Terrier Transgressions

Chapter Seven

Just as I feared, Brock had nothing new to share with us during our visit. That meant it was up to me, Charles, and the pets to find a new angle for his defense—and finding a new angle meant finding the real murderer.

Was I scared? Oh, yeah.

Last time I’d gone head-to-head with a killer I almost ended up dead myself. For now, I’d try my best not to think about that. When all this was over, though, I’d definitely be booking some therapy sessions.

Back at the office, Charles handed me a thick folder filled past bursting with the prosecution’s discovery, all the facts and files they believed would prove Brock guilty of the Hayes’s murders.

“Wow,” I said, letting out a low whistle as I flipped through the many, many pages it contained. “They sure have a lot.”

Charles groaned and slumped into the chair beside me. “Yeah, they really do.”

I only looked at the crime scene photos for a few seconds before pushing them aside. The gruesome pictures showed that poor Bill and Ruth had not died a gentle death. The deep crimson puddles of blood that pooled around their heads made my stomach churn.

Who would do such a horrible thing? And, perhaps even more importantly, why?

Charles returned to his desk for a moment. When he came back to our shared workspace, he placed a much thinner folder on the table before me. “Our discovery,” he said.

“Oh.” He had a few prior cases and character witnesses for Brock, but not much else to go by. It definitely didn’t look good. “Who gave these statements?” I asked, holding up the character testimonies.

Charles grabbed the thin bunch of papers and described each one as he placed them back before me. “His sister, a few previous clients of his handyman business, an old girlfriend.”

“Have you talked to anyone who knew the victims?”

He shook his head. “Just Brock and his sister.”

“What about the witnesses for the prosecution?” I asked, returning to the thick discovery folder and pulling out several pages of testimony from inside.

Charles didn’t even bother reaching for these papers. Instead he shrugged and explained, “They prefer not to talk to our side pre-trial.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” I grumbled, blowing out a big puff of air that ruffled my bangs.

No one seemed to be playing fair here—nobody except for Charles, that was. And this fact put us at a huge disadvantage.

Charles could take the high road all he wanted. I knew perfectly well that sometimes back roads were the only way to reach your destination, and I was definitely not opposed to taking them. “Okay, so here me out on this… What if they don’t know they’re talking to us?” I suggested with a sly grin.

He crossed his arms and shook his head. “Everyone knows I’m the attorney on Brock’s case. Even if I wanted to be sneaky, I couldn’t. And, no, I don’t want to be sneaky. I want to win this case and clear Brock’s name fair and square.”

“Oh, sure. I understand,” I acquiesced quickly. “Forget I said anything.”

Brock and I spent the next several hours reviewing both sets of discovery and planning our cross-examination of the witnesses. He didn’t need to know that I’d secretly made a list of people to visit outside of office hours. No one would recognize me as being part of the case.

After all, few people ever paid any real attention to paralegals.

I could use that to my advantage to learn more about the victims and figure out who might have wanted them dead. Nothing needed to come out in court unless I found our smoking gun—or, in this particular case, our bloody hammer.

“Are you ready, Nan?” I asked when I showed up to collect her for our after-hours private investigation. Because I’d arrived at work early that day, I was also able to sneak out a bit early. This gave us just enough time to stop by Bill Hayes’s former place of employment and see what new information we could learn about him and any potential murder suspects that might be lurking around his office.

“Oh, yeah,” Nan drawled with a vaguely Southern accent. “Let’s do this.”

Have I mentioned that my grandmother used to be a huge star on Broadway? She acted in the occasional community theater production now, but still jumped at any opportunity to dust off her under-utilized talents. That’s why I’d invited her to tag along with me tonight.

The late Mr. Hayes had worked at a place called Bayside Printing Company. Most of their jobs involved printing promotional materials for the many businesses scattered across Blueberry Bay, but a quick search on their website informed us that they also helped independent authors and micro-presses publish their books. This gave us the perfect excuse to stop in for a chat.

You see, for years, Nan had been telling anyone who would listen that she had a book in her—and more specifically, an autobiography. She’d even decided upon a title despite the fact she had yet to write a single page.

“It’s called From Broadway to Blueberry Bay: The Life and Times of Dorothy Loretta Lee, and I guarantee it’s the most fabulous piece of printing that will ever come across your desk,” she told the printing manager with a big jazz hands finish.

I studied the unassuming middle-aged man sitting across from us. His name was Mr. Weber, and with his thinning hairline and well-ironed shirt tucked neatly into his pants, he definitely didn’t look like a murderer. He smiled at Nan with genuine interest as she regaled him with all the stories of her fake youth growing up in the South.

“It truly sounds fascinating,” he said, mirroring her accent.

I had to fight hard not to crack up laughing at them both as the spoke chummily in their matching set of fake accents.

“Let me run some numbers so we can get settled on a quote,” he said as he made a big show of pulling his keyboard toward him on the desk.

“Lovely,” Nan said, folding her hands in her lap.

Mr. Weber’s smile didn’t leave his face as he clicked a series of boxes on his computer screen, pausing occasionally to ask Nan questions like how many pages her book would contain, what trim size she needed, if she wanted cream or white paper, paperback or hardcover.

Nan didn’t hesitate one bit as she flawlessly trotted out each response to Mr. Weber’s apparent satisfaction. It made me wonder if perhaps she was really serious about this autobiography despite the fact she hadn’t yet begun to write it.

Well, I would just have to make the time to figure out how I could be more supportive of her dream later. Right now, the investigation needed my full attention.

“So…” I said, drawing out the syllable until Mr. Weber turned his attention to me. “Isn’t this the place where that poor Bill Hayes worked before he was so tragically murdered?”

Mr. Weber turned red and sweat began to bead on his forehead at the mere mention of the victim’s name. “Yes,” he said with poorly concealed rage. “No one deserves to be killed like that, but especially not Bill.”

“Such a terrible thing that happened,” Nan said, patting his hand and offering a sympathetic nod.

A calm washed over Mr. Weber following Nan’s touch. “Bill was the best employee I had and was even poised to take over for me when I retire next year,” he explained with a frown. “I guess that won’t be happening now.”

“That’s too bad,” Nan said while I silently thanked my lucky stars that I’d decided to bring her with me. “I can tell you work very hard. You deserve a break after so many years of devoting yourself to the company.”

He shook his head sadly. “Bill was the very same. Everyone in the office loved him. All the customers, too. There were so many times a client would come to us with a crazy rush deadline, and Bill wouldn’t even think twice before offering to stay late and put in extra hours to make sure they got their order on time.”

“It sounds like he was a wonderful asset to Bayside Printing Company,” I added with a reassuring nod, not wanting to be completely outdone by Nan.

Mr. Weber kept his eyes glued to Nan, though, as he sighed and said, “I still can’t wrap my head around it. What did that handyman have against Bill? And to kill his wife, too? I hope they put him away for a long, long time.”

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably as Mr. Weber forced a smile back on his face and turned his computer monitor toward us.

“Anyway,” he said after clearing his throat twice. “As you can see, you’re looking at a cost of $2,500 to $6,700, depending on how many copies you’d like to print for your first run.”

Nan nodded. “What would you rec—?” Suddenly, she broke into a terrible coughing fit, unable to speak another word as she clutched at her chest dramatically.

“Excuse me,” she croaked out once the coughs had subsided. “Mr. Weber, would it be possible for me to have a cup of water?”

He popped to his feet quicker than I might have expected a man of his girth and stature to be able. “Sure, that’s no problem at all. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he’d rushed out of the office, Nan began rummaging through the papers on his desk and snapping bursts of pictures with her cell phone camera.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

Nan didn’t pause as she ground out her answer. “Seeing if we can find anything he’s not telling us. When he comes back with my water, excuse yourself to use the bathroom and see if you can find anything in the main office.”

Wow, my nan made an excellent private investigator. Perhaps I’d have to include her on my cases more often. Then again, this was only my second case to date and already she’d proved indispensable to both. Hey, I’d take help wherever and from whomever I could get it, just so long as nothing I did ever put my dear nan in any danger.

When heavy footsteps clopped their way back down the hall, Nan slipped her phone back into her purse just in time to greet Mr. Weber with a gracious smile. “My hero,” she cooed as he handed her the cup of water.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, rising to my feet. “I just need to use the bathroom real quick.”

“Turn left, then it’s the second door on the right,” Mr. Weber muttered without looking up to see me off. He’d fallen under Nan’s spell as so many did, and I couldn’t fault him for that—especially since it would make my investigation that much easier.

“Thanks,” I muttered before clicking the door shut behind me. Even though Nan was obviously an old pro, I myself was still new to this whole snooping business and didn’t really know where I should be looking. Somehow, I doubted Bayside Printing Company would just leave their financials or security tapes in plain view. Come to think of it, a place like Bayside probably didn’t even have security tapes, although if they did that would make this whole thing so much easier.

Man, I wished Octo-Cat was here with me. Where I was gangly and untalented, my cat was an expert at sticking his nose in others’ business. Heck, snooping might as well have been one of his middle names. With such a long list of them, it might actually be hidden in there without me knowing. He even put Nan to shame with his immense spying skills and the zero remorse he showed over exercising them. Maybe I could channel some of that now…

Now, if I were Octo-Cat, where would I look first?

I didn’t get a chance to find out, because a moment later I found that I wasn’t alone in the main office. The tall, slim woman who sat silently in the waiting area perked up upon noticing me.

“Can I help you?” I asked hesitantly. It seemed rude to just ignore her, even though I hadn’t a clue how I could actually help her with anything of consequence.

“Is Mr. Weber in?” she asked, tucking a fluffy red curl behind her ear and offering me a friendly smile. “I was hoping to grab my order before he closed up shop for the night.”

“Um, sure. I’ll just go tell him you’re here,” I said, turning back toward the office in defeat.

I sure hoped Nan was having better luck with Mr. Weber than I’d had out here. Or that she had captured something valuable on her camera during her sleuthing micro-burst.

Otherwise, it looked like Bayside Printing Company might be a big, fat dead end. All we’d managed to do was waste value time.

Wednesday was almost upon us, and we weren’t any closer to finding the Hayes’s real killer. Might tomorrow turn out to be our lucky day?

Oh, I sure hoped so.