Sleeping With The Fishes

Chapter 10

I spent the night at Jason’s apartment–practicing for the future, maybe?–and in the morning made my way back to the house I shared with Charlotte and Sophie, since Jason had to do a bunch of follow-up work on his stories about Matt’s death. Being the only reporter in town didn’t usually take up a lot of his time, but whenever there was a big news story, he did have to work a decent amount.

Sophie had made pancakes, and as soon as I walked back into the house I grabbed a couple of them off the stack and popped them onto a plate, covering them in maple syrup before sitting down across from her at the dining table.

“So Jason found out who the owner of the truck was,” I told her, and she raised an eyebrow.

“He’s better at this stuff than you are,” she replied.

“No, he just asked Chief Gary for the info, and he gave it to him.”

Sophie barked out a laugh. “If only you’d thought of the simplest idea ever, instead of using your magic to cause property damage.”

“Speaking of property damage, watch out for Bee. I heard her yesterday herding her kittens to battle. I’m not sure who the battle is against, though.”

“Noted,” Sophie said. “So, where does the receiver of smuggled animals live?”

“Outside of Sisters,” I replied, and Sophie groaned.

“Great, I was hoping I’d be able to go the rest of my life without going back out there. I had an ex from Sisters.”

“Really? When?”

“When you were in vet school and weren’t paying any attention to your best friend’s life. It wasn’t one of my finest moments in life, he turned out to be less than ideal.”

“Ohhhh,” I grinned. “He’s the guy who ended up being arrested for running a meth lab in a shed behind his mom’s house, right?”

“Yes,” Sophie admitted. “As I said, not my finest hour.”

I laughed. “Well, unless his name is Richard Steele, you probably won’t run into him today. I vote we get going though, Sisters is like a three hour drive from here.”

“It’s a two hour drive if you give me the keys,” Sophie said. Despite the fact that my parents had died in a car accident, Sophie had always been an adventurous driver. I did have to admit, she was really good at it, though.

“Sure,” I said. “Give me ten minutes to finish eating, and we can head off. But first I want to go up to Portland and see the guy that was suing Matt Smith.”

“Tony… what was it, Fanchini?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” I nodded. “I looked him up the other day, he runs a bunch of different companies, and has an office on the south side of town. One of his companies is suing Matt. Or Matt’s company. Something like that.”

“Cool, let’s go.”

“Wait, aren’t you going to ask me if I even have a plan?” I asked.

Sophie grinned. “You never have a plan. Besides, winging it is much more fun. First Portland, then we visit Sisters. That’s as much of a plan as we need. We’re going to interview a murderer, then see if there are a whole bunch of smuggled animals being kept as pets in the middle of nowhere. This is my kind of Sunday!”

I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm as I finished off my pancakes and got ready to go. Charlotte had already gone into Portland, I assumed, since she was always up earlier than the rest of us and I hadn’t seen any sign of her yet.

Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen any sign of Bee this morning, either. Whenever my cat didn’t immediately make her presence known, that was usually a good sign to worry. And after the battle cry that I’d overheard her saying to her kittens the other day, my eyes narrowed. What fresh plot had Bee come up with to do… whatever it was she was trying to do?

I got the answer–or at least part of it–when I got up and went to the bathroom before leaving.

“Bee,” I said in my warning voice when I saw the entire roll of toilet paper had been taken off the holder, spread out across the whole bathroom–and some of the hallway–and then shredded.

“Ah, have my little rascals been up to something naughty again?” I heard my cat say from inside the shower. I pulled the curtain open to find Bee sitting on the middle shelf of the rack I used to keep soap and shampoo. Her tail was flicking slowly from side to side, and I knew she was trying to put on an air of nonchalance.

“Yes, Bee, they have. And you obviously know about it, since you were sitting here waiting for me to find it.”

“Ah, well, I suppose when they’re so badly behaved like that, it will be difficult to find them a new home.”

So this was the plan. Bee was going to get the kittens to terrorize me into keeping all of them. I crossed my arms in front of me.

“This isn’t going to work, Bee. Everyone knows kittens are mischievous. I’ll be sending them all to homes that have experience with cats. And I’m doing it soon. You have a few more weeks with your kittens, I recommend you spend time bonding with them, rather than attempting to wage war with me.”

“Who’s to say those aren’t mutually exclusive?” Bee asked, and I replied by turning on the water in the shower. Of course, Bee managed to easily jump out of the way before even a drop of water hit her, but she still let out a squeal of annoyance. Even the threat of water was an unimaginable horror to Bee.

“This isn’t war, Bee,” I shouted after her. “Tell your kittens to stop tormenting me.”

“Too laaaaaaate,” Bee called out in a sing-song voice, and despite the fact that I rolled my eyes at how ridiculous my cat was being, I had to admit, I was a little bit apprehensive. Toilet paper all over the floor wasn’t too bad, but I had a feeling Bee had other tricks up her sleeve.

I found the next “trick” five minutes later when I went to put one of my shoes on and found that one of the kittens had left me a lovely gift inside of it. “Ugh, gross,” I said, pulling my sock back, which was now lightly covered in cat vomit. One of the kittens–I was pretty sure it was Bilbo–was hiding behind a shoebox on top of the closet, his little ears and eyes poking out over the top of the box. I glared at him and he let out a small meow before scampering off as fast as possible. I supposed he must have thought he was better hidden than that.

Of course, being a vet, while I was sure the kittens had the worst intentions at heart, this was very, very far from the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen. In fact, it probably wouldn’t even rank in the top 5 for the past week. I simply took off the sock, threw it (and the shoe) in the washing machine and went to get a new sock from the bedroom.

“You’re not going to win this fight, Bee,” I called throughout the house, not knowing exactly where my crazy cat was right now. She didn’t reply until I had opened the front door.

“Yes, I will!” came the cry, and I sighed as I closed the door behind me. Sophie was already in my car, the engine started, waiting for me. We were going to do some investigating!

Tony Fanchini’s office was a lot more impressive than I’d been expecting. To be honest, I had kind of expected him to be running a hundred businesses out of some cramped little office with unfiled stacks of paper everywhere. But no, Fanchini Enterprises Inc., which was the parent company of Peacock Hills Investments, the company suing Matt Smith, was actually run out of the 7^th floor of a building with a great view over the Portland skyline.

To be totally honest, I was a little bit intimidated as Sophie and I made our way up to the smart looking receptionist, with straight black hair and perfect make-up, her manicured nails clacking across the keyboard at a speed that made my eyes water. She looked up at us with that professional expression that screamed ‘I’m only looking at you because I’m being paid to, you’re far less important than anything that happens here.’

“Yes?” she asked in an even tone.

“Hi, we’d like to speak with Tony Fanchini,” I told her, trying to sound equally professional myself.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, a sinking feeling in my stomach. Don’t tell me we were going to have driven all this way just to be held off by a gatekeeper.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you then.”

“It’s about Matt Smith,” I blurted out, and the receptionist’s eyebrows rose, the first real indication I had that she was a real person and not a robot.

“You’re a reporter, aren’t you?” she asked.

“No, nothing like that,” I said, pulling a business card from my wallet and handing it to her. “I had a bunch of business difficulties with Smith. He tried to buy the building and land that my clinic was on. I know one of Tony’s companies was suing Matt Smith, I wanted to chat with him. You never know, maybe something I know could help him, especially now that Smith is dead.”

The receptionist looked at my business card for a second, as though deciding what to do. I had my fingers crossed behind my back; I really hoped this wasn’t a wasted trip. Finally, she spoke. “Sit down in one of those chairs there. I’ll see if it’s possible to make room in Mr. Fanchini’s schedule today.”

I did a fist pump in my mind as Sophie and I headed toward the chairs. About ten minutes later the receptionist looked up at us. “Follow me please, I’ll take you to Mr. Fanchini.”

We were led into a gorgeous office with floor-to-ceiling windows behind a fancy mahogany desk. The man behind the desk was dressed in an expensive suit, though no amount of money could hide the fact that he was grossly overweight. Looking to be in his mid-fifties, with greying hair and a bald patch, Tony Fanchini rose when we entered the room and motioned for us to sit down in the two plush leather chairs in front of his desk.

“Ladies, it’s nice to meet you,” he said, shaking our hands. He was polite, but I couldn’t help but get a little bit of a creepy vibe off him. “I’m Tony Fanchini, owner here at Fanchini Enterprises. I hear we have–or should I say had–a mutual acquaintance.”

“Yes, Matt Smith,” I replied. “I’m Angela Wilson.”

“Sophie Hashimori,” Sophie added, as we both shook his hand and then sat down.

“So I suppose you’ve heard the news he’s been killed,” I said.

“Yes, my lawyer called me yesterday to let me know. He said it’s going to complicate our case tremendously. How were you involved with Smith?”

“My vet clinic was on a property which Smith attempted to purchase. When I resisted him, Smith attacked my property, although it could never be proven, and after I convinced my landlord to sell the property to me instead, he set the vet clinic on fire.” I figured honesty was the best policy to get Fanchini to talk. He let out a low whistle.

“Yes, that man certainly had ideas as to how to do business that had more to do with what he saw on television than reality. I’m going to assume you don’t know much about the property development business?”

“That would definitely be a good assumption,” I replied.

“The thing is, it’s actually quite a bit different to how things are portrayed on television. Of course there are disputes, and shady developers. But it’s a lot less exciting in real life. Shady developers usually either go broke, in which case they drive their BMWs around the corner and start up a new company, or they build a shoddy product. Either way, the parties involved end up going to court, and it’s all settled rather civilly. It’s extremely rare for a property developer to be involved in an actual violent crime.”

“And that’s what you’re doing, going to court. Can I ask what your company is suing Smith for?”

Tony Fanchini smiled, a slightly predatorial smile. “I can’t go into details for legal reasons, obviously, but I can give you the gist of it. After all, all of this is already public. One of my companies, Peacock Hills Property, is developing a new subdivision in a suburb east of here, in Springdale. Smith got wind of the plan, and bought a number of properties adjacent to the lots we purchased.”

“So?” Sophie asked. “Isn’t that totally legal?”

Tony smiled a wry smile at her. “It is. But then, after we began construction on our lots, Smith claimed that we were building on his property, and that the property line was in fact not where we thought it was. So he sued us.”

“That’s strange,” I muttered. “I didn’t hear anything about their being an active case where Smith was the plaintiff.”

“There isn’t, his case was thrown out of court three weeks ago,” Tony said. “I counter-sued as soon as he filed, but our case is still pending. We were certain to win before he died, and we’re still likely to win now. After all, we sued a company, not a person. Now we simply need to wait for the estate to be sorted, there will be delays, but I will get my money eventually. That’s the thing about people like Smith. They go to business school, they think they’re such hot stuff, and then the real world rakes them over the coals.”

“Was his business partner, Jake, involved in this?” I asked.

Tony shook his head. “No, Smith bought the land through a company where he was the sole owner. I’ve met Jacob, his business partner. He seems much smarter than Smith, and much more cautious. Less foolhardy. I imagine he refused to involve himself in this deal.”

“So Smith being dead actually complicates things for you,” I said.

“Yes, absolutely. I had an open and shut case to get damages and lawyer fees back, now it’s going to be more complex.”

“Did Smith ever try to get revenge on you after he lost his case?”

“If you’re asking if he tried to set my office on fire, no. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had something planned. I saw him sneaking around near the property one night when I went out to oversee some of the construction. I called the police, but he left before they arrived so they were unable to do anything. He was too hot-headed for his own good.”

I nodded. “Ok, thanks. Let your lawyers know what I told you, if any of it can be of any use, your receptionist has my card.”

“Will do. I doubt it will help, but you never know. It was nice to meet you,” he said. I left the office feeling as though I didn’t know anything about Tony Fanchini. He had no reason to kill Matt Smith at all, and yet there was something about him that I didn’t like, something I just couldn’t quite put my finger on.

As Sophie and I got into the car, I sighed.

“Yeah, I agree,” Sophie said. “I think we just eliminated another suspect.”

“I just hope our trip to Sisters ends with a better result,” I said.