Authors: Cindy Sample
Dying for a Date (28 page)
"Get on with it, Mengelkoch,” barked Bradford.
He hesitated then asked me, “Would you mind if I use your bathroom?” He blushed as he looked at his superior officer.
"Of course not.” I smiled sweetly at Deputy Mengelkoch as I reverted back to Miss Cooperation. “The kid's bathroom is right across the hall."
He ducked his head at me then disappeared. We returned to exchanging baleful glances. I was wondering when our stalemate would end when Bradford growled again.
"What now, Matt?” he said, looking over my shoulder.
I turned around to see the deputy beckoning to Bradford. The senior officer rolled his eyes then followed the deputy. I was tempted to use the opportunity to relocate my undesirable underwear but I was also curious what the deputy had discovered. I followed the curmudgeonly detective across the hall and into the bathroom.
Matching schisms appeared on both sides of the detective's craggy face as he broke into a broad grin. Was he admiring the rainbow colored tropical fish decor, which dated back to Jenna's toddler days?
Or was he looking at...
What was that strange thing sitting on the vanity? It was almost a foot long. Funny shaped metal on the top with a chipped red wood handle.
"Ms. McKay, thank you for making our job so easy,” he said. “I never expected the murder weapon to be out in full view."
"Look, I don't know what that, that...” I waved my hand at the offending tool, “that doohickey is."
Bradford snickered. “You know, I was beginning to think you were one of the smartest criminals I've ever encountered. But it looks like Detective Hunter was finally successful in getting you to let your guard down. Imagine having the nerve to use the same pipe wrench not only as a murder weapon, but to fix a leaky pipe.” He pointed to the wet spot under the sink.
The leak my ex-husband had fixed minutes before.
Two hours later I was curled in a fetal position on the sofa, dressed in my red Betty Boop flannel pajamas and fleece robe. Multicolored candy wrappers littered the coffee table as I attempted to distract myself by watching a mindless reality show.
The detective and his deputy had packaged the evidence, Hank's pipe wrench, which they were rushing to the crime lab to determine if the red paint on the handle matched the paint flecks discovered in the victims’ wounds.
I half expected Bradford to cuff me and take me down to headquarters. Fortunately my fingerprints weren't on the tool or I would have received an official invitation to a sleepover at the jail. With my luck I'd be bunking with Burly Bertha, one of the Hangtown jailhouse locals.
Bradford repeated his previous warning not to leave town then he and Mengelkoch pulled out of my driveway, tires squealing. I called Tom on his cell and we conversed briefly.
I accused him of pretending to fall for me in order to get me to confess to a crime I didn't commit. I waited for his response but he didn't deny anything.
So I hung up on him.
As far as the pipe wrench, what could I say? It was Hank's. But did that make him the murderer? I clutched the remote to my chest, massive hiccupping sobs wracking my body as I contemplated the duplicity of the men in my life. A bundle of fur jumped on my lap, and a pair of sympathetic green eyes stared into mine as a tiny sandpaper tongue licked salty tears from my cheeks.
Pumpkin and I cuddled together watching TV until the late news came on. The two anchors greeted their audience and immediately launched into the lead story: the unsolved murders of El Dorado County.
I bolted up, disturbing the sleeping kitten. Pumpkin squawked as she tumbled off the sofa, landing on all fours. I grabbed my furry friend and she settled next to me. Two pairs of eyes glued to the news.
Camera shots veered from the River Inn to the hilly shot they had shown on the earlier broadcast. Someone in the sheriff's department had leaked the surprising fact that the same weapon might have been responsible for the deaths of three prominent residents of El Dorado County—a CPA, a doctor, and a real estate appraiser.
The reporter interviewed several locals all of whom demanded that additional resources be brought in from the FBI to solve these horrible crimes. The camera switched back to the reporter on his hillside perch. His expression was grave as he spoke into the mike, “Chuck Basso, signing off from El Dorado County."
With this kind of media publicity it could be mere hours before they hauled me in. What would I use for my defense? Tell them the father of my children owned the pipe wrench?
"Pumpkin, what should I do?” I moaned to the kitten. She stared at me with unblinking eyes then proceeded to clean her privates.
We all have different ways of dealing with stress.
I dealt with my own stress by watching
I Love Lucy
reruns into the wee hours of the morning. I woke at six, bleary eyed, bushy haired, and with a crick in my neck, but bound and determined to prove my innocence. Without the kids to slow me down I arrived at the office a half hour early.
I vaguely recalled reading about a famous philosopher who declared there were only six degrees of separation between each person and everyone else on the planet. Or maybe it was Kevin Bacon.
Regardless, in our small foothills community, the number must be even less. Just how many degrees separated my field of suspects from the victims?
Dr. Radovich—He had massive gambling losses and was stealing money from his partner. Was Garrett his CPA? If so he might have killed both Jeremy and Garrett to cover up the theft.
Earl Fisher—Jeremy's loan file was in Earl's credenza. Mike Clark did appraisals for the bank. Earl knew Garrett, even though he wouldn't admit how. Was my boss getting paid under the table to approve fraudulent loans?
Mary Lou—She underwrote both delinquent loans. She didn't like Mike. Was she part of a financial scheme involving Mike, Garrett and Jeremy?
Hank—Jeremy was his doctor. He disliked Mike Clark. He hated the thought I was dating again. He owned a pipe wrench. Did he own
the
pipe wrench?
Detective Bradford—He suspected me of killing off my dates. I suspected him of trying to date my mother. That was a crime in itself.
Okay, Bradford wasn't a suspect but any of the other four could have committed the murders. Would my ex-husband intentionally plan the trip to Tahoe, leaving behind the weapon that would implicate me in the murders he committed?
Omigod. Were my children at risk? I dialed Jenna's cell. No answer. I started to freak out but then remembered that cell service in Tahoe was erratic. I hated to involve my mother but it was time for some maternal advice. I phoned the Centurion office.
"Centurion Real Estate, Peter Tyler speaking."
"Peter, it's Laurel. Is my mother in yet?"
"No, amazingly enough. Sometimes I think she lives here."
His comment made me laugh. “Yeah, there's a reason why she's the top producer."
"Well, I'm going to give her a run for the money this month. Anyway I'm glad you called. I'm looking forward to dinner tonight."
Oh yeah. It was amazing how murder could distract a person from their social engagements. I doubted if I would be very entertaining as a dinner companion, but with Peter's knowledge of the local real estate market, I might be able to get some of my questions answered for the bank.
Tom was definitely out of the picture now that his underhanded scheme to trap me had been revealed. I still couldn't believe how he'd lured me into believing he cared about me.
We confirmed that Peter would pick me up at the house at seven. Mary Lou approached my cubicle so I said goodbye and hung up. “Sorry I jumped all over you when you mentioned Mike Clark yesterday,” she apologized.
I flapped my hand at her. “Don't worry about it. You know he's dead, right?"
She nodded as she slumped in the chair. “I read about it in the paper this morning.” Her baby blues widened as she met my gaze. “You don't think I had anything to do with it, do you?"
I shrugged and attempted to look non-accusatory. She contemplated the ceiling for a minute. “Okay, promise not to tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. Especially Earl."
I wasn't sure I should promise in case she revealed anything criminal, but I nodded.
"Mike and I lived together briefly five years ago. At the time I was working at another bank. One day I was underwriting a loan and the information on the appraisal didn't make sense. Mike was the appraiser so I asked him about it at dinner that night. It turned out the builder bribed him and he falsified some information stating that the house was worth more than it really was. He promised me it only happened the one time and he would never do anything like that again. When I told him I would still have to report it to my boss at the bank, he hit me. I chickened out and never told my boss.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I moved out the next day."
Her face turned a sickly shade of green, which did not blend well with the tangerine angora sweater and skirt ensemble she was wearing. She rubbed her palm over her forehead. “I feel a migraine coming on. I think I better go home."
She grabbed her purse and raced down the hallway in her four inch stilettos. I stared after her, mulling over her rapid departure as well as her comments about the fraudulent appraisal Mike produced five years ago. Could there be an issue with the appraised values of the two delinquent files?
In most fraud situations the borrowers are the beneficiaries. In this case, if the loans went into foreclosure they would lose their custom homes. And their big down payments. It was odd they would purchase such beautiful houses and then not make any payments, unless both families had encountered some recent financial reverses.
I flipped opened the preliminary title reports to find out the name of the seller. The owner of record for both houses was TLC Partners.
According to the legal description, both lots were part of a subdivision called Bella Lago. The words evoked images of a beautiful lake setting. In El Dorado Hills, faux Tuscan architecture was prevalent, so the more expensive the subdivision, the more Italian the name.
I lifted Jeremy Slater's vacation home loan file from my three-tiered tray and placed it on my desk. The $1.2 million dollar loan that appeared delinquent on his credit report was on a property located on Via del Lago, the same property used as a comparable sale for the Andrews and Carter files. I googled the address. Just as the appraisal stated, the property was within a quarter mile of the Andrews and Carter houses.
Which proved nothing.
I tried Jenna on her cell. Nothing.
I called Liz. Voicemail.
I wandered down to Stan's cube. It was trench coat and fedora free. Where was my team when I needed them? I passed Earl's office. My boss was seated at his desk reading the funnies. He read the Dilbert comic strip daily, assuming it was a guide to good management skills. I heard him chuckling. If he was in a good mood, it might be an excellent time to ask about Jeremy's loan.
"Hi Earl."
His face creased into a welcoming smile, which resembled a leer, but at least it appeared friendly. He waved me into the office.
I settled into a chair and leaned forward. “You remember Jeremy Slater, right?"
He nodded. “Of course, one of the bank's best clients who died on your watch."
I wished people would stop thinking it was my responsibility to keep my dates alive. I was never going out with a large depositor again.
"Yeah, about that. Jeremy mentioned he was concerned about a mortgage he was trying to get on a vacation home in Tahoe. Did you help him with a loan?"
He reached into a jar of miniature candies, unwrapped the gold paper and stuffed the candy into his mouth. No invitation for me to do the same, so I tapped my foot and counted to ten while he chewed.
"We started processing an application for him on a condo but when we ran his credit it showed a ninety day delinquency on a mortgage with another bank. We denied his loan but he claimed the delinquent loan wasn't his. Since he is, or rather was, such a good client of the bank, I told him I would research it. Once he died there didn't seem to be much point in pursuing it."
Earl swiveled around and opened the credenza. He sifted through a stack of files, looking perplexed. It wasn't easy maintaining an innocent expression when I knew the missing Slater file was currently in my possession.
"I must have mislaid the file.” He reached for another shiny gold wrapped candy. “So how's that Love Club thing going for you?"
The last thing I wanted to do was discuss my social life with Earl. “I've given up on the Love Club."
He cocked his finger at me. “Wise decision."
I agreed. No more men from the agency. No more detectives from the sheriff's department. I was sticking with referrals from now on. Speaking of which, I needed to see if my mother had returned my call.
I returned to my desk, checked both my office phone and my cell. No messages from Liz, my mother, or Jenna. I dialed Stan's cell. “Where are you?” I whined.
"I'm home sick,” he sniffled sounding equally whiny. “What do you want?"
"I need you. Are you on your death bed or just lying in bed watching your soaps?” Stan was an
All My Children
addict, recording the program daily and catching up on the weekends.
He sneezed in response. “Don't you have anyone else to pester?"
Not really. Everyone had disappeared. Stan was it.
"I have some detecting for you.” That would be the true measure of determining how sick Stan really was.
"Can it wait? I've hung up my trench coat this week."
Okay, he definitely was ill. “I suppose, but..."
He sighed, sniffled, wheezed then sneezed. “Tell me what you want me to do."
I proceeded to explain about the multi million-dollar delinquent loans and the coincidence that they were all located in the same subdivision. Stan lived in El Dorado Hills so he could drive by the houses, see if the borrowers were home, and hopefully find out why they weren't making their payments. He reluctantly agreed to complete the task sometime over the weekend.
