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Authors: Kate Collins

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BOOK: Dirty Rotten Tendrils
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“Did you come straight home after the meeting?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Andrew had to go back to work.”
“Where does he work?” Marco asked.
“He has two jobs,” she said. “He works as a tow truck driver on weekends and as a furniture deliveryman during the week.”
“Does he work with a partner?” Marco asked.
“Not on the tow truck. He does with the furniture truck.”
Marco noted it. “What time did he get off work that day?”
“Eight o’clock,” she said quickly. “Just like always.”
“Did Andrew come straight home after work?”
She nodded, keeping her gaze on the feather. Avoiding eye contact always made me suspect that someone wasn’t telling the truth.
“After the meeting with Dave Hammond, was your husband at home the rest of the day?” Marco asked.
“What business is it of yours?” Mr. Chapper said suddenly, pushing his chair to an upright position. “I thought you came here to work on Andrew’s lawsuit.”
“These are routine questions, Mr. Chapper,” Marco said.
“You want to explain how that pertains to Andrew’s lawsuit?” he fired back.
“Your lawyer is concerned that if you and your grandson become suspects in the murder investigation, Andrew’s chances of winning the suit would be zero,” Marco said. “I’m trying to see that it doesn’t happen.”
Mr. Chapper pulled the footstool in and stood up. “Tansy, put supper on the table. Now.”
“Herbert,” she began, rising from the love seat, which caused the parrot to fly over to the TV set and perch on top, “they’re trying to help.”
“Supper, Tansy!” he snapped. “These people are leaving.”
She meekly obeyed, glancing apologetically at us as she left the room.
“Mr. Chapper,” Marco said, both of us getting to our feet, “you don’t seem to understand how serious the situation is.”
“And you don’t understand the word
leaving
,” Mr. Chapper said curtly. “Or would you like me to demonstrate it for you?”
“There’s no need for that, sir,” Marco said. He called, “Good-bye, Mrs. Chapper,” then gave Mr. Chapper a brisk nod, ushered me to the door, and held it open so I could exit first, never taking his eyes off the man. As we headed for the car, the front door slammed shut behind us.
Marco didn’t say anything until we were in the Prius, and then, as he started the engine, he said, “That guy is all over the place. A real mess. I feel sorry for all three of them.”
“Do you think Mr. Chapper killed the Lip?”
“Right now, he’s at the top of my list.”
“I’m not sure I agree, Marco.”
“You don’t believe he’d kill for his grandson?”
“I didn’t say that. I just can’t picture him sneaking into Lipinski’s office to drop pills in his liquor. Mr. Chapper seems the type to burst into the office and start shooting.”
“Maybe so, but I have a feeling there’s more to him than meets the eye. Did you see the stack of magazines on the side table beside his chair?”
There were magazines on the side table? Wait. There was a side table? “No.”
“They were under his remote—before he threw it.
Guns and Ammo
.
Modern Mechanics
.
A Basketful of Dreams
. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”
“Are you sure they weren’t Tansy’s?”
“Hers were in a rack beside the love seat. Two on knitting and three on cooking.”
I hadn’t noticed a rack by the love seat. Had I been in a coma? “So you’re picturing Herbert Chapper ordering a gift basket, then tampering with the wine, resealing the bottle well enough to fool the Lip, and delivering it to the law office without raising anyone’s suspicions?”
“It’s a working theory.” Marco checked the time. “Do you want to see if we can catch Lipinski’s staff before they leave work for the day? I’d like to talk to the person who accepted delivery of that gift basket.”
“Sure. I’m free the rest of the day . . . and night, too, by the way.”
Marco glanced at me, his gaze sultry. “What a coincidence.”
 
 
We arrived at Lipinski’s office at ten minutes before five o’clock, which didn’t leave much time for questioning. As we drove into the parking lot, Marco looked for Scott Hess’s Grand Am, but it wasn’t there. “That should make things easier,” he said.
We walked into the office and approached the receptionist, a woman around Marco’s age who brightened when she saw him. “Hello, again.”
“Hello, Heather,” he said, then added, “My assistant, Abby Knight,” as though sensing that now was not a good time to refer to me as a helper. “Got time for a few questions?”
“Sure,” she said, leaning her chin on her palm and smiling up at him as he pulled out his notebook. She still hadn’t glanced my way. I was apparently invisible.
“What can you tell me about the gift basket Mr. Lipinski received the day of his death?”
“The one Cody Verse gave him?” she asked.
There was a surprise.
“Mr. Lipinski brought the basket back with him after he met with Cody at the hotel,” she added.
“Did he open the basket?” Marco asked as he wrote.
“Sorry,” Heather said. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Did he receive any other gifts on the day of or shortly before his death?”
“Yes. A package came in the morning mail.”
“Will you describe the package?” he asked.
“It was about an inch thick and the size of a mailing envelope—maybe eight by ten or nine by eleven. I thought maybe one of his client’s children had made him something, because it was wrapped in a cut-up brown paper sack and tied with twine, like a kid would do. And Mr. Lipinski’s name and address were in a thick childish print made with an orange marker.”
“Return address?” Marco asked.
“There wasn’t one,” she said.
“Did you give the package to Mr. Lipinski?”
“No,” Heather said. “Joan took it off my desk.”
Marco stopped writing to repeat, “Mr. Lipinski’s secretary took it.”
“Grabbed it,” Heather said, “like it made her mad. She said something under her breath that sounded like ‘That witch.’ ”
Why had Joan neglected to mention that to Marco?
“What did she do with the package?” Marco asked.
“I don’t know. Probably gave it to Mr. Lipinski.”
“Excuse me!” I heard, and turned to see Scott Hess coming toward us from the door. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Let me handle him,” Marco said quietly. Completely at ease, he waited until Hess stopped in front of us, then held up his ID. “Marco Salvare. I’m investigating Ken Lipinski’s death. And you are . . . ?”
Ouch
. Probably ticked by Marco’s slam.
CHAPTER TWENTY
H
ess turned red in the face as he glared at Marco. Drawing his shoulders back, he replied haughtily, “
Attorney
Scott L. Hess. And you can put away your ID. I know who you are, Salvare. What I don’t know is why you’re investigating when we have police detectives on the case.”
“A few more investigators never hurts, does it?” Marco asked.
“Who are you working for?” Hess asked.
“Not important,” Marco replied. “We’re just looking for information.”
“So am I,” Hess said, edging toward belligerence. “Such as, who hired you.”
“Attorney Dave Hammond,” Marco said.
“And exactly what makes you think you can waltz in here and question my staff?”
“This is your staff?” Marco asked.
“Damn right it is. My law firm, too.”
Marco turned to look outside through the big glass doors. “Your name isn’t on the sign.”
Boy, was he pushing Hess’s buttons.
Hess put his hands on his waist, cocked his head like a rooster, and got right in Marco’s face. “You see anyone else in charge here,
Marco
?”
“I don’t really care who’s in charge,” Marco said. “I’m looking for information and I’d greatly appreciate any help you can give me.”
“Get your sorry ass out of this building before I call the cops,” Hess snapped.
Heather’s eyes got wide.
“There’s no reason to get angry,” Marco said. “I came peaceably.”
“Just get out,” Hess said. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Not a problem,” Marco said. “But I’ve gotta tell you, man, in my line of work, when I see a person with an attitude like yours, I have to wonder what he’s hiding. And that, in turn,
Scott
, makes me dig even deeper for answers.” Marco gave me a nod. “Let’s go.”
“Hey!” Hess called. “Are you saying I’ve got something to feel guilty about?”
“
Do
you have something to feel guilty about?” Marco replied coolly, turning to face him.
Hess marched up to Marco, his chin jutting forward, his nostrils flaring, chomping hard on chewing gum. I knew that smell. Juicy Fruit!
“Are you insinuating I had something to do with Ken Lipinski’s death?” Hess demanded.
I slid back a few paces. If they started punching, I didn’t want to get caught in the cross fire, especially if Marco decided to make use of his jujitsu training. Just to be on the safe side, however, I inched my cell phone out of my pocket so I could call the cops if need be.
“If you didn’t have anything to do with Lipinski’s death,” Marco said, “why are you afraid to talk to me?”
“Afraid? You don’t know what you’re saying, man.”
“Then enlighten me.”
“Why should I talk to you?” Hess threw his hands in the air, walked a few feet away, then came back. “You listen to me, brother. Ken brought me into this firm. He nurtured me. He was grooming me for partnership. Why would I kill him?”
“Well, let’s see,” Marco said. “He gave you the small, unimportant clients that freed him up for the big, splashy, multimillion-dollar cases that afforded him a house on the lake and a brand-new Bentley, while you’re driving a nine-year-old Grand Am with bad tires.”
Bad tires? I glanced out the window at the car in question. How did Marco manage to take in so many details in such a short span of time?
“And after years of working for him,” Marco continued, “your name still isn’t on that big sign out there, or on the office door. For that matter, it isn’t on any billboard ads or in the phone book, either. For a man being groomed for partnership, that’s odd, don’t you think?”
“So what?” Hess challenged. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”
“It means you got jack while your boss lived like a king, and that smells like a motive to me. See where I’m going with this?”
“You’re talking nonsense,” Hess ranted. “You hear me? Nonsense.”
“Then let’s talk about opportunity,” Marco continued. “You had that in spades, with access to this building day and night. Which leaves one question. Did you have the means to kill your boss? I’m just starting to work on that one, so are you sure you don’t want to talk to me, maybe clear up some misconceptions?”
“That’s it!” Hess shouted. “Get out or I’ll slap you with a restraining order.”
Marco held up his hands. “I’m on my way out.” He took my arm and we proceeded outside to the Prius.
“Touchy little guy,” Marco said, starting the engine.
“You really pushed his buttons.”
“Yeah,” Marco said with a satisfied smile. “Sometimes it’s the only way to get people to reveal themselves.”
“Did he reveal anything—besides his temper and brand of chewing gum?”
“He’s clearly defensive about being the new man in charge, but he might just be combative by nature.” Marco’s cell phone rang. He flipped open the phone without checking the screen and said, “Salvare.” He listened for several minutes, then said, “Sure, Dave. I’ll be there.”
He pocketed his phone and put the car in gear. “Dave hired a lawyer from Fort Wayne. He wants me to meet with the attorney tomorrow after the hearings in Andrew’s cases.”
“He hired a lawyer? Does that mean he got more bad news?”
“Yep. He found out that the DA is convening a grand jury next week.”
“Holy cow, Marco. Darnell is really out to get Dave.”
Marco checked traffic, then pulled out onto the highway. “Apparently Dave’s fingerprints were found at the crime scene, and the missing exhibit was among papers on the Lip’s desk.”
“That’s not much to build a case on. Everyone knew Dave and Lipinski met that afternoon.”
“That’s why Darnell wants a grand jury. You know how that game is played.”
Did I ever. A shrewd DA didn’t need much in the way of evidence, just good persuasive powers, which described Melvin Darnell to a T. “And Dave’s attorney won’t be able to get discovery until Dave is actually charged,” I said. “We’re going to have to ramp up our investigation.”
“There’s good news, though,” Marco said. “Now that Dave has his exhibit back, Cody is ready to talk settlement. Andrew should get his share of the prize money after all.”
“That has to make Dave feel better. Now I understand why Hess got so antagonistic when you mentioned Dave’s name. He would have made a lot of money if that lawsuit had gone to trial.”
BOOK: Dirty Rotten Tendrils
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