Elizabeth C. Main - Jane Serrano 02 - No Rest for the Wicked (17 page)

“
You ask me, that Alix woman’s the one you should be investigating. A thief and a liar she is, stole from me and blamed Marty. He told me all about it
years ago
. He divorced her,
you know,
but I wouldn’t be surprised to find she’d had a hand in his murder. Nasty piece of work.
”

My fledgling relief was swept away by her vitriol. Alix had been right. This nice old lady had tunnel vision about her, courtesy of her dear grandson. Nothing I said was likely to shake her conviction. Still, I’d promised to try.
“
But Alix Boudreau has a thriving business in Juniper and seems to be
—
”

“
Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
Oh, she tried to apologize years ago, but I wasn’t having any of it. Marty told me what happened. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
”

I opened my mouth to tell her
just who had been her benefactor all these years, then swallowed my words a
s I saw
Irene’s
lips pressed together in
a tight line
.
I flipped open a small notebook to play for time, turning the pages with unnecessary force as I struggled to bottle my anger at
the injustice of
hearing Alix
unfairly
maligned.
I had to be smart
. If I defended Alix
further
, Irene
would shut me out completely
.
My effort
w
ould also
point a finger right at the bank deposits Alix had worked so hard to hide. Irene would be on the phone to Arnie before I could get out the door.
I took a deep breath and shifted gears.

“
Did you
ever suspect
she could be violent? That she might do Marty harm?
”

“
No, I never
thought
that,
”
she said doubtfully,
“
but he’s gone, isn’t he?
Who else would’ve wanted to harm him?
”

Who, indeed?
My heart sank. Her arguments sounded logical to me, even though I knew better.
Unfortunately,
Arnie did not.
I was betting that more than one person around here was minus some money after running into the saintly Marty. Still, this poor woman hadn’t done anything wrong, and she’d lost her grandson.

And Alix
stood a good chance of losing
her freedom. Perhaps forever. Even though I hadn’t asked for or wanted the job, it looked like it was up to me, for better or worse, to ride to the rescue again. I fervently hoped I was up to the task
.
“
That’s what I intend to find out, Irene. Here’s my telephone number. Please call me directly if you think of anything else that might help us in our investigation.
”

“
You look hard at that woman before you
bother looking someplace else.
”

Having no good response to that comment,
I stood to leave.
“
Thank you for talking to me. I’m sorry for your loss.
I don’t mean to pry, but
will you
be all right?
O
ther family
?
”

Her face brightened.
“
The people at Prairie Home are all the family I need. They take wonderful care of me, and I’ll be able to stay here as long as I live, thanks to Marty.
He
set everything up in something called an annuity. I got a nice letter from the bank
about it
just yesterday. See?
”

She fumbled underneath the newspaper and brought out a single typed page.

Apparently, she hadn’t
noticed the absence of letterhead stationery
or
considered the lack of
a handwritten signature
odd
. I hoped she wouldn’t take it into her head to call the bank to thank
“
Barbara Highman,
”
who had
ostensibly written
the letter.

Would Irene believe me if I revealed the true identity of
“
Barbara Highland
”
? Probably not. To Irene, her grandson was a kindly prince who had been led astray by a wicked witch.

Chapter 17

I made my way back to the Volvo, newly energized by
my resolve. I needed to tell Alix
just how recently
Hunter had been
here.
Maybe we could figure out together
how
this information
could
help her.

I also wanted to talk to Desmond McCutcheon again. Our SOS speaker elevated pomposity to an art, but he also knew a lot about scams, and I hoped to turn up useful information about the psychology of the confidence racket by quizzing him. While I deliberated about which task to do first, I watched as a couple of teens bounced out of a shiny Lincoln Continental. They corralled their youthful energy long enough to wait for an elderly man to extricate himself from the passenger seat. A summer drive for Gramps in a car he could no longer operate? The girl held the door while the boy placed a walker close at hand.
T
hey passed before me on their way into Prairie Home, chatting amiably
. T
he teens slowed their pace to match that of the older man and his walker. H
e had visitors who loved him.

I smiled as my thoughts turned to Tyler’s loving concern for his own grandfather. Plenty of nice people in this world. Too bad Hunter Blackburn, or Martin Selway, hadn’t been one of them. He could have saved us all a lot of trouble.

I sighed as I picked up the cell phone. Alix would be waiting for my report. The s
creen showed one new voicemail.

My heart gave a sudden kick. Nick? No such luck. Alix’s name glowed on the screen.
F
air enough. One thing at a time. I retrieved her message.

“
Thought I should warn you. Minnie and Velda stopped by to tell me they had a plan. Yeah, scared me, too. Velda is even hotter to check out the idea than Minnie is. They’re driving up to the Mystery River Casino tomorrow to check on Phil and Eileen Hedstrom.
”

So
Minnie was still stuck on the Hedstroms. I didn’t know how she’d convinced Velda to drop her pursuit of Alice Durand, but maybe they’d decided to join forces and harass everyone.
Bad news for Phil and Eileen, but good news for me. Much easier to follow leads if those two were otherwise occupied and out of my hair.

Alix’s message continued.
“
I’m turning my phone off now. Emergency meeting before tomorrow’s wedding. Wendell ate the—
”
The message clicked off. Too long for the memory, or low battery, or something.
I’d really have to make time to read the instructions sometime, but not today.

Alix’s message settled the question of my next move. I drove to the nearest public phone, outside a
rundown Koffee & Kookies
. Only the cardboard cover of a phonebook chained
to the counter
remained, but the bored clerk inside surrendered his dog-eared copy after I bought coffee.
Five minutes later, I was on my way back to Juniper.

* * * * *

“
I was delighted that you found my presentation so useful, Jane
.
”

Desmond McCutcheon and I inched our way forward in the line at Starbuck’s.

“
You caught me just as I was leaving the office, so I was able to gather more information for you. We all must do what we can to aid our elders, of course. Your charming daughter seemed very interested in helping them. Perhaps she’ll take one of my classes soon.
”

I’d wondered how long it would take him to mention Bianca. This pretentious bore seemed more interested in being around youthful beauty than in crusading for
“
our elders.
”
However, Dr. McCutcheon did know a thing or two about scams directed at senior citizens.

I fixed a pleasant expression on my face.
“
Perhaps. We were all honored to have such an expert address the group.
”

We shuffled a few feet closer, and I squinted at the plethora of coffee choices on the wall. Bianca preferred Juniper Joe’s on the corner since it was locally owned and organic, but Desmond had suggested Starbuck’s, so here we were.

“
A grande soy mocha latte, my good man.
”
Desmond rattled off his order with the confidence born of long experience.

“
The same,
”
I echoed as I paid for both our drinks. How did people remember all this stuff?
“
You come here often?
”
I followed him down the counter to wait for our
order
.

“
Before teaching a class, I find it an admirable place to
settle
my thoughts.
”

And to be seen by your students, I thought as he smiled and waved to a couple of young women passing by. I remembered my adolescent reverence for professors during my own college years and figured Desmond would lap up that hero worship like extra cream in his soy mocha latte. He’d enjoy impressing coeds before they got out in the world and learned that some of his great insights were actually general knowledge to people a few years older.

After we made our way to a corner table, I sipped my drink. Smooth and sweet, definitely a treat I wouldn’t be able to allow myself each day, even if I’d been willing to fork over that much money. It tasted a lot better than what passed
for coffee at
Koffee
&
Kookies
though.

Ignoring me, Desmond surveyed the room for a younger audience. The fact that he hadn’t protested my offer to pay for the coffee told me that I was off his social radar screen. No point in trying to impress a woman his own age. His hair was a little long and his cologne a bit strong in his bid to knock ten years off his age, but his crows’ feet—salon-tanned though they were—gave him away.

Still, his personality wasn’t the point of our meeting. Desmond might be full of himself, but he’d also brought along a sheaf of information on scams.

“
It was kind of you to bring me this,
”
I said, tapping the manila folder on the table between us,
“
and to speak to our group, too.
”

He frowned.
“
If you don’t mind my saying so, some of the attendees seemed more concerned with the snacks than my information.
”

“
Well, Minnie is a really good cook, but I’m sure everyone found your presentation enlightening. You’re cl
early an expert in the field.
”

“
Yes, I
am
.
”
His frown relaxed and he leaned back in his chair, mollified by my praise.
“
Seniors are often lonely, hungry for contact with people, even if it’s only to buy something, so they’re easy prey.
”

I nodded.
“
Especially if they don’t have family to protect them.
”

“
Sometimes that’s even worse. Many family members prey on their own relatives. It’s an old story, and not a pleasant o
ne.
”

Irene Cook’s fantasy picture of her grandson fit the pattern.
“
You’re saying that to a lonely person, a visit from a family member would be so welcome that she—or he
—
wouldn’t even be on guard.
”

“
Exactly.
It’s common for a relative to p
oke around while visiting
,
make off with jewelry, money, whatever. Some elders
even
ask for help balancing a checkbook, for example, or assistance
with
financial forms
. They never dream they’re putting their money at risk since they’re dealing with someone they trust.
”

“
That’s horrible.
”

“
That’s reality.
”
Desmond’s offhand tone told me this was all academic to him. He hadn’t experienced firsthand the damage con men could cause vulnerable people, like Irene Cook. I hoped he never would.

Someone as cold-blooded as Hunter wouldn’t hesitate to defraud anyone he could find, and another of his victims might not have been as blinded by his charm as his grandmother. More to the point, someone else might have had the power to retaliate.

“
What about violence? Do con men use that as a tool to defraud people?
”

“
Not usually. They prefer to use their wits as a means of parting victims from their money. Sometimes they bluster and threaten, but violence doesn’t normally come into the profile.
It’
s all there in the documents.
”

“
I see.
”
I shuffled through his pages, pausing at the one giving the characteristics of con men.
A
s Desmond had indicated, they tended to be nonviolent, as well as intelligent, personable, and amoral.
S
ounded like Hunter, but the nonviolent
component
also suggested that Hunter hadn’t been killed by someone in the same line of work. The reasoning was weak, but plausible enough to lead me back to the tenuous hypothesis that Hunter had run afoul of one of his
own
victims.
T
hat made more sense than concluding that his murder had been a random act of violence, not in sleepy little Juniper.

I turned to another page.

“
This FBI printout
. .
.
”
I stopped mid-sentence, aware that Desmond’s gaze had wandered back to the young women watching us from their stools at the front window. When they saw Desmond smiling at them, they jumped down and headed our way.

“
What? Oh, yes
.
”
He reeled off a list of
reasons for targeting seniors.
“
Some have accumulated wealth, some are senile,
others
fear looking foolish if they admit they can’t understand the ‘too good to be true’ offers coming their way.
Feel free to copy it for your group.
”
Obviously, Desmond was done with our conversation
.

I excused myself
,
leaving just before the girls arrived at our table. Desmond’s Starbuck’s ritual must be the modern version of driving slowly down Main Street trolling for girls.

As I made my way back to the car, I wondered what Nick would think if he happened to spot me having coffee with Desmond at Starbuck’s. Nick’s idea of coffee came out of a battered percolator. To disguise the taste of the resulting brew, he added improbable amounts of cream and sugar. No matter what kind of coffee he drank, I’d give a lot right now to sit down and talk with him, but he apparently was still out of cell phone range.

The interior of the Volvo was baking in the afternoon heat, so I left the door open while I skimmed Desmond’s pages. He might be a peacock, but his information
had
helped bring me up to speed about Hunter Blackburn’s seamy career.
Unfortunately, it hadn’t provided me with a
viable
suspect in his murder. I’d have to be more creative
, but controlling my racing thoughts was akin to stopping a runaway horse. Bianca swore by
meditation. Okay
. I’d try anything at this point.

I closed my eyes and
let my
thought
s drift.
After they skittered around for a while, up floated a memory of
a favorite college Shakespeare class. Professor Simpson had asserted that the motive for murder could always be traced to one of four elements: love, money, fear, or revenge. He’d also suggested that a contemplation of the Seven Deadly Sins would provide enough ideas to keep both playwrights and police busy for decades. Interesting ideas, but what could I do with them?

Since Hunter’s murderer apparently hadn’t been thoughtful enough to leave a calling card or fingerprints at the scene of the crime, I didn’t have an idea in the world about how to find him … or her. The most obvious trail to follow seemed to be money, since money had been Hunter’s special area of interest. If money had figured largely in his life, maybe it had played a simil
arly large role in his death.

An unwelcome thought started dancing around in my head: the Mystery River Casino had lots of money. Phil and Eileen Hedstrom were going there tomorrow, with Minnie and Velda hot on their trail. Could Minnie’s hunch possibly be valid? No, of course not.

I sat there for a good
twenty
minutes, taking up and discarding various neighbors and friends as potential suspects. All ludicrous. At length, I admitted defeat. I knew who hadn’t killed Hunter, but I had no better idea than Minnie about who had killed him. Now, that was a sobering thought.