Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery

chapter Forty-four

“I don’t understand.” Thornville was wringing his hands, like an old woman in one of those books where old women do that sort of thing. “How did you find me?”

“That’s what you don’t understand?” Casey stepped into Thornville’s front door—the door at his house. “Or you don’t understand about Hometown Interiors?”

“Either one.”

“May we come in?” Eric said.

Thornville hesitated, so Casey pushed past him, into a little foyer.

Eric followed. “Thank you. We appreciate your time.”

“But…”

“I assume you have computer access to your files here at home?” Eric said.

“It’s not really something I like to do—” He hustled after Casey, who was making a self-guided tour around the first floor.

He lived alone, that much was obvious. The living room and kitchen were exceptionally neat and tidy, as was the bathroom, and the small office at the back of the house. Casey stepped in and turned on the light. An extremely fat cat sat on the leather office chair. It took one look at her, rolled off its perch, and waddled out, tail held high.

“Here’s the deal,” Casey said, going around to the other side of the desk. “We know Cyrus Mann was bought out seventeen years ago. His relatives didn’t understand it. They’d thought he was doing great. But all of a sudden, he was out of a business and working for someone else. The Pinkertons. Can you explain that?”

Thornville stood in the doorway, blinking rapidly, like his brain was trying to compute. “I don’t know, I didn’t know anything about—”

“And who do you think bought out his company? I’m betting I know, and I’ll give you one guess.”

Thornville swallowed. “Um, the Pinkertons?”

“Ding, ding. But not all of them. Just one.”

His face pinched, like someone was stepping on his toe. “Randy.”

“You’re getting good at this. Now, you want to tell me why Randy, who is apparently a little pet of yours, seeing how you warned him about us today, would travel up to Marshland just to buy out some business that’s owned and run by one guy?”

Thornville swayed on his feet. Eric grabbed him and led him to the chair behind the desk.

Casey pointed at the computer. “See what you can find out for us.”

“Please,” Eric added.

Thornville blinked some more. “But I don’t know—”

Casey leaned over him. “It’s called research.”

“Why are you being so mean to me?” Thornville whined.

“Because you sold us out today.”

“But I don’t know you, and I do know Randy.”

“Yes, you know that he’s a conniving little crook, and hangs out with even worse ones. You’re the one who said his brothers don’t even like him.”

“I never said—”

“Type!” Casey said.

He began typing.

“Now I see what you mean when you say you’re going to be nicer,” Eric said to Casey.

She smiled.

“What do you want to know?” Thornville said.

“I want to see it for myself. Who officially owns Hometown Interiors?”

He was able to find the business, way down in some deep recesses of businesses whose sole activity was paying enough fees and taxes they remained legal.

“Well?”

Thornville cleared his throat. “It’s owned by a corporation called Private Boats, Inc.”

Casey couldn’t breathe. “And who owns that business?”

Thornville typed some more. After a while, he swallowed loudly. “Randy Pinkterton. And Les Danvers. And…Marcus Flatt.”

“Well, what do you know? Isn’t that interesting? What about work history of our lovely home repair business?”

Thornville went back to Hometown Interiors, and found that the hibernating business had somehow managed to rack up several work payments in the past month, after years of remaining stagnant.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Casey said. “How they decided to get back into the workforce so suddenly?”

“What details can you get us?” Eric asked.

“None. It’s private business activity.”

“You can’t see who their customers were?”

“Not without getting into their files, and before you ask, I don’t know how to do that.” He flinched, as if afraid of Casey’s reaction.

“That’s no problem,” Casey said. “There’s an easier way. Eric, may I borrow your phone?”

“Of course.” He handed it to her, their politeness seeming to make Thornville even more nervous.

Casey dialed the business number on the screen and smiled at Thornville as she waited for it to connect. After several rings a man answered. “Yeah?”

She continued smiling at Thornville. “Hello, I’m calling to talk with someone about some work I need done.”

“Sorry,” the man said. “We’re scheduled through the winter. It will have to wait.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. No chance you could squeeze me in before then?”

“No can do.”

“Well, okay. How about—Is there any chance I could see some of your work to see if I want to wait for you? Could you put me in touch with one of your customers?”

“Look, lady, we can’t give out private information. We do good work. No complaints. Ask the Chamber of Commerce.”

“Good idea. Thank you. I’ll do just that.”

She hung up, still smiling. “How about that? They don’t have room for any new customers right now. They suggested I ask you for a reference. Why would they say that, do you think?”

Thornville shrank in his chair. “I really have no idea.”

“Nobody else has come calling, asking about them?”

He shook his head.

“Not even, say, the police in Colorado?”

His eyes filled, and tears shone in his eyes. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what they were asking. They asked if it was a legitimate business, and I said yes. That’s all. Because it is. And look, you can see for yourself that my database reports recent activity.” He angled the computer screen toward Casey, and he was right, she could see the work orders.

“I suppose this is what we were talking about earlier?” she said to Eric.

“I suppose it is. Easy as sweet potato pie to fake, as I believe they might say down here.”

Thornville dropped his head into his hands. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“No,” Casey said. “I don’t suppose you did know exactly what they were asking. But now you do.” She handed him Eric’s phone. “And now you are going to tell the cops exactly what you’ve found out.”

“I’m not sure—”

Casey snatched the phone from his hands and gave it to Eric. “How ’bout you make the call? Once you have the right person, Thornville here can start talking.” She dropped her hand onto Thornville’s shoulder, and he about leapt from the chair. She kept him in it.

Eric wasn’t able to connect with Detective Watts, but got someone on the line who would listen. He said they had the director of the Whitley, Texas, Chamber of Commerce on the line with information pertinent to the Alicia McManus case, and handed the phone to Thornville.

“Talk,” Casey said.

Thornville cleared his throat. “Um, hello?”

Casey squeezed his shoulder, just a tad, and he squeaked. And began talking. When he’d given them all the information about who owned the company and how much work had actually been done in the past seventeen years, he looked up at Casey. She was still smiling. He cringed.

Eric took back the phone. “Got all that? Great. We’ll be in touch.” He hung up. “So, are we done here?”

Casey took her hand from Thornville’s shoulder. “I believe we are. Unless you have something else to ask?”

“Nope.”

Casey considered leaving Thornville with a physical reminder of their visit, but decided she wasn’t quite that angry. Instead, she smiled at him again, and walked to the door. As she was leaving, she heard Thornville say, “Doesn’t she scare you?”

Eric replied, “Every single day. But then, we’re friends, so I don’t have to worry. At least, not too much.”

Casey smiled to herself. That was exactly the way she liked it.





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