The Case Of The Cupid Caper

Chapter 5

Cass was working on the large table in the conference room when I arrived. Milo, who had been sleeping at his feet, got up to greet me.

“You look busy,” I said as I ruffed Milo behind the ears.

He nodded toward the piles of half-burned documents spread out over the table. The table looked the same as it had when I’d been here yesterday. I really couldn’t tell if he was getting anywhere. To the naked eye, it looked as if he wasn’t, but I supposed I should give him credit for knowing what he was doing. Perhaps he was working off some sort of personalized sorting system.

“I’m getting nowhere,” he groaned.

Or maybe not. “Can I help?”

“Not really. The problem is there are large chunks of most of the documents in the top file cabinet that are simply missing. Piecing them together has provided minimal results, and while I guess it’s a worthwhile task to attempt, I feel I might make better use of my time by interviewing folks who might actually know what was going on with Dale.”

“So have Gwen work on this,” I suggested.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll do that.” He stood up and pushed his hands into his lower back. I wondered how long he’d been sitting there.

“I spoke to Tom this morning,” I informed him. “He has an interesting theory.”

Cass nodded. “If you are referring to the theory relating to Clay Barrow, I do agree that the lead is an intriguing one that hasn’t previously been brought to light. I’m waiting to hear back from my contact in the FBI, but based on my initial conversation with the people who monitor these sorts of things, there doesn’t seem to be a consensus that anyone from Dale’s old life followed up and tried to find him after he changed his name and moved.”

“But a crime boss went to prison. It seems like there would be someone out to get revenge on whoever put him there.”

Cass began reboxing some of the piles of paperwork he’d already gone through. “That may be true, but according to what I’ve been told, the man Dale spilled the beans about wasn’t a popular guy, and even those who worked for him are happy he’s gone. Clay is not only in prison but in an extremely secure prison with no outside contact. They seemed to think that it was unlikely, yet admittedly not impossible, that Dale was killed by one of Clay’s men.”

“So, you’re back to the patient theory?”

“For now. I spoke to Helen Prosect. She confirmed that her husband was an abusive man and that she had been his punching bag for years. She also confirmed that Doctor Conover was responsible for convincing her to leave the man, and he is the one who arranged for her to spend time in the women’s shelter.”

“Did her husband know all of this?” I wondered.

“Helen wasn’t sure, but she assumed he put two and two together when she never came home. She’s fairly certain that he doesn’t know where she is since he hasn’t shown up, but she said she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if her husband showed up at Doctor Conover’s place and had it out with him.”

“Is had it out with him code for murder him?”

He nodded. “That seemed to be the message she was conveying.”

“So, what now? Are you going to bring him in?” I asked.

“I’m going to speak to him, but I’m not going to arrest him. At least not yet. I don’t have grounds to do so, and honestly, at this point, I’m not sure that he’s our guy. I am, however, looking into things to determine where Mr. Prosect was during the window of time when Conover was murdered. I should get feedback on a few feelers I have out there this morning.”

“And the other patients Lissa mentioned? Have you figured out who those people are yet?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping that I’ll find a clue somewhere in this mess.”

“What about phone records?” I asked.

“Gwen informed me that we received them about two minutes before you walked in. I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet.”

“It seems like it might be important to know who Dale spoke to on the day he died.”

“I agree. If you want to walk to my office with me, we’ll take a look.”

“I have a few minutes. Only a few since I have a meeting in about an hour with Lettie Harper about the Sweetheart Dance, which by the way, I’ve been asked to cover for the newspaper. You wouldn’t want to go with me, would you? As friends? To keep me company. We don’t even have to dance if you don’t want to.”

Cass smiled. “I’d be happy to go with you, and I like to dance. We can work out the details later. Right now, let’s see who Dale Conover has been chatting with.”

I got up and followed Cass into his office. He sat down at his computer. Once he’d logged on, he opened his inbox and clicked on the document. “It looks like the last call made from Dale’s cell was to a blocked number. Before that, he received two consecutive calls from Lissa. I recognize the number from our interview.” He pursed his lips and continued to read. “There are several calls to a blocked number over the week before the fire, and a whole lotta calls from Lissa as well. I’ll need to track down the rest of these numbers.”

“Any calls to Lissa?” I wondered.

Cass narrowed his gaze as he went through the list. “No. The last call from Dale to Lissa from his cell phone was more than three weeks ago. Since then, Lissa has called frequently, but, unless Dale used another phone to initiate calls, all of the calls have been from her to him.”

“Do you have his home and office phone records as well?”

He nodded. “It’s going to take some time for me to identify all the numbers. I’ll probably have Gwen track them all down.”

“Are there any that seem to pop up more frequently than the others?” I asked.

Cass scrolled through the information on his screen. “There is one number listed as having called his home phone several times a day from as far back as these records go. I’ll need to track that one down right away. There’s also a call to a number with a Denver area code made from Dale’s office line that might be whomever he went to Denver to visit. That will be on my list to track down right away as well.”

“Did you ever find his tablet?” I wondered, knowing that he had planned to look for it.

“Actually, I did. It was with his laptop in the trunk of his car. Both the tablet and laptop are undamaged, but the password for each is six digits. Lissa said to try either Bingo or Bingo95. One is five digits, and the other one is seven, but I’ve tried all sorts of combinations such as Bingo9, Bingo5, and Bngo95. I plan to keep trying different combinations, but my sense is that the password is something other than Bingo.”

“What about a birthday. A lot of people use birthdays.”

“I tried his birthday, and I also tried Lissa’s birthday. I’ll keep at it. I just found the tablet and computer this morning, so I haven’t had a chance to really explore options.”

“Was the car in Dale’s garage? I didn’t see one in the driveway.”

Cass shook his head. “Actually, the car wasn’t on the property at all. I looked for it on Friday. The whole reason we didn’t find the tablet and laptop until this morning is because we didn’t find the car until this morning.”

“Where was it?” I had to ask.

“It was in the town’s impound lot. Originally, it was parked in the back parking lot of the Ramble Mountain Ski Resort.”

I frowned. “Okay, that’s strange. Right?”

He nodded. “The car was actually parked in an overflow lot that’s only used during peak periods. I’m not sure how long the car had been there, but it was noticed by resort security when it was sitting in the lot when they opened the lot on Saturday. At the time, security made a note of the car and issued a citation since the vehicle didn’t seem to have a parking pass. When it was still there at the end of the day on Sunday, security had it towed. I didn’t think to check the impound lot until this morning.”

“I’m glad you found the car and the tablet and computer, but I do have to wonder if the fact that the car was in the back parking lot of the ski resort might be a clue as to what happened.”

“Maybe. It does seem as if the car was moved before the fire was called in. I suppose the person who set the fire could have made his or her escape in the car and then abandoned it in the lot, which wasn’t in use on Friday. I’m having the vehicle checked for prints.”

“Maybe you’ll find something.”

“Maybe.”

I glanced at the phone records on the screen. “Or maybe the phone records will provide the clue you need.”

“Maybe.” Cass looked at me. “This is going to take a while, and I know you have your interview with Lettie, so maybe we can catch up later. We have our volunteer shift at the shelter. We can talk while we play with the dogs and maybe grab a bite after.”

“That sounds good, and I do need to go. I’ll see you at the shelter this afternoon.”

After leaving Cass’s office, I headed to Lettie’s sewing and craft store. She figured she’d be slow on a Tuesday morning, and I figured that the craft store was as good a place to meet as any.

“Morning, Lettie,” I greeted after she came into the retail area from the back after the bell over the door announced my arrival.

“Morning, Callie. You’re right on time.”

I nodded. “I try to be prompt, and I promise not to take up any more of your time than I need to.”

“I’ve read your columns since you’ve been working at the newspaper. You have a real talent. I was thrilled when Dex told me that you were going to cover the dance this year. Brock’s covered it in the past, but his articles make the whole thing seem routine and heartless.”

I was thrilled to hear Lettie say that. I really did hope I brought a unique perspective to the newspaper staff. “I’ll need all the specifics, time, place, cost, ticket sales, etc., but I’m going to ask you to email all that to me to save time now. What I really want to talk about is the heart of the event. Why the town holds it each year and how this year might be the best one yet.”

“Let’s have a seat in the office in the back. I’ll hear the bell if someone comes in.”

I nodded and then followed Lettie down the short hallway to her office. I sat down across the desk from her. After a moment, she began to speak. “The Sweetheart Ball has been around since I was a girl. A man named Bryson Newberry decided he wanted to ask a woman named Martha Stanwell out on a date. Martha was a teacher who had moved to the area from the city and from what I remember, she was a beautiful woman who all the men were after. Bryson was a simple farm boy, but he was determined to make Martha his own, so he vowed to plan a date so special that the woman of his dreams would immediately fall in love with him. Back then, there was a single diner and a couple of bars, but nowhere really special to take her. Bryson knew that Martha was never going to be happy with dinner at the diner or an evening at one of the local bars, so he decided to hold a dance in his barn on Valentine’s Day. Now a barn might not seem like the most romantic place for a dance, but Bryson went all out. Not only did he clean the place up so that it was almost unrecognizable as a barn, but he also built a dance floor, hung lights from the rafters, and even hired a live band. Once he had the place ready, he invited the entire community to the event. His plan was to invite Martha as his date once he got everything in place, but his timing was off, and by the time he actually got around to asking Martha to be his date, she’d already accepted an invitation from someone else.”

“Oh, no,” I laughed. “What did he do?”

“From what I’ve been told, he was pretty upset, but knew he needed to attend the dance he was hosting, so he asked the girl who lived on the next farm over to be his date. They’d been friends for a long time, and he figured that if she attended with him, then once everyone arrived, he’d simply ask Martha for a dance at which time he’d make his move.”

I was loving this story. It was going to be perfect for my column. “So, what happened? Did he make his move?”

“Actually, he tried, but Martha made it clear that she wasn’t interested in a simple farm boy, so Bryson spent the evening dancing with Susan, the neighbor I mentioned. At some point, they fell in love, married, and had eight children.”

“Eight?” Yikes, that was a lot.

“Yep and every one of those eight children grew up to be happy, successful adults. Both Bryson and Susan have passed on, and all eight of their offspring have moved away, but the dance lives on. At some point, someone had the idea to use the dance as a fundraiser for the town, so rather than being free, as it was in the beginning, tickets are sold now. And while the dance continued as a barn dance for quite a few years, it’s held at the community center now. I’m not sure there are many folks left in town who even remember Bryson and the over-the-top date he tried to plan to snare a woman he would never have been happy with. I think it will be fun to get the story out there again, especially with all the hoopla being created this year due to the whole Ms. Cupid thing.”

“So, about that.” I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the desk. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who Ms. Cupid is?”

She shook her head. “I really don’t. I’ve gone over it in my mind, but I’ve come up empty. I’m not sure how much you know about Ms. Cupid, but she seems to know a lot about the people who live in the community, so I’m thinking she lives here. She also knows a lot about folks who haven’t even signed up for her service, so I’m thinking she’s lived here for a long time. I’ve tried and tried to figure out who might be behind these matches, but no one jumps out to me as an obvious candidate. Going through all those applications must be time consuming. While Ms. Cupid has made less than a dozen matches, the matches she’s made have all taken, so while the service might not have been given much notice at first, it seems like single men and women of all ages have been applying like crazy.”

“I guess you make a good point about the amount of time that must be involved. And Ms. Cupid doesn’t charge anything, so her motivation is something other than monetary.”

“I suppose the woman might just be one of those people who loves love. I will admit the whole thing has struck a romantic chord in me. If I’d thought of it first, I might have been the one to try my hand at the whole matchmaker thing, but I didn’t think of it first, so if you were wondering, no, I’m not Ms. Cupid.”

“The thought had entered my mind,” I admitted.

Lettie and I spoke a while longer. She provided some tidbits and stories about past Sweetheart Dances that were going to provide entertaining filler for my series. When I’d entered into the conversation, I’d considered the dance to be nothing more than one of many town fundraisers, but now I could see that it was actually something so much more.