Scam Chowder (18 page)

Chapter 19

Granddad held up the Spring Lake folder like a big fish he'd hooked. A current of excitement ran through Val.

She took the folder. “I was planning to go there tomorrow.”

“Well, I beat you to it. Ned couldn't find out on the phone if Scott gave financial talks there. Figured I'd do better in person. I pretended I was looking to move there. Had to listen to the sales pitch and tour the place. Then they let me go off on my own and talk to the people living there.” He went into the sitting room.

Why couldn't Granddad just tell her what he'd learned? Getting information from him was like trying to reel in something tugging on a line. It took a lot of maneuvering to find out if it was a fish or a waterlogged shoe.

She followed him into the sitting room and perched on the old tweed sofa. “Did you find anyone who knew about the investment seminars?”

“Yup, but they couldn't come up with the name of the guy who gave the talks. Some folks thought his aunt or mother lived in the community. None of them knew her name either.”

Darn. Just an old shoe.
“So your trip was a bust?”

“Until the last minute. As I was leaving, a man I'd talked to earlier took me aside and said he remembered the financial expert's name—Freaze.” Granddad raised his palm for Val's high five. “Scott was the one who bilked an old man of his savings.”

“And drove him to suicide, according to some people. The pieces are coming together at last.”

“Thanks to me. You're not the only detective in the house.”

“I never claimed to be a detective, but I found out something about the man who committed suicide. He was Omar's father-in-law.” She waited for Granddad to draw the obvious conclusion. When he didn't, she spelled it out. “Omar had two reasons to hate Scott. His family lost money they might have inherited if Scott hadn't swindled it. And Omar's wife lost her father, who was despondent over the swindle.”

Granddad didn't look as elated as she'd expected. He rubbed his chin. “Nobody knew for sure why or even if the man committed suicide.” He headed for the kitchen. “Been a long day. I could use a beer.”

Val frowned. They'd reeled in a fish, not an old shoe, but now Granddad had thrown it back. Why wasn't he rejoicing that Omar's motive for murdering Scott had come to light? Then it dawned on Val. Maybe Granddad was wondering why Lillian had invited Omar to the chowder dinner. Possibly she'd urged him, like Granddad, to confront Scott. There was a chain from Lillian to Omar to his father-in-law to Scott the scammer. Granddad's girlfriend had kept the links in that chain secret, even after Scott was murdered.

Val had to give Granddad time to digest Lillian's deceit. Best to change the subject. She followed him to the kitchen. “I'm going out to dinner. I'll make you something to eat before I leave.”

“I already ate. Cars were bumper to bumper going toward the Bay Bridge. I pulled off the road and stopped at a barbecue place until the traffic got lighter.” Granddad took a beer out of the fridge and pried the top off the bottle. “You hear anything about Junie May?”

“The police have proof she was murdered. They're keeping it quiet until they reach her next of kin.” Val pulled a tall glass from a cabinet near the sink. “I wonder if Junie May heard the rumors about the man who committed suicide. She might have gone to Spring Lake and discovered that Scott had given seminars there.”

“Nobody told me about a reporter there, but I didn't ask.”

“I can ask tomorrow. I want to go there to show Thomasina's photo around.” And Lillian's, but Granddad didn't need to know that. “People might remember the face even if they've forgotten her name.”

“You need a cover story to get through the guard gate. I'll go with you and say I want my granddaughter's opinion before I move in.”

Val filled her glass with water. How could she show anyone Lillian's photo if he went with her? “Once we get past the guard and the reception desk, let's split up. We can talk to more people that way.”

“Good idea.” Granddad took a swig of beer. “Here's our cover story. I'm a doddering old guy who doesn't recall the name of a woman he thinks lived there. That's why we're showing folks her picture. We should also ask if anyone remembers a woman falling down the stairs.”

Val nearly dropped her water glass. A few days ago, he'd made fun of Thomasina's yarn about being pushed down the stairs. “I thought you didn't buy Thomasina's staircase story.”

“I didn't buy that her ex-husband's underworld cronies pushed her down the stairs. But someone who'd lost money to Scott might have figured she was in on the scam and gone after her.”

“You mean Omar?”

Granddad shrugged. “His father-in-law could have pushed her too. Or another one of Scott's victims. Where are you going for dinner?”

“To Gunnar's B & B. We're having a picnic by the river.”

“He just got an inheritance, and he's too cheap to take you out? I retired years ago and I can afford to treat Lillian to a restaurant dinner now and then.”

No point in telling him Lillian could better afford to treat
him
. Men of his generation didn't let ladies pay. But by bringing up his finances, Granddad had opened a door for Val to pursue that subject. “
Can
you afford it? I saw a notice from your bank about an overdraft.”

Granddad flicked his wrist. “That was a mistake.”

“A mistake by the bank?”

“Don't worry about it. I took care of it. Isn't it time you started primping for dinner with your cheap boyfriend?”

Val wouldn't get any more information from Granddad about the overdraft. “I don't know about primping, but I'll change clothes. I'm also going to call the police and tell them what we found out today.” Maybe they'd give up on the idea that Granddad had poisoned Scott. Omar made a much better suspect.

She went upstairs to her bedroom and pulled out her cell phone. She should tell Holtzman about Omar, but she didn't have a direct number for him. She phoned Chief Yardley and left a detailed message for him. He'd get the word to the deputy in charge.

 

 

As Val walked up the path to the River Edge B & B, a forty-something man on the front porch hailed her. “You must be Val. Gunnar told me to keep an eye out for a petite woman with fantastic hair.”

“Hi, I'm Val Deniston.” Gunnar's ex also had fantastic hair, but a different meaning of
fantastic
applied to Val's hair.

The man came down the porch steps and extended his hand. “I'm Ian Tallifer. I met your grandfather when my wife and I bought the B & B three years ago. How is he?”

“He's doing well, thank you.”

Ian brushed his long hair off his forehead. “I noticed some work going on at his house. Roofing, painting. Fixing it up to sell?”

“He doesn't plan to sell anytime soon.”

“It's a big house to keep up. How many bedrooms?”

That question didn't fall into the category of chitchat. Maybe the Tallifers, or someone they knew, wanted to buy the house. If Granddad had gotten himself in financial trouble, he might welcome an offer. The thought disheartened Val.

“Four bedrooms on the second floor. One on the main floor.” The B & B owner couldn't have missed Val's brusque tone. She'd come to eat dinner, not talk about real estate. “Is Gunnar here?”

“He's waiting for you out back.” The B & B owner pointed to the path along the side of the house. “It's a great evening for a picnic. Enjoy.”

The lawn behind the B & B sloped down to the river. Gunnar sat in one of the two Adirondack chairs closest to the river, his head of dark hair visible above the back of the chair. The neck of a wine bottle stuck out from a metal bucket on the table between the two chairs, and a large red cooler sat by his feet.

A refreshing breeze off the river ruffled Val's hair as she approached the picnic spot. “You snagged the best seats in the house, as promised.”

He popped out of his chair and gave her a bear hug. “I hope you like prosecco.” He reached for the bottle in the bucket and untwisted the wire around the mushroom-shaped cork.

“I never met an Italian wine I didn't like. Are we celebrating something with that bottle of bubbly?”

“The two of us together in one place for the first time in three days. That's worth celebrating.” He eased the cork out of the bottle and took two champagne flutes from the cooler.

“I'll drink to that.” He'd counted the days since he'd last seen her—a good sign.

She sat in the Adirondack chair, leaned back, and savored the moment: the bubbles rising in the glass, the sunlight glinting on the river, and Gunnar's radiant smile.

He put a container of crabmeat dip and a tray of miniature bread sticks on the table. “I contacted the Treadwell Players to tell them I'd like to help out in their productions, build stage sets, learn lighting, whatever they needed. They were about to hold auditions for an October production. One of the guys in the company helped me get ready for the audition yesterday.”

“You auditioned. Something else to celebrate.” She clinked her wineglass against his for the second time. “You're here less than a week, and your acting career has taken off. Congratulations.”

“It'll be a few days before the cast is announced, but I think it went well. Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He twirled the stem of his wineglass. “My ex-fiancée showed up in Bayport this week.”

What should Val say?
I knew that
or
No kidding?
She didn't like either of those. Having just stuffed a bread stick covered with crab dip into her mouth, she had a third option. “Mmm.” She chewed vigorously and hoped he would keep talking.

“She's the one who called me a flake for even thinking of quitting my job and taking up acting.” He downed the remaining wine in his glass. “Now she wants to get back together and won't take no for an answer. I couldn't figure out why, until I talked to a friend in Washington. He'd told her about the money I inherited from my great-aunt.”

Val's arms and legs felt weightless, a wine buzz reinforced by her joy that he'd rebuffed his ex. “Now you're a flake with a bank account. That makes a difference.”

He raised his empty glass. “To the departure of Petra Bramling.”

“Petra Bramling.” Val swirled the sparkling wine in her glass. “I met her, you know.”

Gunnar's glass slipped from his hand to his lap. “You did? When?”

“She challenged me on the tennis ladder. We played yesterday afternoon.”

“I'm sure you trounced her.”

“I stopped the match because she was cheating. And she reversed our scores when she reported them, putting her above me on the ladder.”

“Nothing could put her above you on any ladder. I don't know what I ever saw in her.” He studied Val with blue eyes that reflected the sky. “I had blurred vision until I met someone I like a lot better.”

Warmth spread over her. Despite her ornery hair and short—no, make that
petite
—stature, she'd trounced the tame-haired, long-legged blonde. “Blurred vision is a side effect of attraction. You see what you want to see. I had it when I was engaged to Tony, and Granddad has it about Lillian.” Had Junie May or Scott also suffered from blurred vision?

Gunnar refilled their glasses. “You said you had news for me.”

“I have a lead on a place for you to rent short-term. A small ranch on Maple Street.” She described Mrs. Z's house and explained the reason for a short-term rental.

“Sounds perfect. A temporary solution for her and me.”

They watched the river in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Gunnar took out the rest of the picnic food. Prosciutto sliced paper thin, a hunk of Asiago cheese, a loaf of crusty bread. Marinated zucchini, eggplant, and peppers. A salad of chopped tomatoes, cucumber, Greek olives, and feta. Chunks of fragrant local cantaloupe, softer, juicier, and lighter in color than the western cantaloupe.

She put a little of everything on her sturdy paper plate. “An antipasto picnic. I love it.”

Gunnar sliced the bread. “I went back to my Mediterranean roots on my mother's side of the family. Next time I'll put together a Scandinavian picnic in honor of my father's side.”

“You'll have a harder time finding the ingredients for that around here.” She gestured toward the antipasto. “Where did you dig all this up?”

“The organic market and deli in Treadwell. I did some digging on Scott too. A client who gave him free rein to invest for him complained about a sudden downturn in his assets. The client planned to buy a new car. Between the previous account statement and the one that showed up when he wanted to liquidate, Scott had apparently shifted the money from winning to losing investments.”

“Apparently? Are you saying he rigged the statements? How would he get away with that?”

“He could have had a
friendly
auditor. Still, client complaints would trigger scrutiny by regulators, especially if a pattern emerged. By the way, the client I mentioned was a retired man.”

“He fits the pattern of Scott's investors.” Val wrapped a piece of prosciutto around a melon chunk. “Granddad and his friend found out that Scott was running investment seminars at a retirement community in Springfield, Virginia.”

“I only checked Maryland and the District, but I can expand my research to include Virginia.” He took a sliver of cheese. “What's the latest on the murder investigation? I was so busy with the theater group that I didn't hear the local news.”