Cantina Valley (A Ben Adler Mystery Book 1) (29 page)

“You need help with your heifer?” Ben asked.

“No.
 
I think we have everything we need to know about her.
 
I say we leave her right there and let the critters pick over her.
 
Which reminds me. . .”

When his neighbor let that hang in the air, Ben said, “Of what?”

“You had a gray cat, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when I went by your place this morning to milk the cows and pick the eggs, I found a bunch of fur and not much more.
 
Probably a damn coyote.
 
Those bastards are getting out of hand.”

“That was my mother’s cat,” Ben said.
 
“Truthfully, both of them were.”

“You should get a big dog,” Jim said.
 
“Like my German Sheppard.”

“I’ve got the geese and the ducks.
 
The coyotes don’t mess with them.”

“They could take a duck.”

“Yeah, but the geese scare them away.
 
And they also alert me to anything in my yard.”

“What about mountain lions?
 
I’ve seen tracks.”

Ben had seen them more frequently also.
 
But he was less interested in dealing with natural critters than trying to discover what was happening in his valley.

Thanking Jim Erickson one more time for taking care of his place, Ben got into his car and drove to his house.

30

Ben did a few things around the hobby farm before nightfall, and then settled in for the evening, the rain picking up again, like a giant pissing on a flat rock.
 
He was suddenly thankful for setting up his computer system, since he had gotten a number of emails and instant messages from Maggi.
 
Somehow, the FBI had been able to keep the men from the Compound in the detention facility without bail.
 
Attorney Della Bluesky was livid, which would keep her focused on this case exclusively.

Meanwhile, there was no word on Marlon Telford’s computers.
 
Ben guessed the FBI wouldn’t find anything.
 
Even if Marlon was a pervert, he would have been smart enough to hide his pornography on a hidden storage device.
 
That had bothered Ben also, while he watched the FBI swoop through Marlon’s house like a firestorm, but they had not really done a thorough search of his house.
 
Ben would have gone through every drawer, every nook and cranny, to find any possible storage device, including the one around Marlon’s neck.
 
But the FBI simply came in and grabbed the obvious computers out in the open.
 
Then he remembered the warrant the FBI had handed to Marlon.
 
It was very specific.
 
The judge must have known the FBI was fishing and only allowed the search to include Marlon’s computers.

As Ben went back and forth with Maggi, he noticed the business card he had gotten from that urban cowboy out on the road by Jim Erickson’s place.

‘Do you know anything about Vlad Grankin?’ Ben asked by messenger.

He waited for an answer while he typed in the man’s name on his computer.
 
A large number of articles returned, along with a bunch of photos.
 
Most of these pics were of Grankin at charity functions with local and state business and government functionaries.

‘The Russian businessman?’ Maggi typed back.
 
‘Only rumors.’

Ben read through the articles as he typed back to Maggi.
 
‘Anything would be helpful.’

‘Why do you ask?’

He briefly told her about his meeting with the man earlier in the day out on his road.
 
How Grankin had offered to buy his property.

‘Do you want to sell?’ she asked.

That was a hard one to answer.
 
When his parents died he had retired shortly after and simply took over their hobby farm.
 
He had been ready to move on from the military, and especially from the horrors of war.

‘I don’t know,’ Ben typed.
 
‘Not sure.
 
What are the rumors?’

‘Mostly how he got his money.
 
Some say he’s involved with the Russian Mafia.
 
But I don’t believe it.’

‘Why not?’

‘He sits on our hospital board, so I’ve had some contact with him.
 
We should talk.’

‘How?
 
I have no cell service here.’

‘You could drive down the road.’

‘All right,’ Ben said.
 
‘Ten minutes.’

‘Awesome.’

Ben closed his laptop and put on his rain jacket and his tall rubber boots.
 
He looked at the Russian’s business card before shoving it into his pocket.
 
Then he went out to his truck and started it, waiting for it to warm and the defrost to clear his windshield.

Finally, he drove down his driveway, stopping at his gate.
 
He needed to put in an electric swing gate, he thought.
 
Especially on days like this, with relentless rain.
 
He got out and opened his gate.
 
Then he went back to his truck and drove through, deciding to leave his gate open.

He went past his neighbor’s place looking for cell service.
 
By the time he got out front of Marlon’s place, which sat up on a hill slightly, he finally got a couple of bars.
 
He pulled over and made the call with his disposable cell phone.

Maggi picked up after the first ring.
 
“That was quick,” she said.

“Words you never want coming out of a woman’s mouth.”

She giggled and then said, “Okay.
 
About Vlad Grankin.
 
I don’t know that much.
 
Only what some of the others on the hospital board have said about the man.
 
He made most of his money in real estate during the booms and busts over the past couple of decades.
 
I’ve heard he bought properties, mostly commercial, in the Portland area during various downturns in the market.
 
Then he collects money on those properties until the market rises.
 
He only sells if he needs cash infusion.
 
But from what I’ve heard, that doesn’t happen often.
 
The man is worth billions.”

“That sounds like normal business practices,” Ben assured her.

“True.
 
But the controversy comes from how he got the initial money to purchase properties.
 
He emigrated to America as an adult, after the fall of the Soviet Union.
 
They say his parents had been some kind of high-ranking Soviet officials, though.
 
But they lost everything during the transition.”

“So, of course, people assume he got his money through shady deals or through organized crime.”

“You’ve met the man,” she said.
 
“What do you think?”

“He had a pissed off body guard type with him.”

“Bald head?”

“Yep.
 
You know him?”

“No.
 
I don’t think that man can speak.
 
He comes to our board meetings and sits in a corner with his back to the wall, his eyes like lasers on anyone who disagrees with his boss.
 
He’s a scary dude.”

“Well, the Russian is sending a proposal to me for my property,” Ben said.
 
“I have no idea what he’s up to.
 
If he got my land and Jim’s place, he’d have about a quarter of our valley.
 
Marlon owns the largest chunk.”

“I wonder if he’s been approached?” she asked.

“I’ll find out.”

“Hey, what about the Compound?”

“That’s mostly forested land,” Ben said.
 
“But the hills leading up to it are open and beautiful.”

“How much of the valley does that include with the four properties?”

“About seventy-five percent,” he said.
 
“That would push them right up against Springdale Winery.”

“I thought they were part of the southern Willamette Valley,” she said.

“They are.
 
But some of their best pinot noir vineyards flow into our valley.”

“Maybe Vlad Grankin wants to start a vineyard.”

Ben was thinking the same thing.
 
Ever since the Russian offered to buy Ben’s land and his neighbor’s property.

“That makes some sense,” Ben agreed.
 
He glanced up the hill at Marlon’s place.
 
The lights were on.
 
“I’m down by Marlon’s house now.
 
I’ll go talk with him.”

“Great,” she said.
 
“I tried to call him earlier to update him on the status of his men and his computers.”

“All right.
 
Once I get home, I’ll leave my computer on with the volume up in case you need to contact me by messenger.”

“Thanks.
 
Be careful.”

He shut down the call and stared at the phone for a moment.
 
Then he started his truck and headed up Marlon’s driveway.

Mister Bigfoot sounded excited when Ben called him at the man’s gate.
 
He immediately let Ben through the gate.
 
Moments later and Marlon was waiting at his front door.

As Ben shuffled quickly through the deluge, he noticed the front windows that had been shot out had been replaced.

Inside, Ben took off his coat and his rubber boots before following Marlon into the living room area.
 
A roaring fire lit the room and Ben could feel the warmth as he sat down on a dark brown leather sofa.

“Would you like something to drink?” Marlon said.
 
“I have wine and beer.
 
Well, truth be told, I have a very well-stocked bar.
 
Anything you might want.”

“A beer sounds good.”

“Pilsner, pale ale, IPA, porter or stout?”

“It’s a cold wet night, so let’s go with a stout.”

“Good choice.
 
That’s what I’m drinking.”
 
Marlon went away, but he kept on talking about everything and nothing.
 
Finally, he came back with a pint of stout, which he handed to Ben.
 
Then the host sat in a leather chair that matched the sofa.
 
“What brings you by?
 
Let me guess, you have an update on my case?”

Ben explained what had happened in Portland, leaving out the part about the car chase.
 
No need to concern Marlon, since it could have just been the FBI putting Ben under surveillance.
 
Or maybe Maggi.

“That’s what I thought might happen,” Marlon said.
 
“That’s why I went and bought a new laptop, downloading everything from my cloud server.
 
I needed my critical work.”

“Your truffle field data?”

Marlon shook his head.
 
“That’s inconsequential.
 
Why do you think I’m in that business?”

Ben had no idea.
 
He shrugged and sipped his thick, dark beer.
 
Then he said, “I don’t know.
 
I thought it might have been your field of study at the U of O.”