Dying Echo: A Grim Reaper Mystery (Grim Reaper Series) (36 page)

Casey took a sip of her coffee, but refused to admit she enjoyed it. “What about the third guy? Marcus Flatt?”

“She’s not sure. She says there was another guy who stopped by once, but he didn’t get a drink, and he didn’t stay long. She was glad, because just looking at him gave her the creeps. She said his eyes were like a shark’s.”

“Bingo,” Death said loudly, and raised another toast, making Casey wonder exactly what was in the mug.

“I don’t suppose she has any idea if Randy and his buddies have been out of town?”

“Actually, she said he and Les missed their usual Wednesday last week. She hadn’t really thought anything of it, except that she hasn’t had to refuse Randy’s advances for a nice, two-week stretch.”

“The timing would fit.”

“Sure would.”

Casey took another drink and gazed out the window. Thornville no longer stood watching. She hoped he had just gone back to work, and wasn’t tattling to the police. “When was it she saw Flatt?”

“A while ago, I guess. She didn’t really remember.”

“So now what? Can we go talk to Randy?”

“Or is it time to call the cops?”

“Um, Eric?” Britney was calling him.

“She knows your
name
?” Casey said.

Britney was still talking. “The guy you were asking about? Randy?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s right over there.” She pointed toward the street.

Randy Pinkerton was driving away in a red Camaro.

Casey stood up so fast her coffee spilled. Eric caught the cup, so his hands weren’t free to stop Casey this time.

“Come on, Eric!”

She ran out to their car and waited impatiently for Eric to catch up.

Thornville peeked out at her from his window. Obviously, he had called and warned Randy Pinkerton they were coming.

“Do you want this?” Eric ran up holding out her half-full drink.

“Eric, get in the car!”

He tossed the drink in a trash can and beeped open the car. They jumped in and sped after Randy Pinkerton.

Eric squeezed past a yellow light. “Where do you think he’s going? Home? To warn Les Danver?”

“Which direction are we headed?” Casey grabbed Eric’s iPad and pulled up the GPS. “We’re not going toward Galveston Bay, where Les works.”

“Where’s Pinkerton’s house? See if he comes up in the white pages.”

She struggled to figure out how to find that information, but eventually came up with an address. “Nope. Not going toward that, either.”

“Brothers? Girlfriend?”

“How do I know who his girlfriend is?” But she knew his brothers’ names. “I guess it could be the older brother. Zeke. He lives sort of out this way. Do we think he’s involved?”

Eric groaned as a bakery truck pulled out in front of him, blocking their view of the escaping Pinkerton brother. He rode the truck’s bumper, waiting for a break in the solid yellow line.

Casey flipped through several hits on the iPad. “From what I’m seeing here Zeke is Mr. Upright Citizen. So is Dan. Can’t really find much about Randy. The most recent photos that involve the business just show the older two brothers, but that fits with what Thornville said.”

“Dang it,” Eric said, “where did he go? Do you see him?”

Casey looked up. “We lost him?”

“No. There he is.” They could see the little red car darting around a corner. The bakery truck lumbered straight, so Eric was free to turn after Pinkerton.

“He’s turning again,” Casey said.

“I see him. Why does this look familiar? Did we drive past here before?” Eric realized he was too close, and slowed to put more distance between the cars. “He’s on his phone.”

“Talking to Thornville, maybe?”

“Who knows. Maybe he’s calling his brothers. Or Les Danver. Or even the other guy.”

The Other Guy
. Marcus Flatt, the one who creeped out Britney just by stepping into the coffee shop, and who made Thornville shudder, and Elizabeth leave if she saw him coming. A man with shark’s eyes.

“I think I know where we’re going,” Casey announced suddenly.

“You do? Where?”

She held up the GPS and pointed out their route. “We did drive past here before. We’re going back to Harbor Houseboats.”

Chapter Forty-three

Eric let the car drift farther back. “Why would we be going there?”

“A couple of reasons. He’s either going to hide or get something he doesn’t want us to find. He’s meeting the other guys to tell them about us. Or he’s leading us into a trap.”

“Lovely.”

Eric drove even slower.

“If they’re going to hide incriminating evidence we have to get there first.”

“Impossible. He knows where he’s going. We don’t. And they’ve had almost twenty years to get rid of whatever you’re imagining.”

Casey plugged the address of the boat garage into the GPS. The first route it offered seemed to be the one they were already taking. She asked for an alternate way. The one that came up would be less mileage, but was supposed to take seven minutes longer.

“We don’t have a choice,” she said. “You’ll just have to speed.”

Following Casey’s directions, Eric turned at the next intersection, then flew along the town’s streets, slowing at crosswalks and roads, but ignoring posted speed limits. They managed to get close to the boathouse without crashing or getting a ticket, and parked a couple of blocks away. Casey didn’t see Randy’s car, or anyone at all, except for an older couple walking slowly down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, arm in arm, so she got out of the car and began walking toward the boat garage, angling through people’s yards and hoping they didn’t have those big guns Chief Kay had been talking about.

They snuck up on the boathouse the back way, going as quickly as they could without calling attention to themselves. But when they got there, there was no sign of Randy Pinkerton’s car.

“Did we beat him by that much?” Eric asked. “Doesn’t seem possible.”

“Or we were just wrong about where he was going.”

“Crap.”

They watched the building for a half hour, but there was no activity, so they made their way back to their car.

“Didn’t you say we could have been going to his brother’s house?”

“Yes, the older one. Zeke.”

“Should we check it out?”

“I guess. Not sure what else to do. He’s obviously not going back to work today, where we could find him.”

They drove to Zeke Pinkerton’s house, but there was no sign of Randy or his car. Not knowing what else to do they looked up Randy’s house, but there was no action there, either.

“What about Les Danver’s place?” Eric said.

Casey felt as weary as Eric’s voice sounded. “I’ll look him up.”

But he wasn’t listed anywhere, not even in the database they’d paid to belong to.

“Thornville would know,” she said. “The little prick.”

Eric laughed. “I think it’s time for some food.”

“I don’t want another blueberry muffin.”

They found a quick Italian place between the Gulf and Whitley, and were almost done when Eric’s phone buzzed.

“Britney?” Casey said. “I suppose you managed to exchange phone numbers while you were at it.”

He ignored her and read the text. “You’re going to love this. Hometown Interiors? They’ve been around for ages.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t love that.”

“No, listen. They’ve been around, but they haven’t done anything. Just sat in the corporation listings. The last thing they did? Bought out a small business and took it over seventeen years ago. Since then they’ve done nothing but exist until last week, when they apparently did a few small jobs before the work on your brother’s house.”

Casey let that sink in. “How is he supposed to have found this business if they haven’t been active for that long?”

“Doesn’t matter, because we know he really didn’t. If the police would have dug a little farther they would have seen all this. Instead, they believed the voice on the other end of the phone, as well as the fake emails and phone calls they planted.”

“You can do that?”

“I can’t. Other people can, without breaking a sweat. Or, actually, without even waking up much, knowing those folks. But that’s not the part you’re going to love.”

“So tell me already.”

He smiled. “That little business they bought out? It just so happened to be owned by someone here in Texas, by the name of Cyrus Mann.”

Chapter Forty-four

“I don’t understand.” Thornville was wringing his hands, like an old woman in one of those books where old women do that sort of thing. “How did you find me?”

“
That’s
what you don’t understand?” Casey stepped into Thornville’s front door—the door at his house. “Or you don’t understand about Hometown Interiors?”

“Either one.”

“May we come in?” Eric said.

Thornville hesitated, so Casey pushed past him, into a little foyer.

Eric followed. “Thank you. We appreciate your time.”

“But…”

“I assume you have computer access to your files here at home?” Eric said.

“It’s not really something I like to do—” He hustled after Casey, who was making a self-guided tour around the first floor.

He lived alone, that much was obvious. The living room and kitchen were exceptionally neat and tidy, as was the bathroom, and the small office at the back of the house. Casey stepped in and turned on the light. An extremely fat cat sat on the leather office chair. It took one look at her, rolled off its perch, and waddled out, tail held high.

“Here’s the deal,” Casey said, going around to the other side of the desk. “We know Cyrus Mann was bought out seventeen years ago. His relatives didn’t understand it. They’d thought he was doing great. But all of a sudden, he was out of a business and working for someone else. The Pinkertons. Can you explain that?”

Thornville stood in the doorway, blinking rapidly, like his brain was trying to compute. “I don’t know, I didn’t know anything about—”

“And who do you think bought out his company? I’m betting I know, and I’ll give you one guess.”

Thornville swallowed. “Um, the Pinkertons?”

“Ding, ding. But not all of them. Just one.”

His face pinched, like someone was stepping on his toe. “Randy.”

“You’re getting good at this. Now, you want to tell me why Randy, who is apparently a little pet of yours, seeing how you warned him about us today, would travel up to Marshland just to buy out some business that’s owned and run by one guy?”

Thornville swayed on his feet. Eric grabbed him and led him to the chair behind the desk.

Casey pointed at the computer. “See what you can find out for us.”

“Please,” Eric added.

Thornville blinked some more. “But I don’t know—”

Casey leaned over him. “It’s called research.”

“Why are you being so mean to me?” Thornville whined.

“Because you sold us out today.”

“But I don’t know you, and I do know Randy.”

“Yes, you know that he’s a conniving little crook, and hangs out with even worse ones. You’re the one who said his brothers don’t even like him.”

“I never said—”

“Type!” Casey said.

He began typing.

“Now I see what you mean when you say you’re going to be nicer,” Eric said to Casey.

She smiled.

“What do you want to know?” Thornville said.

“I want to see it for myself. Who officially owns Hometown Interiors?”

He was able to find the business, way down in some deep recesses of businesses whose sole activity was paying enough fees and taxes they remained legal.

“Well?”

Thornville cleared his throat. “It’s owned by a corporation called Private Boats, Inc.”

Casey couldn’t breathe. “And who owns that business?”

Thornville typed some more. After a while, he swallowed loudly. “Randy Pinkterton. And Les Danvers. And…Marcus Flatt.”

“Well, what do you know? Isn’t that interesting? What about work history of our lovely home repair business?”

Thornville went back to Hometown Interiors, and found that the hibernating business had somehow managed to rack up several work payments in the past month, after years of remaining stagnant.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Casey said. “How they decided to get back into the workforce so suddenly?”

“What details can you get us?” Eric asked.

“None. It’s private business activity.”

“You can’t see who their customers were?”

“Not without getting into their files, and before you ask, I don’t know how to do that.” He flinched, as if afraid of Casey’s reaction.