Cat On The Scent

45

The map lay open on Rick's desk. A pile of financial statements, account books, and manila legal-sized folders were stacked on the floor next to his chair.

“The watershed . . .” He rubbed his chin.

“It's easy to see from the air,” Cynthia said, then added, “I checked the weather the night Tommy Van Allen died, or we think he died.”

“You doubt the word of our coroner?”

“When someone's frozen like a fish stick, yes.”

He slapped her on the back. “That's what I like—an independent thinker.”

“A storm came in quickly and hung on a long time that night. And then today, we just got up in time. As we landed the clouds rolled down like a dirty gray rug.”

“Was there any similarity of the properties from the air?”

“Not really.”

“Hmm, Harry pepper you with questions?”

“No, she was pretty good.”

He sat in his chair. “Close the door.” He paused until she returned.

“I've read every comma, semicolon, period, and smudge on Van Allen's account books. He's clean.” He swiveled around. “What you're telling me is that Tommy was a damn good pilot.”

“Yes. After seeing the small landing strip, he was better than good,” Cynthia affirmed.

“H. Vane and Tommy already knew how to fly,” Rick said out loud, even though he was really talking to himself. He had found no double set of account books. He wondered if perhaps the other fellows kept accounts. He was pursuing the drug angle. “And they were all part of the Oak Ridge reenactment. At least, Tommy would have been.” She nodded and he continued, “Coop, we're in the ballpark, at least, but we still aren't on base.”

“Could it be that these land parcels represent just what they appear to: investments against future growth? I guess I should say, for future growth?”

“With the exception of two here bordering Sugar Hollow they're generally in this quadrant.” He took out a color copy he'd made of the map and put a ruler on the copy. With a red pencil he drew lines, and a pattern began to form. “See.” He slapped his thigh. “I'd like to think this map represents drug customers, but when we checked the farms—before they were purchased—no. There's no way old Ephraim Chiles would buy drugs. I want to make this fit and I can't. And I'm not sure why some of these parcels have new wells on them and others don't.”

“I see that there are two roughly parallel lines.”

“I see it and I don't know what it means. Think about what you saw in the air. Was there anything to suggest this type of alignment, something obvious like a low hill chain or a creek?”

“No. Besides, if there were a creek it would be on the map. We'd have noticed it before.”

He dropped his forehead onto his hand. “When's the next commission meeting?”

“Next Tuesday.”

“Okay. We'll tack this on the wall without saying anything. Has to be on the wall before anyone gets to the meeting. We might at least flush out Arch.” He smiled. “I think we're getting a little closer to our killer.”

“Good idea,” she said with little enthusiasm.

He fired his pencil at her end-over-end. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Out with it.”

“I've inherited your gut feelings. This doesn't feel right. Maybe half-right. Not complete.”

“Yeah, I feel that way, but the look on your face . . .”

“He's going to strike again. I just know it.”

“Something off-the-wall like Mrs. Woo's store. I think that was definitely part of this. The fire destroyed her files—all those reenactor files.”

“Well, she does bring us back to the reenactors. You're right.”

“In a funny way serial sex killers are easier to figure than this one,” Rick mused.

“But there may have been sex. Don't forget the empty rubber packet in Tommy Van Allen's trench coat.”

“Nah. I don't buy it.”

Coop sat on the edge of the desk. “I hope I'm wrong, but this is far from over. H. Vane better hire a bodyguard.” As she said that a loud clap of thunder startled them both and the heavens opened.