The Sham (A Chloe Boston Mystery Book 14) (2 page)

Chapter 3

As I pulled up to the main entrance of the Morningside Inn, several people including my father came rushing out the doors to greet us. None of them were smiling. All of them appeared to be agitated.

“Chloe, where have you been?” my father demanded as I stepped out of the car.

“At the mayor’s insistence, we stopped off for a drink or two,” I explained.

My father opened the passenger side door and Mayor Gilhoolie’s body fell out onto the sidewalk.

“What have you done to him? I hope he’s not dead,” my father said. “We have to be at my office downtown to offer him the key to the city in less than an hour.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” I admitted, sheepishly. “Let’s take him into the lobby and get him some coffee.”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

With my father under one arm and me under the other, we managed to drag Mayor Gilhoolie into the lobby of the Morningside Inn. Along the way the mayor woke and began shuffling his feet which made things marginally easier. In the lobby, one of my father’s assistants was already waiting with a hot cup of Morningside’s Double-shot Java. We set the mayor down in a comfortable wingback chair and held the steaming cup under his nose. He batted it away and rolled to his side to get more comfortable in aid of falling back asleep. I shook him awake, willing to be ruthless on my father’s behalf. So far, the day had been a public-relations disaster.

“Mayor, you have to stay awake and straighten up,” I insisted.

“Go away. I’m sleepy.”

I placed the cup of coffee to his lips and poured, forcing him to either drink it or choke on the brown restorative. Wiping drips and drabs from his chin, I eventually got the first cup into him. He was beginning to straighten up. I could tell by the fact that his surly attitude had returned.

“Give me that,” he said, taking hold of the third cup of coffee. “I think that I’ll be able to drink my coffee unaided, thank you very much.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at my anxious father. Together, we managed to load Gilhoolie into my father’s truck without spilling his coffee. The ride to city hall was a short one. By the time we screeched to a halt at the curb there was already a substantial crowd waiting to view the ceremony. This included several news crews, no doubt hoping for more Biblical plague stuff. My father saw the news cameras and sighed. I felt sorry for him.

Together we guided Mayor Gilhoolie to his seat behind the podium. I asked and was given the seat beside him. I placed my arm around the mayor’s shoulders to keep him sitting upright and to periodically shake him since he still had a tendency to want to fall asleep. My father stepped to the podium and unfolded his speech.

“Is this thing on?” he queried as he tapped on the microphone.

A loud thumping followed by a squawk and a screech indicated that the microphone was indeed on. Once the audience had uncovered their ears, my father began to speak.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for being here today on this auspicious occasion. Not only are we here to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day, but to welcome the mayor of our sister city in Ireland, Derrydown, Mayor Seamus Gilhoolie, to our fine city.”

My father was not a good speech-writer but paused optimistically during the scattered applause. Then he made the mistake of going off script. The only thing worse than my father’s written speeches was an unrehearsed one.

“I feel the need to formally apologize for this morning’s unfortunate incident at the falls and wish to assure everyone that nothing and no one died.”

“It was a blood bath,” somebody yelled causing the crowd to laugh.

“You see, they were supposed to order green dye, product number X1144G, but by accident ordered red, X1144R. Anyway…”

My father looked back to his notes and eventually found his place.

“In recognition of Mayor Gilhoolie’s visit, I would now like to offer him the key to the city,” my father said as an aid handed him a large cardboard key wrapped in gold foil. “Mayor Gilhoolie, if you would please approach the podium.”

The moment had arrived. I nudged Gilhoolie awake. He looked up to find all attention focused on him. He rose, shakily, and then to my delight he strode purposefully to the podium. My father handed him the huge key.

“Perhaps you’d say a few words?” Dad prompted.

Gilhoolie examined the key, and then turned to the microphone.

“What does this key open?” he asked. “Must be the biggest door in the world,” he said, answering his own question to the appreciation and amusement of the crowd.

I was delighted to see that Mayor Gilhoolie had won the people of Hope Falls over to his side with his very first words. Now he needed to follow them up with something just as delightful, say thanks and get down before his real personality came shining through.

“To think that only yesterday I had the worst case of diarrhea I’ve ever had in my life,” he quipped.

There was scattered laughter mixed with some confused grumbling, but the crowd was still with him.

“I just came from getting drunk with one of your city’s police officers, Officer Chloe Boston,” he began, waving a hand at me.

Uh oh, I thought, as the cameras turned my way.

“And I must say that your city serves a fine pint of Guinness and an adequate whiskey. I’d like to conclude by thanking you for this fine cardboard replica of a key, and especially for your endowment to our city which I will be accepting on the behalf of the people of Derrydown at this evening’s dinner.”

Endowment? I questioned. I hadn’t heard about any endowment.

“Now I’m going to go be sick,” he declared before stepping away from the podium.

My father stood to shake his hand but was ignored by the mayor who was now rushing for the nearest bush.

“Thank you, Mayor Gilhoolie,” my stunned father said into the microphone. “There will now be refreshment and introductions to the citizens here on the steps of city hall.”

I went to retrieve Mayor Gilhoolie from the nearby bush and used my handkerchief to help clean him up. I then guided him back into the milling crowd. To my surprise, he now appeared to be entirely sober. He was even smiling. Apparently he’d had plenty of experience with this less than appealing method of straightening up.

While my father and the Irish mayor mingled with the guests, I went to have a seat on the curb and think. Something about the mayor’s visit to Hope Falls was beginning to smell fishy, and when I caught the scent of something suspicious, I wasn’t one to leave it alone.

Chapter 4

While Mayor Gilhoolie went to his room to take a nap, I sat in the café at the Morningside Inn watching the television coverage of today’s festivities. It was particularly graphic. It began with what was being described as the blood splattered shores of the White Water River. Clips of my father’s curt and evasive responses to the reporters’ questions were interspersed with images of the crimson falls and the red river below. There was a brief interview with Officer Gordon, resplendent in green hair, who explained that he had no idea what was going on. Then there were the crying children and angry parents calling for my father’s resignation. The newscast moved on to the key to the city ceremony which showed me, identified as Officer Chloe Boston, the mayor’s drinking buddy on the force, with my arm draped over the mayor’s shoulders in a more than familiar fashion. The coverage concluded with a close up of Mayor Gilhoolie’s head stuck in a bush. By the time the news was over, I was thoroughly depressed.

The only thing that could have made it worse was if they dug up our town’s recent homicides.

My cell phone rang. I looked to find it was the Chief. Though I’d been expecting this call, I still had no idea what to offer by way of an explanation for the day’s fiasco. I considered letting my voice mail answer the call to give me time to come up with something but eventually answered in person.

“Hi, Chief,” I said with a sigh.

“Boston, what in the tarnation have you been up to today?” the Chief demanded.

“Oh, this and that.”

“Does this and that include getting foreign dignitaries drunk?”

“That was a mistake, Chief.”

“It certainly was,” the Chief agreed. “Right now I’m ordering you to steer clear of this Irish mayor for the rest of the day.”

“That might be difficult.”

“Why is that?”

“I suspect the Irish mayor may be attempting to scam the city of some money.”

“How’s that?” The Chief was startled from his tirade. “Explain yourself, Boston.”

“I can’t explain yet, but just give me time. Right now it’s only a feeling I have in my gut.”

There was a pause on the line while the Chief considered my words.

“Alright, I trust your gut, Boston. I will allow you to go near the Irish mayor, but only for the purposes of pursuing your investigation. And no more drinking. Got it?”

“I’ve got it, sir.” I didn’t bother to protest that I hadn’t been drinking.

“By the way, have you seen that idiot Gordon anywhere today? He’s not answering his cell phone.”

“I saw him this morning at the falls.”

“Well tell him to report to me immediately if you see him again. I have a few choice words for him as well. What was that moron doing talking to reports after I ordered him to keep his mouth shut?”

“Right, sir.”

The Chief terminated the call without saying goodbye. Apparently he was having a bad day too.

Chapter 5

I decided that it was time to do a little research into our Irish mayor, Mr. Seamus Gilhoolie. Rather than involve Alex in my crazy hunch, I decided to work on my own. My first stop in my data gathering mission was the Hope Falls public library. Once inside, I had the librarian at the desk lead me to the reference section where I could look up statistics and other information the Irish township of Derrydown.

The first thing I was able to ascertain was that the township did indeed exist. Score one point for the mayor. Next I referenced the list of standing mayors for the township and found that the list contained in the book only went through 2002. I brought the book to the librarian’s desk and she led me to a computer terminal to perform a web search. This search indicated that the current mayor of Derrydown was one Kyle McKenna. I wasn’t about to accept this fact until I’d had someone with more Internet savvy, someone like Alex, confirm my finding.

I left the library and headed for my Dad’s office to gather some more information on the endowment Gilhoolie had mentioned during his acceptance speech. I was lucky enough to find my father in his office answering phone calls from troubled supporters regarding the current news reports.

“Can you believe it?” he asked me as I stepped into his office. “One incident of red dye in the river and the whole town has gone crazy.”

“You forgot about the drunken Irish mayor who threw up in the bushes,” I reminded him.

“Oh yes, that too. So, what can I do for you, Chloe? As you can see, I’m quite busy losing my job.”

I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. My dad was a good mayor. He did practically nothing but rescue cats from trees and settle fights on the city council. The town had never been so peaceful and prosperous.

“I was hoping that you could tell me a little about this endowment for the township of Derrydown. When did this all start?”

“It was a condition of the mayor’s visit,” my father explained. “That and paying his travel expenses to Hope Falls and accommodations while he’s here.”

“So you paid his airfare from Ireland?”

“No, it wasn’t needed. Fortunately Mayor Gilhoolie was visiting family in Boston, so we only had to pay for his airfare from there and back.”

I stored this interesting fact with the others for later processing using my ANALYTICO engine.

“How did you find out about Mayor Gilhoolie?”

“He contacted us, and apparently we weren’t the first town on his list. In fact, we were number twenty-seven on his list. I just couldn’t let the opportunity slip out of my hands.”

“And the endowment?”

“Yes? It wasn’t a problem. The township managed to scrape up the $10,000 which will be transferred to the account specified by Mayor Gilhoolie later this afternoon. We’ll be presenting him with a large replica of a check at this evening’s dinner.”

“How do you know that the specified account isn’t Mayor Gilhoolie’s personal account?”

My father’s face blanched.

“You don’t think that’s possible, do you?”

“It’s more likely probable,” I replied. “Dad, would you do me a favor?”

“Name it.”

“I’d like you to postpone depositing the endowment until after you’ve heard from me.”

“Why? What will you be doing?”

“I plan on having a lengthy conversation with Mayor Gilhoolie. But first, I need to have Alex do a little research for me.”

“I don’t like the sound of this. We’ve already had enough trouble over this visit.”

“Just hold on for a while longer. I promise that everything will be just fine.”

Next I drove home to talk with Alex and reunite with my dog Blue, who I was missing. Usually she would be with me, but all the ceremonies had seemed like dog-free occasions. As usual, Blue was happy to see me and gave me several kisses. Alex only gave me one kiss and didn’t dance in place wagging his tail. I was happy to see both of them anyway. I had to spend several minutes explaining to Alex how I’d spent the day since he’d seen my performance on the news. Only then I was able to produce the results of my research and guide him to his computer to see what he could uncover regarding Derrydown and Mayor Gilhoolie.

“I’m telling you, Alex, there’s something fishy going on,” I insisted.

“Let’s see if my computer agrees.”

It took Alex only moments to locate and review what I’d already found out at the library. Then he began to dig deeper. He started by reviewing the Derrydown records and soon confirmed the there was no Seamus Gilhoolie in any government position. He widened his search and found no Irish mayor of any town with that name. He moved his search to Boston, Gilhoolie’s point of origin, and hit pay dirt. There were three Seamus Gilhoolies that called Boston their home. Only one of them had a police record as long as your arm. That particular Gilhoolie was currently wanted for fraud. Accessing police record that I wasn’t sure he should have access to, Alex was able to bring up a picture.

There on the screen, scowling back at me, was our very own Mayor Seamus Gilhoolie, AKA Donald McConnell. It seemed odd that he should go by a well-known alias, but perhaps after spending so much time setting up his network it was difficult to change his mayoral title.

“Now what?” Alex asked.

“Now I confront the culprit.”

“Wait, that sounds dangerous. Why don’t you let me come with you?”

“Alex, the man is overweight, as short as I am and in his seventies. I think I can handle him. You stay here with Blue and I’ll give you a call when I’ve taken care of everything.”

I gave Alex a peck on the cheek, Blue a pat on the head, and then I climbed into my car to drive back to the Morningside Inn. I arrived at Gilhoolie’s door and knocked loudly, fully prepared to wake him if necessary. He answered after my fourth round of pounding.

“What is it?” he growled as he opened the door.

It was obvious that he’d slept in his suit— it looked even more rumpled than usual. In fact, his entire demeanor looked rumpled. He was slit eyed and regarded me with a scowl. I wasn’t intimidated in the slightest because I had truth on my side.

“We need to talk,” I said, pushing past him to enter his room.

“How dare you,” he protested.

“Have a seat, Donald,” I replied. “I’m afraid your cover has been blown.”

“Donald?” he replied, trying to sound innocent.

“Give it a rest, McConnell. I know who you are and what you’re up to, and I can guaranty that you won’t be putting your hands on any endowment.”

McConnell sat down heavily upon the unmade bed. He rubbed his hands over his face and through his gray thinning hair.

“Where are the real police?” he asked.

“They’ll be along,” I explained, “but first I wanted to work out a little arrangement with you.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“My father has experienced enough embarrassments as a result of your visit. I’m afraid that if it was revealed that you’re nothing more than a common con man it would break him. He’d certainly lose his position as mayor.”

“So, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to go along with the ceremony this evening. The funds will not be transferred to your account. Afterward, you will be quietly handed over to the authorities.”

I was expecting McConnell to protest. Instead, he sat pensively considering my words.

“Look, Chloe, I’d be perfectly willing to go along with your plan, but there’s a hitch.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not working alone.”

As soon as he spoke these words, the door to the bathroom opened and the slimiest looking goon I’d ever seen stepped out into the motel room. He was wearing a dark pinstriped suit and patent leather shoes with white tops that made it look like he had on spats. His shirt was black and his tie wide and red. He was wearing a black fedora pulled down to shade his mustachioed and goateed face. He was chewing gum, loudly. Worst of all, he carried a 9mm Berretta in his right hand.

“Who are you?” I asked in surprise.

“Call me Matt Black,” the man replied in a heavy Boston accent.

“You mean like the color?” I chided.

“With two Ts in Matt, smart ass,” Mr. Black replied, but pronounced it
smought ass
.

“And what do you have planned, Mr. Black?”

“Tonight’s dinner goes off as planned only you’ll be bringing a guest. And you won’t be out of my sight until that check is in my hand.”

I breathed a heavy sigh of anxiety because, so far, nothing had gone as planned this day. It must be some of that famous luck of the Irish that brought on the potato famine and British occupation.