“Bartlett.”
“Charles Parker here. Say, man, do you have a first name?”
“They just call me Bartlett, or sometimes Bart. Ma gave me a first name, but I used to get beat up for it, so now I’m just ‘Bartlett.’” Both men chortled, privately recalling their boyhood days.
“So, Bartlett,” Charles began. “What do you have for me?”
“Well, first of all, I needed to get this timeline straight. Let me run it past you now.”
“Okay.”
“The old guy, Earl Hawkins, left here in 1990. He left a son here who was forty at the time and a grandson, Travis, who was 10.”
“Right,” Charles responded, but then asked, “And Travis’ mother?”
“Travis’ mother ran off and left the father to raise the boy alone.”
“That brings us to the two unsavory guys you asked me to check out, Darryl and Billy Upton, who turned out to be brothers.”
“Did you find out about their connection to Travis?”
“Yeah,” Bartlett responded. “Travis’ father died not long after his wife left him, possibly suicide, but no one knows for sure. Travis was about fifteen then. The boy went to live with the Upton’s on the next farm. There was some sort of loose relationship, like cousins by marriage or something like that. The Upton’s boys, Darryl and Billy, never amounted to much but Travis stayed in school, got into computers, and was doing really well. Too bad about that accident. He might have amounted to something…”
“Tell me about Darryl and Billy. What are they doing now?”
“They just did odd jobs around, but they’re both gone now.”
“Gone? Gone where?” Charles asked with enthusiasm. Maybe our imposter has been identified, he thought hopefully.
“Nobody knows. Their mother, Mrs. Upton, said she doesn’t know where either of the boys are and actually didn’t seem to care much. Sounds like they caused her a boat-load of trouble over the years. Do you want me to keep looking?”
“Yeah,” Charles responded. “I need to know where they are so I can be sure they weren’t here. One of them could have been pretending to be Travis Hawkins.”
“Yeah. They would have known the right answers…”
“On the other hand,” Charles added, “I don’t know if an Upton kid could be a good enough actor. The guy that was here pretending to be Travis wasn’t someone I’d refer to as unsavory. Aside from the heavy drinking, he seemed to be pretty well put together.”
“Where does this leave us?” Bartlett asked.
Charles took a deep breath. “Why don’t you nose around and see if you can find out where the Upton brothers went. That way I might have some idea what I’m dealing with.”
Chapter 22
“Are you sure no one’s here?”
“Well, there are no cars around,” Charles responded. “I think it’s safe to assume no one is inside. Besides, at the moment, the house doesn’t have an owner so if anyone’s here, they’re trespassing.”
“Like we are,” Sarah responded as they approached the front door. “How are we getting in?”
“Kirkland gave me a copy of the key our imposter gave him during the fake sale.” Charles unlocked the door and opened it to the stale smell of cigarettes. Charles moved quickly through the house, checking the only other rooms -- the bedroom and bath.
“All Clear,” he announced in his official tone winking at his lovely partner.
“Where shall we start?” Sarah asked as she opened the back door hoping a cross ventilation would help with the stale air.
“We’re looking for papers, documents, anything that might be a clue to who this guy is.” Charles headed for the trash can, but it was empty. He was disappointed. It had been his experience that criminals, often not the brightest crayon in the box, would sometimes toss incriminating evidence into the trash.
After checking all the obvious places the imposter might have left something behind, Charles turned to Sarah. “I think the stuff here probably all belonged to the old man.”
“I agree, but let’s look anyway.”
They headed for the bedroom and Charles opened the top dresser drawer. “This guy was a real slob,” he said as he rummaged through the hodgepodge of clothing, bills, envelopes, newspaper clippings, and a few packs of cigarettes. The other three drawers were the same. “I wonder how he knew which drawer to open when he wanted socks?”
Charles pulled out all the non-clothing items and placed them on the bare mattress – the only clear surface in the room. “We’ll go through this stuff later,” he said as he headed for the closet. The closet was essentially empty with only a couple of jackets hanging, along with a very old and tattered black suit. “His funeral attire I assume,” Charles muttered. There was a sealed shoebox shoved to the back of the closet that he added to the items on the bed.
Sarah had already started going through the loose items. “These are all utility bills. I’ll set them aside.” As Charles was looking through the items on the bed, she added, “I found a bunch of letters from Kirkland.”
“Let’s take a look.”
Sarah handed a pile of envelopes to Charles. “These have already been opened. There are more here that are still sealed. Shall I open them?”
“Hold off until I take a look at these,” he responded, glancing over the letters one by one. Sarah watched as he placed each one back into its envelope, setting it aside in its original order.
“These are mostly attempts to get old Earl to meet with him,” he finally remarked. “Let’s take a look at the unopened ones.” He carefully opened the first one with his pocket knife, while attempting to preserve any finger prints that might have survived.
A few minutes later he said, “This is interesting,” and he began to read. “We have made numerous attempts to reach you, but without success. During our one face-to-face meeting in November you made it clear that the Kirkland offer was unacceptable, but you suggested there might be a figure you could consider. Subsequent figures have been proposed in my previous correspondence, but your silence suggests none of these offers meet with your approval. I appreciate that you understand the value of your property, and I anticipate that together we can arrive at a mutually beneficial figure. I am now requesting that you suggest the next number and I can assure you that Kirkland Enterprises will give it due consideration. Until then, yours truly, etc.’”
“That letter was never opened,” Sarah commented. “Hawkins probably didn’t know this.”
“They might have reached him by phone,” Charles speculated. “At any rate, we know he never agreed to sell.”
“What about these other letters?” she asked.
“Just hold them aside. I need to think about whether I should be opening them. I probably need a court order. I’ll talk to Matt. What else did you find?”
“Just the bills and his checkbook. Do you want to look at that?”
“Not right now. Let’s take a look in this box.” Again pulling out his pocket knife, Charles reached for the sealed shoe box but then hesitated. “If I need a court order to open those letters, I sure need it for this box. I’m going to call Matt first.” He put the shoebox back on the closet floor while Sarah returned the Kirkland correspondence to the top dresser drawer. “Let’s head on out of here for now.”
* * *
“What do you mean ‘shut down?’” Charles asked, sounding bewildered. “You authorized this investigation just last week.”
“It’s the chief, Charlie. He turned down my request to contract with you on this one.”
“So I’ll do it for nothing, Matt, if it’s a matter of money.”
“The chief doesn’t want this case reopened.”
“This case specifically?”
“That’s what he said.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Is he getting pressure from somewhere?”
“That’s my guess. He just said ‘leave it alone’ and he added that if you’re available to work, he’d like you ass
igned to the east side murders. You saw the papers this morning, right?”
“No, I left home early. What is it?” Charles asked apprehensively.
“Another one of our east side senior citizens was attacked in his home. It was another brutal one, Charlie,” he added with a tone of despair.
Charles shook his head sorrowfully without speaking for a few moments. Finally he spoke up saying, “Then that’s where the pressure is coming from.”
“The papers are full of it and the community’s in an uproar,” Matt responded. “My phone is ringing off the hook; I can just imagine what’s going on in the Chief’s office.”
Later at dinner, Sarah noticed Charles was picking at his food and uncommonly quiet. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes, I guess. I just…” he hesitated but then continued. “You’ll see it in the paper anyway, so I might as well tell you. There’s been another murder in town – another senior citizen.”
“Oh my,” she responded laying her fork down. They both sat quietly. Again, he was unwilling to share the details of the brutality so he moved the topic to the Hawkins case.
“He closed us down. The Chief doesn’t want time being spent on a closed case when this is going on.”
“Do they want you to work the east side cases?”
“I think so.”
“Will that be dangerous?”
“No. If they use me at all, they’ll only be assigning me to the legwork, like talking to neighbors, looking for possible information, you know the drill – nothing dangerous.”
Sarah looked relieved but then said, “What about the Hawkins case?”
“There is no case.”
“And?”
“And I intend to keep looking.”
“On your own?”
“On my own.”
“Will you tell Matt?”
“Nope.”
“Is that advisable?”
“Well, at least we won’t need a search warrant to open that box.”
“That’s legal?”
“Nope.”
“But you’ll do it anyway?”
“Absolutely. Old man Hawkins deserves it.”
Chapter 23
When Sheila from the shuttle service called the next morning, she requested that Sophie transport a little Papillion mix who was being adopted by a family in New York. “She’s been at the Keesler home for several months. You’ll be picking her up there and driving her to Smithfield, near the state line. Do you mind traveling that far?”
“No, I’m free today and it’s a beautiful day.”
“Good. You’ll be meeting Joanna Smith who’s taking the next leg. Little Magnolia still has a long way to go.”
“Have you sent the run-sheet?”
“Yes, I emailed it to you just a few minutes ago.”
“Email,” Sophie grumbled as she hung up. She had told everyone who would listen that she would never use a computer and here she was doing a job that required her to receive her instructions electronically. “Humph,” she grunted aloud. “At least I didn’t buy one,” she said still speaking aloud. Emma’s ears twitched as she tried to catch a word she understood. Charles had offered to loan Sophie his computer and printer until Maria returned from Italy.
“Having a computer,” she said looking directly at Emma, “was never the problem. Using it was what I was trying to avoid.” Emma wagged her tail.
Charles had taught her how to access her new email account and how to print out the run-sheets. He then prepared her a cheat-sheet, writing down all the steps for accessing and printing the run-sheet. He then prepared a second page of steps describing exactly how to write and send an email. “Just write one to Sarah for practice. You just might like it,” he had said.
Sophie printed the run-sheet and looked it over before grabbing her coat and heading out. Emma began crying the minute she sensed that Sophie was leaving. Sophie bent down and took the dog’s face between her hands and said, “I’d take you if I could, my dear little furry friend, but it’s against the rules. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Emma moved closer and pressed her cheek against Sophie’s and gently licked her cheek. “I love you too,” Sophie whispered.
Although it was extremely cold, the snow had been cleared away on the major roads and Sophie was enjoying the warm sunshine pouring through the windshield. She was glad to be picking Magnolia up from Bernice Keesler. She hadn’t met Bernice but knew that she ran a very specialized foster home. She only accepted pregnant dogs, and she cared for them until their pups were due. Bernice then helped the new mothers through the delivery process and lovingly cared for the babies until they were old enough to be adopted.
When Sophie arrived at the Keesler home, she was met at the door by a smiling woman in her mid-fifties. She was carrying a small dog whom she introduced as Magnolia. “We call her Maggie,” she added lovingly. “Come on in and have a cup of coffee before you get on the road. You have a long way to go.”
Sophie followed her into the kitchen and Bernice handed her the little dog. “Will you hold her while I pour the coffee? It’s all ready.”
“How adorable,” Sophie commented. “It must be hard to say goodbye to these dogs after you’ve spent so much time with them.”
“Very special time,” Bernice said. “We’ve been through a great deal together. Maggie had trouble during the delivery. I had to call in the vet to help us. We thought for a while we were going to lose the puppies, but they all made it.”
“What do you know about her background,” Sophie asked.
“When they brought Magnolia to me she was covered with fleas, starving, and very pregnant. She had been abandoned by the side of the road along with her crate that had been left open. She had crawled into the crate and patiently waited for her owners to come back for her which, of course, they never did. Judging by her condition, they figured she’d been there for several days.” Bernice began to tear up as she told the story.
“Just two weeks after arriving, the babies arrived. She was very weak and malnourished but she got those babies out into the world and has taken excellent care of them.”
“She’ll miss them,” Sophie said softly.
“I insist that pups stay with the mother for at least twelve weeks. Some people let them go earlier, but I like for them to stay with the dam. She does much of the early training and I think it helps her get past that period where they are her whole world.”
“And you have a good home for Magnolia?”
“Oh yes. I’m very happy with this family and there was quite a demand for her. Maggie’s picture was posted on the website and within twenty-four hours there were a dozen applicants wanting to adopt her. I chose the family in New York because I had a good feeling about them. I think they’ll give loving care to this dear little girl.” She reached over and petted Magnolia and the dog wiggled so hard Sophie could barely hang onto her.
“Here, let me take her so you can drink your coffee.”
“The run-sheet says she’s a Papillion mix,” Sophie said, not able to take her eyes off the adorable little dog.
“Yes and I’m sure they’re right. They call a Papillion the butterfly dog because their fringed ears resemble a butterfly’s out-stretched wings. See?” she said as she stretched the ears out.
“I see that,” Sophie said enthusiastically. “What do you suppose she’s mixed with?”
“I don’t know, maybe some Maltese. She has this black button-tipped nose and her hair is pretty long.”
“She’s a beautiful dog. I’ll bet her puppies were adorable.
“I still have one of them if you’d like to see her. Two have been adopted and have gone to their forever homes. The one I still have is pending adoption and she’ll probably be picked up tomorrow. I’m going to bring her up with me tonight. I know she’ll be lonesome.”
Sophie followed Bernice through the house and into what Bernice called the Puppy Room. “This is our little Blossom,” Bernice said pointing to a tiny littl
e puppy who immediately dissolved into one big wiggle. “You can pick her up if you want.”
Sophie bent down with difficulty but was determined to get her hands on that little soft bundle of fur. Blossom’s hair was white and silky with black ears and a touch of black on her back. Her nose was thin and pointy with a tiny black tip, and she had big round brown eyes that looked up at Sophie with anticipation. Blossom stretched to full length and licked Sophie’s chin with her tiny pink tongue.
“Don’t make me fall in love with you,” Sophie pleaded. “Your new mommy will be coming soon.”
Sophie felt an empty place in her heart as she drove away from the Keesler house. She looked at Bernice and knew she probably often felt the same.
* * *
“I’m not as comfortable as I was last time we were here,” Sarah was saying as they closed the cabin door behind them and headed for the bedroom.
“We’ll work fast and get out,” Charles assured her. “You take the letters and I’ll do the box. Just scan through them and see if there’s any new information from Kirkland. Did you bring your gloves?”
“Yes, I remembered.” Sarah pulled on the rubber gloves and removed the packet of letters from the dresser drawer. Meanwhile, Charles pulled the box out of the closet and used his pocket knife to cut the tape.
They both worked quietly, neither finding anything of any interest for the first twenty minutes or so. Then Charles spoke up. “I just found the divorce papers.”
Sarah looked up with interest and joined him on the edge of the bed. “What does it say?”
“He’s the defendant so she filed for the divorce. Let’s see, it say the grounds were irreconcilable differences…’irretrievable breakdown of the marriage’…’past efforts failed.’” Charles thumbed through the pages and returned to the second page. “It says they lived ‘separate and apart’ since May 1992…” Turning back to the last page, “This was finalized in 2011.”
“She sure waited a long time to get the divorce – nearly twenty years,” Sarah noted. “There must be an interesting story there.”
“We’ll probably never know.” Picking up the contents of the box, Charles returned them and placed the box back in the closet. “Did you find anything in the letters?”
The Rescue Quilt Page 13
