Christmas with the Franks

by Leena Clover

  We didn’t know much about Noah’s past. Maybe he was a con artist. This could have been his plan all along. Rather than coming in and asking for his inheritance, he had played it cool. He had led everyone to think he wanted nothing. He had inserted himself in their lives and charmed them. Now he was getting his big payday, all according to plan.

  I presented my scenario to Stan. He brightened a bit. This one seemed more likely to him. I wonder if it’s a cop thing. He finds it easier to suspect a person of wrongdoing. Truly innocent people are a myth according to Stan.

  “This is a big win for Noah then. But what about Ted Junior? I bet you he won’t be happy about it.”

  We went over what we wanted to talk to Ted Junior about.

  “Let’s ask him about the situation at the plant first,” I suggested. “Try to get the skinny on what’s happening there. Don’t tell him about the will until then.”

  Stan agreed with me.

  The phone rang. It was for Stan. He gave a detailed report of what was going on at the Frank House.

  “When can we get out of here?” he asked. “There’s been a power failure. We almost froze to death last night.”

  I thought of the generator Amanda had mentioned.

  “Shouldn’t they have a generator here?” I asked Stan when he hung up. “Let’s ask the boys to look into it.”

  “Hopefully, we won’t be needing it,” Stan responded. “They are making good progress with the roads. Almost all of Swan Creek is back to functioning normally. They are clearing the road that leads here as we speak.”

  “Fingers crossed for that,” I sighed. “I need to get to the airport by evening. My Mom’s coming home for Christmas.”

  There was a silly grin on my face and I had referred to Sally as Mom. Motee Ba would call it a Christmas miracle. I wanted to rush to her and tell her all about it, just like the secrets I shared with her as a kid the moment I got home from school.

  The knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts. I settled down to talk to Ted Junior.

  Chapter 25

  Ted Junior looked like he had spent a sleepless night. His eyes were red and his hair was mussed. He wasn’t in a good mood.

  “What is it, Officer?” he barked. “Have you made any progress?”

  “I will be asking the questions,” Stan said coolly.

  Ted Junior turned to me.

  “What’s going on, Meera? Have you found out who shot Dad?”

  “Settle down, Mr. Frank,” Stan said curtly.

  Ted Junior fell heavily into a chair and started tapping the desk with his fingers. I tried to ignore it but he drove me nuts.

  “Let’s talk about the situation at the Frank Foods plant,” Stan began. “We know you were considering expansion. Is that also what your father wanted?”

  Ted Junior brooded for a minute. He looked up and challenged Stan.

  “If you know that, you should also know my father and I wanted different things.”

  “What exactly were these things?”

  “I wanted to bring in fresh investors. See, the business is stagnating. We needed an influx of money. Our machinery is outdated. We are overstaffed. We were bleeding money from all sides.”

  “But I thought you talked about expanding your product line?”

  “Only to attract new partners,” Ted Junior admitted. “I’m not too crazy about this vegetarian stuff myself. We are a sausage business, for God’s sakes. We pride ourselves on selling the best quality of every kind of sausage. We have secret recipes we have perfected over years of research. What do we know about fake meat and stuff?”

  “You thought adding vegetarian products would get you partners?” My disbelief must have been evident in my voice.

  “It would get us the particular people I was working on,” Ted Junior revealed. “We were both looking to expand our product lines. An alliance would have been a win-win for us.”

  “And what about the fancy new machinery your father was going to put in?”

  “We needed that anyway,” Ted Junior sighed. “We would front the money ourselves if we used Dad’s approach. With my option, we would get the money in return for a stake in the business. Maybe a change in our brand too.”

  “So there would be no more Frank Foods?”

  “Not exactly. No.”

  I could imagine why old Mr. Frank might be against that idea.

  Stan looked at Ted Junior.

  “We hear things are not going very well at your plant. You were planning to sack a few people.”

  Ted Junior shrugged.

  “It’s all part of the game. We have to trim the fat to stay afloat.”

  “How many people were you planning to let go?”

  “The final decisions weren’t made yet. We generally wait until after the holidays to take these steps. I will have to talk to my human resources guy if you want names.”

  “What about the jobs your father’s new machinery would replace?” I asked.

  “Oh that?” Ted Junior chuckled. “We have modernization in our future. Any new machinery is going to make us very efficient. We’ll be able to get along with less than half the people.”

  “You mean you were planning to let half the people go sometime in the near future?”

  Ted Junior nodded.

  “And this would happen if your father had his way?”

  Our pool of suspects had suddenly opened wide.

  “It would happen anyway,” Ted Junior explained again. “It was a matter of deciding where the money for the new machines would come from.”

  “Did your workers know about this?”

  “Of course not! Other than a few trusted people who work with me, nobody knew.”

  We explained what we were thinking.

  “You think someone killed my Dad because of that?” Ted Junior cried out.

  “Business is tough. We need to make difficult decisions. We stay open and carry a few people or completely shut down. We can’t please everyone.”

  Stan allowed Ted Junior to settle down a bit.

  “Was any of your workers here the other night?”

  “You met William Derry?” Ted Junior asked.

  “Not him,” Stan quipped. “Any other employee.”

  “I was working on an urgent document. Someone came to pick it up.”

  “Could this person have stayed on in the house?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Could he have stayed on in the house without anyone’s knowledge?” Stan repeated.

  “I suppose so,” Ted Junior said, bewildered.

  “What do you know of this person?”

  “I never saw him,” Ted Junior cried. “You think he had something to do with Dad?”

  “We are just investigating at this point.”

  “I was busy working here.” Ted Junior waved a hand around to indicate his desk. “I had a busy evening ahead with the dinner party and all. Chamberlain must have picked up the papers from here and given them to that guy.”

  “Would your butler let him in for some reason?”

  “I don’t think so,” Ted Junior reasoned. “Most couriers go to the back. The cook might have given him a hot drink, I guess. It was a cold day.”

  “But he could have easily slipped in while your butler was here to collect the papers from you?”

  Ted Junior shrugged. A lot hung on the answer but no one knew.

  “What about this William Derry?” Stan asked. “Do you trust him?”

  “He won Employee of the Year,” Ted Junior told us. “He must be a good worker.”

  “But you don’t know him personally?”

  “Not really,” Ted Junior admitted.

  “You don’t remember seeing him around?” Stan quizzed.

  “Frank Foods hires hundreds of workers,” Ted Junior shot back. “Maybe I saw him once or twice. But I didn’t know him enough to remember his name.”

  “Yet you invited him home for your Christmas party?”

  “I
t’s a long standing tradition,” Ted Junior protested. “It’s something they look forward to all year. It helps bridge the gap between owner and employee.”

  “This must have been the first time William Derry got this award,” I mused.

  I remembered how excited he had been.

  “Sure,” Ted Junior shrugged. “It’s never offered to the same person. Or to someone in the same department two years in a row. The whole idea is to reach out to different sections of our employees. Improve morale.”

  “So you wouldn’t be able to tell us much about this Derry then?”

  “Like what, Officer?”

  “Maybe this Derry guy had a grudge against your father. He could have let someone in.”

  “Does that mean you have cleared everyone else?” Ted Junior asked hopefully.

  “I can’t answer that,” Stan barked. “We are still investigating.”

  Ted Junior looked around with his bloodshot eyes. He wore another black sweater today. His pants were wrinkled. He looked nothing like the scion of a rich family.

  “Are we done for now? I need to go check on the generator.”

  Stan pulled out the will from under his notes and slid it toward Junior.

  “What do you think of that?”

  Ted Junior skimmed over the paper dismissively. His eyebrows widened and he sprang up.

  “What is this? Where did you get this?”

  He whipped his head at me.

  “Is this for real, Meera? Why haven’t you told me about this until now?”

  “Sit down, Mr. Frank!” Stan ordered.

  He can sound quite official when he wants to.

  “As you can see, this is a copy of your father’s will. ‘A’ copy being the critical word here. We now have two wills written by the old Mr. Frank. We don’t know which one is authentic.”

  “This is a fake, of course!” Ted Junior cried, wiping the sweat that had beaded on his brow. “Dad would never do this.”

  “Do what, Mr. Frank?”

  Stan waited for Junior to explain.

  “This! I know Dad always talked about Noah taking his place at the plant. But he would never actually compel him to work there. What does Noah know about the business?”

  “He could have learned,” I said unnecessarily.

  Junior shot me a dark look.

  “So I take it you are not happy with the terms of the new will?” Stan asked.

  “I’ve worked my fingers to the bone making the business what it is today. I ran errands for my Dad since I was ten. I sat in on meetings when I was barely fifteen. And now this twerp will come in and call the shots?”

  “Noah just gets a vote,” I said gently.

  “One vote too many,” Ted Junior screamed. “He hasn’t earned it. This can’t be true. Dad was just playing with us.”

  “Noah doesn’t want it either,” I told Ted Junior.

  “He doesn’t want it?” Ted Junior exclaimed. “I bet he doesn’t want it. He’s too busy wrecking my family.”

  “What does that mean?” Stan pounced.

  Ted Junior stayed silent. I made a note of what he had said. My eyes met Stan’s and he nodded.

  “So I suppose you did not know about this new will, Mr. Frank?” Stan asked.

  Ted Junior banged a fist on the table. His answer was clear.

  What if Ted Junior had learned about this new will? He might have shot the old man to keep him from putting it in motion.

  “Where were you when you heard the shot, Mr. Frank?” Stan asked casually.

  “Haven’t we already talked about this?” Junior demanded. “I was in the living room, saying goodbye to the Patels. You can ask any of them.”

  He looked at me expectantly. I suppose he was waiting for me to back him up. I said nothing.

  “We have talked to a few people,” Stan told him. “No one remembers seeing you there.”

  Ted Junior turned red.

  “What are you implying?”

  “Try to think back to that night, Mr. Frank. Can you remember who was standing around you? Why don’t you make a list of those people? We will talk to them again.”

  “You’re wrong about this, Officer,” he warned.

  “Let me worry about that,” Stan said lightly. “Just make that list.”

  Ted Junior wrote down some names. I read them as he was scribbling on the paper, his handwriting barely legible. Amanda’s name wasn’t on it. Here was one more person who had not seen Amanda in the living room.

  Ted Junior slapped the paper on the desk and stood up.

  “I’ll be around,” he told us and slammed the door on his way out.

  Stan and I both exhaled loudly.

  “That was a bit direct, Stan.”

  “I was going for shock effect,” he said, “I wanted to see his reaction.”

  “Do you suspect Ted Junior? Really?”

  Stan shook his head as he read the list of names.

  “Amanda isn’t on it,” I rushed ahead.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Stan agreed.

  “Looks like he knows about Noah and Amanda,” I remarked.

  Stan looked thoughtful.

  “Looks like he had his suspicions. He must not have been sure.”

  “Do you think Ted Junior is also having an affair with someone? Maybe that’s why he doesn’t care what Amanda does.”

  “That’s a complication I don’t want to think about right now,” Stan groaned.

  “Who do we talk to next?” I asked. “I know both Junior and Noah are implicated by the new will. But neither of them look like they would have harmed the old man. That’s just my instinct, of course.”

  “Your instincts have been right before, Meera,” Stan smiled.

  “So they have a motive now but did they have the opportunity?”

  “I’m going to run through this list of people quickly. Ask them if they remember seeing Ted Junior around them.”

  I gave Stan a thumbs up.

  “I need to go check on my grandma. She must be worried about me.”

  “Do you think they will feed us lunch?” Stan asked.

  “They’ve fed us so far. Their cook must have put something up.”

  I was hungry myself. I went in search of food and Motee Ba. Both were waiting for me in the dining room.

  “There she is!” Dad exclaimed when he saw me. “Grab a bite, Meera. We are leaving after lunch.”

  Chapter 26

  Mrs. Jones, the cook had made a rice casserole for lunch. I scooped up the cheesy mix of different kinds of sausages and rice and made quick work of it. When I am hungry, I fill up first and think about what I am eating later.

  Tony and Ryan had heaped their plates with the casserole and some salad and were devoting some serious attention to it. They looked cold and tired.

  “Are the roads clear then?” I asked Dad.

  “Almost,” he answered. “The boys here took the rigged up truck and cleared a path up to the gate.”

  “That’s all?” I asked.

  Tony gave me a withering look.

  “It’s not that easy, Meera. It took some time getting used to operating that thing. And then it kept getting stuck.”

  “So you never ventured out of the gates. Did you run into the trucks from the city?”

  They shook their heads. I looked at Dad.

  “What’s the rush? Let them get here.”

  I was torn. I felt Stan and I were on the verge of a breakthrough. I wanted to be there when Stan got a confession. At the same time, I didn’t want to miss the ride to the airport.

  Dad gave me an ultimatum.

  “You don’t have to come to the airport. Ba and Pappa are staying home. It’s too cold and they are already tired.”

  “I can’t let you go alone,” I hesitated. “What if the weather turns again?”

  Pappa spoke up, chomping on his casserole.

  “Skies are clear with temps above 40. It should be a smooth ride.”

  “I can go to
the airport on my own,” Dad protested. “Don’t treat me like a kid.”

  “I really wanted to be there to welcome Jeet.”

  “Take your pick, Meera. Either be ready by 3 PM or I’m going alone. I can’t wait any longer than that.”

  “I’ll see you at 3,” I promised.

  I forced Stan to pick up his plate and almost dragged him to Ted Junior’s study.

  “Let’s get on with it.”

  “What do you think’s going to happen by three, Meera?”

  “You never know,” I quipped. “Who are we talking to next?”

  “William Derry,” Stan said right away. “I think we need to talk to him again.”

  Something I had been thinking about niggled my mind.

  “You remember how we thought Derry had an alibi?”

  “You mean because of that drawing?”

  I nodded.

  “We assumed he must have been there because he drew that thing. But he needn’t have been. Maybe he was there for some time but slipped away. He could have drawn the picture later. We talked about this, remember?”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Stan promised. “Let’s go in with a clean slate.”

  We sent word for William Derry and he knocked on the door a minute later. William Derry looked a little worse for wear, like everyone else trapped in Frank House. He had neglected to wipe his face well. There was a smear of cheese on his cheek and a stain on his shirt. I handed him a tissue and dabbed my cheek to indicate he had missed a spot. He blushed and scrubbed his face hard, looking embarrassed.

  “We wanted to ask you some more questions, Mr. Derry,” Stan began.

  Derry smiled weakly and asked us to go on.

  “What exactly do you do at the Frank Foods plant?”

  “I’m a supervisor,” he said eagerly. “I oversee people who operate the production line. The labeling team, to be specific.”

  “What do these people do?”

  “They put labels on the food packages.”

  “Manually?” Stan asked.

  William Derry nodded.

  “We do things the old fashioned way at Frank Foods.”

  “Isn’t it true the Franks were planning to put in new machinery?”

  “I wouldn’t know that,” William Derry hedged. “A private company is not a democracy. The owners decide what they want to do and implement it. They wouldn’t ask me, see? I am too low down on the totem pole.”