Where Is Henderson? (Sam Darling mystery #5) (11 page)

Clancy agreed with my assessment. She lay close to my chair, but her eyes never left Louise.

I decided to try a new tactic. “I’m not going to talk about the murder because I said I wouldn’t, but I’d like to ask you a question about the plant.” Taking her silence for assent, I continued, “Do you have anything to do with the plant, its operations, or management?”

“Yes. Even though the business is quite successful, Jonah runs a lean operation. When people call in sick or take vacation, it causes undue stress to the other workers. Occasionally I will help out in shipping. That way the shipping people can fill in where the absent ones leave a gap.”

“Shipping? In the warehouse? Isn’t that where your nephew worked?” I knew the answer but wanted to hear her response.

“Yes. It made it easier for me to help out, working with someone I knew.” She dabbed at non-existent tears with a lace handkerchief. “Someone I loved.”

I pretended to believe her calculated emotions. “I am so sorry for your loss. I don’t think I said that yet.” I tried to sit forward in the chair, but only made myself look silly and uncoordinated. Then feigning innocence, I asked, “Did Cash help you with your business too?”

“Yes,” she said. “I paid him of course.”

“Of course,” I echoed. “By the way, I applaud you for being able to pull off the workshop while grieving so painfully.”

She looked at me, as if she almost sensed my sarcasm, but then must have decided to take my words at face value.

“Yes, my dear.”
My dear?
“I decided that my message was much too important for me to cancel the presentation. ‘The show must go on,’ as they say.”

I thought her last line was apropos. She was like a carnival huckster, wanting to bring the patsies into the fold—where they would be stuck.

“You’re really something.” This was not a lie, but the look of adoration on my face was. “So you worked with Cash sometimes. I’m sorry, but you don’t look like you could lift those heavy boxes of urns….” I didn’t really finish, but waited for her response.

“Well, um…,” she dabbed at her eyes again to get some time to think, “uh…well, Cash did all the heavy lifting. And we have a pallet loader. I just packed the boxes.”

“Wow. How many urns are in a box?”

“I don’t really remember. There’s a lot of them.”

Gotcha.

“Where do you pack your bottles of water for your associates?”

“Well, I began in my kitchen. However, the orders increased until I had to find another place.”

“Where is that?”

Without missing a beat, she said, “It’s secret. I’m sure you understand. I wouldn’t want anyone tampering with the water bottles. It could be dangerous.”

“Yes, I’m sure it could be,” I said, under my breath and with great sarcasm.

I then allowed her to just prattle on about the wonders of the water from Happy Acres. I tuned out however, and wouldn’t be able to accurately report what she said when I debriefed with George. The warehouse was still off limits to everyone but the police because it hadn’t been gone over with a fine-toothed comb yet. George and I needed to search the warehouse, because I was absolutely sure that’s where she packed her water for shipment. I also had a sinking feeling that she didn’t fill the bottles at Happy Acres. That was just my gut, my vibes speaking to me, but it’s what I thought. If we were lucky we might find evidence of the water being packed and shipped from there.

That certainly didn’t mean she was a murderer, but it did mean something was up.

The door to the conference room finally opened and both George and Jonah appeared in the doorway.

“Thanks for the conversation, Louise,” I said, and turned to George. “May I speak to you a minute before we trade people?”

He nodded and I followed him back into the conference room. “Honey, I know you have an open search warrant for the plant, and I especially think we need to concentrate on Jonah’s office and the warehouse.” I looked at him with absolute certainty. “Especially the warehouse. Something is up there.”

Before he could even ask why, I continued, “I believe Louise is shipping her water out through this warehouse. Yes, I know that’s not a crime.” I held up my hand like he always did to me. “But it was just the two of them working there at times—her and Cash. If he helped her, something could have gone wrong. I don’t know what, but I’ve got an inkling that she’s not using Happy Acres water. No proof, no admission. And I didn’t say anything about it. I know that it’s just a feeling, but neither Clancy nor I trust her.”

“Where is Clancy?” George asked.

We opened the door again and she was right outside it, with her back to us. As if she were protecting us from Jonah and Louise.

“Good girl,” I said, and patted her. She felt something for one or both of them, but I couldn’t figure it out. And with my own vibes, were they because Louise was a huckster or because she was a murderer? Quite different crimes, but unfortunately the vibes felt the same.

George and I switched Hendersons. Instead of sitting in the dreaded sling-back chairs, Jonah indicated a comfortable looking chair on the opposite side of his massive desk. Jonah eased his bulk into an oversized desk chair with wheels. Clancy lay at my feet, a little more relaxed, but still on guard. Jonah sat and didn’t say anything at first. Just stared—first at me, then at the window, then back at me.

“So. Do you think my wife or I killed our nephew?”

Wow. He lost his filter too.
Before now, his voice had been steady and low, almost unctuous. Now it was just plain creepy. I took a deep breath before answering.

“I told Detective Lansing that I wouldn’t talk about the murder without him. So if you don’t mind I’d like to talk about something else. To briefly answer your question though, no, I don’t think either of you killed your nephew. As I said, my filter doesn’t work sometimes.” I got really good at lying, ever since I started helping out George.

He nodded then looked at the window again while I talked.

“Where does your wife package the water bottles for shipment?”

“Why here of course. Why in the hell should she have to pay for a place when our warehouse has plenty of space?”

He was so defensive he could have played lineman for the St. Louis Rams.

“You’ll get no argument from me on that score,” I said. “How does she bottle the spring water? I imagine that’s quite a job.”

He shook his head and finally looked back at me. “I don’t know. I’m running a business here. Even though it belongs to my brother, I am the boss. I really don’t have time to follow my wife’s business too. She asked if she could use our warehouse for packing and shipping and I said yes. Sorry, I just don’t know.”

“No problem.”

“I have a question for you.”

My turn to nod.

“Why didn’t you ask my wife these questions about her business?”

Before I could make up an answer, the door opened. Saved by George yet again.

“T
hanks for your time,” George said to Jonah and Louise. He was so polite I think he would have tipped his hat if he’d worn one. “I believe Samantha and I are going to look around. We’d like to wind up the investigation so we don’t keep interfering in your lives and your business.”

“I appreciate that,” said Jonah, as he stuck out a chubby hand to shake George’s.

“
We
appreciate it,” said Louise, emphasizing their togetherness. The Hendersons stayed in Jonah’s office.

Clancy led George and me to the hall where she attempted to turn right to the exit.

“Wait, Clancy, let’s go this way,” George indicated a covered portico connecting the office building to the factory itself.

“Let’s hurry before the FBI guy gets here,” I said. “What time is he supposed to arrive?”

“Right about now.” The deep voice caused us to turn on our heels. “Hello. I’m Special Agent Matt Fuller.”

Both George and I held out a hand at the same time. I don’t know if George’s mouth was open, but mine certainly was. The deep voice and the special agent status certainly conjured up an image that was different from the reality of this FBI agent. The guy still had peach fuzz, as I had predicted. Thin didn’t describe him. Scrawny was more like it. However, his grip was strong as was his stare, and I had a feeling he meant business.

George introduced us and included Clancy. Clancy did what she always does around nice people. She plopped on her back for a belly rub, and the agent cooperated.

“I talked to the Chief of Police already, and he said you’ve taken the lead on the investigation since you aren’t related to anyone here. You aren’t, are you?”

Both of us shook our heads. I didn’t look at Clancy to see if she did the same.

“Well, then. I’m not related to anyone here either, so there’s no conflict of interest with me. As you already know, the crime took place in more than one state, so the FBI has jurisdiction. So I’ll take over as soon as you’ve debriefed me on what you know. And on what you suspect.”

He was smart to ask about what we suspected. As for me, that’s all I had—suspicions. And I really didn’t want to share those.

So I finally spoke. “Listen. We have a few things to clear up before we can fill you in. Can we meet in an hour or two at our B&B? Then we’ll tell you everything.”

I didn’t know if George agreed with me or not, but I wanted to get much more info, and maybe even solve the crime before passing on the torch.

Matt’s face showed his reluctance, but he surprised me by agreeing. “Um… sure. How about 3:00 this afternoon? I’ll want to talk to the local police for a while, and will be back at the B&B by then. I’m staying there too.”

I nodded, George nodded, and Clancy nodded. Then we humans exchanged handshakes again.

When we were finally alone, George said, “Thanks for that. I really didn’t think you’d get away with putting him off until later today.”

“It’s my charm.” I smiled as I walked ahead of him.

We walked through an unlocked door to get in the plant. It was larger than I thought it would be. Conveyor belts stood silent, some of them with urns on them, urns in various states of creation.

“I’d love to see how these are made,” I said idly. “I wonder what they’re made of.”

“Don’t know,” said George. “We can ask Henderson, if we need to know.”

“Henderson?” I gave a hearty laugh. “Which one?”

George stifled a chuckle. I knew Clancy appreciated my joke too.

“Wonder where the warehouse is.”

“Henderson gave me a map,” George said as he pulled a wadded up piece of paper from his pants pocket. He unwrapped it to reveal wrinkled clues on how to get where we wanted to go.

“Wow,” I said, looking over his arm to see the map. “This is a lot more convoluted than I would have suspected.” I saw an overview of the place that looked like a maze. “Maybe they kept adding on to the place as their business grew, but this sure doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“Looks complicated,” George said.

“I think it would be dangerous if there were a fire,” I wondered aloud. “Maybe there are other exits.”

“There would have to be,” said George. “Plants get inspected by OSHA and have to pass certain standards. Appropriate exits in the event of a fire or other disaster are not only expected, but required.

“Where are they?”

“They have to be marked with a red exit sign that is lit when it’s dark.”

“Okay. I guess I’d see them if I needed them,” I gave up worrying about the exits.

There was an aisle that seemed to span the entire perimeter of the plant. “Let’s go left,” instructed George, and so we did.

We followed the outside aisle for what seemed like forever, until we reached the end of it. The only way to go from there was to the right. There, things changed. There was a wide aisle that turned left after a while, with the path we were on continuing on straight to the next corner.

George consulted his map. “We need to take this left and that should lead to the warehouse itself.”

After we turned, another unlocked door lead us to an obvious warehouse. There were boxes on pallets stacked high. I guessed they were full and ready for shipment. Each box had a large stamp of an urn on the side. There were also many stacks of flat cardboard that could morph into boxes as needed. I walked over to a stack. “Look, George. Here’s the urn I photographed on the train car.”

He followed me to where I was pointing. “Yep.” A man of few words, my George. He walked around the cardboard stacks until he stood by a stack of full boxes. I followed him. “I’ll get someone from the police department to open some of these randomly to ensure they are full of what they’re supposed to be full of.”

I nodded and kept walking. Something was niggling at my brain and my stomach was in knots. There was something else going on here. I followed my instincts. The further I walked, the more my stomach rebelled. I walked inside the perimeter of boxes to see how deep it was. I was in physical pain by the time I reached a stack of boxes marked “Happy Acres, the water that will energize and heal.”

“George,” I yelled.

I heard the staccato of his shoes run to where I was.

He must have heard the pain in my voice.

“We need to check this place for blood.” I turned to George. “This building is where Cash was killed.”

“S
am, are you okay?” George was a little breathless from the run, but there was love in his voice, and genuine concern.

“Don’t think I’m crazy, but my stomach hurts and my vibes are telling me this is the place.” I pointed. “And look, there are Happy Acres Water bottles here. Louise told me her shipping location was secret. Wouldn’t be secret from anyone who was ever in the warehouse.”

George started to say something, but obviously thought better of it.

“Well, maybe secret from folks who just took a cursory look. The urns are all around the outside and the pallets of water don’t show unless you really search.” I continued, “Let’s look around. I just know this is where it happened.”

“Okay” was all he said. Smart man.

“Let’s walk in opposite directions like we did in the train car,” I suggested.