Moving Is Murder (31 page)

I pulled up to the U-shaped building. Old train tracks crisscrossed the parking lot, evidence of the building’s prior use as a loading dock and storage facility. It had been converted into offices and painted the ever-popular bland yellow.

My purse, a fallish red, cream, and green plaid drawstring tote, trilled as I parked the Cherokee.

“Mrs. Avery, Thistlewait here. Just wanted to let you know it was antifreeze.”

I leaned my head back against the headrest.

“Just a minute,” he interrupted. He must have put his hand over the phone because I could hear muffled
voices, then he came back on the line. “Mrs. Avery, I’ve got to put you on hold.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just pushed a button.

I expected Muzak, but instead I heard a different voice say, “Thanks. I’ve only got a few minutes.” The voice was deeper and rumbled more than Thistlewait’s. I opened my mouth to tell Thistlewait he hit speakerphone instead of hold. The man continued, “I wanted to brief you on it since it involves Captain McCarter.” I closed my mouth.

“Just got off the phone with Drummy. IRS. You met him yet?”

“Yeah. Good guy,” Thistlewait confirmed. A chair squeaked and I covered the mouthpiece of the phone. A cry from Livvy would let them know they were on a party line.

“He is.” The first man said. “Anyway, Drummy’s checking out McCarter for money laundering. Looks like McCarter’s using his old recall roster to contact families from his previous squad and pose as a representative of Serviceman’s Group Life Insurance. He tells them their relative didn’t elect the death benefit clause on their policy, but if they’ll FedEx him a five-hundred-dollar money order they can activate it and get a ten-thousand-dollar benefit to cover funeral expenses.”

Thistlewait said, “What an SOB.”

“I know. Especially since the Air Force already pays a death benefit to family members of anyone who dies on active duty, and that’s over and above any insurance coverage whether or not they’ve got McCarter’s fake form guaranteeing them funeral coverage. Not to mention the casket, the remains prep, and interment provision.”

“Jeez. What a slimeball.”

For once, Thistlewait and I were in agreement.

The rumbly voice continued, “Apparently, McCarter’s favorite targets are family members of people currently deployed.”

I hoped I wouldn’t fall for a ploy like that if Mitch were deployed to Iraq or some other hot spot. But did I really know all the ins and outs of our insurance coverage? Not by a long shot.

“All right,” gruff voice said, “Just wanted to let you know. I gave Drummy your phone number. Told him to contact you when he gets the info. How’s the Vincent investigation going?”

Thistlewait said, “We’ve been able to confirm Mrs. Vincent’s ex-husband was in Cancún with wife number two. Lieutenant Townsend says he was at the Shopette, but the security tapes have been taped over and no one remembers him. And most husbands and wives, like the McCarters and the Givens, alibi each other.”

“It’ll break. I gotta run.”

Thistlewait picked up the phone and said, “All right, Mrs. Avery, I’m back. Have you considered going out of town until this blows over? Your family’s in Texas, right?”

I sat up straight. “I can’t run from this.” A warm getaway had a lot more appeal when it came from Mitch instead of Thistlewait.

“No interest in a suntan, then?”

What was this? Thistlewait making a joke? “No. I’m not leaving.”

Thistlewait said, “Then be careful.” He ended the call.

As I walked to the travel office my mind spun with the new details from Thistlewait. Nick didn’t have an alibi. He didn’t seem threatening today. And the Givens
were together the whole time. Or, at least that was what they were saying. I didn’t think Gwen would think twice before lying to cover for Steven, but if he was as honest as Gwen said I doubted he’d lie to protect Gwen. Then there was Brent running a scam. No wonder they had such a nice house.

I pushed open the glass door to the travel office. The only occupant was a skinny woman with a corkscrew perm. The other two desks were empty but covered with papers. The woman continued to bang away at her keyboard, so I searched the racks and grabbed anything I saw about the Caribbean.

“Sorry. I had to finish that.” The woman ripped off a headset that her bushy hair had hidden and pranced over to me as fast as her tight leopard print skirt allowed. “What are you looking for, honey? Sun and fun? A cruise?” Then she noticed Livvy in the car seat. “How about Disney?”

“Anything in the Caribbean.”

“Aren’t you the smart one. Book early. Come January this place will be overrun. Let me see what you’ve got.” She pulled a few more glossy packets out and tossed them at me.

“Do you have anything on St. Kitts or Grand Cayman?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You looking for a vacation or an offshore account?”

“What?” Maybe this office was empty because the help was kind of loony.

“Obviously not. Just joking, honey. Take a look at those. Here’s one on BVI. The British Virgin Islands.” She translated for me when she saw I didn’t understand.

“Sorry. I can only keep up with so many acronyms.”

“Tell me about it. Here’s my card. Call if you’ve got questions. I’m here every day but Thursday.”

Back in the Cherokee, I fastened a dozing Livvy in the back and climbed in the driver’s seat. I might as well take time to look through the brochures now. After Livvy woke up I wouldn’t have a chance.

I skimmed pictures of beautiful people frolicking in sand and surf and read the destination descriptions. One brochure had a foldout map that I spread across the steering wheel so I could study the islands. St. Kitts, St. Thomas, Grand Cayman, Nevis, Cozumel, the Bahamas. Just the names made me think of sand between my toes, lush flowers, and turquoise water. Too many destinations to sort out now. I refolded the map and put the Cherokee in drive.

I crept down the main road. The speed limit on the base is a whopping twenty-five miles an hour and the Security Police hand out tickets like they’re giving away candy on Halloween. The sky seemed darker than it had an hour ago. I flipped on my lights and edged the heater up a notch. Grand Cayman, St. Thomas, Nevis. I savored the tropical names and the thought that we might escape part of the coming winter.

Nevis. Where had I heard that before? A memory merged with a conversation. I understood the travel agent’s little joke that I’d missed earlier. I eased off the accelerator when I saw the red needle hovering at 45 mph. I switched lanes and headed back to the squadron with thoughts percolating. Nevis, an island in the Caribbean, famous for unspoiled tropical beauty and offshore banking. I knew where I’d seen the name Nevis and I was pretty sure most folks I knew in the Air Force didn’t have, or need, an offshore account.

I cruised into the same parking space and looked at the white SUV still parked in the same slot beside me. I
reached for my water bottle and took a drink. Then it clicked. I sat still for a few moments. I checked the clock and pulled out my phone. After what I was sure would be an exorbitant call to directory information, I was talking to Abby’s school. “Abby Dovonowski. She’s subbing for a few weeks. I have to talk to her. It’s urgent. Can you get her out of class?”

“She’s right here, checking her mail. Hold on.” Abby came on the line.

“Abby. It’s Ellie. Remember when you said Diana was staring at you and Brent during the barbeque?”

“Yes. What’s going on? You sound—weird.”

“You said she was holding something.”

“Yeah. A Coke,” Abby said.

“How did you know it was a Coke?”

“Well, I guess I didn’t really know. I just assumed because that was what it said on the side. Are you okay?”

“Thanks.” I punched
END
and cut off her questions.

Now I knew, but I also knew it wouldn’t be enough for Thistlewait. He had an irritating habit of wanting the details and proof. Why did I have to pick today to give that box back?

I took a deep breath, then said to Livvy, “Just a little peek and I’ll be back.” I left the Cherokee running to keep Livvy asleep, but I put the parking brake on. Then I slipped out and tried a door handle on the SUV. The back door clicked open and I crawled in.

I hesitated. If I found what I was looking for, I’d call Thistlewait, but if it wasn’t there, I’d save myself a whole lot of embarrassment. Leaning over into the cargo area I pulled the box toward me and flicked the flaps back. File tabs marched from front to back.

A quick glance out the window showed an empty
parking lot with the Cherokee still idling beside me. I turned my attention back to the box. My fingers skimmed over the folders.

Past the tax returns and pay stubs I found the folder labeled
NEVIS BANK
and opened it. The top paper was a bank statement. An ornate font beside a crest headed the paper and proclaimed Bank of Nevis, Charlestown, Nevis, W.I.

W.I.? West Indies? I scanned down the list of deposits and withdrawals. There were many, many deposits of three-, four-, and five-hundred dollars. Along with much larger, but more irregular deposits ranging from a few thousand dollars up to the hundred thousands. Filed behind the statements were incorporation documents complete with copies of Brent and Diana’s passports and driver’s licenses, along with a copy of a money order for a security deposit to open the bank account in the name of MC Corp. An envelope, the large brown kind with a flap and a brad to keep it closed, followed the statements.

I checked the parking lot again. Empty, except for the gray sky and the blacktop shiny with drizzle. My breath had fogged the windows and my heartbeat pounded inside my head. Calm down. There’s no one out there.

I returned to the folder and emptied the envelope, which contained a stack of debit card receipts. Diana’s perfect handwriting noted on the bottom of each receipt what the cash was for: attorney’s fees, recording fees, office products. The McCarters were big fans of cash transactions, it seemed.

A large paper clip secured the next set of documents. I waded through the text until I had the highlights. Brent and Diana hadn’t incorporated one company; they’d incorporated two more, Tecmarc, which bought the property
from Mrs. Norwood, and Forever Wild. And it looked like Forever Wild was more about protecting money than protecting wilderness.

The papers trembled as my hand sent out little shock waves. This box was at Cass’s house. Did she find these papers? Did she know the truth about who owned these companies? I couldn’t imagine that she’d give the box to me if she’d known what was in it. Were the possibility that she might have seen the documents and the fact that she was delving into the real estate records what led to her death?

I needed to take the file and get out of there. I jammed the papers into the folder. I wiped a clear spot on the window and checked the parking lot, but it was deserted. As I scooted around to replace the folder in the box, my foot slipped and I kicked a small plastic trash can, sending crumpled tissues and bits of paper flying over the floorboard. I bit my lip. Diana would notice if anything was out of place in her immaculate car.

I dropped the folder on the seat, righted the trash can, and grabbed a handful of trash. I shoved it back in the trash can while I plucked gum wrappers from under the front passenger seat. I squished the wrappers down and gave the carpet under the seat a quick sweep with my hand. My fingers connected with a light, round object in the groove between the floor mat and the metal fixture that held the seat in place. I pinched it between two fingertips and pulled. It was a marker inside a tube. I held up the amber tube to read the writing on the thick marking pen inside. The pen had double caps, a small black one on one end and a larger gray one on the other end. “O.3 Epinephrine Auto-Injector.”

I twisted the amber tube and the words on the pen jumped out, EpiPen. I swallowed. Unless Diana was also
allergic to bee and wasp stings, this had to be one of Cass’s missing EpiPens. My hands felt sweaty. Fingerprints. I pulled out the edge of my coat pocket with my left hand and dropped the amber tube into the pocket with my right hand. I snapped the pocket flap closed. I wanted out of the SUV, now! I picked up the folder from where I’d dropped it on the car seat. I tried to straighten the fanned papers with trembling fingers.

The pages ruffled in the breeze as the door opened.

Our life is frittered away by detail….
Simplify, simplify, simplify!
—Henry David Thoreau

B
rent McCarter blocked the opening. His golden hair, wet with drizzle, sparkled above gray-blue eyes. Today his eyes didn’t look icy, just empty. My heart skidded to a stop, then resumed beating, double time. I stuck the papers back in the folder.

He touched my shoulder lightly. “El. You really are a troublemaker. You should have left everything alone.” His tone was half-regretful, half-joking. I couldn’t move. I almost expected him to give my shoulder a playful squeeze and then tell me it was all a practical joke.

“I’ll just take these.” He pulled the folder out of my stiff fingers. “Why don’t you go back to your car? That
would be best, I think.” I scrambled out of Diana’s SUV and surged into the Cherokee’s driver’s seat, but he was there before I could close the door with my clumsy, fumbling hands. He leaned across me to unlock the passenger door. I recoiled instinctively. “Ah, here’s my wife. She’ll take care of everything,” he said.

Diana opened the Cherokee’s passenger door and climbed in. She lifted her folded coat off her arm, placed it carefully across her lap, and revealed a gun in her right hand. I don’t know much about guns, but this one was small, sleek, and modern. Its short barrel gleamed even though the day was overcast. She held it low, pointed at my hip.

“This is crazy.” I took a shaky breath.

She checked her watch, then tucked her hair behind her ears with her left hand. Her fingers trembled slightly, but the gun in her other hand never moved. “Give me fifteen minutes. Then leave. Pick me up at home,” she ordered Brent. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the ceiling of the Cherokee. “Yes, that should be enough time. We’ll have lunch somewhere in town. Somewhere crowded. Then you can run me back here to pick up my car.” Diana spoke to Brent as if I wasn’t even there. This woman was talking about my murder. Figuring she could squeeze me in between her eleven o’clock dental and her twelve-thirty lunch.