From Newsprint to Footprints: A River's Edge Cozy Mystery (River's Edge Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (8 page)

"You said something about bill collectors."

She looked toward Andrew, who was trying to fit the rabbit into the back of a dump truck. "It's just been the last few months. One knocked on our door. I know they aren't supposed to do that."

"That's true." I waited for her to say more. When she didn't, I asked, "Did they say who Hal owed money to?"

Jean shook her head. "No. My husband talked to Hal. He didn't say the guy at our door said Hal owed money, just that someone who acted kind of nasty was looking for him. We thought Hal should know."

She looked expectant, so I said, "Maybe it was for something at the paper."

She shrugged. "Maybe. Seems they would have gone there."

"Mom. My rabbit's stuck."

I hadn't noticed that Andrew had shoved the rabbit into the truck's cab. I stood. "I should get going. Would you mind asking your husband if he heard Hal go out late the night he died? If he did, here's my number."

I handed her half of a three-by-five card, on which I'd written my name and mobile number. I had burned all my South County News business cards with a bunch of brush in the burn barrel behind Mrs. Keyser's house. Plus, it wouldn't have been appropriate to use them now.

My hand was on her doorknob when I thought of one more question. "I suppose a sheriff's deputy or one of the IDI agents talked to you."

Jean shook her head. "No one's been by."

Great. If they were considering anyone else, they'd be getting information from neighbors.

Knocks on two other neighbors' doors brought no response. They were probably at work. I'd have to come back.

I sat in my truck looking at notes and thinking about how Jean's comments might relate to Hal's murder. Knowing he was not just in debt but seemingly late on payments could be important. Still, it wasn't likely that a bill collector would off him. They'd never get their money.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. A credit report would list who he owed money to, but I had no way to do one. The paper did. Hal said he only did them when he was hiring someone, but I always suspected he asked for credit reports on people that he had a beef with. Good old Hal, always looking for dirt. One more reason he irritated people.

Whatever account Hal had used to access credit checks was likely still open. I debated asking Sandi for help, but other staff could possibly see any requests she made. She might get in trouble. If Fred was the interim editor, I'd probably have to go to him. Heck, he could have already done one.

What would happen if I stopped by
South County News
? No one would throw a stapler at me anymore.

Betty was at a desk behind the counter, where a receptionist sat before one of Hal's cost reductions. She had changed into a black dress with white trim, and kind of formal jewelry – a silver pendant and pearl earrings.

She must have decided she was underdressed for the funeral.
It's like she's in mourning
.

"Goodness, Melanie. I wouldn't have… Didn't expect to... Who would you like to talk to?"

"How come you're at the front desk?"

She frowned. "We're taking turns. Half the reporters in Southeast Iowa have dropped by in the last few days. If no one is at the desk, they wander around."

"Good reporters," I said.

Fred's voice came from behind me. "It's slowed down since the memorial service."

"Hey Fred." I turned to face him and was surprised that his face was thinner and he had bags under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't slept well, if at all. I hadn't really looked at him when he had tapped my shoulder in the back of the church, and I couldn't see his haggard look when he spoke from the pulpit. "You okay?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"I keep trying to think of ways to find out who murdered Hal. I figured you guys were looking into it, too.

He studied me briefly. "Can I assume you won't try to scoop us?"

"I don't think another paper would take an article from me." When he didn't smile, I did. "Of course I wouldn't."

His mobile phone started playing the melody to Joe Jackson's Sunday Papers. He answered it, listened, and then said, "Okay, let me put you on hold while I get to my office." Fred looked at me as he started walking. "Come on back in five, Mel."

I watched him for a moment, before I looked back at Betty. "Has he been sick?"

"Just working too much, I think. The
Register's
said he can still freelance for them while he works here again temporarily. He'll cut back for them for a while, but he has a couple feature pieces to finish."

"How about you? You worked for Hal longer than anyone here."

Her eyes grew watery. "It's not easy." She took a tissue from a box on the desk and dabbed at her eyes. "I should be able to talk about him without tearing up."

I put on what I hoped was a sympathetic expression. "You probably remember him when he was in a better mood."

She smiled. "Oh, yes. The first few years I worked here he had lavish Christmas parties and…" She looked at the now-ringing phone on her desk. "Better take this."

Nuts. I had hoped to lead her into a discussion about Hal's love life. Especially to figure out if it included her.

I walked toward the back of the bull pen, where I could see Ryan trying to load paper into the fax machine. No sign of Sandi.

Ryan looked up as I got closer. "Do you know how to clear a paper jam in the fax?"

"Sure. Let me get where I can reach the back of it." The fax sat on a four-foot-square cabinet that also held the office paper supply. The cabinet couldn't be moved unless we were really low on paper, so I unplugged the fax and turned it partly around.

"So, Mel, you doing okay?"

I glanced at Ryan as I reached my hand into the fax to clear the paper. "Yep. Just wish somebody would look a little harder for another suspect."

"Yeah. It'd be a better story."

I tossed the paper into the trash can. "There is that."

He grinned. "You know what I mean."

I did. I pointed toward Hal's old office. "Fred's probably ready for me."

As I got within a few feet of the office door, I heard him talking in a fierce, low tone. "I told you I'd have it next week." He paused. "It got turned down, but the board that oversees the paper now is going…"

I backed up a couple of feet. He had to be talking about the appeal of the denial of his unemployment claim. I didn't realize he knew results. Last I heard, he and Hal had done separate phone interviews with state employees who make the decisions.

The vacant desk of the former food editor was not far away, so I sat at it. When Fred slammed his phone down, I picked up the one on the desk. That way he wouldn't know I had heard him.

His chair squeaked as he pushed back from the desk. A moment later he was at the door, scanning the bullpen for me. I held up my index finger and smiled at him. "Okay. I'll catch you later." I hung up the phone fast, so Fred wouldn't hear the dial tone buzzing.

"Come on in." He walked back to his desk.

I followed, picked up a pile of other counties' local papers that sat on the chair facing him, and sat down. Fred had cleared Hal's personal items off the top of the desk and neatened the piles of file folders that sat on a credenza behind it.

Otherwise, it was as Hal left it, including an award from the Iowa Press Association several years ago, for Best Breaking News Story for a smaller-circulation paper. Hal was covering rising flood waters in 2008 and caught a photo of staff at a canoe rental company watching their canoes slide down a crumbling bank into the Des Moines River. The interview with the elderly owner was gut-wrenching.

"Have any IDI guys been over to talk to you?"

"They had me meet them in the diner. Can't figure out why they would suspect you. It's not like you could even lift him into your trunk."

My laugh was mirthless. "I'll tell them you were my accomplice."

Fred sat up straighter. "Wish you wouldn't say that."

"Just kidding. So, have you heard anything?"

"Not really. Ryan's been to every farm within a mile of Seaton's place, and Sandi's checked the gas stations to see if he stopped in there. No one remembers seeing him after he left Hy-Vee."

I nodded toward the file folders on the credenza. "Anything he was working on worth killing to hide?"

Fred smiled. "In River's Edge?"

I raised my eyebrows, and he added, "I went through them quickly, to see if he had any draft articles for the next issue. All I found was a piece about the river levels being controlled by Red Rock Dam rather than rainfall or snow melt."

It was an article Hal wrote every spring. Half the town agreed with him, half didn't, so it generated a bunch of letters to the editor. Probably why he brought up the issue every spring.

I made a note on a three-by-five card. "Nothing new there. I went to his neighborhood. Only found one person home, and she saw him probably when he was coming back from Hy-Vee. Nothing later."

I thought about telling Fred that Hal might have had a girlfriend, but decided to try to confirm whether it was Betty. "I'll go back this evening to find some other neighbors. I'll let you know where I go, so we don't duplicate."

"You figure it out, you can write part of the story."

I hadn't considered that and simply stared at him for a moment.

He smiled. "Whoever takes over might want to hire you. It'd be like an audition."

"Good headline. Person of interest cleared. Hired to write story."

"Lawn work isn't going to be too big December through February."

"True. I was thinking of buying a blade for my truck."

Fred shrugged. "Suit yourself. Don't rule it out. Plowing snow is cold work."

"Did you know Hal seemed to have money problems?"

Fred looked amused. "Whole town knows."

"I don't mean the paper, I mean personally."

"Gee, hadn't heard that." Fred pulled a notebook toward him. "Why do you think so?"

"Neighbor thought someone who was looking for him was a bill collector."

"At his house?"

I nodded. "Kind of odd in this day and age."

Here was the chance for Fred to volunteer to pull a credit report on Hal. He didn't.

"Hmm. I'll nose around at River's Edge Bank. Gertie owes me a favor."

The branch manager was spare in giving favors, so Fred must have done her a big one. "What about checking his credit?"

He made another note on his pad. "Not sure how that will work for a dead person. Have to find out."

"Share?"

"As long as you do," Fred said.

Except for the Betty or Shirley possibility, I would.

I WAS AT LOOSE ends until Friday evening, so it made sense to earn some money. I stopped by my apartment and put on a pair of cut-offs and ankle-high work boots, and was at Syl's place by two-thirty. His truck was gone, so I pulled mine to the wide space at the back of the driveway. I avoided looking at the place where the mulch had been.

I was on the side opposite the driveway, toward the back of the house, when a vehicle pulled into the driveway. I assumed it was Syl until someone wrapped on the front door a couple of times. I shoved a trowel into the flower bed I was weeding and walked to the front of the house.

The man at the door turned and stared. "Who are you?" He was tall and tanned, but like someone who sunbathed, not a person who got the back of their neck burned from working outdoors. He had on a collared shirt and dark green tie, but no jacket. Definitely not someone I knew.

"I'm Melanie. I'm helping Syl get the yard in shape." The man's intense stare made me uneasy, so I smiled, thinking maybe he thought I was a burglar or something. "It'll take a while to get it really looking good."

His expression changed to one that seemed like phony friendliness. "I'm a colleague of Syl's. I was in the area and thought I'd stop in and see his new place. Do you know when he'll be back?"

"He goes to Des Moines a lot. Do you have his mobile number?"

"Not with me. You probably do." He walked to the edge of the porch and looked down at me.

"I don't, and I need to get it. I haven't been working for him long, and I usually see him rather than call."

"Know when he'll be back?" He walked down the steps, moved a few feet toward me and stopped.

"No. I've noticed that when he goes to Des Moines he's pretty much gone all day." I nodded toward the porch. "If you want to leave a note, I'll grab you a rock big enough to put on it so it won't blow away."

The phony-friendly look was back. "No thanks. I have his number at my office. I'll give him a call." He turned and walked toward an older Lincoln that sat in the driveway.

"Want me to say who stopped by?" I called to his back and wasn't surprised when he said no.

He got to his car and looked at me as he opened the driver's side door. "Good luck with all the weeds."