by Ellen Hart
“Women can be so dumb.” Jane included herself in that critique. When she looked back at Cordelia, she saw that she was being examined. “What?”
“I can read you like the proverbial book, Janey. There’s something you’re not telling me. I’ve felt it for months. I assumed you would, eventually, but you haven’t. Come on, what is it? Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you. I’d trust you with my life.”
“Then what?”
Jane had already concluded that it was time to tell Cordelia the full story about Julia. But the whole thing was embarrassing, and anyway, it wasn’t something she needed to do right this minute. In an effort to put off the inevitable, she changed the subject. “I have some news about that house fire.”
“You’re deflecting, dearheart. I’ll let you get away with it for now, but not forever. I do want to hear about the fire. And if I’m going to listen to something like that, I need real sustenance.”
“Brussels sprouts? Kale? Quinoa?”
Opening the refrigerator, Cordelia removed a quart of chocolate milk and held it up as if she’d just won an award. She gave a small bow, then sat back down, opened the top, and drank straight from the carton. “You may continue.”
“Leslie happened to have my favorite tea, Yorkshire Gold, so while I was making us a pot, Sgt. Tamborsky of the CLPD showed up at the front door. From what Emma had said about him, I expected a titan of the gridiron going to seed.”
“Dragging his knuckles and grunting all the way.”
“He was actually very nice. He wasn’t terribly tall, but he was big, with a heavy, square face and a rather florid complexion. He was very respectful.”
“He was talking to the mayor, Janey.”
“Well, yes, I’m sure he was on his best behavior. When Leslie introduced me, he seemed to know who I was.”
“Ah, the poster in the window of the art center again; the gift that keeps on giving.”
“I suppose. Anyway, we all sat down in the living room while he explained that human remains had been found in the basement of the Gilbert house. They’ll have to do forensic testing, but he was pretty sure it would turn out to be Carli. He said it was arson and speculated, with no evidence, that someone might have used the fire as a cover for murder. I got the impression that he watches a lot of cop shows.”
“How ghastly. Does he have any suspects?”
“The investigation is just getting started, so no. Leslie asked him if he had any new information on Sam Romilly. He said he’d been taken off the case and put on the Gilbert case instead. Sgt. Bobby Saltus is now in charge. Tamborsky pretty much said that the older case had to take a backseat to the arson/murder, which is why the switch was made. Tamborsky has seniority over Saltus.”
Cordelia tried to stifle a yawn. Taking a last swig of milk, she folded the top closed. “This is all terribly fascinating, but I’ve got to get some shut-eye.”
“To be continued,” said Jane.
“What will you be up to while I’m getting my beauty sleep?”
“Not sure. Finding Sam’s remains has produced more leads than I anticipated.”
“Don’t do anything important without me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
On her way out of the room, Cordelia paused and turned around. “By the way, I’m free for dinner. I suppose you’re spending the evening with the mayor.”
“Nope. She has a planning-commission meeting tonight. Why don’t we find a good place to eat? My treat.”
“No, Janey, it should be mine. You carried in all the luggage. You cleaned up the kitchen the other night. And you’re going to put the chocolate milk away, right?”
It was easier to buy dinner than it was to schlep and scrub, but Jane didn’t mind. “Deal.”
“Night night. I promise, I shall be better company anon.”
18
After changing into a clean pair of jeans and a red flannel shirt, Jane grabbed her messenger bag and drove back into town in search of breakfast. She found a place on Second Street, the Flame Diner, and parked a few doors down. Before she went in, she sat in her truck and called the senior podcast producer again, spending a few minutes updating him on the Romilly case. She’d already sent him the raw interview she’d done yesterday with Jim Hughes. He hadn’t had a chance to listen to it yet, but told her to keep digging. He said he’d met with the board and they all green-lighted her investigation.
There was no way Jane could explore all of the leads she’d found before she and Cordelia needed to head back to Minneapolis, so she asked Will to see if one of the production interns would be willing to come back up with her later in the month to help with interviews. He said he’d check into it. Before they said goodbye, he told her to relax a little and enjoy her stay.
Jane had never been very good at relaxing. When she walked into the cafe she found that it was packed, with nowhere to sit. She surveyed the room one last time just to be sure, and was surprised when a hand rose above the crowd and waved at her.
It was Wilburn Lowry, the grizzled “prospector” she’d met on Sunday morning at the White Star Cafe. She’d been hoping for some time alone to make a few notes about the case, so whatever he wanted to say, she intended to make it short.
“Please,” he said, nodding to the empty chair across from him. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and then tossed it over his empty plate. “I was just leaving. You might as well take the table.”
“Thanks.”
“Since you’re here, I should tell you that I listened to more of your podcast. I think it’s really good.”
“I’m glad.”
“You’re legit.”
A server stopped by with a menu and asked if Jane wanted coffee.
“Please.”
“So here’s the deal,” continued Lowry, scratching one of his fleecy, gray muttonchops. “I have something for you.”
“You do?”
“I do indeed. I mean, I don’t have it with me, but maybe we could meet up. How about tomorrow, same time, same place. I don’t live far from here, so it’s an easy walk.”
“What is it?”
“Something that might help you with the Romilly investigation.”
“If you could be a little more specific—”
“Nope, I like surprises, don’t you? Well,” he said, pressing his hands to the table and standing, “good to see you again, Ms. Lawless.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his billfold and dropped it on the table next to the receipt. “See you tomorrow.”
At least she wouldn’t have to sit through breakfast with him.
When the waitress returned, Jane ordered corned beef hash and a couple of eggs. She was hungry and figured this would hold her until dinner. She loved the sound of a crowded restaurant. It was pure white noise, just what she needed to help her concentrate.
Opening a notebook, Jane read through the bullet points she’d sent to Will, along with the taped interview. These were the leads she’d found and wanted to follow up on.
• Sam and brother fighting before Sam disappeared.
• Graveyard manager said Dave Tamborsky walked by grave where Beddemeyer would be buried the day before her burial and the day before Sam went missing. Dave with unidentified friend.
• Carli Gilbert possibly murdered and body burned in house fire the day after Sam’s remains found. May not be connected, but Carli worked at same bank where Scott and father, Wendell, employed.
• Rumor around town that Wendell Romilly murdered son.
• Darius Pollard may have info about Sam, according to Hughes.
• He was friend of Sam’s.
• Something happened at a party before the beginning of their senior year. Sam involved. Not sure what it means, but may be important.
• Hughes said many rumors going around school just before Sam disappeared.
• The school would blow up on January 1.
• A teacher had seduced a student.
•
Dave T. and Monty Mickler, rumored to be a gay couple.
• A girl got in car with stranger and was assaulted.
* * *
Jane tapped her pen against the page. The school blowing up was obviously one of those ridiculous rumors circulating before the turn of the century. But what about the others? There might be some truth in one of them. But which one? Or perhaps there was a nugget of truth in all of them? Not that they had anything to do with Sam’s murder, but what if one or all of them did? At the very least, they provided her with more questions to ask.
Energized by how much she had to do, Jane dug in to her food. Later, when the waitress came by to ask how everything was, she asked for the bill. She was getting somewhere, she could just feel it. She needed to keep going.
Next stop, Lakeside Community Bank.
* * *
The bank was located in an old brick building along Main Street, not far from the town hall. There was a free parking lot next to the building. As Jane walked into the lobby, she found teller windows to her right and a large open space filled with desks to her left. The interior walls were covered in wood paneling with lovely old millwork details. Jane counted eight desks for the personal bankers, with glass-enclosed private offices along the front and back walls. In the center was a round kiosk where a woman sat on a stool, ready to answer questions. Jane walked up and asked if she could speak with Wendell Romilly.
“Your name?” asked the woman.
“Jane Lawless.”
“Lawless? That’s unusual.”
“It’s not a comment on my morals.”
“Sounds like a standard line, one you use often.”
“More than I’d like.”
“Can I ask why you want to see Mr. Romilly?”
Jane explained about the podcast, handing the woman her card.
“Just a sec.” She punched in a number, made the request, waited, and then thanked whoever was on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, he’s not available.”
“I could wait.”
“I think it’s more like he’s … not interested.”
“What about Scott Romilly? Is he here?”
“I can check.” Another phone call elicited a different response. “Yes, he’d be happy to see you. If you’d like to wait here, he’ll be right out.”
“I was sorry to hear about one of your coworkers, Carli Gilbert,” said Jane. Since she was here, she might as well do a little fishing.
“Oh, my, yes. Such a shame.”
“Did you know her?”
“Oh, sure. We’d go out for lunch together every few weeks. She was a great listener. In my experience, people like that are rare.”
“Did she have other friends here at the bank?”
“Carli was friendly with everyone.”
“But special or close friends?”
The woman shrugged. “She seemed to get along especially well with Scott. They were always kidding around, laughing about, you know, whatnot. I think they played golf together sometimes. Now that’s a game I don’t get. Hitting a little ball around. Makes no sense to me. And it costs money, you know? It’s not a cheap hobby.”
Jane talked with the woman until a dark-haired man in a three-piece suit appeared and extended his hand. Jane had never met Sam Romilly, but this guy looked nothing like the pictures of Sam she’d seen.
Scott invited her back to his office. Once seated in front of his desk, Jane offered condolences on the death of his brother and then explained, once again, about the podcast.
“But aren’t you in town for something else? You’re staying at the Granholm place, right? You’re a friend of Emma’s.”
“I’m taking part in the silent auction for the art center. I own a restaurant in Minneapolis, so I’m donating a gourmet dinner to the highest bidder.”
“That was it. I knew Emma mentioned something about it.”
He didn’t look like a stalker, but then, what did a stalker look like? “Are you two friends? I know she dated your brother back in high school.”
“Yeah, she did. And sure, we’re friends. Good friends, in fact.”
“Would you be willing to answer a couple of questions about Sam?”
He eased back in his chair. “I’m afraid I can’t give you much time this morning.”
No use taking out her recorder. Still, maybe she could get something from him. “Perhaps we could schedule another time to talk.”
“You mean like an actual interview? Something you’d record?”
“If you’d be willing.”
“Let me think about it.” He kept shifting around in his chair, which caused Jane to conclude that her presence made him uneasy.
“I’ve interviewed a number of Sam’s friends, trying to get a feel for what was happening in his life right around the time he disappeared. I was told that there was some animosity between you two, that you were wresting each other in Victory Park a few days before he disappeared.”
“Jim Hughes tell you that?”
She nodded.
“Figures. He’s a busybody, just like everybody else in this town. It had nothing to do with Sam’s death. It was personal. Between him and me and nobody else.”
“Okay.” She waited, hoping her silence would cause him to fill the void.
“He, ah … thought I was making a mistake. I disagreed.”
“A mistake about what?”
He removed a package of cigarettes from the top drawer of his desk. “What does it matter now? It’s all water under the bridge.”
“Hughes said that Sam thought you were about to do something that would ruin your life. That seems pretty significant.”
He laughed. “Sam loved drama. Obviously, he was wrong. My life is just fine, thank you very much. That’s all I’ve got to say on the matter.”
“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt your brother?”
“No, none. Honestly, we weren’t that close. I knew very little about what was happening in his life. He only knew what was going on in mine because he felt that, as my big brother, he had the right to stick his nose into my private business. We were fourteen months apart, hardly an age difference that conferred superior wisdom. That time in the park? He was the aggressor, not me. I was just trying to protect myself.”
“But it must have made you pretty angry.”
“You bet it did. He thought he knew better than me. About everything. He crossed a line. He had absolutely no right.”
Even now, the anger in his voice came through loud and clear.
Perhaps sensing that he’d said too much, Scott stood. “I have an appointment in a few minutes. Why don’t I walk you out?”
“I think I can find my way.”
“I need a cigarette,” he said, motioning her to the door.
On the sidewalk in front of the building, Jane thanked him again and began walking toward the parking lot. Scott, for whatever reason, followed.
“Hey, nice wheels,” he said, glancing at her truck as he cupped his hand around the tip of a cigarette and lit up. “I’ve been thinking about buying a truck, but I don’t want one of those mammoth Fords or Rams. What’s this?”
“A Honda Ridgeline.” She unlocked the door.
“It’s smaller. I like that. How does it drive?”
“It rides more like a car.”
“Huh.” When a man in chinos and a quilted blue jacket walked past them, Scott stuck out his hand. “Mr. Mickler,” he said, smiling. “Nice to see you.”
So, this was Dave Tamborsky’s friend—and possible lover. He wasn’t bad looking. Regular features and straight, dark hair parted on the side. Nothing much about him stood out.
Mickler offered Scott a friendly nod.
“I have to tell you how much I enjoyed having your son, Max, on the soccer team this summer. He’s got a ton of talent.”
“I’ve worked with him a lot,” said Mickler, pausing. “I hoped he’d do well. And next year, Jordy, my younger son, is going to try out for th
e team.”
“How old is Jordy?”
“He’ll be eight.”
“If he’s anywhere near as athletic as his brother, I’ll be happy to have him.”
“If anything, Jordy’s even more athletic.”
“Good to know,” said Scott, tapping some ash onto the pavement. “Say, where are my manners? Monty Mickler, this is Jane Lawless. She’s in town for the art festival.”
“Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand.
He examined her briefly. “You’re the podcaster.”
“How’d you hear about that?”
“It’s a small town. Word gets around.”
He switched his gaze back to Scott. “Well, better get my banking done. I don’t like to be late for work.”
“Give my best to Max,” said Scott, taking a last drag off his cigarette before dropping it and grinding it out with his tip of his loafer. Turning back to Jane, he said, “Better get back myself. I hope you find what you’re looking for. I don’t hold out a lot of hope that Sam’s murder will ever be solved, but who knows.” With that, he walked back into the bank.
19
Frustration often drove Dave to eat. After he’d left his house this morning, his frustration had begun building when his plans for the day were derailed by a welfare check. The dispatcher informed him that an elderly man up near Chipping Lake hadn’t answered his phone in days. He found the guy sunning himself in a hammock. When Dave asked him why he didn’t answer his calls, the man told him he’d unplugged the phone. Nobody he actually wanted to talk to ever called him, so what was the point? Dave ordered him to plug the damn phone back in and answer his damn calls.
His next stop was Sarah Mickler. Since Monty had said Sarah was a friend of Carli Gilbert’s, Dave wanted to get her take on what had happened in Carli’s marriage. The theory he was working was that her husband had probably done it, either out of jealousy, rage, or something related to money. He’d have to check on any insurance policies issued on Carli’s life. It still galled him that the chief had taken him off the Romilly case. Instead of chasing the arson/murder, he should be working on—or more accurately, squelching—the Romilly investigation.
