by Tess Rothery
Taylor had to stoop to hear her.
“Someone has suspected that it might be a scheme.” She said “scheme” as though it were a bad word. “And they suggested we would lose all our money after my poor boy died.”
“You must be relieved.” Taylor flagged the word “scheme” and filed this with the news of Leon’s secret savings account. But she put an asterisk next to it. After all, Mrs. Sylvester and her friends had received their dividend.
“I wouldn’t mind a dividend. I wonder if my banker could invest in the same funds…”
Mrs. Sylvester shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Leon handled all of it for us.”
Taylor counted heads. Twelve retirees, all who looked to be between Boggy Hudson’s seventy-something years old and Mrs. Sylvester’s ninety-four.
“Is this the group of investors?”
“Almost,” Mrs. Sylvester said. “Marva couldn’t come. She still has company.”
So, at least for now, Dayton was still safe.
They arrived at the buffet, and Mrs. Sylvester sat down, breathing a little heavily. It was hard to remember how close she was to one hundred years old. After helping her settle into the wooden chair, Taylor brought up the investment again. “How long did you have money with Leon?”
“Two years. And the checks came every quarter like clockwork. I suppose we can talk about it now that he’s gone, but he did say we ought to use discretion as it was a limited opportunity.”
“I do wonder if it’s something I could afford.” Taylor gave a soft little sigh. “Was it terribly expensive to get involved with?”
“No, no. I gave him a rather large check right away, but then monthly checks of only fifty dollars.”
“That’s hardly anything.” Taylor worked hard to keep her face happy. In her opinion, at their age they shouldn’t have been actively investing anything. And she worried their “quarterly dividends” wouldn’t be equal to their fifty-dollar monthly payments. She rallied to ask. “And it earned money every quarter? Not every investment has done that. The market has been quite up and down.”
“Not this investment. It’s done very well.” Mrs. Sylvester narrowed her eyes.
Taylor backed off. She didn’t need to know all of the details. If it was a scheme—a Ponzi scheme—then those big first investment checks were paying the current quarterlies.
Boggy caught Taylor’s eye again and smiled. “Will you excuse me a moment?” Taylor asked Mrs. Sylvester.
Mrs. Sylvester waved her away.
The woman in the red jean jacket took Taylor’s seat.
“Boggy, can I be impertinent?”
“Most girls can,” he laughed.
“Is there any chance this little investment with Leon was fraudulent?” She kept her voice low, though the odds of any of the guests today having hearing strong enough to hear from their places in the buffet line were slim.
He lifted an eyebrow at Taylor. “I never gave that old schemer any of my money.”
“Then how did you get invited here?”
“I let my friends think I did.”
“But why? Didn’t that just….”
“Didn’t it just support what he was doing? When you have as many old friends as I do—and I mean literally old—you do what you can to take care of them. They were giving that schemer their money whether I did or not. By pretending I did, I got to hear about it. I was keeping good notes.”
“But what did you find?”
“Come by tomorrow morning before your shop opens, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Were you surprised they got their dividend checks?”
“Not at all. I’m sure it’s automatic. And someone would have to know the account existed to shut it down.”
“Then the next checks won’t get cut,” Taylor said. “Annie found an account just the other day. Said it almost made up for what he’d lost gambling.”
Boggy took a sharp, deep breath. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Meet me tomorrow morning. We’ll talk then. But now, let me buy you dinner. It’s a very good buffet.”
Taylor was back at Bible Creek Care Home the next morning at nine. Whatever Boggy had been hiding, he was going to reveal, she was determined, and also armed with a box of what Hudson swore were his Grandpa’s favorite chocolates.
Boggy’s apartment was on the larger side, like the one Dayton was hopefully still hidden at. He welcomed Taylor to his vintage pine dining room table, round and thick and dinged with living. His apartment had the aura of a man-cave with more wool plaid than Pendleton Mills, and a big fish hanging over a bigger TV.
“I’ve talked to the police already.” He set a thick ceramic mug of black coffee in front of Taylor. “But Leon had kids, so I didn’t want to say anything that might lead to gossip. Kids have it hard enough when a parent dies.”
She nodded but didn’t get a chance to reply.
“Like when your dad died. Just like that. From here on out, Leon was a man of God in this community and nothing else. It’s the least we can do for the kids.”
She jerked to attention. “Excuse me?”
“Let a man die a hero, if he has kids. That’s all I’m saying.”
Taylor’s shoulders were stiff, and gooseflesh chased up and down her arms. Leon was far from a man of God, but her dad…he had been a hero. He literally died fighting a fire. Whatever Boggy was implying…
“But before he died,” Boggy continued, “Leon Farkas was a con artist. I tried to warn that Cricket away from him, but she wouldn’t listen. Wanted to get married, I think. But he wasn’t even divorced yet.” He grumbled something under his breath.
“What was that?” Taylor leaned forward.
“Homewrecker. Cricket, she was as sweet as anything, but she only really liked a man when he was married to someone else.” His face was angry as he remembered the pain his daughter had experienced because of Cricket and Doug.
“Tell me about the con Leon was running.” Taylor’s mind was stuck on whatever secret or gossip or dirt Boggy thought he had on her dad, but she needed to shove it aside. She was closing in on something big, and nothing else mattered. For now.
“Classic Ponzi scheme. No more, no less. Take money from the old folks and promise them impossible interest earnings.”
“They couldn’t see it was impossible?” Taylor wrapped her hands around the mug. It reminded her of Annie Farkas’ work.
“The trick with a good con is to make it seem possible. Crazy, but not that crazy. You weren’t born yet, but there was a time when 15% interest was common for a mortgage. So, us old folks…we see 15% as high, but not impossibly high.”
“That doesn’t seem all that high for a stock, though.”
“He wasn’t offering that. It was higher, but what I mean is, it wasn’t so high that it seemed obvious. Not to folks who’ve been around the block a few times.”
“Annie said she found an account with about thirty-thousand dollars in it.” She traced the rim of the mug. It was similar, but not as special as what Annie had at home. Probably someone else’s work.
“Sure. I could see that.”
“It’s a lot, but not enough to bankrupt anyone, right? Like maybe no one is going to be devastated by this.”
“I couldn’t say. It depends on how much he was paying out each month and how much he was gambling or hiding in other accounts.”
Taylor exhaled slowly through tight lips. “Are you sure, I mean absolutely sure, no one else had figured out it was a con?”
He sighed, deeply and sadly. “None of the residents here who invested believed they were being conned.”
“But what about their family?”
“That’s a good question. Sure were lots of guests at the tea party.”
“We all had to sign in, right? No way to sneak around that?” Taylor stared at Boggy. She had a list of suspects at her fingertips and had never even tried to look at it.
“Karina is a good bouncer. I’m sure everyone had to sign in. The l
ine was pretty long.”
“True. We had to kick our heels at the front door for a few minutes. But you’re sure there aren’t any back doors?” She thought of Dayton sneaking around, hiding in plain sight. Maybe the killer had done the same thing.
“All locked. We have pass cards that open them for us.”
“Maybe we should go see who signed in for the tea party?”
“And hope they used their real names.”
Karina had a bulldoggish look on her face when Boggy and Taylor appeared. She wanted to turn them away. Taylor Quinn just made her feel like that. But, on the other hand, she couldn’t afford to make Hudson’s grandpa angry. At least not at her. “How can I help you?” The words themselves were kind, but even she could tell they didn’t sound friendly coming out from between her gritted teeth.
“Hello, young lady.” Boggy leaned on the counter and smiled at her, his big brown eyes sappy. She knew about his reputation with the older ladies. Unlike his grandson who was known as a good catch in large part because he didn’t play around, Boggy liked to make sure all the ladies got some of his attention.
She softened under his flirty gaze. Who wouldn’t, after all? “What do you need?”
“I was just wanting to look at the guest register, if you don’t mind. This gal and I were arguing about who was at the tea party. I say, you know, what with the death and all, she just can’t remember. But she swears she’s right. You wouldn’t help us out with that, would you?”
“I really can’t.” She crossed her arms. This had the stink of Taylor all over it. She was clearly doing some kind of detective something and had Boggy wrapped up in it. With Taylor’s luck, Boggy would be the next one killed. Or Karina would.
“I know it’s a lot to ask.” He slowly pulled out a worn leather wallet. “I wouldn’t assume something like this is…free.”
She smirked.
“I probably have something you want….” He lifted an eyebrow.
She laughed. Even with a higher percentage of women than men, there were plenty of eighty-year-olds at Bible Creek Care Home who have offered to be her fella.
“You know….” He slipped a picture out of his wallet and set it on the counter.
She pulled it down. Hudson. Sure, it was his high school graduation picture in a cap and gown from almost ten years ago. But it was still Hudson. This time she lifted her eyebrow.
“You two used to be so in love.”
Behind Boggy, Taylor’s face went white.
This time Karina’s smile was warm and satisfied.
“What went wrong, my dear? And do you think it can’t be made right?”
Taylor coughed into her fist.
Karina attempted a demure look, glancing down and fluttering her eyelids. “Nothing is impossible to fix…”
“What you two need is a quiet dinner alone, don’t you think?”
She stroked the picture with her thumb. Yes, yes, she did think. “Are you saying that I might…”
“I’m saying…” Boggy dropped his voice. “I’m saying that I would be grateful to prove this little girl wrong, so grateful that I would happily arrange a quiet dinner for you and him.”
She slipped the picture into the pocket of her skinny jeans, got up, and went back to the workroom. Helping Taylor do detective work was abhorrent. But using Taylor’s detective work to get alone with Hudson was delicious. She selected the pages from the sign-in book and ran them through the photocopier.
When she went back to her desk, Taylor was gone, but Boggy was happily looking at a smart phone. “Here you go.” She held out the pages for him, but didn’t let go when his hand was on them.
“Ah.” He let go of the pages and held up the phone. “Talking to Hudson. How will Friday night do?”
“Just fine.” She barely got the words out and could have kicked herself for that moment of weakness. The idea of this dinner being so soon had literally taken her breath away.
Boggy took the papers, and she let him.
Dinner with Hudson on Friday.
This was her chance and she wasn’t going to waste it.
Back at his apartment, Boggy scanned the pages on an almost vintage scanner and emailed them to Taylor. “Sorry we can’t go over this together.” He slipped his copy of the pages into a yellow Pee-Chee folder. “But I’ve got a hot date with Mrs. Sylvester.”
“How is she doing?” Taylor lingered by the door.
“She didn’t invest, if that’s what you mean.” He walked forward, pulled the door shut behind himself and Taylor.
“That’s good, but I was thinking more about her grief at losing a nephew.”
“She’s sad. We’re all sad.” He looked down from his tall, slender height and shook his head. “You’ve lost a lot of folks in your young life, my friend. Gives you a lot of sympathy for folks who are suffering.” He patted her shoulder. “It’s a good thing, kiddo. I’ll make sure young Mrs. Sylvester isn’t alone. You go find out if someone on that list might have had a grudge against our man of God.”
Taylor took a shortcut out of the care home and went back to her shop. Clay was good at data. A funny memory popped up as she thought of him hunched over a computer…the “Nigerian Princess” scandal from some years ago. She smiled despite it all. He’d been the amateur detective that time, and she’d almost forgotten about it.
Yes, Clay was good at internet sleuthing.
Between the two of them, they could get through this list and find something.
She texted Belle to make sure she was staying home with Grandpa.
“Who’s the hot date with tonight?”
Taylor scrunched her face at her phone. “No date. Just Data, with Clay.”
“And I’m just nursing Levi.”
Taylor grumbled loudly to herself. She’d better be just nursing him.
“Can I order food?”
Where she thought she’d order from was anyone’s guess, but Taylor figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. “Anything you want. Pizza, drinks, whatever. Use the cc I have in my desk drawer in my room.”
“Don’t worry about rushing. We’ll be here all night.”
“I’m not staying the night with Clay.”
“Whatever.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was well after midnight when Taylor shut her laptop. She rubbed the dust and sleep from her eyes and yawned, laying down on the floor.
“You did good.” Clay stretched across the couch. “Can I please go to bed now?”
“Yes, of course.” She yawned again, more deeply.
“You didn’t walk here, did you?” Clay sat up again, a look of disappointment washing over his face.
“You don’t have to walk me home. It’s less than half a mile.” She sat up on her elbows. She had walked. She’d been walking all day. It was good for her nervous energy. But she wasn’t looking forward to walking to her house alone in the dark.
“Want me to call Grandpa Ernie so he can come pick you up?” Clay had changed into his flannel jammies hours earlier, and his mussed hair and crumple look were more laughable than his joke.
Taylor flopped back down on the floor.
“Pass me that quilt.” Clay pointed to the nine-patch she had made in junior high. Its soft worn cotton was draped over her bare feet. “I’ll stay here. You take the bed.”
“I’d call you a saint….”
“But it’s your apartment. I get it.”
“But, Clay, what did we actually learn from all of that?” Taylor stood and stretched, her T lifting enough for the chilly night air to hit her bellybutton and make her shiver.
“Three visitors had records, Tay. That’s not nothing. Two of them were visiting folks you saw with the group at the casino. All you have to do now is find out which one was absent from the table while Leon was killed.”
“Easy then.” Taylor rubbed her arms. It was cold in the apartment. Too cold. But she’d ask Clay why he wasn’t using the furnace some other time. She closed her eyes and pictured the
tea party. It had been a huge crowd, but it would be easy enough to find out who wasn’t sitting at the table. All you had to do was ask.
When Taylor woke the next morning, she was freezing. She pulled the blanket up under her chin. Why was her room so cold? She squeezed her eyes tightly.
She took a deep breath, but something wasn’t right. It smelled wrong. Familiar. But wrong.
She sat up and looked around.
The apartment.
A moment of panic washed over her as she looked for Clay, but no. She hadn’t made a dreadful mistake in the night. Besides, she was fully dressed. She had come in, laid her head on the pillow, and that was that.
She pulled the blanket from the top of the bed—an afghan, warm and snuggly and a rare thing in a world of quilts. Her steps were slow, not wanting to see him. In all these months—well more than a year—she hadn’t seen Clay in the morning, and there was a feeling, a sick feeling in her stomach, that if she saw him this morning, sleep in his eyes, hair messy, his goofy grin, then all those old emotions would come rolling back in, and she’d be home again.
But he wasn’t in the living room. She popped open the door to the second bedroom that she and Clay both used for storage. He wasn’t there. She knocked on the bathroom door, and he wasn’t there, either.
Relief washed over her in waves. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see her in the morning either. Hard to say. But since he was gone, she took a quick shower, did her hair, and ambled down to the shop. It was only seven, still plenty of time since she hadn’t planned to film today.
The shop was quiet and dusky feeling. Cozy and secretive. She made herself a whole pot of coffee and took one of the granola bars from the little chicken wire basket of snacks that stood on the coffee bar. The window-pane style mirror she had made room for on the wall was a challenge to check her whole outfit in, but her hair was looking nice, and she had time to run home to change into clothes she hadn’t slept in.
But first she nestled into Grandpa Ernie’s old recliner and opened YouTube on her phone. If she didn’t have Grandpa Ernie to take care of, she could live above her shop, save all that money she spent maintaining the house, and have every morning feel this casual and comfy.
