Cross Roads (23 page)

“Harry Wong,” Bert said.

“He's our resident terrorist,” Jack said.

Harry stared at the two men until they looked away.

“Well,” Mr. Kelly Senior said, “Everyone in town came to pay his or her respects. Funerals and wakes bring out the best in people. There was an overabundance of flowers, as I recall, but with no name attached to the cards at either funeral. That's the only reason I remember it. People sign their names to gifts of flowers. Both Madeline and Gerald are buried in St. Albans Cemetery. It's two miles down the road, right off our main street.”

“Any family members attend?” Bert asked.

“As I recall, there was no family, just friends and neighbors. The Graversons had a son, but no one knew where he was to notify him. We tried. We held the bodies an extra week, just in case we were able to locate him. I'm sorry to say we never did.”

“Who paid for the funeral?”

The elder Kelly held up his hand. “Now, that was very strange. A bank draft came in for a large amount of money. It paid for the cemetery plots, top-of-the-line Springfield caskets, the minister, our fee, of course, and the refreshments that were served afterward at our home. Actually, I think there is still fourteen hundred dollars in an escrow account we set up. I'm sure the interest has accumulated nicely. We would be more than happy to turn it over to the son if you can locate him for us.”

“We don't know where he is, either,” Jack said.

“Their home, what happened to it?” Ted asked.

“Nothing, as far as I know. It's still standing. I believe the neighbors boarded up the windows and doors. I do know their cars are still in the garage. I'm sorry, but I don't remember who told me that.”

“That's okay,” Bert said. “Who pays the taxes on the property?”

“I really don't know for certain. You could ask at the town hall. I would assume they were paid ahead, possibly by the son, or else there was money in an account. This is a small, friendly town, gentlemen. I'm sure if there wasn't enough money, the townspeople would have chipped in. We're not talking a huge amount of money for property taxes—less than two hundred dollars a year. Ask for Ellie at the bank. There are no secrets in this town. There will be records.”

“Did the Graversons own any other property anywhere?”

The elder Kelly slapped playfully at his forehead. “How could I have forgotten that? It was all this little town talked about when Madeline inherited a house in Florida. The land of sunshine and oranges. They went there once a year, and they even posted a bulletin at the church saying that anyone wanting to go to Florida could stay there for a vacation. I don't think anyone ever took them up on the offer, but it just goes to show how kind the Graversons were.”

“What is all this about?” the younger Kelly asked.

“We think they were witnesses to something that happened in Florida a long time ago. As I said, we're working a cold case. It's probably not going to go anywhere, but we have to check every possibility. I don't suppose you have an address for the property?” Bert said.

“Shouldn't you have that if, as you say, something happened there? I certainly don't know it. Maybe Pastor Homes has it, I really can't say.”

“No problem, it's in our files someplace.”

“Good record keeping is as good as a good memory. It's a mark of a successful businessman, but then, the government is not known for good record keeping, considering the mess the world is in today,” the senior Kelly said.

“Dad! These men are from the government.” What he didn't say was,
Shit, now we're going to be audited
. The old man tossed his mane of white hair and turned to leave. He didn't offer to shake hands.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Kelly,” Bert said.

“I hope we were some help. Dad gets cranky at this time of day for some reason. I'm sorry if you think he was rude.”

“Not a problem. Thank you for talking with us, and, yes, you were helpful,” Bert said as he followed Marshall Kelly to the door. They all heard the snick of the lock falling into place.

Back in the car, everyone started to talk at once. Jack let loose with an earsplitting whistle. “We can bat this around later; next stop, Emma Doty's house. Bert, turn on that GPS, and let's get this show on the road. Jesus, I'm never going to get the smell of that place out of my nose!”

A ripe discussion followed, with an agreement that when they died, no one wanted flowers at their wake.

I
t was going on six thirty when the GPS announced they had reached their destination. It was a small house, more like a cottage of possibly a thousand square feet. It was painted white and looked like it was in good repair. Their were four rocking chairs and pots of colorful flowers arranged neatly on the old-fashioned front porch. Two lush, green ferns hung from the rafters. A coiled hose was nestled in a rack of sorts behind one of the rockers. Something that looked suspiciously like a keg was sitting next to a huge clay pot of bright red geraniums. Jack led the way to the front door, which was painted a dark hunter green. The main door was open behind the screen door, which didn't have even one hole in it. The screen was stretched taut and looked new. Jack pressed the doorbell. It rang, one loud bong that didn't interfere with the sounds coming from the back end of the house, probably a television. “Come in, come in!”

“Small-town people are hospitable,” Espinosa said.

They heard the sound before Emma Doty appeared around a corner in a motorized wheelchair. She didn't miss a beat when she said, “Hello, what can I do for you?”

“I guess it never occurred to her we might be Jack the Ripper's apprentices,” Jack mumbled under his breath.

“Jack the Ripper doesn't know where Prairie City, Idaho, is,” Bert mumbled back. He had his badge in his hand and held it out.

“No need for that, young man. Miss Spritzer said you would be stopping by. She called earlier this afternoon. Now let me see if I can identify you from what she told me about all of you. She said you five were the finest human beings to ever walk the earth. People only say that about their friends. I'm Emma Doty. You must be Jack, and you're Bert. You, young man, are Joseph, and the man next to you is Ted. So this handsome man is Harry. Not that you aren't all handsome, mind you, but Harry stands out for some reason.” Harry blushed.

“Maggie said I should use her given name. I don't want you to think I'm being forward. She asked me to talk to my friends to see if any of us could remember something that we might not think is important but you would. Please, come in and sit down. Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“We're fine, ma'am. Did you come up with anything?”

“No, I'm sorry to say. Perhaps if you ask me questions, specific questions, it might help to jog my memory. My friends are standing by in case I have to call them to confirm something.”

“Mainly what we need to know is where the Florida property the Graversons inherited is located. We stopped at the funeral home on our way here, and Mr. Kelly Senior told us what he could remember. He said the house is boarded up, someone has paid the taxes, the son Andy didn't attend either parent's funeral, but there was an abundance of flowers with no name on them, and a bank draft arrived that paid for all the funeral expenses,” Bert said.

“I wasn't living here then. Neither were my friends. The Graverson house is boarded up. It's just two streets over. It's not like it's a blight on the neighborhood. The neighbors maintain the lawn and flower beds and rake leaves in the fall and shovel the snow in the winter. Prairie City is a lovely little town of people who care for one another.”

“Is there anyone in town who might know where the property in Florida is? Mr. Kelly mentioned a notice the Graversons posted at the church offering their property for free to anyone wanting to vacation in Florida. He also said someone named Ellie at the bank might be of some help. Do you know Ellie?”

“Son, I know everyone in Prairie City. Ellie belongs to my quilting group, and she's the one who brought me all those lovely plants on my front porch. Pastor Homes is relatively new to our church. He's only been here about twenty years, give or take a few. I doubt he would know about that particular posting, but Bertha might remember. If she's having a good day, that is. Would you like me to call them, or would you rather visit with them? Bertha, now, she's getting up there in years, and her memory isn't as sharp as it used to be.”

“Records?” Jack said lamely.

“Son, I doubt there is a record of a posting about a vacation home, but what do I know? Let me call first. No sense you traipsing all over the place if a phone call will work. Just you all relax, and I'll make my calls.”

Minutes later, Emma Doty smiled. “Ellie is on her way; it will only take her ten minutes. She's going to pick up Bertha on the way. We'll sit on the porch and drink beer after you leave. That's a perk for me. I don't get too many visitors, so I thank you for that. Ellie's son makes his own beer—some new thing he's into. It's quite good for home brew.”

Whoa,
Jack thought.

Emma was as good as her word; exactly ten minutes later, they all turned when a cheery “Yoo-hoo” came from the door. A buxom redhead and an aproned little lady with snow-white hair came into the room. Introductions were made and everyone sat back down, Ted and Espinosa giving up their chairs to the ladies.

Ellie took the floor, and within minutes the little group knew the exact amount of money in the Graversons' account. “It's still open; it was never put to bed. We pay the taxes from the bank and for the fuel in winter, that kind of thing. We keep impeccable records in case Andrew Graverson ever comes back and wants an accounting. It probably isn't legal, but we do it this way anyway.”

It was Bertha's turn next. She had a squeaky voice and played with a knotted hanky as she peered at the men watching her. “Of course I remember the posting. It was the only one we ever had. Pastor Blandenship and I used to talk about it all the time, wondering if anyone would take the Graversons up on their kind offer. No one ever did.”

Jack leaned forward. “Do you remember where in Florida the property is, Bertha?”

“Right by the water. Madeline said they had a dock but no boat. That's just plain foolish to have a dock and no boat. They said they were never going to buy a boat, because neither Madeline nor Gerald could swim.”

“Do you know the name of the town?” Jack asked again.

“Florida. How many towns are there? Maybe if you mention a few I might remember.”

Jack sucked in his breath. “Fort Lauderdale, Miami, Pompano Beach, Lantana, Lighthouse Point, Palm Beach.”

Bertha shook her head. “It could be any of those. I do remember the name of the street, though,” she said proudly.

Hot damn!
“And that would be…” Jack said.

“Dolphin Drive. I only remember it because Pastor Blandenship and I talked about living on a street like that and wondered if there were dolphins in the water. Wait, now, let me think. There was another street that was either next to it or close to it that…it also had a happy name. Oh, let me think. You know, Emma, a glass of beer right now might help me think a little better.”

“The beer's for later, Bertha, when we visit on the porch. If you don't come up with a name, you're going home without any,” Emma snapped.

“Flipper Way! After that dolphin named Flipper. Now can I have that beer!”

“Bertha, you can have the whole damn keg!” Emma said happily. “Does that work for you, gentlemen?”

“It does, Emma, and thank you, and thank you, ladies.”

The three women beamed as everyone said their good-byes.

“You think they're gonna get schnockered?” Bert asked when they were in the car and headed around the corner for a look-see at the Graversons' house so that Espinosa could take pictures.

“Are you kidding! Did you see the size of that keg on the front porch?” Jack grinned.

“Okay, Ted, where is it?” Jack asked twenty minutes later.

Ted stopped texting and yelped in delight. “Maggie says it's between Pompano Beach and Fort Lauderdale, and it is right on the Intercoastal. Every homeowner on both streets has a dock. She did a Google Earth check. She wants us to go to the airport and head for Florida. We are to wait for further orders. She's on the phone now with the pilot. Annie okayed it.”

Bert was driving this time, and Jack was keying in the location for the airport in Boise. “I'm feeling pretty good, boys. We came through for the girls. See, they really do need us. And all it took was a keg of homemade brew we didn't even have to pay for.”

“Dolphin Drive has seven houses on it, and it's a cul-de-sac. Flipper Way runs parallel, and there are nine houses on it. Maggie's on it, but it is late back home, so she's got her snitch working it. By the time we get to the airport, she should have some info for us. She did say we are not to make a move until the girls okay it. If Jellicoe really is holed up there for whatever reason, we can't tip him off,” Ted said.

“Now, gentlemen, would be a good time to have a sing-along. How about if I start off, and the rest of you join in?” Harry's arm snaked out, and before Jack could blink, he was sound asleep.

 

Maggie wasn't the least bit surprised to see Myra's farmhouse lit from top to bottom even though it was two o'clock in the morning. She pressed in the security code, waited for the gates to open, then drove Ted's battered Mustang to a parking space on a wide concrete apron. The screen door from the kitchen opened, and three huge dogs rushed at her. “Hi, guys. Yep, that's your mortal enemy you smell on me, but that's okay.” She took the time to fondle each dog behind the ears before they escorted her, quite regally, she thought, to the kitchen door, where everyone was waiting for her.

“Girls, you are going to shower me with undying love! I got it. Well, the guys got it, I just ran with it! You got anything to eat?”

Food appeared like magic on the kitchen table—ham, turkey, roast beef, homemade bread, lettuce, tomatoes, and a giant bowl of cut-up fruit that the girls hastened to provide for the bearer of what they knew was going to be invaluable information. They did their best to contain their excitement while Maggie scarfed down the food in front of her. When she decided she couldn't eat another bite and had seriously deleted today's lunch, she leaned back and started to talk. The Sisters sat by, their jaws slack as Maggie rattled on and on and on.

“You got all this information in the last few hours, while Charles has been digging and digging and can't come up with anything?” Nikki asked, her voice full of awe.

Maggie beamed with pleasure. “You know what they say, it's not what you know, it's
who
you know. Throw in a big dose of a reporter's gut instinct, and we're rocking, girls!”

“I'm almost afraid to ask how you got Jellicoe's bank information,” Kathryn chortled gleefully.

“Then don't ask. The less you know, the better off you are. The man is
wealthy
!”

Annie was miffed, but just for a few moments. “There is so much need in the world today. I'm sure when we deal with Henry, call me Hank, Jellicoe, he won't mind if we relieve him of such a burden. So much need,” she prattled on. The girls laughed. Nikki flexed her fingers, then laughed the loudest. It was always Nikki who did the money wire transfers on a mission.

“So, let's go over it again to make sure we all understand,” Myra said. “All the houses on Dolphin Drive are rented by snowbirds. Allegedly. As are the houses on Flipper Way. Allegedly. According to the records, the houses are sold through one corporation to another, but they all come back to one main holding company. All the houses are empty save one. All are maintained, all are furnished, all taxes, utilities, and other such bills are paid on an individual basis. There are no neighbors to complain because there are no neighbors. We assume the lighting is on timers, which makes sense. We do not know this for sure, but your source thinks the house at 123 Dolphin Drive is always occupied by at least one person. Your source calculated the water bill, and somehow he was able to figure out that water usage, at times, indicates three persons. Showers and doing laundry, I assume. The water bills on the other empty houses can be explained away by irrigation systems. Just in case some nosy person decided to do a little checking.”

“The man has a brain,” Alexis said sourly, “but I am liking what I'm hearing. Do you know how long ago he bought up the other properties?”

“The original property, 123 Dolphin Drive, was inherited by the Graversons in 1959. A Florida room was added in 1968 and the open-air carport converted into a regular two-car garage. The building permit says the walls were Sheetrocked and a wood floor was laid down. No one puts a wood floor in a garage. Tongue and groove, no less. That was 1979. In 1980, the house was sold to a corporation called Andover & Sons. It sold four more times in the next seven years. The tax rolls say that John and Gertrude Solomon are the current owners. I sense a streak of nepotism here. Do you see the JGS? Jellicoe Global Securities, which was what Global Securities was named when John and Gertrude bought the house. John and Gertrude also own two houses at 125 and 121 Dolphin Drive. In other words, the houses on either side of him. For privacy, I assume. All but 123 are rental properties that are never rented. Ditto for Flipper Way,” Maggie said.

A disgruntled Charles spoke up. “What about an aerial video of the Intercoastal and the two streets. Just one flyby, no return, in case Hank is really staying there, which I doubt.”

Myra pounced. “Why on earth would you say that, Charles? This all makes so much sense it's mind-boggling.”

“I say it because this is not how Hank Jellicoe operates. Think about it for a minute. Think of the details, the outlay of cash, the maintenance, the cover-up. Hank was, is, all over the globe during those years. Who took care of all the details? Particularly the last eighteen months. I'm not saying it isn't possible, but I think it's a stretch even to think along those lines. Another thing, what is Hank's motive for such…I don't even know what word to use.”

“Well, I for one don't think it's a stretch of any kind. Now, if anyone is interested, I think I can tell you who took care of all those pesky details and made his plan work,” Annie said smugly.