Beware False Profits (23 page)

“I’m following trails. Hopefully one of them will lead somewhere. But while I’m here, I’ve got another. Did Hazel keep any records from her charitable work at the house? Specifically the food bank?”

“I emptied her file cabinet yesterday.”

“Tell me the trash hasn’t been hauled away.”

“It’s still in her office, beside the cabinet. Two cardboard cartons.”

“May I look through them?”

“The police went through everything. I don’t know what you’ll find.”

“Hopefully something they didn’t.”

He led me to an office off a spacious, dignified family room. The house reminded me of Hazel’s clothing. Somber, a trifle shabby, but everything that was in residence had been expensive and substantial when purchased.

When Brownie comes out of mourning I hope he employs a decorator who doesn’t object to a little color. Hopefully not one of the Fiona Fling or Alissa Arousal variety.

He left me alone, and I wandered a little first, enjoying the fact that this time, I was looking through files with permission.

Not much was left on the bookshelves. I wondered if Brownie would temporarily reassemble this room or just leave it as it was. I lifted books out of boxes and perused titles. Classics, a few British mysteries, nonfiction about the royal family including a few fairly titillating exposes. Hazel did have a lighter side.

The contents of the desk were history. There wasn’t so much as an old Life Saver stuck inside a drawer. The closet was empty, too. I went through the wooden file cabinet but it had been thoroughly cleared. That left the two boxes of files on the floor beside it.

I sat campfire style and started my examination. I suspected the cops had already taken everything they found suspicious, like death threats and blackmail notes, but I doubted they had found her charitable work as interesting. They probably hadn’t been aware that Hazel was collecting evidence against Joe and/or the food bank. That shed new light on everything.

I resisted making assessments about Hazel’s personality based on what she chose to file and systematically swept through the folders. I found a folder with travel brochures and articles about hotels and airlines. There was another with the names of local businesses and opinions jotted in the margins. She had files of best seller lists and book discussion notes, and the names of everyone who had ever sent the Kefauvers a Christmas card. She had sample menus from caterers, estimates from painters and plumbers, and bulletins from Ohio State University Extension.

The first box yielded nothing of interest, although I was tempted to ask Brownie if I could keep the bulletin on noxious weeds of Ohio—in case I ran into one on an isolated tree lawn late at night. Know your enemy.

Halfway through the second box I pulled out a folder marked “Food Bank Inventory.” The folder was filled with computer-generated lists. They appeared to have been compiled by the food bank staff.

I set that aside and continued to look. The second to last folder was marked “Food Bank Donations.”

Bingo. I breezed through this one, too. These notes were in Hazel’s handwriting, much like the lists I had found in her pocket. Nothing jumped out at me, but I was pretty sure I needed to spread the contents of both folders on my kitchen table and see what I could make of them.

I got to my feet, rummaged through my purse, and took out the cash I had found in Hazel’s wallet. I laid it on her desk and removed her keys as well. These were harder to part with, but in the end I dropped them on top of the cash and left them behind. Get thee behind me, Satan.

I retraced my steps to find Brownie unpacking boxes in the living room. I held up the files. “May I take these with me?”

“Unless you think I’ll be arrested for giving away her papers.”

“I’m sorry. But you did ask for my help.”

He looked bleak.

“I bet friends are inviting you to dinner, aren’t they?” I said.

“I don’t want to talk about Hazel and who murdered her.”

“Good friends will be sensitive. Why don’t you give that a try? You could use some company.” I couldn’t help myself. “Just not the bimbo variety.”

He shook his head. I’m not sure at whom.

I let myself out.

While I waited for school to end I went home for a sandwich. Then, with a mouth full of peanut butter, I gave Lucy a call and somehow managed to convey the story of my trip to the food bank and what I had found at Brownie’s.

I finished the sandwich and explanation. “I’m going over the files tonight, want to join me?”

She sounded disgruntled. “You have all the fun, and you broke into Joe’s office without me. After you said you weren’t going to use Hazel’s keys.”

“You can be the burglar next time.”

“I promised a client I’d drive him by a house he’s interested in tonight. He wants to see what the neighborhood is like when the kids are home from school and moms and dads are back from work.”

“What does he think? It’s one wacky block party every night after five?”

“Barking dogs and baseball games on the street. Plus the house is in the general area of the parcel Junie’s trying to protect. So he’s also worried about bulldozers and chain saws. He wants to park by the roadside and monitor traffic. I’ll get to your house as soon as I can.”

I grabbed a bottle of water and Maura’s house key from the key basket in the kitchen and went back to the van. At the middle school I got into the line of cars, SUVs, and vans waiting to retrieve children. I turned the radio to our oldies station and hummed “Billie Jean” as Michael Jackson provided the lead. I had to hum, because all these years later, I still can’t understand the lyrics. Is he or isn’t he the father of her son? Some detective I’ve turned out to be.

Tyler was waiting by the time I pulled into the circle in front of the school, and he slid into the backseat when he saw me. Next Deena came out of the building so quickly I thought maybe she’d been watching from inside. Was she afraid of being teased by her friends if she waited with Tyler?

Once they were both in the backseat—Deena waved away my offer of the front—they chattered like good friends. I drove to Grant Elementary, and we waited a few minutes until Teddy finished rehearsal. She came outside and took the front seat. I realized immediately there was no hope of a conversation. She was mute.

No place is far away in Emerald Springs, and in minutes we were at Tyler’s. Maura’s dolls were at their most bizarre. Both of them wore bird costumes, one in yellow, the other in red. A large nest made of twigs and string sat on the porch in front of them. I was almost tearfully grateful there were no eggs inside it. Had there been, we might have been treated to weeks of hatching rituals. I’m not sure I could have visited Maura again, knowing what was in store.

“Why do you have Big Bird on your porch?” Deena asked Tyler.

“My mom needs a life.”

I opened my door. The kids followed, although I had to pry Teddy from her seat.

“I told your mom I’d hang around until she gets here,” I told Tyler. “But she asked me to remind you—”

“I know. Test and shoot. I can do it.”

“Can I watch?” Deena asked.

I started to protest, but Tyler answered first. “Sure. It’s no big deal.”

He didn’t unlock the front door, so taking that as a cue, I brought out the beaded elephant and unlocked it myself.

The house looked the way it always did. While Tyler and Deena discussed and performed the array of medical procedures, I got Teddy a drink of water in the kitchen.

“Miss Hollins called today,” I said, handing the glass to her.

“I know.” She looked glum.

“Honey, I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

She drank the water and put the glass on the counter.

“Are the other kids making fun of you for some reason?”

She looked puzzled.

“Maybe they’re jealous?”

“I don’t know.”

“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“Let’s go outside. I don’t like it in here.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged and lowered her voice. “I don’t think anybody lives here.”

“Of course they do, honey. It’s Tyler’s house.”

“I don’t think it’s a real house.”

We went to the bottom of the stairs and I called up to Tyler’s room. Deena said they’d be down in a minute. I planned to hold them to it.

Outside Teddy and I toured the yard, which she liked better. White peonies sent their delicate fragrance into the air. Primroses were beginning to close up shop for the year, but there were still enough yellow and red blooms to satisfy. We ended at Maura’s rose garden, which I guessed would be spectacular in another month when the blooms began. The roses covered the corner of the yard beside a storybook-perfect shed, which was sided and roofed with wooden shingles and trimmed with Victorian gingerbread. Tyler and Deena joined us while I peeked through the window.

“Your mother has an amazing garden,” I told Tyler.

“She’s an organic gardener. Everything’s natural.”

“What kind of stuff?” Deena asked.

“Manure, compost. Want to see our compost pile? Every scrap of leftover vegetables goes into it. She makes her own insecticides out of stuff like hot peppers and garlic. She wins prizes every year at the fair.”

He opened the door to the shed and pointed. “That’s dried blood. It keeps rabbits out of the garden.”

“Yuck!” Deena said.

I could tell he was enjoying himself, the way males of the species do when they can nauseate the females, and I was enjoying yet another view of a woman who actually took Martha Stewart seriously.

“That’s bonemeal,” he said. “Ground-up bone. It adds minerals to the soil.”

“This is so sick,” Deena said. “I hope you don’t eat stuff you grow with that.”

“And this is fox urine. It keeps away whatever the dried blood doesn’t.”

“You’re making that up.”

We were admiring the sweet-smelling compost pile when Maura arrived. Tyler seemed disappointed, and I realized he had been hoping for more time with my daughter. I liked him. What wasn’t to like? He was a nice kid with good manners and the ability to gross out little girls. At this age, what else was there?

Maura greeted us. I noticed she didn’t hug her son, but maybe that was because we were there, and she didn’t want to embarrass him. Tyler walked Deena to our car, but Teddy stayed glued to my side.

“Did things go well?” I asked.

“Just fine. Thanks so much for doing this, Aggie.” Maura smiled at Teddy, who didn’t smile back.

“We have to scoot.” I turned my daughter toward the car and gave her a gentle nudge. “Wait with Deena, would you?”

Teddy walked off as if she were slogging through taffy.

“I’ve got to ask,” I said, lowering my voice. “Detective Roussos tells me you gave him a phone number for Joe in New Jersey?”

“I had to do something. I asked a sorority sister who lives there if I could use her number. She has caller ID, and she’s not answering any calls from this area code.” She looked rueful. “Was that a mistake?”

I thought it was clever, although I didn’t think it would work for long. Eventually, if he really wanted to find Joe, Roussos would send a local cop to the address linked to the phone number.

Maura seemed to read my mind. “If the police find out I’ve lied, I’ll have to tell them Joe disappeared. I’m just hoping he comes back before they realize what I’ve done.”

We started after Teddy. “Deena and Tyler seem to be friends,” Maura said. “Emerald Springs has been a good place to raise him. Even with the diabetes he’s always been one of the gang. That might not be true anywhere else.”

Maura had enough problems. I didn’t want to tell her that some of the kids at the middle school were not as tolerant as she supposed. In fact, I wondered if in a bigger city, where there was more diversity in every way, Tyler’s medical issues might be better accepted.

When we got to the car, Deena and Tyler were whispering. I was almost sorry to separate them. Already belted into the front seat, Teddy was staring straight ahead.

“This was no trouble,” I told Maura. “Call me again if you need me.”

“I think I’ve missed out on a lot by letting Joseph take on so many things alone. I like having a friend.”

I gave her a quick hug, which seemed to surprise her. But she gave me a squeeze in return.

We were halfway home when Teddy put her hand on my arm. “That girl’s in my class. Rene Marcus. Over there.”

I pulled to a stop at the traffic light and looked in the direction she was pointing. I saw a girl Teddy’s size getting into a car that looked as if it was held together by rust and mud. I glimpsed dark curls, bare legs, and sneakers.

“Is Rene your friend?” I asked.

“She wanted to be Cinderella.”

I watched as the car pulled away from the curb, no working muffler to blunt the clanking of the engine.

“She
is
Cinderella,” Teddy said. “Really. Only she never gets to go to the ball.”