Death Takes a Ride (The Cate Kinkaid Files Book #3): A Novel (15 page)

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of these on cars.”

“Some brands of vehicles use specific ornaments, like the ram figure for Dodges, but these are random ones some company made. Mr. Halliday said Kane must have picked them up on a company closeout. Sometimes a customer wants something, you know, different
.
Jerry said they mounted real steer horns on a pickup once. Though I don’t know who’d want
this
.”

Shirley picked up an oddly diabolical-looking goldy figure with big feet and a peaked hat. Clown? Witch? It was hard to tell.

“I’ll just catalogue them and stick the whole box up on a shelf somewhere. We may never use them. How’s Clancy doing with Mitch?” Shirley added.

“Great. We took him out for a run in the country on Sunday afternoon. Anything new with Kane?”

“I don’t think he’s getting any better,” Shirley said gloomily. Then she determinedly brightened. “But I don’t know that he’s any worse either. His son is here now.”

“What’s he like?”

Shirley lifted a shoulder. “Oh, okay, I guess. I introduced myself, but we didn’t actually talk much.”

Not much enthusiasm from Shirley for the son, and Cate figured the guy had just blown her off. He wasn’t making any pass at Shirley, as Candy had said he’d done with her.

“What about the ex-wife?”

“I think she went back to Salem when Kane’s son got here.”

“How’d your dinner with Jerry go?”

“Just fine.” Her sturdy face brightened. “He really liked the fried chicken and apple pie, and we played chess afterward. Hatch and I used to play chess a lot out on the boat. Jerry got my pickup fixed, so I gave him back the one he loaned me.”

Cate wanted to put in a plug for Jerry, what a great guy
he seemed to be, but she doubted it would do any good right now. Shirley had a fixation on Kane.

“I was wondering if you’re going to make it to the Fit and Fabulous session tonight.”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d forgotten.”

“You can still go, even if you missed that first session,” Cate reminded her.

“I don’t know . . . I mean, with Kane still in a coma . . .” Shirley’s shoulders slumped and her voice trailed off, but a sudden spark of determination straightened her back. “Yes, I will go! Maybe, by the time Kane comes out of the coma, I can surprise him. I’ll be a whole new woman for him!”

“You’re a great woman already. Kane should appreciate that.”

“You’re saying I don’t need to go?” Shirley stretched one of those black curls out from her head. It looked as if she let go too suddenly, it might boomerang full force into her scalp. “With hair that looks like wire that fell into a bucket of black paint? Eyebrows like they were plucked by a posthole digger? Clothes that look like they came out of an ad in
Fisherman’
s Digest
?”

“You’re being much too hard on yourself.”

“I have a mirror, Cate. I can see the problems. I just don’t know how to fix anything. I want to learn.”

Shirley could use some basic assistance on makeup and hair and clothes. It might help her self-esteem and self-confidence considerably. But Cate didn’t want to see Shirley get her hopes up about a makeover jump-starting a relationship with Kane and then wind up being hurt by him. Because Cate just didn’t think Kane was the kind of guy who’d go for even a madeover Shirley for long. And that $30,000 he’d borrowed from Halliday still puzzled and troubled her. Why did a man desperately need that much cash?

But all she said was, “It starts at 7:00. Maybe I’ll come too.”

“You’re already fabulous.”

“Tell that to my cat. She thinks I’m just part of the staff she’s rightfully entitled to.”

Cate went out the way she’d come, through the main front entrance. She was just scooting into the Honda when Matt Halliday opened the door and yelled something. Cate couldn’t hear what he said, but there was no mistaking the urgency of his upraised arm motioning her back.

17

“Something wrong?” Cate asked when she reached the door Halliday held open for her.

“The mail just came. I want you to see something.”

Inside, Radine stood by the door to Halliday’s office with a brass letter opener in one hand. Mail scattered the counter, some opened, some unopened, as if she’d abandoned the job in mid-slash. She looked as horrified as Cate had felt the time she’d opened a plain envelope and discovered she’d somehow gotten on a porno mailing list.

“Everything’s okay, Ray,” Halliday soothed her. “It’s probably just someone’s weird idea of a joke.”

Cate followed Halliday into the office, Radine trailing behind until the phone at her desk rang and she went back to answer it.

Halliday picked up a sheet of paper with fold lines and held it out to Cate. She started to take it but then got a glimpse of what was on the paper.

“I don’t think you should be touching that,” Cate said.

He dropped the paper as if it had turned to a letter bomb in his hand. “You’re right. What was I thinking? There could be fingerprints.”

Cate cautiously used a couple of envelopes from Halliday’s desk to spread and flatten the page without actually touching it. The sender hadn’t used any great imagination in creating the message. It was done in words cut out of a newspaper and taped to the page, practically the gold standard for anonymous messages. Most of the words were from regular newspaper print, a couple in capitals from headlines.

We got Blakely your NEXT
con MAN

The sender had a little problem with both punctuation and word usage, but the meaning was plain enough.
You’re next, con man.
Or to be fair, maybe he couldn’t find “you’re” in the newspaper.

“Where’s the envelope?” Cate asked.

Without touching it, Halliday pointed to a face-down envelope on the desk. Cate used a pen to flip it over.

Halliday’s name and the H&B name and address were on yellow paper, apparently cut from a phone book. It was a Eugene postmark, yesterday’s date. Legal-size envelope, standard issue, no identifying marks.

“I guess threat makers aren’t into return addresses,” Halliday said.

“What does ‘con man’ mean?”

“I’m assuming the person is saying we ‘conned’ him in some business deal with H&B, and he’s getting even. First with Kane, and I’m next.”

“You should call the police immediately. This is a definite threat.”

“I will. Of course. Right away.” Halliday paused, the lines that seemed permanently etched into his forehead cutting even deeper. “Although . . .”

“Although?”

“I don’t mean to criticize our local law enforcement, but
they don’t exactly work at warp speed. I’m not sure I want to wait for them to figure out who’s behind that guy who shot Kane. Because whoever it is may get to me before the police figure out who it is.”

A worrisome possibility, Cate agreed.

Halliday glanced around nervously, as if he thought another gunman might burst through the door at any moment. “You said earlier that if we needed anything more, Belmont Investigations was available. I want to take you up on that.”

“There’s a possibility, of course, that the sender is one of those crank types. People do this kind of thing. Everything from giving the police imaginary leads to confessing to a crime they didn’t commit.”

“Really?” Halliday seemed taken aback by this information.

“It can be a big problem for law enforcement. They have to follow up on leads, even ones that sound weird.”

“I don’t think I can take the chance that it’s just some weirdo crank.”

“Neither do I. I can start looking into it right away. But you still need to bring in the police.” She tapped the envelope with the dull end of the pen. “I’ll need a list of names and addresses of anyone H&B has had any problems with in the last year. Or even before that, if you remember someone who was exceptionally angry. From both here and in Salem.”

“It doesn’t sound like Candy, does it?” Halliday sounded regretful, as if he’d like to nail Kane’s ex-wife for making threats.

No, it didn’t sound like Candy. But Cate wasn’t jumping to conclusions. Candy wasn’t dumb. She might try to make a personal vendetta look like a business grudge. Although, if she was really out to get Halliday, why bother giving him advance notice? Why, in fact, would anyone give advance
warning with an anonymous threat? Why not just whack him? A solid threat just got his guard up.

“The police will probably want to take this letter to check for fingerprints. Can you make a copy for me now?”

Conscientious about not adding more fingerprints, Halliday used another piece of paper to scoop up the anonymous letter and carried it to the photocopy machine.

Cate picked up the clear copy that rolled out. “Do you mind if I use this when I’m asking questions, or is it something you’d rather keep confidential?”

“It isn’t exactly a flattering recommendation for H&B, is it? Implying we conned someone. But yes, use it however you need to. I’ll have a list of possible unhappy clients ready for you in an hour or two. In general, we have very good relationships with our customers.”

“Email the list to me as soon as you can.”

“I will. Though I think the problem must be something up at the Salem branch, not here.”

“In addition to unhappy customers, how about former employees? Any problems there?”

Halliday shook his head. “The only employee who’s left recently was the stock clerk, the job Shirley has now. But he left because of health problems. I’m not sure about Kane’s employees in Salem.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

A problem in Salem, with either a customer or former employee, sounded plausible. Mace Jackson was from Salem, and the “
We
got Blakely” indicated this person making a new threat was associated with the gunman in some way. Candy lived in Salem too . . .

At home, Cate grabbed her file with her notes about Mace Jackson and photos she’d printed from her cell phone. She stuffed everything in a seldom-used briefcase. She’d pick up Halliday’s email message with her phone later.

As a last-minute thought, she packed a bag and put out enough food to last Octavia overnight. Salem wasn’t all that far, no more than commuting distance for some people, but she might decide to stay overnight. Octavia, suspecting something was going on that she wouldn’t like, stalked around like some queen of the jungle unhappy about the loss of a good slave.

“If you don’t like being left home alone, you should learn to like riding in a car,” Cate informed her. To which Octavia cat-stomped out to her screened-in playroom. Lipreading again?

Salem wasn’t more than an hour and a half away, mostly green farmland with bluish mountains in the distance on either side of I-5, but Cate wasn’t really familiar with this capital of the state. She used her phone to locate the H&B address in a busy, semi-industrial area. She passed a wholesale import business, a company that manufactured windows, and another that built horse trailers. She couldn’t pick out specific sounds, but the area had an indefinable hum of activity.

The H&B building was considerably smaller than the Eugene warehouse and shop, but classier, with brick and decorative rock on the front. A white-and-red restored ’56 Chevy Bel Air, an identifying placard and a silvery trophy beside it, stood in an oversized display window. Low shrubs and green grass surrounded a freestanding H&B sign. Nicely paved parking area, but no vehicles in it.

Certainly not ostentatious, but it suggested a considerably more stylish and upscale business than the workaday setup in Eugene. It also looked prosperous, although that look apparently wasn’t reflected in bottom-line profits. Nothing indicated the business was now closed, but the door wouldn’t move when Cate tried it. A big, furniture warehouse truck rumbled by, and, from somewhere, the ding-ding-ding of a piece of equipment backing up. Now what?

That was when she heard banging around back. She circled the building and found a separate metal shop with an open roll-up door. A motorcycle stood outside, a small one without the Purple Rocket’s muscle and speed. The banging came from around front of an oversized vehicle in process of restoration.

“Anyone here?”

No one appeared, but a voice yelled, “Yo!”

“I’d like to talk to someone, if you have time,” Cate called back.

“Sure. Gimme a minute.”

A husky guy a couple years younger than Cate finally appeared in the doorway. Linebacker shoulders filled green coveralls, but he had baby-blue eyes in a freckled, boyish face. Rowdy blond curls stuck out from under a green cap with the company name embroidered in gold. He was wiping his hands on a greasy rag. His interest perked up when he saw Cate, but he said, “We’re kind of closed,” as he tossed the rag aside.

“I just need a little information.” She handed him a business card.

“Seth Erickson.” He stuck out a hand, and Cate shook it.

He didn’t seem as startled or intimidated by the information on the card as some recipients were. Instead his gaze inspected her from red hair to daisy-painted toenails she’d
experimented with a few days ago. She thought he was about to make some flirty remark, but then he asked a question.

“You carry a gun?”

Oh,
that’s
what he was looking for. Gun lumps. The whole world apparently thought every PI carried a Glock in one pocket and a Sig Sauer in the other. Well, maybe she
wouldn’t
carry a gun, even after she got her license and
could
load up on Glocks and Sig Sauers and fifty-bullet clips. Just to show that you could be a PI without one.

“No, no gun,” she snapped.

“You shouldn’t tell people that,” he reproved. “I could be a really bad guy.”

Yeah, maybe she was too honest. She didn’t admit that, however. She just stared him in the eyes even as she thought,
Baby-blue
-eyed guys can be killers too.
She had a momentary impulse to turn and run, but she shoved it aside.

“Okay, bad guy, do you have time for a few questions?”

He grinned. “You aren’t with the police?”

“No. This is a private investigation. Have the police been here?”

“After Kane got shot, I figured they would be, but I’ve never seen anyone. I guess you’re here about the shooting?”