“If the commissioners do ask your opinion, what will you tell them?”
Smith shook his head. “I’m keeping that a secret. I may not have to say anything at all. The commissioners might not ask me. I have enough controversies surrounding me. I don’t look for trouble.”
“It’s an enormous project and huge money at stake. Have you heard any rumors of under-the-table money or pressure on county officials to approve, or disapprove it?”
Smith paused for a moment as he puffed on his cigarette. He spoke slowly and carefully, drawing the syllables out of the words. “Now why would you ask a thing like that?”
“Random curiosity, Mr. Smith.”
“In a situation like this, with millions of dollars on the table, there are the inevitable rumors. I have not heard any credible rumors of unethical or illegal behavior. If I had, I would have acted on it.”
April went into her pen-tapping routine. “I heard a rumor that perhaps you can shoot down. The rumor suggested Blue Sands made a veiled offer to County Planning Director, Rockingham, that he could be hired by the company if the project was approved. It is also rumored they pay much better than the county.”
Smith crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “No doubt they do.”
“Did you hear that rumor?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
April waited for additional information but Smith was not expanding on his answer.”
“Did you act on it?” she said.
“I have a weekly meeting with the planning director. In one of them, I inquired about it. Ed told me it was not true. Said he had no idea how that rumor started. He also informed me that, although he had not made a final decision, he was learning toward approval and gave me very good reasons for his decision. I saw nothing to question or object to.”
“Did you agree with his recommendation?”
“He gave solid reasons, financial and otherwise, for his view, although—and I emphasize this—a final decision has not been made. There are also—as Ed said—a number of good reasons to oppose the project. I’m not telling you which way I lean.”
He crushed his stub of a cigarette out in what April thought was a horrid, puke-green ashtray, on his desk.
“I will tell you I’ll be very glad when there is a final decision on the project, one way or the other. The Blue Sands representatives have reported threats—even some death threats—to our sheriff’s department. Plus prominent local opponents of the project, such as Hallie Yantzy, have reported similar threats, as have one of the proponents, James Sterling.”
“Hallie Yantzy, the environmentalist?”
“I believe she is president of one of the local environmental groups.”
“Who is Mr. Sterling?”
“Vice-president of the Blue Ridge bank. Most of the time companies don’t want their employees taking such a high-profile political stance. He or she could alienate a lot of people. But the Blue Ridge people seem to be OK with it.”
“Maybe they’re thinking the bank will make more profits if the Blue Sands project is approved.”
“That could be, but at every meeting Mr. Sterling repeated that he was not speaking for the bank but for himself, a county citizen. The Blue Ridge bank has not taken an official position on the matter, and the bank’s board has issued a statement saying the bank is neutral. Which is a wise decision. Either way you go, you would alienate half the people in the county. So it’s better to stay quiet and on the sidelines. Of course Ms. Yantzy had an ally in the county. She was very good friends with Mr. Dinera, or that’s what I hear.”
“As in dating—as in confidants—as in making passionate love on the beach?”
“I’m told the latter would be the case.”
April had not spent much time on the county beat, but in the few months she did, she learned that County Manager, Deacon Smith, did not repeat rumors unless he was ninety-nine percent sure that they were true.
She thanked him and left the office.
10
It took April eight minutes to arrive at the Spring Lake Country Club. The thirteenth green and fairway stretched next to the entrance road, to the club. Although no snow fell on the course, a few patches of white were melting on the grounds. Even so, two golfers stood ready to putt on the thirteenth green, and two others walked up to the tee. April reminded herself golfers are dedicated. They even play in the cold and snow. She crossed a short bridge over a smooth-flowing stream before turning in to the club’s parking lot. Opening the car door she raced to the pro shop, grabbed the door and yanked it open. When she rushed in, she almost bumped into a handsome, brown-haired man.
“Late for a tee time?” he said.
She laughed and checked her watch. “No, I’m a Salvation Army Santa and I’m ringing bells in about twenty minutes. So I’m rushing.”
“That won’t give you much time for golf.”
She laughed again. “Unlike some members who I saw out on the course I don’t play in the snow. After eighteen holes I’d be cold as ice. I’m here to see the pro, Andrew Lester.”
“You’re looking at him,” the man said. He stuck out his hand. She shook it. On a cold day his sunny smile warmed her up. “I’m a golf instructor extraordinaire. Plus I placed in a few Web.com Tournaments this year and won my card for next year’s Tour.”
April brushed back her hair. “I’m sure that’s a noteworthy achievement but what exactly is the Web.com Tour?”
“A lot of people ask me that. You know what the PGA Tour is?”
“Yes, my fiancé plays and I watch some tournaments with him. Don’t tell him, but at times it’s about as exciting as watching paint dry.”
“Some people do feel that way. The Web.com Tour is sort of the minor league to the PGA Tour. But if a golfer ranks in the top twenty-five on the Web.com money list, at the end of the year, he’s rewarded with a PGA card.”
“Congratulations and I hope you have great success next year.”
“Thanks. What can I do for you?”
He towered five inches over her. He had sparking-brown eyes and his wide smile was akin to a flashing hello sign, neon lights and all. He could fill a cup of charisma and have a gallon left.
“I’m April Longmont. I work for the Sea Oak Daily News and I’m also—as I mentioned—a Salvation Army Santa, this year. I was on the block next to Joe Dinera, the man who was killed.”
Lester nodded.
“I was told you had an intense discussion with Joe the morning he died.”
The question didn’t dim his smile.
“I did. I didn’t like the man. I’m sorry he’s dead but I’m not going to the funeral.”
“May I ask why you didn’t like Joe?”
“Because he was hitting on my girlfriend, even after she told him to bug off.”
Well, that would be a reason to dislike him, April thought.
“Who’s your girlfriend?”
“Dee Warwick. She’s the public relations officer for the county. Handles all the news including all the releases from the sheriff’s department. She works in the same building as Dinera. He’d wander by and make a few salacious remarks from time to time. Dee told him she had a boyfriend and to leave her alone.”
“Didn’t he also have a girlfriend?”
“I think so, a lady who was a bit older than him. Dee said the lady was a big environmentalist. He was an environmentalist himself so I guess they just hit it off.”
“Wonder if the two didn’t mind if their companions dated others?”
Lester shrugged. “Don’t know. She may have thought it was an exclusive relationship but he obviously didn’t. Dee was strong in her refusals but he kept pestering her. That’s what the early morning conversation I had with him was about. I told him if he bothered her again I’d punch him so hard his belly button would be at his backbone, and when he tried to walk he’d look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I read that book in high school but it's really a depressing novel. It didn’t have a happy ending. I
told Dinera, if he even looked crossways at Dee again, he wouldn’t have a happy ending either. You’re never in a cheery mood being fed through a tube.”
“I’m sure that’s true. But you did threaten him.”
“Only if he didn’t stop bothering Dee. I would have carried out that threat too. I would have slapped him around a bit but I wouldn’t have killed him.”
“Besides his comments, did he act inappropriately when around Dee?”
“No, he kept his hands to himself but most of the time Dee was behind her desk when he came in so he couldn’t brush up against her. But some of his remarks were crude. He’s lucky I didn’t knock him around. I don’t like crude words or crude men. I gave him a first and last warning.”
“Somebody else gave him more than just a warning,” April said. “But if Hallie Yantzy thought she and Joe were a couple and found out they weren’t . . . ” She left the sentence in the air.
“Then if I were her, I would be very, very upset,” Lester said.
The water in the large pot on the stove began to sizzle as April washed the produce. Clay stood beside her dicing potatoes on a cutting board. The two sipped wine as they cooked. April took the freshly sliced potatoes and dropped them into the pot. She grabbed whole garlic cloves and added them to the potatoes.
“Now I need to peel and mince the shallot,” she said.
“What exactly is a shallot,” Clay said.
“It’s a . . . it’s a . . . it’s something the recipe says is needed.”
“Oh, so you don’t know what it is either.”
“Haven’t a clue,” April said as she sipped some wine. “Okay, the potatoes and cloves should cook for about ten minutes.”
Twice a month the Blue Apron Company delivered dinners to her. She enjoyed cooking and the food and directions came with the package.
“Are you sure this qualifies as romantic,” Clay said. He held a carving knife in his hand.
April nodded. “Cooking with your sweetheart, I am defining as romantic.”
“Oh, good. I am trying to be romantic at least once a day.”
“Then today you have achieved your goal.”
She kissed his cheek then leaned against the sink holding her wine glass.
“So were you impressed with the three Bark brothers?”
“Rivenbark.”
“Oh, yes. So were you impressed with the Rivenbark brothers?”
“I was impressed with one of them. Baby brother is the black sheep of the family. The other two guys seem sane and rational. But I sense some brotherly tension between Claude Jr., and the two older brothers.”
“Brotherly tension seems to be one of the factors in this case. The late Mr. Dinera did not get along with his brother either,” April said. “Do you think the guy really didn’t know he would inherit his brother’s fortune?”
“Maybe, I also think it’s possible the beer was affecting his judgment.”
“I have more sympathy for the brother after speaking with Andrew Lester. If Dinera put the moves on Lester’s girlfriend and was trying to cheat on his girlfriend, he wasn’t the person I thought he was.”
“You didn’t really know him that well. You spoke to him briefly in a professional capacity. That doesn’t tell you much about the guy’s character. I assume you believe Lester was believable.”
“Very believable. I think he’s solid and his story is solid. Our victim was not a model of integrity.”
She pointed to a frying pan on the stove.
“Would you put a drizzle of olive oil in the pan.”
“If you tell me what a drizzle is, I sure will,” Clay said.
“It’s a bit less than a plop.”
Clay grabbed the olive oil bottle and held it over the pan. “Maybe this is a silly question but would a plop instead of a drizzle entirely wreck our dinner.”
She patted him on the back. “Let’s not take chances. Just a drizzle, please.”
Clay shrugged and poured what he considered a drizzle into the frying pan. April added chopped garlic and the minced shallot to the pan. She grabbed both the salt and pepper shakers and seasoned the mix. With a wooden cooking spoon she stirred the mixture. Clay sipped his wine, still wondered about accurate measurements of a drizzle.
“Clay, tomorrow I need to go into the office early and will be tied up until noon. Do you think you and Manatee might find Ms. Yantzy and ask her a few questions about her boyfriend?”
“If she’s not too heartbroken to answer, we sure will. By the way, would you shoot a boyfriend who cheated on you?”
April narrowed her eyes and dropped her tone. “Yes, so remember that if you’re thinking of straying.”
“It never crossed my mind,” he said.
April added spinach to the garlic and shallot bowl and kept stirring. She reached over and gave the potato pot a stir.
“Clay, I know we have suspects, but do we have a prime suspect? I mean, someone who sticks out to you.”
“No. We have motive but not rationality.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Well, the Blue Sands people might have had a motive. Joe’s statement before the commission might have been so dramatic and persuasive that it could have tipped the vote. But such an action would not have been rational. The corporation would not go bankrupt if this project didn’t get approved.”
“I don’t know. Have you checked their profit and loss statements?”
“I checked their Wall Street numbers. They have a green arrow pointed up beside their numbers. That means that investors and economists think the company will keep growing and keep building condos and hotels. It won’t go bankrupt if condos don’t get built here. Blue Sands probably has about a dozen projects going at once. Not rational to kill for this one,” he said.
“But are murderers rational? Murder is rather irrational, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s criminal, and as Christians would say, evil, and a sin, but very often it’s rational. If my brother has plenty of money, and I’m greedy and want the cash, it would not be morally right to murder him, but it would be rational. I would get the money I want if he dies.”
“Well, if you put it that way . . .”
“Shooting a cheating boyfriend may not be rational but the murderer is acting out of anger and rage which, admittedly, can sometimes override rational thought.”
April removed the spinach, garlic and shallot from the pan and dropped the contents into a bowl. Clay patted the beef slices dry then sprinkled salt and pepper on them. He dropped them into a pan already drizzled with olive oil.
“Ok, we need to cook them about five minutes on each side,” April said.
“Will do.”
April sipped some more wine. “But wouldn’t the rationality thing make Edward Rockingham a suspect. If the project gets approved then he could get a very high-paying position with Blue Sands. He may retire in three or four years, but a Blue Sands job would hike up his retirement fund. If Joe stood in his way . . .”
“I would say yes, he might be a suspect, but Rockingham has denied that rumor.”
“But if he was offered a Blue Sands job he wouldn’t tell people about it.”
Clay nodded. “Agreed. He, like everyone else, is on our suspect list but we lack any real evidence.”
“How true,” April said. “Think anyone will just run up to us and confess?”
“Don’t think we can count on that,” Clay said. “According to all the private detective books I’ve read, that rarely happens.”
Well, shucks,” April said.
She stirred butter and crème fraîche into the pan. “A few more minutes and we’ll have a great dinner. Beef medallions, and mashed potatoes, and spinach sautéed with shallot, and garlic. This is not only a good dinner . . . it’s nutritious,” April said. She pointed to the pan. “And as you noticed, they give you ample portions.”
“But is it romantic?”
She kissed his cheek. “Yes, I think it is romant
ic. It may not be a candlelight dinner, but it is dinner, and I get to be around my romantic hunk.”
Clay smiled. “Good. I think I’m kind of getting into this romantic thing.”
“Good, because I’d like for it to continue throughout the relationship,” April said.
“Oh . . . that may be asking a lot.”
She slapped him on the back. “You can do it, honey.”
11
For an environmentalist, Hallie Yantzy left a considerable carbon footprint with her two-story, spacious house on the beach. Standing on the porch, the Atlantic Ocean was less than fifty yards away. There was no snow falling, but the waves pounded into the sand then violently retreated into the sea to prepare for the next watery attack. A brisk wind blew sand onto the few beach walkers, wrapped up in winter coats. With the size of the house, Clay wondered if a butler would appear, but a brown-haired, medium-height woman opened the door and looked curiously at the two men on her porch.
Due to the weather, Clay wore a brimmed hat. He tipped it.
“Mrs. Yantzy?”
“Ms. Yantzy,” she said.
“I’m Clay Augustine. I’m a private detective. My friend here is called Manatee. We’re investigating the murder of Joe Dinera.”
She gave a slight nod. “At one time I thought a lot of Joe, thought I loved him. Now I’m not surprised someone killed him.” She shrugged. “I suppose I should invite you in and not leave you in the cold.”
They walked into the luxurious living room and eased down onto a sofa.
“It’s cold. May I offer you a cup of coffee or tea?”
“No, ma’am. I think we’re fine. But we would like you to answer a few questions, please.”
“Fine, but you may not like the answers. Joe had a good reputation among the environmental groups and activists in the county. His politics were OK, but his morals belonged in the sewer. I’m old enough to know better, but I fell for him. Sometimes you don’t get wiser as you get older, you get dumber.”
“Ms. Yantzy. I understand at one time you were very close to Joe. Did something happen to . . .”
A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set Page 35
