Death By Derby 8 (Josiah Reynolds Mysteries) (9 page)

Franklin pursed his lips. “And yet he made it to Churchill Downs.”

John shrugged. “I don’t know how Charlie managed it.”

“Then the balloon exploded,” Franklin uttered.

“Yeah, it went down in flames. We could see most of the explosion from where we were. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I prayed and I’m not a praying man. I’m just so glad that no one else was hurt.”

I looked askance at John. “So you think Charlie is dead?”

“Of course. If he was in that gondola, he died instantly, I hope. I’m going to his memorial this Saturday.”

“Which is where?” I asked.

While John was busy giving the details of Charlie’s memorial, Franklin went into the office. By the time he came out, I was already waiting in the Mercedes and was nodding off.

“What did you find out?” I asked.

Franklin gave me that smug look again. “I know the how, but I don’t know the why. That’s your department.”

“How can there be a memorial when there is no Charlie?”

“Apparently Charlie left instructions with his lawyer detailing what to do if and when he passed on. Everyone thinks he’s dead, so the lawyer is having Charlie’s memorial.”

“How convenient,” I muttered. “Are you going to spill on the how?”

“Maybe during lunch, which you are going to buy and then only if you spill why you are so interested. Charlie Hoskins was nothing to you,” stated Franklin, revving up the car.

“That’s easy. I will be happy to buy you lunch and I can tell you why right now. It’s because Minor Reasor is on this case.”

“And who is Minor Reasor?”

“Asa’s ex-husband!”

“Get out!” exclaimed Franklin, slapping me on the arm. “This is getting better and better. You are going to tell me everything, and I mean everything, Josiah.”

I didn’t resist. I was tired of secrets. I was tired of tiptoeing over Asa’s past. For some reason Asa was staying in town.

Was it to help Kelly?

Was it to help Shaneika?

Was it to exact revenge on Minor?

Was it to start up with Minor again?

For once I wanted Asa to leave town. I feared whatever she was up to was going to blow up in all our faces.

And what about Goetz? What was he doing talking to Minor–an ATF agent? What connection did those two have? They talked as if they were old acquaintances.

I needed to talk to someone who wasn’t involved, who could help me see through all the smokescreens. I was too rattled by Minor being in town to think straight. Franklin had a keen mind. If anybody could untangle this massive web, he might be the one.

W
e stopped to grab something to eat. As soon as Franklin picked up his turkey sandwich, he gushed, “I want to hear all of the misery. Don’t leave anything out.”

“Don’t gloat so, Franklin. It’s unseemly.”

“Spill it all, or my lips are sealed about what I’ve learned.”

“You know that you’re a pain.”

“Is that the pot calling the kettle black? Let’s not squabble.” Franklin reached over and pinched my arm. “Give!”

“Geez, what a little monster.” I rubbed my arm. “Let me get my thoughts straight.”

Franklin twisted his mouth in agitation. “Come on. You’re stalling.”

“I have to start at the beginning. The very beginning of my downfall, and Asa’s too.”

“I’m listening,” cooed Franklin gleefully.

“For years, Brannon and I flew high. Our careers were going in the right direction–up. Brannon was making lots of money with his architectural firm and together we bought some land and developed it. That’s where we made our big money.

“Along the way, Brannon refurbished Lady Elsmere’s house and through her, we knew everyone in town. We were invited to all the best parties, and I was on all the important boards in town. We were happy, or so I thought.

“I think things started slipping when Asa left home right after high school. She didn’t say goodbye to Kelly and I think that bit of selfishness created a crack that got bigger and bigger as time went on until it was a chasm that we all fell into.”

“You blame Asa?”

“No, I don’t blame her, but I think one action creates a reaction, which creates another reaction until it snowballs.” I shook my head, brandishing a potato chip. “Or maybe each person is allotted only a specific time for happiness and when it’s up, it’s up.”

“So what happened?” asked Franklin before biting into his sandwich.

“We didn’t hear from Asa all summer. I was worried sick. Then we got a call from her that she was in college and to send tuition money, which we did. After that, contact was sporadic. She never came home for the summers, although she would send her transcripts. Asa’s marks were very high, so she wasn’t fooling around at school, but then other cracks started to appear.”

Franklin leaned forward. “Yes?”

“You are so ghoulish, delighting in my ruin. Really, Franklin, have you no compassion?”

“Compassion is overrated. Get on with the story.”

“I was next in line for the job of Dean over the Art Department when he retired. One afternoon he called me into his office, and said that due to extenuating circumstances, the job was going to be offered to another colleague.

“You can imagine I was stunned. After all, I had all the credentials and seniority in the department to be in line for his job.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. I had no idea why and the Dean wouldn’t enlighten me. I went back to my office, had a good cry, and then went about my duties. I wasn’t the first person to be passed over for a job, and I wouldn’t be the last, but it really bothered me.” I sat in silence, looking out the window, remembering.

“And?”

“I started hearing whispering and giggling in the hallways for weeks, and more than once I distinctly heard Brannon’s name. I began to put the pieces together. Since Asa’s abrupt departure, Brannon seemed discontented and was often absent from home for long periods of time.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“At first. But he would get very angry, and we would end up in a huge fight.”

“No defense like a good offense.”

“Precisely, but I got sidelined. By that time, Asa had graduated and was working for the Secret Service. I got a call from her one night that she was going to blow the whistle to the Washington Post about some serious irregularities within her department.”

“This is where I have some common knowledge.”

“So does everyone. But it wasn’t supposed to be like that. Her identity was supposed to be kept a secret, but someone leaked Asa’s name as the informer.”

“That’s how I knew who Asa was. Her face was splashed everywhere and she even made the cover of
People
.”

I continued, “Asa uncovered corruption within the Secret Service. She discovered that agents were having prostitutes in their hotel rooms and doing blow when they were on duty protecting important political figures. People’s safety was seriously compromised.”

“Why didn’t Asa go to the Director?”

“She did and was told to keep her mouth shut. That’s when she decided to go to the press.”

“And then the word got out who had spilled the beans.”

I nodded. “After that, Asa was subpoenaed to testify before several televised Congressional Committee hearings. Based on her testimony, her boss and several agents were fired. The entire agency was turned upside down.”

Frank picked up the story. “Asa becomes an overnight sensation during the hearings due to her looks and testimony. The media really played her up as some sort of savior for the agency. Then drugs were found in Asa’s car. If I remember correctly, the police said someone called in a tip.”

I nodded. “Yes, and due to the amount of drugs found, she was charged with a felony. That’s when all hell broke loose. Someone was out to discredit Asa and ruin her life.”

Franklin had finished his sandwich and leaned back in his chair. “You think her husband planted those drugs in her car?”

I spat out the words, “Asa had only been married to Minor for less than a year. Minor was a company man all the way and did not agree with Asa blowing the whistle.

“As soon as Asa was arrested, he deserted her. She did not see him again until he testified against her at the trial.”

“I remember watching it.”

“Yeah, wasn’t that great. Since Asa now had a huge profile with the public, the judge let the trial be televised. What a kangaroo court.”

“But the beautiful Asa does not get convicted.”

“Only because her fingerprints were not on the drugs. They were so stupid they didn’t even think of that.”

“Who are they?”

“The people she told on, the buddies of the fired guys, anyone with a grudge against women working in that field. Take your pick.”

“I know what happened after that,” interrupted Franklin.

“You mortgage the Butterfly up to the hilt to pay for Asa’s legal fees, you quit your job due to all the snickering and politics at work, start raising honeybees. Brannon keeps it a secret that he sold his share of his business and hides the money only to leave you for a woman young enough to be his daughter. Asa recoups and starts her own security firm while you refuse to divorce Brannon if he doesn’t cough up some dough. Meanwhile, you meet Matt, ergo me. Then Brannon has the bad taste to die of a heart attack, leaving you with no idea where all the money is, but you suspect the child mistress does. Last but not least, Richard Pidgeon dies in one of your hives, which causes an old grudge to surface in the form of the one and only Fred O’nan, who shoots Baby, me, and then eventually Matt in that order, and throws you over a cliff. Does that sum it up?”

“Pretty much. What a soap opera,” I concurred.

“All we need is some beer to cry into.”

I laughed. “I don’t mean to be dramatic, but the last five years have been a bitch, to say the least.”

Franklin laughed too. “At least you can say it hasn’t been boring.” He lifted his glass in salute. “But lady, you are still here to tell the tale,” boasted Franklin, tapping the table, “and so am I.”

I clicked my glass with his. “To bitches everywhere, long may we reign!”

“I
have recounted my tale of woe,” I reminded him. “Now give up what you know.”

“The entire thing was a set-up.”

“What do you mean, Franklin?”

“I went back into the office and pumped one of the security guards. Always talk to the people low on the totem pole. The big shots will hide things to cover their fannies, but the poorly paid will always cough up the truth, especially when they see a Ulysses S. Grant.”

“What did he say?”

“
She
said that Charlie came with a new crew to help him get his balloon in position.”

“So she had never seen them before?”

“Correctamundo! And she said the gondola had been modified.”

“In what way?”

“There were tubes on the underside of the gondola and Charlie was very anxious about them.”

“Anxious how?”

“He was yelling at the new crew not to damage them.”

“Did she know what they were?”

“She thought they looked like some sort of a propellant.”

“Did anyone in the office know of the flight plan?”

“According to the lovely lady in the hideous security uniform, the balloon was to head north toward the river. It was never to approach Churchill Downs,” reported Franklin.

I thought for a moment. “None of this makes any sense. I don’t understand it at all.”

Franklin looked smug. “I think I do.”

“Okay, give.”

“Everything was a ruse. Charlie needed to get his experienced crew out of the way, so he sent them on a wild goose chase to the west side of town on the pretext of getting his new balloon ready for a flight.”

“But Charlie never intended for that balloon to fly that day,” I added.

“That’s correct.”

“That’s one piece of the puzzle. What’s the rest?” I asked.

“I think it’s safe to say that Charlie had his usual balloon modified. He never intended to fly north. That was another lie. I think his real intention was to fly the balloon to Churchill Downs all along.”

“But why?”

“To have it explode.”

“Why not have it explode over the Ohio River?”

“Because there were certain people at Churchill Downs that needed to witness the balloon explode firsthand.”

I must have looked confused as Franklin moved our plates aside and positioned the salt and pepper shakers. “The pepper shaker is the red herring.”

“The new balloon?”

“Yes, it was made to keep his real crew away from the modified balloon.” He held up the salt shaker. “This is the modified balloon. Charlie lied about his flight plan because he didn’t want to be tracked. He brings a new crew and takes off.”

“Then what?”

“Somewhere along the line, Charlie gets out of the balloon. Remember all that green space between Bowman Field and the expressway? Somewhere in there his new crew helps him out of the basket and whisks him away.”

“How does he get out of the gondola?”

“If he lowers the balloon enough, he can climb down the rope to the ground or the top of a building, just like we surmised. Or maybe they installed an air cushion like stuntmen use when they fall off buildings. Charlie lowers the balloon enough to jump out. The air cushion catches him and off he goes. The crew let the air out and poof, it’s gone in a truck.

“The new crew follows with a car in which Charlie makes his getaway. Then the balloon is made to go toward Churchill Downs by remote control.”

“What causes the explosion?”

“A planted pipe bomb that goes off by remote.”

“Still, Franklin, why would Charlie do such a thing when he had a horse running in the Kentucky Derby? Most people would give their eye teeth to be in his position.”

“I don’t know the why, but Charlie needed to stage his death and he did so very cleverly. My guess is to follow the money. Gambling debts? Wanted to leave his wife? Something was not on the up and up with Persian Blue perhaps? Get your new stud muffin to do some snooping for you.”

I frowned. “I don’t know if I’ll continue seeing Goetz.”

Franklin feigned astonishment. “Trouble in paradise? I like to know that I’m not the only one without a prom date this spring.”