Dressed Up 4 Murder, page 17
“Me, too. Oh, before I forget, does your computer have a password?”
“Yes. My name. Elaine Meschow.”
I forced my mouth closed and didn’t say a word. Her name. Her password was her name. Same thing with my mother. What was it with these people? They might as well put a sign on their computers that reads: “Open for Business.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I stepped back into the living room just as the forensic team arrived. Two men who looked as if they were in high school. Ranston didn’t bother to introduce them by name, only by title—forensic examiners. He spoke with them briefly, then motioned for Deputy Lopez to head out the door with him.
“I’m going to have another word with Mrs. Meschow before we take off,” Marshall said to Ranston. “I’ll give your office a call in the morning.”
“If this break-in turns out to be a result of that dog costume contest,” Ranston grumbled, “I’ll pull what little hair I have right out of my head!”
“What contest?” Deputy Lopez asked.
“I’ll tell you on the way back to the station.”
The two of them closed the door behind them and I laughed. “I’d better tell Elaine the forensic team is in her house taking pictures of the crime scene.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll usher them into the kitchen and you can play James Bond with her computer. Or should I say Agent 99 in keeping with gender?”
“Very funny. You’ve been watching too many Get Smart reruns.”
Once the tech guys had moved to the kitchen and Marshall blocked the arched doorway that led to the living room, I rushed into the small study and immediately went to the office files Elaine told me about. Either Elaine had been on the computer and didn’t shut it down or someone else had gotten on. Yep, so much for password protection.
The files, at least by title, looked fairly innocuous. Golf tips for sand traps. Golf tips for wet surfaces. I glossed over those. There were at least six or seven files marked “SN Proposals,” which I assumed were Spellbound Naturals, a marketing plan dated November 18, 2014, and a file marked “Correspondence.” I downloaded all of them. I also spied three files marked “Taxes” and was about to copy those when I heard Marshall’s voice. He wasn’t speaking to me directly, but the loudness and tone of his voice to the forensic techs was a dead giveaway for me to hurry up.
“There’s an outside door by the kitchen. You shouldn’t miss that.”
The team had finished dusting for prints in the kitchen and walked toward the study. My ankles began to shake, a quirk that seemed to defy how ordinary people reacted to stress. I tried not to think about it and focused instead on the files. I made sure to copy each one of them before I clicked the little green icon that told me it was safe to remove the thumb drive. I had barely clasped the small thumb drive in my hand and removed the plastic gloves when the two guys entered the study.
I spun around in the chair and pointed to the papers on the floor and all over the desk. “Uh, you might want to start in here. This is the only place where the intruder made a mess. The computer was on when we arrived. Cute background screen, huh?”
The men didn’t say a word. Marshall motioned for me to join him in the living room and I immediately left the study.
“All’s well that ends well,” I whispered.
“Yeah, Shakespeare thought so, too. We’d better let Elaine know we’re leaving.”
“Think she’ll be okay with those two in here?”
“Geez, I hope so. If we can’t trust the good guys, who can we trust? Besides, you said her daughter and son-in-law were on their way, right?”
“Uh-huh, but that could take a while.”
“I think she’ll be fine.” Marshall pulled out his iPhone and sighed. “It’s nine forty-two already. Good thing we’re off work tomorrow. Oh, who the heck am I kidding? We may be off work but not off this case.”
“Tell me about it. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d boot up the computer at home and see what little gems are on the flash drive.”
“Tired my you-know-what. Your imagination is ten steps ahead of you. Promise me you’ll wait until tomorrow.”
“Um, well . . .”
“I know you. That little thumb drive you’re carrying is like a Christmas present staring at you from under the tree.”
“Or eight little Hanukkah ones that beg to be opened at once.”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll make us some coffee when we get home and we can have a sneak peek.”
I reached out my arm, tousled his hair, and smiled. “Admit it. You’re chomping at the bit, too. Come on. We’d better say good night to Elaine.”
The little Yorkie was snoring quietly when we entered the bedroom. Cute little muffled noises, unlike Streetman, who sounded like a furnace in dire need of repair.
“We’re taking off now, Mrs. Meschow,” Marshall said. “You’ve got our phone number and Deputy Ranston’s if you need anything. The forensic team shouldn’t be that much longer. If these files provide us with information that can explain the break-in or the poisoning, we’ll let you know right away. In either case, we’ll touch base with you the beginning of the week. Try to enjoy the Thanksgiving weekend if you can.”
She wiped her eyes with a crumpled tissue and nodded. “Bethany will insist I spend the night with them, but I have no intention of driving all the way back to Chandler or, worse yet, having them do it. If she’s that worried, she and Tucker can sleep in the guest room. In fact, I’ll insist on it.”
“Good idea,” I said. “We’ll let ourselves out. Make sure the door’s locked when the forensic examiners leave. We’ll let them know we’re on our way out.”
I glanced back at the house from the driveway and made sure the thumb drive was still in my pocket. “Think those files will give us our answer tonight? It’s the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else was disturbed.”
Marshall swung his arm around my shoulder as we walked to the car. “Even if the answer is on those files, I’m not so sure you and I will be able to figure out what it is.”
“Like if they’re encrypted or something?”
“I wasn’t thinking encrypted as much as baffling. You know, entries that make sense to the person who’s creating the file, but not to anyone else.”
“Hmm, I know what you’re saying.”
Two hours later we were splashing cold water on our faces and rummaging through the kitchen cabinets for more K-cups.
Marshall leaned over my shoulder as I closed one of the files. “Sorry, hon. I forgot to pick up another box of dark roast. We do have some Lemon Zinger tea, but the only thing that stuff will keep going is our kidneys.”
“I’m pretty wired. I can handle another hour or so before I crash. What about you?”
“Same here. The good news is we’ve been through the Spellbound Naturals proposals and the only thing of consequence was the one about shifting to fish nutrients by gradually introducing reconstituted carp to the formula. And according to the records, that didn’t happen until Bethany and Tucker took over.”
I groaned. “Old news. Elaine already told us that. Nothing unusual about their marketing plan, either. The company was just starting to use the internet for paid advertising and word of mouth from social media.”
“Too bad the files marked ‘Taxes’ were the personal taxes for Elaine and her husband and not his company’s. They were well-to-do but, by today’s standards, they’d hardly qualify as upper echelon.”
I tapped my teeth and then bit my lower lip. “Maybe that’s the real reason she sold her mega house and moved into a small villa. Okay. So much for those files. Maybe the ones marked ‘Correspondence’ will give us something meatier to go on.”
“Meatier. I can’t believe you said the word ‘meatier.’ It made my stomach growl. Power of suggestion and all that. Anyway, I’m getting hungry. Really hungry. How about I make us a couple of sandwiches, we take a ten-minute break, and then get back to midnight sleuthing?”
“Sounds good.”
It was longer than ten minutes. More like an hour and it was way past midnight. The digital clock on the microwave read 2:34.
“Are you sure you want to continue this tonight?” Marshall asked. “We’re like zombies already.”
“If I get into bed, I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll be lying there wondering what’s on those Excel sheets. We can sleep late tomorrow. Let everyone else go crazy Black Friday shopping. I discovered Amazon Prime, and I’m not saying another word.”
“Give me a second. I’ve got to splash my face again.” Marshall and I opened the first of four files marked “Correspondence.” It was a letter from Cornell University’s College of Veterinary Medicine regarding a study they had conducted on grain-free dog food. That’s when my head literally hit the keyboard and Marshall insisted we stop.
“It’ll make more sense in the morning. Honest. Give up the ghost and let’s call it a night.”
I didn’t argue. I logged off the computer, made sure the flash drive was safe in the desk drawer, and crept into bed. I didn’t wake up until five after eleven, when I heard the front door slam shut. I sat bolt upright and looked around. Sudden noises had a way of clearing up brain fog in a matter of seconds.
“Is that you?” I shouted, reaching for a T-shirt.
“Depends on who you were expecting. But if I were you, I’d go for the guy who brought coffee and donuts.”
The tightness in my muscles seemed to let go, and I slipped on my jeans. “Be there in a second.” I raced to brush my teeth and wash up.
“I missed the early-morning madhouse at Dunkin’ Donuts. They had a lineup of customers at five a.m. Heck, if we kept at it last night, we could’ve been one of them. Of course, I’d be useless by now, but—”
“Useless is the last thing you are.” I threw my arms around Marshall’s neck and planted a warm, slow kiss on his lips.
“I’m going to make these coffee runs more often. Look, I know you want to get right to it, but I really need to stretch out and let my body know I don’t intend to torture it humped over a computer for hours.”
“Me, too. We’ve got all day. All weekend, really. Even if it’s cold outside, the water temperature in the pool is always between eighty-six and eighty-seven. How about if I grab a quick swim after coffee and you work out at the fitness center? We can pick up on the files in the afternoon. And we don’t even need to go out for lunch or make something. My mother sent us home with enough stuff to ensure we don’t wither away.”
“Sold!”
One swim, one workout, and two large turkey and cranberry sandwiches later, we were back at it. There were four correspondence files and the first three were from veterinary schools about canine dietary needs and recent research. Marshall pulled his chair closer to mine, and I turned the monitor slightly so he didn’t have to lean in order to read the screen.
“This is getting us nowhere,” I moaned. “Elaine already told me her husband did scads of research on healthier products for dogs. That’s why the food sources include venison, lamb, duck, and, ugh, rabbit.”
“Yep. All before the fish products shoved them out of the limelight. I’m still not sure if it was Tucker’s idea or Bethany’s.”
“She didn’t say.”
I opened the last of the correspondence files. Unlike the others, this one consisted of one letter, and it was marked “Draft.”
Marshall grabbed my wrist and shook it. “Holy Cow! Am I reading that right? I am, aren’t I? Looks like we hit pay dirt, hon.”
I swallowed what little moisture was in my mouth and leaned closer to the screen.
One of these days I’ll really need bifocals, but not today.
The letter was addressed to Tucker Cabot, and it was a job offer dated September 16, 2005. The start date was left blank, along with the entry-level salary. A single sentence caught my eye as well as Marshall’s. It read: “The glowing recommendation you received from the CEO at Coldwater Seafood leaves little doubt in my mind you would indeed be our candidate of choice for the product developer position at Spellbound Naturals.” It went on to say his degree from Wharton, coupled with his business acumen, would seem a perfect fit.
I placed both hands on my desk and shoved my chair back. “My God. Tucker worked for Coldwater Seafood long before he took over the Meschows’ company. He must’ve known Cameron Tully, right? Maybe they were friends. And when did Tucker marry Bethany? Did he know her before or after he was hired by her father? Oh my gosh. Is it possible Bethany knew Cameron?”
“Slow down. Slow down. One thing at a time or we’ll be spinning webs all day. The only thing I know for certain, according to Ranston and Bowman’s research, is that Cameron Tully’s been with Coldwater Seafood for well over two decades.”
“Then it really is possible. A Bethany and Cameron connection with Tucker in the middle. I don’t know how you can be so calm about this. We may have stumbled on Cameron’s killer.”
“‘Stumble’ is a good word because it may also imply ‘fall on our faces.’ Listen, hon, I’m more than overjoyed with this discovery. It gives us the first viable connection to Cameron and Elaine, other than the toxin they both ingested. However, that’s all it gives us right now. We need to tackle this carefully and systematically.”
He was right. I’d been around my mother, the book club ladies, and my aunt Ina for so long, I’d forgotten how to do anything systematically other than the accounting and payroll for Williams Investigations.
“Okay. Where do you want to start?”
“Lucky for us, I kept my rough notes on a small pad. Hold on; I’ll get them.”
I tapped on the desk as I read Sanford Meschow’s letter again. Then I stood up, stretched, and moved to the couch. No need to be hunched over the computer.
Marshall came back from the kitchen, waved the pad in the air, and plopped down next to me. “Who says longhand is out of style?”
I didn’t say a word as he flipped through the pages.
A few “hmms,” “huhs,” and “ah-hahs” later, he put the pad down and grinned. “Based on the conversation I had with Tucker, he’s been with Spellbound Naturals for over fifteen years.”
“And Elaine told me Bethany and Tucker had been married for twelve. What about those three years in-between? If Tucker was friends with Cameron, it’s conceivable Bethany knew him, too. I wonder why neither of them mentioned that juicy tidbit to you or the sheriff’s investigators.”
“Only one way to find out. And it’ll have to wait until Monday. When their plant opens again and I can pay them a visit.”
“Um, not necessarily. I’m probably going to regret this, but what if I got my mother to call Elaine and arrange for a playdate with Streetman and Prince?”
“A what? A playdate? Isn’t that something people arrange for their toddlers?”
“In Sun City West, the dogs are their toddlers.”
“You want to dial the number or should I?”
Chapter 19
My mother picked up on the second ring. “Why do I have to hear everything from Herb first? I could barely get my packages in the house when he came charging up the driveway. He found out someone broke into Elaine’s house and now the daughter’s staying with her for a few days. What’s going on? Is Elaine on someone’s hit list? Why can’t all of you solve this case?”
“We’re working on it, believe me. That’s why I called. We need your help.”
The minute I said the word “help,” everything changed. My mother was ready to call out the nearest militia if it meant getting any closer to finding out who dumped a body behind her house and tried to murder a neighbor of hers. “Just tell me what you need.”
I couldn’t go into all the details, but when I explained it was imperative I speak privately with Bethany, my mother had the same idea I did. The dog park. Heaven help me. I’ve inherited the Plunkett genes and there’s no turning back.
“Don’t worry. I’ll give Elaine a call and get back to you. Tomorrow’s Saturday. The book club ladies are eating brunch at Bagels ’N More. You can meet us there and then pick up Streetman. How does that sound?”
Like sheer torture. “Um, fine with me. Except . . . well, how do you know Bethany will meet me at the dog park?”
“Simple. I’ll tell Elaine you’re following up on the investigation and need to speak privately with her daughter. And what better place than the dog park? Everyone’s too busy with their own pets to worry about you and yours.”
“You sure it’ll work?”
“I’m sure. Oh, and before I forget, if you get there and see a red and white French Bulldog, it’s probably Ruby. Keep Streetman away from her.”
“Oh no. I don’t want to deal with a dogfight.”
“A fight? He doesn’t want to fight with her. He wants to romance her. Ever since the first pet parade, he’s been crazy about Bulldogs.”
“Yeesh.”
Sure enough, my mother called me back. “Noon. Bethany will meet you at noon. It’ll work out perfectly. Meet us at ten thirty for brunch. You know, Marshall’s always welcome to join us.”
I couldn’t use the excuse about him having to work that morning, so I invented a new one. The first thing that came into my mind after watching a TV commercial. “He has to get the car tires rotated.”
Technically, I wasn’t telling a fib. He did have to get his car tires rotated. Only it wasn’t going to be tomorrow. Or any day soon.
* * *
It looked as if the entire Booked 4 Murder book club had commandeered the large table in the middle of Bagels ’N More. With a green ostrich hat perched above those braids of hers, my aunt Ina reminded me of an early-twentieth-century fan dancer. Lucinda looked as if the nearest hurricane had blown her in, and Cecilia was still wearing black. With the exception of Shirley, who was sporting a beige and black ensemble, everyone else, including my mother, was decked out in holiday garb. Mainly sweatshirts with embroidered Santas, reindeer, or holiday ornaments. I took a seat next to Shirley in time for the waitress to fill my coffee cup. It sounded as if ten different conversations were going on at once, but everything came to an abrupt halt as soon as my mother said the word “snow.”
