Dewey Decimated, page 15
He paused, waiting for my reaction. When I said nothing, he continued.
“The next morning I woke up with the worst hangover, appalled by what I’d done. I’d given a pile of money to a man I hardly knew. I still owed money back in Chicago. At least Essie’s money was safe.”
“So what did you do?”
“I called Whitehead and told him I was having second thoughts about the deal and I wanted my money back.”
My heart was pounding. I knew how this was ending. “What did he say?”
“He told me not to worry. Of course I could back out of the plan if I didn’t want to go through with it. We agreed to meet and he’d return the money.”
“Did he tell you to meet him at the building you’d visited the day before—the one you were thinking of buying?” I asked.
“I think so, but I can’t say for sure.”
Frustrated, I asked, “And then what happened?”
Alec bit his lip. “I wish I knew.”
* * *
“How could he have been so stupid?” Evelyn asked me when Alec left. “Handing over all that money to a stranger?”
“I suppose suddenly having a huge wad of cash in his possession made him euphoric. He got caught up in the deal they were spinning until the next day when reality sank in.”
“What he did was totally irresponsible.”
We shook our heads at Alec’s foolish behavior. Sharing his story with us must have exhausted him because as soon as he’d finished he went up to the attic to take a nap.
“And we still don’t know who murdered him,” Evelyn said.
“He said a few of the men at the meeting on Friday looked familiar. Let’s see—my uncle Bosco was there, along with Al Tripp, Sean Powell, Rafe Torres, and Buzz Coleman. I hate to think any one of them murdered Alec.”
“Alec might have seen Sean, Buzz, and Rafe at the site while they were working, then thought they looked familiar when he saw them again,” Evelyn said. “We can’t trust his memory.”
“There’s a good chance James Whitehead killed him when he reneged on the deal,” I pointed out.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Evelyn said. “No one ever had anything nice to say about the man.”
“I think whoever murdered Alec robbed him of the rest of his money.”
“You’re probably right. There was no sign of it or his wallet.”
We batted the subject back and forth, but we couldn’t come up with any definite conclusion. So far, it looked like the chances of finding out who had murdered Alec Dunmore were very slim indeed.
I decided to call Uncle Bosco to ask who had shown interest in buying the building around the time Alec was murdered. As usual, he was happy to hear from me.
“Carrie, dear, I hope the auditorium problem was resolved and you’ll be getting the number of seats you were counting on.”
“There’s a good chance it will if the company’s powers-that-be let us change our order to less expensive seats. I have a question about the building we’re renovating. Do you know if anyone seriously considered buying it five to seven years ago?”
Uncle Bosco chuckled. “Lots of people did. Me, for one. Al Tripp, for another. We both had the same idea—renovate it as an office building—but the town council was dead set against having office buildings on the Green, along with dry cleaners, laundromats, gas stations, and a whole lot of other business establishments.”
“I see.”
“That ruling still stands. One of the reasons why we were able to get the building at a reasonable price for the library.”
“Anyone else you know who was interested?”
“Are you sleuthing again, Carrie?”
“Kinda.”
“Let me think. Oh, yes, Babette Fisher wanted to open an art gallery and was trying to convince a few friends and neighbors to go in on it with her, but I don’t think she got very far.”
“Really? Babette?”
“It’s the kind of property that looks good on paper until you venture inside. And James Whitehead was asking a lot for it. You had to figure on paying that amount plus for costly renovations.”
I thanked Uncle Bosco and mulled over what he’d told me. While I was surprised by the number of people who had considered buying the building and had probably been inside it at one time or another, there was no reason to think any one of them had ever met Alec.
I wondered about the men he’d been drinking with in a bar who claimed they wanted to be his business partners. It sounded pretty fishy to me. Still, from what Alec remembered, James Whitehead remained the number one murder suspect. He’d told Alec he could get his money back. Instead, Alec was murdered and there was no sign of the money.
I was back to square one.
* * *
Dylan came over at six thirty. I handed him a beer and sat him down in the living room to tell him what I’d learned from his uncle earlier in the day. By the time I’d finished, he was shaking his head.
“What an idiot, falling for something like that.”
“And we still don’t know who murdered him,” I said.
Dylan sighed. “Let’s eat.”
I’d made pasta and turkey meatballs in tomato sauce for dinner, along with a red lettuce salad and my own dressing.
“This was delicious, babe,” he said after finishing a second helping of everything. He patted his stomach. “I’ll start gaining weight if you keep on feeding me like this.”
“No worries. Tomorrow night I have a council meeting so you’ll have to fend for yourself.”
“That’s right. I’ll probably stop for a burger or a couple of slices of pizza on the way home.”
“A salad would be healthy,” I murmured.
“Hmmm,” Dylan said noncommittally. But when I asked what he’d like for dessert, he said just coffee would be fine.
We discussed the private cremation to be followed by a small memorial service that he’d arranged for Alec on Sunday.
“We have to let people know about the service ASAP,” Dylan said.
“I’ll mention it at the council meeting tomorrow and at the library.”
“Thanks, babe.”
“I wonder if Alec’s ghostly presence will disappear after he’s … gone.”
“Your friend Evelyn seems to think he’ll hang around until John solves his murder.”
“Kind of difficult with no money trail to follow.”
Dylan sighed. “And no clues left at the scene of the crime.”
He put his coffee mug in the sink and went into the living room to watch TV while I loaded the dishwasher. I wished there was something I could do to make him feel better, but nothing came to mind.
My cell phone sounded its jingle as I was about to join Dylan in the living room. It was Babette Fisher.
“Hello, Carrie. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“Not really. I was just about to sit down and relax. What’s up?”
“Are you ready for the meeting tomorrow night?”
“Sure. As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I mean, have you decided how you’re going to vote on the Seabrook property?” She sounded exasperated, which annoyed me.
“Why do you ask?”
“Why?” she echoed, now on the defensive. “Because tomorrow night’s meeting is uber important. We’re voting on the future of a piece of prime Clover Ridge property.”
“I know that, Babette. I’m asking, why are you calling me?”
“Oh!” She gave a nervous laugh. “I’m just wondering if you’d like to discuss the various options. You’re new to the council, and I’ve been on it for eight years now.”
“Eight years,” I mused.
This time her laughter was genuine. “You have no idea how many issues I’ve voted on.”
“And did other council members guide you when it came to voting?”
“Sometimes. Knowing they were more experienced, I listened to what they had to say.”
“I see.” Though I knew where Babette was headed, I decided to hear her out. “Okay. That sounds reasonable. I am new at this.”
“I’m sure you’ve given the three proposals some thought. Which do you favor?” she asked.
“I like the idea of keeping the Seabrook Preserve a preserve—and adding a few face-lifting projects and programs that won’t cost big bucks but will attract more visitors.”
“Ah.”
“Your preference is the park, and you’d love to see your cousin’s group designing it.”
“You’re right, because the Waterford Group is the best and most innovative group that designs outdoor spaces. A park would make the best use of the property. It would draw in many more people than the preserve, people of all ages. And if we charge an entrance fee, that will go a long way to cover the engineering, architectural, and construction costs.”
“Which run pretty high, according to the Waterford Group’s prospectus.”
“People would love to come to a well-designed park situated on the Sound. It would be a feather in our cap.”
“And perhaps too expensive for some Clover Ridge residents,” I said. “Not everyone in town has big bucks.”
“Face facts, Carrie. Figures show that Clover Ridge is considered an affluent town with a wonderful school system and excellent library. And in order to remain in the forefront—a place where up-and-coming people want to live—we need to come up with new attractions.”
“I never thought of Clover Ridge that way,” I said. “My father’s family owned a farm outside of town.”
“Many years ago, Carrie,” Babette said. “Your old farmstead is now a successful B and B.”
Who was this business-minded woman telling me to get with the times? What happened to the flighty Babette Fisher I knew? Or thought I knew.
“I understand this is a lot for you to take in,” Babette said, as if she’d been reading my mind, “and I get the feeling you’re leaning toward the preserve. But there’s one more aspect I need to mention, a really important one, if not the most important.”
“Yes?” I said, wondering what else she was going to hit me with tonight.
“The council consists of five members. We need a majority of three to come to a decision. I figure Sean and I are for the park project, Reggie desperately wants the condo deal, and Al plays his cards close to his chest. If you go along with the park deal, we’ll have a majority and won’t have to bat this topic among ourselves for the next month or two. Things can get ugly.”
“Sean likes the park idea?” I asked.
“He won’t vote for the condo deal, and he considers the park a better use of that beautiful piece of waterfront property than a preserve no one visits,” she scoffed.
“He told you that?”
“Look, I get it. You like having a spot of nature close by that all residents can enjoy. I’m all for that, too. I’m sure we can find a way to leave part of the preserve intact. Call it a nature trail. That would trim costs. It’s doable. Win-win all around.”
I nodded. What she said made sense.
“The trick is to muster enough people behind our project so we can start it with enthusiasm and good will. Will you think about it? Consider joining us?”
“Sure, I’ll think about it,” I said to put an end to her hard sell.
“That’s all I’m asking, Carrie. Nothing more.”
Chapter Twenty
Thursday morning I informed my colleagues that Dylan would be holding a memorial ceremony for his uncle after the cremation on Sunday. Sally, Angela, and Marion said they would attend with their husbands or partners. When Alec showed up at my office, I found myself in the awkward position of having to inform him as well.
“If that’s what Dylan’s decided. I suppose my remains have to be taken care of one way or another,” was his glum reply.
“It won’t hurt,” I said.
“That’s good, but will the cremation get me where I need to go? Or will I still be here, flitting about your library?”
“You know what Evelyn told you. You’ll move on when they find your murderer.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Alec vanished without telling me where he was going. I understood his frustration. If only there were some clues pointing to the person or people who had murdered him. Then he could leave this plane, as Evelyn called it, and leave us in peace.
I looked in on the programs in progress, then made a few calls to potential presenters. I managed to catch one at home and left messages for the other two. Trish arrived just as I received a text from Cynthia Post, the woman scheduled to do a food presentation called Pumpkin Pleasures the first week in October. Cynthia’s original plan was to demonstrate how to make pumpkin soup, roasted pumpkin as a vegetable, and pumpkin bread. We always asked presenters to send us the recipes at least a week in advance so we had time to print out copies for the patrons attending the class.
Cynthia wanted to change the soup to pumpkin butter. I told her I didn’t think that was a good idea. After some hemming and hawing, she agreed to stick to our original plan and said she’d send me the recipes by Monday.
At noon, Angela and I walked over to the Cozy Corner Café for lunch. I brought her up to date on what Alec said he remembered—putting down a chunk of money to buy the building next to the library, then changing his mind. Angela asked a few questions but I could tell her mind was elsewhere. She and Steve were going over to the Pet Warehouse after work so he could see the dog she liked so much.
I wanted to talk to her about the decision I had to make regarding the Seabrook Preserve, but felt it was something I ought to only discuss with the other members of the council. The upcoming meeting was making me nervous.
I’d been back in my office all of fifteen minutes when someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” I called and was surprised when Sean Powell walked through the doorway.
“Hello,” I said.
“Am I disturbing you?”
“Not at all.” I turned to Trish. “Trish Templeton, my assistant. Sean Powell. But then you know each other.”
Trish laughed as she got to her feet. “Sean and I go way back.”
“Right. I remember the day she was born.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Trish said and closed the door behind her.
“So, what brings you here?” I asked, gesturing to the seat Trish had just vacated.
Sean sank heavily into the chair and brought out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “I wanted to let you know we heard back from the company that’s selling us the seats for the auditorium. They gave us the go-ahead to change our order to the cheaper seats. They have plenty in stock so the delay shouldn’t be more than a week. It will be built exactly as you wanted—stadium seating with the number of seats as requested, though they won’t be quite as comfy.”
“Thanks, Sean. I appreciate your coming in to tell me.”
He shook his head in disgust. “We can always expect a few changes as we progress, but that area wasn’t planned right. Now we have to make the room next to the auditorium two feet narrower. Sally wasn’t thrilled, but she gave the okay.”
I remembered his argument with Rafe the other day. “Are things moving along now?”
“Yeah. We’re only a few days behind schedule, and the renovations look really great, if I do say so myself.” He added glumly, “Now that we’ve gotten past some unforeseen issues.”
“Like discovering a body in the basement,” I said.
“Exactly. I don’t know how the engineer missed it. Or Buzz. It was his job to look over the entire building before we started ripping out interior walls.”
Buzz? How interesting. “And the body turned out to be Dylan’s uncle,” I said. “Dylan still has no idea what his uncle was doing here at the time of his murder since he never called anyone in the family.” That wasn’t quite true, but I was curious to see how Sean reacted since he was one of the men Alec might have recognized.
Sean shrugged. “And we may never find out, either. Or how he ended up where he did.”
“I know. Dylan’s holding a small memorial service for his uncle on Sunday shortly after the cremation. We were wondering if you’d care to attend.”
“I would very much like to attend,” Sean said, surprising me. “The poor man deserves a respectful send-off after lying there all those years.”
“It’s just a few blocks from here.” I wrote down the address.
“Pat and I will be there. We knew Dylan’s parents quite well.” Sean stood to leave.
“There is something I’d like to ask you, but I wonder if I’m treading where I ought not to,” I said.
“I’ll answer if I can.”
“It’s about tonight’s meeting.”
Sean rolled his eyes. “Right. Your first council vote. A big one, too. Expect fireworks. The meeting could go on till midnight.”
“I know we’re supposed to vote for the good of the community, but some people seem to have a personal agenda.”
“Care to share what you mean exactly?”
Sean’s tone had stopped just short of hostile, but my need for his advice was too pressing to ignore. “Last night Babette called practically urging me to go along with the park option. She said you were in on it, and with me on board that made it a sure thing.”
Sean chuckled. “She did, did she?”
“What’s so funny?”
“She asked me the same thing a few days ago, implying you were in favor of the park project. Actually, I was leaning toward voting for the park, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I like the preserve. I happened to go there the other day and it occurred to me I’d hate to see those woods torn down to be replaced by a park or condos.”
“Me, too!” I agreed. “I mean, I’m leaning in that direction.”
“There’s no harm in trying to convince other council members to see things your way. We’ll have plenty of that tonight. The park was Babette’s idea.”
