The Mysteries of Max: Books 25-27

Chapter 25

They’d arrived at the address Odelia’s uncle had sent her. The bungalow-style house was a modest one, in a quiet neighborhood that had been built about thirty years before. It had a front yard that was well-kept, but the house itself looked a little rundown.

She set foot for the front door, four cats and one dog looking on from the sidewalk.

There was no bell to ring, but there was a sturdy brass knocker, so she used it deftly. Moments later she could hear stumbling inside, and the shuffling of feet. And when the door opened and a large man appeared, puffing from a cigarette, and only dressed in boxers and a tank top, she gave him her best smile. “Mr. Pollard? Jerry Pollard? My name is Odelia Poole, and—”

“I know who you are,” he said, and stepped aside. “Come on in. Your uncle told me you were coming.”

“Thanks,” she said, and glanced back at her pets. She didn’t think she could take them inside this time, so she gestured that they should go around the back. Who knows, maybe they could listen in on the conversation, and even save her life if Mr. Pollard turned out to be a serial killer who liked to dismember his visitors and stuff them into his freezer.

“Take a seat,” he mumbled, and started dumping pizza boxes and fast food wrappers to the floor. “Don’t mind the mess.”

She glanced around. Apart from the obvious mess, and the telltale signs that Mr. Pollard liked to eat his dinners—and presumably his other meals, too—in front of this TV, the place was reasonably clean. She could see pictures of kids and several pictures of Jerry Pollard in better days, his arm casually slung around a woman with red hair, three red-haired grinning kids also present and accounted for.

He followed her gaze. “She lives in Florida now. Married a real estate broker. Took the kids, too.”

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Pollard,” she said.

He smiled and rubbed his eyes. “So Frank Butterwick died, huh? Fell into his pool.” He shook his head. “Sad affair. I liked Frank. Great guy—wonderful friend.”

“You were the silent partner in his company?”

“Yeah, he needed capital to start his own business, and back then I was loaded, so I didn’t mind setting him up in business for himself. He used to work for me, you know. I’ve been in construction my whole life, and Frank was that rare person: great at his job, and honest to a T. I was sad to see him go, but when he offered me a partnership, I jumped at the chance. Guy like that was going to make it big, I could tell. And he did. Heck, half the homes in Hampton Cove now have a pool that he installed. Or I should probably say we, though I just provided the capital and he did all the work.”

“My uncle seems to think there might have been foul play involved. What do you think?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that, sweetie. Frank and I didn’t get in touch much. He dropped by from time to time, but from what I could see he was doing just fine—didn’t need my help.”

“Are you still in business, Mr. Pollard?”

“Nah—the divorce pretty much blindsided me. Took me a while to get back on my feet, and by then the business had folded. This is not a line of work you can run from behind your computer. You have to be right there, on site, all the time, keeping an eye on things. If you don’t, it all goes belly-up before you know it. But I’m not complaining. Financially I’m doing okay—mostly thanks to Frank.”

“So you’re not aware of anyone who would have carried a grudge against him? Anyone who would want to kill him?”

Jerry Pollard hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “Frank wasn’t the kind of guy to create enemies. He was well-liked. A real people person.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you hesitated before answering my question, though.”

He laughed. “Your uncle told me you’re a pretty sharp cookie, Miss Poole. Yeah, there was one incident Frank told me about. Not that I think it matters, but…” He grimaced. “It just didn’t sit well with him, you know. And I could tell it bothered him.”

“What incident was that?”

“Frank started out with one guy—one builder. He pretty much took him under his wing, before hiring more people and slowly building up his company, like you do.”

“And? Something happened with this builder?”

“Yeah, I guess you can say that. See, this boy didn’t have any parents.”

“An orphan.”

Mr. Pollard nodded. “So Frank being the kind of guy he was, pretty much treated him like a son. There was a vague understanding that one day when Frank retired he’d leave the business to this kid. Which wasn’t a bad offer, as the company was doing really well.”

“And then what happened?”

Mr. Pollard shrugged. “I’m not sure. One day the kid simply up and left without a word. Just… walked out. Gave Frank quite a shock, I can tell you. Shook him to the core.”

“Do you have a name for this person?”

“Yeah, Brett Cragg. Last I heard he lived on Grover Street, though that information dates back six months.”

“When he left the company,” said Odelia, nodding.

“Yup. Which just goes to show: be careful who you trust, and never, ever, hand the keys of your company to just any old fella walking in from the street.”

“Do you think this Brett Cragg could be responsible for Frank’s death?”

“I don’t know, sweetie, but if I were you, I’d definitely talk to him.”