows, and despite the fact they were likely alone, she kept her voice to a whisper. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He lifted his upper body and rested on his elbows. Responding in the same low tones, he said, “You’re lucky it was me who saw you and not Kenner. That blond hair of yours shined like a beacon when you took off your hat. What are you doing here, skulking about?”
“What are you doing here, skulking about?”
She could imagine the glare he was giving her. “I’m supposed to be here, considering it’s my duty to investigate. Been watching Kenner the past two nights. You, Miss Brody, have no excuse.”
Charlotte snatched her hat off the snowy ground and got to her feet. She reached out to help him up. “I have an excuse for skulking then, since I’m not supposed to be here.”
He grabbed her forearm. She braced her feet and yanked, fully aware she had little to do with helping him to his feet. He didn’t release her, but instead drew her closer. With his face inches from hers, she could now make out the frown he wore. “Yet here you are. I could arrest you for trespassing.”
“I haven’t even attempted to get inside.”
“You’re still on private property without permission.”
“That’s splitting some fine hairs, deputy.” Why was he being like this? Did he think she needed another lesson in consequences?
“Maybe. Maybe I should write in my report that I was making my rounds and thought I saw someone skulking about near Kenner’s warehouse.”
Charlotte stared at him in the darkness. Was he trying to set her up? To scare her again for making a rash move in the investigation? “You wouldn’t—”
No, he wouldn’t, not like that. Having her sit in his jail cell was one thing. He was getting at something here. Charlotte took a chance she was reading him correctly and said, “Maybe you need to check on a possible skulker.”
He rubbed his chin. “Maybe, and if I scared off what I thought might be a thief, I’d need to look inside Otto Kenner’s warehouse, to make sure everything was jake.”
“You’d just be doing your duty.” She cocked her head at him. “What happened to not breaking the law to gather evidence? A bit hypocritical, isn’t it?”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” James picked his hat up from the ground and slapped it against his leg to get rid of some snow, but went no further in his explanation or excuse. He set his hat on his head, hands on hips. Charlotte could practically feel the conflict rolling through him. “Too bad the door’s locked.”
“Maybe if the door was ajar, you’d have cause to go inside to double-check.” Charlotte removed her gloves, shoved them in her coat pocket, and pulled a couple of loose pins from her hair. They sure as hell weren’t doing much to keep her hair in place after she and James fell to the ground. She started to hand them over, but stopped. “Do you know how to use these?”
“Yep.” He hesitated. “Why? Do you?”
She smiled at the suspicion in his voice. “I’d rather not answer that question, deputy.”
“I bet. Play lookout, would you? It would be embarrassing to be caught like this.”
“Not just embarrassing, you’d lose your job,” she said. “We don’t want that. Why don’t you stay here and keep an eye out while I check the door? The worse that could happen is you have to arrest me if someone happens by.”
Without waiting for him to agree, Charlotte made sure no one was in the area, went to the door, then knelt down and fiddled with the pins and lock.
“Don’t leave fingerprints on the door or knob,” James said, just loud enough for her to hear.
“I’ll be careful,” she replied at the same volume. “Besides, no one has my prints on file.”
“That’s good to know. Do you need some light?”
“Nope.” A faint scraping and clicking later, she stood, pocketed the pins, and in a whispered, damsel-in-distress voice called out, “Deputy! Deputy! I do believe someone has been skulking about Mr. Kenner’s warehouse. Come quick!”
By the light of the moon, she saw him shaking his head as he walked toward her. He opened the door slowly to minimize the squeal. The two of them slipped inside. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“You’re not like most women, are you, Miss Brody?” There was more than a little wonder and, dare she suppose, affection in the question.
“Are you just figuring that out, deputy?”
His laugh came out as a small grunt. “Maybe you should stay near the door and listen for Kenner, in case he decides to come back. You’d be able to get away faster.”
She understood why he was suggesting it, to keep Kenner from having a reason to be angry with her yet again, but there was no way she’d let him have all the fun of searching the warehouse. “We’ll hear his motorcycle in plenty of time.”
It was pitch-dark in the warehouse, so all she heard was James’s sigh of resignation. “Fine. But let’s be quick. Between these late-night dealings of his and a couple customers of Kenner’s who’ve hinted about his inventory, we don’t need more than a good reason to come back for an official search.”
He turned on a flashlight. She put her gloves back on, retrieved her flashlight from her pocket, and turned it on as well.
A small table and a couple of chairs were near the person-sized door. Two shot glasses were on the table beside a hastily stacked deck of cards, and two unmarked bottles lay on the ground. James peeked inside an old metal barrel near the table and held his hand close to it
.
“Burn barrel. Not used too recently. This afternoon, maybe, by the residual heat.”
“A warm fire, a bottle of homebrew, and a deck of cards,” Charlotte said. “Cozy.”
“Simple pleasures,” James replied. He aimed his flashlight deeper into the warehouse. “What do we have here?”
Charlotte followed his lead. Stacked along the back wall and at the far end were crates and barrels of all sizes. She couldn’t see the marks stenciled on them, but she’d bet a good number were from the hardware suppliers down in the States.
There were also several pieces of furniture in various stages of assembly. Was one of these based on the drawing she saw in Kenner’s office the other day? Charlotte walked up to the closest one, an open-front cabinet taller than she was. “He does beautiful work.”
James moved past the furniture to the inventory at the far end. “Come on, we don’t have a lot of time.”
Charlotte joined him, their flashlight beams playing over the containers. Most of them were sealed tight, and a few were dusty. How long had Otto been stockpiling supplies?
James climbed over a crate with “Bremmer Lubricant and Solvents” stenciled on it to access the pieces in the back. “One of these looks like it’s been opened, then nailed shut again.”
“Do you need a crowbar or something?” Charlotte turned about to search for a helpful tool. Spotting one on top of a barrel, she started toward it. Her foot smacked into a small crate marked “saw blades.” The crate moved and the contents rattled, the tinkling of glass-on-glass very unlike what she’d expect saw blades to sound like. “James?”
James’s light swung toward her and the crate. “I heard. Go get that crowbar, will you?”
He climbed down and met her back at the crate. He handed her his flashlight and took the crowbar. Sliding the notched end between the lid and the base, where it looked like it had been opened before, James carefully pried up the lid. The nails barely squealed, giving as if they’d been loosened before. He lifted the lid and moved aside the straw packing material. Beneath it were a dozen bottles with black rubber stoppers. James pulled one out, and Charlotte fixed one of the flashlight beams on the black and cream label.
