Beware False Profits (25 page)

“For what it’s worth, you’re on the right track.” He turned and started closer to the fire. I followed, and after a moment, Ed did, too.

“What do you mean?”

“Food bank hanky-panky. We’ve been tracing it for a week now.”

“The way I did?”

“We didn’t have the benefit of your lists. I recognized the name of one of the warehouse assistants. I arrested him four or five years ago, and he served some time. It just looked to me like he was living a lot better than he should on his income. We came to an understanding.”

“He admitted it?”

“He’s given us some useful information.”

“Did he tell you Chad Sutterfield was involved?”

Roussos didn’t answer. I was more surprised he’d answered me at all.

Ed filled the gap. “Detective Roussos, don’t you usually investigate homicides?”

“You think Hazel Kefauver’s death had to do with the food bank, don’t you?” I asked. “That’s why you’re here.”

We were as close now as I wanted to be. I could see just enough to know that the warehouse was rubble, but so far the firefighters had managed to contain the blaze so the administration building was intact. To me, it looked like they were getting control of the blaze, and maybe the offices and the store could be saved. I wondered how many months would pass while the food bank tried to start over and build an inventory, and how many people would go hungry in the meantime.

A couple of firefighters came toward us. I recognized the chief from his appearance at civic functions I’d attended.

The men took Roussos aside and spoke in hushed voices.

“We should go,” Ed told me. “We’re just going to be in the way, Aggie.”

I knew he was right, although I sensed there was something more going on. Ed was correct. Roussos did work homicide. Yes, our police force was small, but I doubted Roussos was also the arson investigator. And why was the fire chief talking to him now? Hazel’s death wasn’t an immediate concern.

“They’ve found a body,” I told Ed, grasping his arm. “That’s got to be why Roussos is here.”

He didn’t contradict me, and he didn’t try to drag me away.

Roussos returned. “You need to get behind the barrier.”

“Just tell me. They found somebody, didn’t they? Somebody died in there?”

He shook his head, but not in denial. Like a man who had better things to do than answer more questions.

“Who?” I asked. “Do they know?”

“At this point they’re only making a guess.”

I thought about the old man who had confronted Chad this afternoon with a copy of my list and the woman who had been with him. I knew O’Hara was all right since I’d talked to him only moments before I’d learned of the fire. But Cilla? I felt guilt like a dark cloak enveloping me. This was my fault.

“It’s Cilla Hunter, isn’t it?” I asked softly.

He must have seen my distress. I’m sure it’s the only reason he answered.

“No. Judging by what’s left of his ID card, they think it’s probably Sutterfield. Just keep that to yourself.”

Ed is doing too many memorial services, and I have too many connections to the departed. As I dressed for the service that would commemorate the life of one Chad Sutterfield, I considered the events of the past week.

Although an investigation into the warehouse fire continues, the outcome seems fairly clear. The police learned that Chad arranged an alibi with his current girlfriend, then took a route to the food bank that included parking his car in the woods and hiking in the back way. He set a fire in his office, then tried to leave. But the fire behaved unpredictably, and Chad was caught in his own blaze. The firefighters found his body close to an exit door, but not close enough.

The reason for the fire seems obvious. Chad hoped to destroy all the warehouse records, a feat he accomplished. Without a warehouse, and consequently without a job, he believed he could leave town without fanfare and start over somewhere else. With the records gone he thought that if Phil O’Hara or Cilla went to the police, it would only be their word against his. He didn’t know that Hazel Kefauver had died with a complete set of records in her possession, and that I had found them.

Unfortunately for Hazel, it
was
likely Chad knew she suspected food bank irregularities. He probably realized it was only a matter of time before Hazel switched her suspicions from Joe to him. So Chad, Mr. Irregularity himself, possessed the best possible motive for poisoning her. It wasn’t much of a stretch to believe that a man who was capable of burning down a food bank was also capable of murdering a meddling busybody who got in his way.

I’m not privy to Roussos’s thoughts. But when I handed over all the food bank records in my possession and asked if he thought they’d found their murderer, he didn’t deny it.

The mystery of the food bank thief has ended. Most likely the mystery of who killed Hazel Kefauver has ended, as well. The mystery of what happened to Joe Wagner? That case is still open, and I’m the only one investigating. Maura hasn’t yet filed a missing persons report, not even after she learned what Chad had been up to. We’ve argued over this, but she’s determined to leave the door open for Joe to return.

Of course that depends on whether Joe is alive and not another of Chad Sutterfield’s victims.

As I slipped my rebellious feet into black pumps, Ed came into the bedroom. He was already dressed and I knew he hoped we could walk over to the church together.

“This is so awkward.” I stomped, and the shoe finally conquered the foot. “I don’t know what you can say about Chad to make anybody feel his life was worthwhile.”

“It’s not the easiest service I’ve ever done. But the Sutterfields were members here for years. And they need closure.”

I reached for a tissue since the cold I’d so successfully shooed away had come back with a vengeance. “They need amnesia. This must be so hard for them.”

“They’re nice people. You’ll like them.”

“I guess just this once, the apple not only fell far from the tree, it rocketed into outer space.”

“Every kid has a million different influences tugging at him.”

As I blew my nose I thought about our girls. Deena, who was experiencing her first crush on a boy and was suffering ridicule from her friends because of it. Teddy, who was so worried about her classmate Rene that she couldn’t enjoy her own success.

And that reminded me that some crises in a child’s life, at least, could turn out well. “Has Teddy told you how Rene’s doing as Cinderella?”

“She’s coaching her. Friday’s the big day.”

After talking to Teddy and learning that I had indeed been correct in my assumptions, Ed had explained to our daughter that she needed to go to her teacher and tell her exactly what she had told him. I hadn’t been as confident that things would turn out well, but Miss Hollins leaped into the role of the Fairy Godmother and waved her magic wand.

“With Teddy as coach, Rene will know every line and nuance,” I said.

“Teddy could surprise us all and head for Broadway instead of Harvard Divinity.”

“Either way she’ll have an audience. And right now, yours is waiting.” I went to wash my hands and stuff my purse with more tissues while he straightened his tie. I grabbed a silvery gray shawl Junie had knit for my birthday, and I was ready.

Junie and my daughters were cutting fabric behind closed doors, so we called good-bye and started across the alley. The Sutterfields had invited the people they were closest to during their Emerald Springs years as well as some of Chad’s colleagues and friends. They had decided against a eulogy, knowing there was little that could be said about Chad’s life that would stand up under scrutiny. Instead there would be an opening prayer, Ed would do several readings, then there would be a period of silent contemplation during which anyone who had known Chad could stand and say a few words. Ed was prepared to say a few things himself, and I knew he had labored over them.

We entered through the parish house and passed through the social hall where a small reception would take place after the service. A local caterer was setting out sandwiches, and the coffee urn was heating. Luckily, the woman had brought her own punch bowl and glasses, and I wondered if this was automatic or because someone had realized ours was missing. My day of reckoning was approaching. Sally Berrigan was due back in town this weekend, and I would have to tell her what had happened.

I saw that somebody, probably Chad’s parents, had set up framed photographs on a cloth-draped table to one side of the room. They had chosen photos of the boy and teenager. Elementary school Chad in a Cub Scout uniform. Middle school Chad on horseback, beaming into the camera. A teenage Chad about to run into the waves on a beach vacation. Missing were all traces of the man he had become.

I turned away because my eyes were filling with tears. Chad looked so ordinary in the photos, so much like the boys my girls are growing up with. I could picture any of them in the same places and clothing, beaming into the camera and their long, happy futures.

Crying wasn’t going to help anybody. I had no tears for Chad, but for his parents? I could only imagine how they felt.

I left to wait in the church. Esther, our wonderful organist, had chosen Bach’s Fugue in C Minor as prelude music, which set a mood of quiet gravity. People entered in clumps. I was surprised to see Maura, but I realized she was probably standing in for Joe, who despite everything Chad had done, would have come to show support for Chad’s family. I was even more surprised to see Cilla.

I recognized a few other people who worked for the food bank, but most of those in attendance were older members of our congregation who had known Chad as a boy. Few of his contemporaries joined us. I wondered how many friends he actually had. The alibi girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.

Ed outdid himself on the service. The mood was thoughtful, nonjudgmental, kind. Although I was worried someone might bring up the circumstances of Chad’s death, those people who did get up to speak told anecdotes that cast a warm light on the younger Chad. Mostly people sat in silence and took comfort in each other and in Ed’s words.

When my attention flagged,
I
took some comfort in the number of people sniffling and coughing along with me. Spring had shared its germs without discrimination. I didn’t feel great, but at least I wasn’t alone. At one point Maura, in the midst of a coughing spree, got up and left for a few minutes. I wondered if the dolls on her front porch would play doctor and nurse until she felt better. I wondered if I could borrow them.

We left after a final prayer and Bach postlude. By then I was feeling wrung out, but I didn’t want to desert Chad’s parents. I decided to make a brief appearance, issue my condolences, then go home the back way.

Cilla was standing to one side looking at the photos of Chad when I arrived in the social hall, so I joined her. Almost everyone else was in line waiting to speak to the Sutterfields. I didn’t want to barge in. I was also trying to avoid Norma Beet, Ed’s talkative secretary who was there to make sure the caterer knew where to find everything. The caterer would really earn her fee today.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” I said.

Cilla rearranged a photo, bringing it forward, as if to show it better, then another to more evenly distribute them on the table. I thought this was simple nervous energy and no desire to sugarcoat or showcase Chad’s life.

“I wasn’t going to come, then I realized I needed to say some kind of good-bye,” she said. “I probably knew him as well as anybody did.”

I gazed at the photos, shown to better advantage now that she had repositioned them. “He looks so happy, doesn’t he?”

“I think he was one of those people who
was
happy most of the time. It just never occurred to him that the rest of us needed to be happy, too.”

“Rest of
us
?”

Her hands dropped to her sides. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I lied when I said I was never involved with Chad. I made the mistake of being flattered by his interest a few times. I guess I’m still ashamed I fell for his line. Chad liked beautiful women without too many brains.” Her gaze flicked to the doorway then back to me, and her expression changed. “Now
she
would have been his perfect mate.”

I realized Maura had just walked in, but before I could respond, Cilla grimaced. “Although who am I to talk?
I’m
the chump who went to bed with him.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” I didn’t warn her not to be so hard on Maura, either, although I hoped Cilla would stay away from Joe’s wife. Maura didn’t need more problems.

“I’m going to head out,” she said. “I don’t know what I would say to his parents.”

“Go home and have a good cry.”

“Did you hear the cops arrested Brian Sage and Will Novotny? They were fencing food with Chad.”

I remembered the two employees I’d seen with Chad. “Bald, heavyset guy? And a middle-aged blond?”

“His cohorts.” Cilla gave a short nod to Maura, who was strolling in our direction, then she said good-bye and left.

“Have you spoken to the Sutterfields?” Maura asked after greeting me.

“I was waiting until the crowd thinned.”

“I’m not going to try. I’d rather not be insincere, and after everything it would be hard to pretend I’m sorry he’s gone.” She bit her lip, and her gaze flicked to the photos. “What if Chad had something to do with Joe’s disappearance, Aggie? I know the police think he killed Hazel. What if Joe…”

“Let’s not go there.” But I was beginning to lose hope that Joe was coming back, and the same thought had crossed and recrossed my mind.

“I know you think I should go to the police.”

“Are you considering it?”

“This week’s been awful. Even the people who believed Joe was off with his parents don’t believe it anymore, not after the fire and everything else. They’re all wondering why he doesn’t show up and take charge. I don’t think I can keep this to myself much longer.”

I was relieved to hear it. “Then you’ll talk to the police?”

“If I haven’t heard anything by the weekend. Yes. I’ll tell them everything. I guess I have to.”

“I’ll go with you if you like. Or Ed will.”

“We’ll see.” She put her hand on mine. “Thanks.”

After Maura left I joined the Sutterfields and waited for them to finish with a couple of our older members. Then I told them how sorry I was for their loss.

We were almost alone by then. The mourners who had stayed were getting refreshments. Ed joined me.

“You must wonder how this happened,” Mrs. Sutterfield said. “And what kind of parents raise a son who strays that far.”

She was an attractive woman in her late fifties, trim, blonde, and tan. Her clothes were expensive and in good taste. Even now she carried herself like a country club debutante, but her eyes were red-rimmed and haunted. My heart ached for her.

Ed knew what to say. “Chad was an adult and responsible for himself. However it happened, he was your son, and you loved him. Don’t take on guilt that doesn’t belong to you.”

“He was our only child. We waited years for him to arrive. We wanted to make him happy, and we gave him everything.”

Mr. Sutterfield, who was an older, visibly prosperous version of his son, put his arm around his wife’s waist. “We realized our mistake a few years ago. Chad kept coming to us, insisting we bail him out of this and that. We realized we had to cut him loose and let him learn from his mistakes, or he would never become a responsible adult. So he’s been on his own ever since. We thought he was doing well. We just had no idea he was—” He shook his head.

I felt so sorry for them. It must have been hard to deny Chad anything, especially when the things he wanted had been so easy for them to supply. Sometimes mistakes made from love are the hardest to face. I was afraid the Sutterfields would spend the rest of their lives reliving theirs.

I was just about to leave when I realized I’d left my shawl in the church. I told Ed I would meet him at home and took his keys to retrieve it.

The church wasn’t locked. Esther had remained to practice for the Sunday service, and the empty sanctuary echoed. I stood in the back and enjoyed another fugue. We were lucky to have such a talented organist and the old tracker organ that filled our sanctuary with such majesty.