“No thanks, I’m fine,” Candy said as she followed him back to the kitchen.
“Go ahead, have a seat,” Finn said as he sat himself. “Marti’s out shopping. She wanted me to go with her, but she was headed to some of those discount stores over near Ellsworth. Treasure hunting, she calls it. We got a house full of treasures, I told her. We don’t have room for any more. But that never stops her. She says it makes her happy, and who am I to stand in the way of her happiness?”
He paused, took a bite of his sandwich, and looked at her as he chewed. He wore cargo shorts and a green golf shirt today; his tweed jacket, which he always had on when he went out, was slung over the back of his chair. He was only a little taller than Candy, and broad, though he didn’t seem overweight. His stomach was still tight, and his toned legs indicated he kept himself active. His salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed. He looked at her with studious brown eyes. “So, you need my help with something?”
“Yeah, thanks for taking the time to see me. I... have this meeting in a little while, and I wanted to talk to you about it first.”
He sat back in his chair. “What kind of meeting?”
“Well, I suppose you could say it’s with some sort of informant.”
“I see.” Absently he took another bite of the sandwich, followed by a pull from a can of Coke, as he thought this over. “So what’s the name of your informant?”
“I don’t know.”
“Uh-huh. And how did this informant contact you?”
“E-mail.”
“No way to identify the sender?”
“It was a Gmail account. Someone named Cinnamon Girl.”
“Cinnamon Girl, huh? Just like the old Neil Young song. Interesting.” He stared down at a nondescript spot on the floor for a few moments, then asked, “So, where are you meeting this person, and when is it going down?”
She told him. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you first — to find out what I’m walking into.”
“Why, are you worried?”
She had to admit she was.
“Think it’s a scam?”
“I don’t know. I just know someone who insists on staying anonymous wants to meet me in a very odd place.”
“It can get pretty dark in that backstage area,” Finn said thoughtfully, “even in the middle of the day. That’s the point, of course. No windows, little light. It’s probably a good place to meet if you wanted to remain anonymous. This person can just stay in the shadows if she or he wants to, and talk to you from there — or come up on you from behind.”
“I know.” She gave him a long look.
He seemed to understand. “So you need a little backup.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I was thinking about something like that, yes.”
“Where’s Maggie? Doesn’t she usually help you out with this sort of thing?”
“She’s keeping an eye on Wilma Mae.” Candy hesitated before she added, “Besides, I put her in a lot of danger last time. This time...” Her voice trailed off.
He smiled. “This time you’d rather put
“Well” — Candy raised her eyebrows — “when you put it that way...”
He took a contemplative bite of the sandwich. “Did this informant tell you to come alone?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, at least we know the ground rules. But nothing says we can’t bend them a little.” His eyes suddenly widened as he held up a thick finger. “You know what? I have just the thing.”
He set down his sandwich, got up from the table, and crossed to a drawer at the far end of the kitchen counter. He pulled it open and started digging through it, burrowing under various tools, seed packets, menus, bulbs, candles, batteries, matchbooks, plastic boxes of screws and nails, user guides, pens and pencils, and other assorted and sundry items. He finally found what he was looking for near the back, pulled it out, slammed the drawer closed with his hip, and returned to the table.
“Here you go,” he said, holding it up for her to see.
It was an earpiece with a thin wire that connected it to a small black box with a skinny six-inch antenna. He also held up a small black button about the size of a penny with a clip on the back of it, also attached to a small black box by a thin wire.
“What’s that?” Candy asked, peering at the devices.
Finn displayed it proudly. “It’s an audio bug and receiver. I pieced it together myself with parts I bought at Radio Shack. It’s got a range of about fifty feet or so, so I’ll have to stay close by.”
“Close by?”
“Sure, like in the parking lot maybe. Here.” He leaned forward and attached the small black button to the collar of Candy’s blouse. He slipped the black box in her left front pocket. “It helps if we can get the miniature mic as close to your mouth as possible. It should be concealed, of course. It would’ve helped if you’d worn something like a turtleneck, so we could just hide it under the fold, but we’ll figure it out. We’ll have to hide the transmitter too, but that can go anywhere. And we’ll string the wire inside your clothes.”
He held up the earpiece connected to the black box with the antenna. “I’ll be outside in the car. I can even lie down in the backseat if that would help, so no one will see me — especially your informant. Don’t want to scare them away. Then I just pop this earpiece in, and I can hear everything you say. If you get into trouble, just holler. I’ll be there in two shakes.”
Candy eyed the device skeptically. “You think this’ll work? I’ll be backstage at the Pruitt. Even if I need your help, it would take you a few minutes to get in there from the parking lot if you entered by the back basement door.”
Finn shook his head. “That’s the best part. There’s a stage door the actors and crew use. It opens from the backstage area right into the side parking lot. I can jump out of the car and be there to help you out in less than thirty seconds.”
“But isn’t that door locked?”
Finn grinned. “Sure it is. It’s got a new security keypad on it. I know, because I asked to have it installed. I’m a show producer, you know. I’ve got a little clout around this town.”
Candy smiled with him. “And because you’re the producer, you know the combination to the keypad, don’t you?”
He raised his arms in an exaggerated shrug. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.” His expression turned serious again as he set the gear on the table and sat back down. “Listen, Candy, this doesn’t have anything to do with Mr. Sedley’s death, does it?”
Candy had anticipated the question and had formulated her answer on the drive over. “It might, but I’m just trying to help out a friend. Wilma Mae asked me to do a little digging around.”
He didn’t seem convinced. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “Look, I’ve been hearing some buzz from the station. They’re saying Mr. Sedley had serious trauma to the head. He probably had a few other broken bones too, and maybe a broken neck. Someone beat him up pretty good. But there’s something else. They’re saying he didn’t die where you found him. They think his body was moved. Somebody probably killed him somewhere else in the house — upstairs maybe, either accidentally or on purpose — and dragged or carried his body down into the basement. At least, that’s what they’ve figured out so far.”
“Do they have any suspects?”
“I don’t know yet. And there’s one more thing — the tarp.”
“The one he was wrapped in?”
“That’s right. They’re saying it’s not Wilma Mae’s — it came from somewhere else.”
“You mean... what? The murderer brought it with him?”
Finn shrugged. “Who knows what’s going on? But my point is this: you’re walking into very murky territory here. This is serious business, Candy. I wouldn’t take any chances if I were you. If there’s any indication — anything whatsoever — that you’re in danger, just yell out my name — don’t hesitate — and I’ll be on my way. I don’t want you to get yourself hurt.”
She reached across the table and clapped her hand on his wrist. “Finn, thanks for doing this for me.”
