Crunch Time

Boyd said, “You have to stand right here while you use it.”

“Thanks. A friend of mine cleans for Kris Nielsen, and I want to make sure she’s okay.” I added, “She’s worked for him for a while. I don’t think this is a big deal.”

Boyd shook a carrot-shaped forefinger at me. “That’s what you always say.”

Penny answered on the first ring. “Zeke? Did they let you out early?”

“No, it’s Goldy. Sorry.”

“Christ, Goldy!” There was the quick crash of a door slamming. “I’ve been over at your friend’s house for half an hour, and the place is a frigging rats’ nest! You could take half the stuff out of here and have enough for two garage sales!”

“Well, I’m sorry—”

“Why are you calling me from the sheriff’s department?” she asked curiously.

“I’m not at the department, I’m borrowing a phone. Did you finish at Kris’s place okay?”

“Yeah, I suppose. He didn’t seem to suspect anything. I was so nervous I thought I was going to pee while he wrote out my check. Did you put everything back just the way you found it?”

“Well, not exactly. But if he didn’t notice, then we both should be fine. Listen. There was a message for me at home from SallyAnn, and I wanted to make sure you got there.”

“When I got here, that woman was having a major meltdown. She kept following me from room to room, until I finally handed her a gigantic trash bag and said, ‘Here, fill this with everything you haven’t used in the last year. When you have one bag full, start on another one. When I finish here, if I ever finish here, I’ll take them all to Evergreen Christian Outreach.’ Do you know, that woman’s on her third bag?”

“Good, then—”

“Listen, Goldy, I’m here, but I’m not sure I can get through all this. I think I’m gonna need help.”

“How’s three o’clock? I’ll try to bring helpers.”

“Better than nothing.” She disconnected.

I gave Boyd an imploring look. “Can we—”

“Yeah, yeah. Just remind your son to go over to somebody else’s house for dinner. And to stay there until we call him.”

I promised I would, then raced upstairs with my bag. I grabbed four hundred dollars from my underwear drawer, which was where I stowed emergency cash. I stuffed it into my wallet, for Penny.

I picked up my canvas bag and tiptoed to Arch’s room, where I closed the door. I dialed his cell—which the CBHS kids were not allowed to answer during school hours—and left a message asking if he could please eat dinner over at Gus’s and call me when he was done. Then I apologized and said I would explain it all to him later.

I nipped over to his desk, booted his computer, and pulled out the things I’d stolen from Kris’s. I began with the Miscellaneous file, since it was far thinner than the one marked Mother. With any luck, I would be able to take good notes on the contents, then return both files to Penny that night, so she could replace them the next time she worked at Kris’s.

The Miscellaneous file was indeed sparse: It contained only two pages, each with three columns. Had I dropped something? I certainly hoped not. Two pages I could photocopy and figure out later. I raced down to the basement, avoiding contact with Boyd and our houseguests, and copied both sheets.

Back upstairs, I did a cursory study of the pair of papers. Along the left side of each were dates. I blinked at the papers and told myself to concentrate.

The dates along the left side of the first page began in June and went through July; the second page covered August and went through the previous day, September the sixteenth. Today had not been entered yet.

Every date in June was not noted, but there was one D, with a check mark. The far-right number corresponding to the D had four digits; the others all had three. July, on the other hand, contained many S’s and two B’s. Most of the S’s had check marks, some had X’s. The B’s had check marks. In July, every date was noted.

It was the same for August, a pattern of S’s and B’s. All had check marks with three digits in the right-hand side. For September, there were also three I’s, two F’s and a K. The K corresponded to a five-figure number, and each F and I matched a four-figure number.

Back on the first page, I wondered why there was only one D there, and then I looked at the date: June the fifteenth.

Hadn’t Yolanda told me Ferdinanda had had her accident in mid-June? Since I’d seen a black SUV over at Stonewall’s, I wondered again if he’d been involved in the accident, and if so, why. I would have to get the exact date of the accident from Yolanda.

The dates and figures swam before my eyes. They could relate to anything in Kris’s life. I for Investments, S for Sell, B for Buy. Crap.

In the back of my mind, I could hear Penny’s voice saying she needed me to come help her clean up the Bertrams’ house. We had a party to do that night, and I had no idea whether the pages in front of me—papers I had obtained illegally, no less—meant anything or not.

I opened the packed Mother file. It contained the last will and testament of one Rita Nielsen. A coroner’s report, dated the fifteenth of January, two years and eight months ago, indicated Rita Nielsen had died between the twentieth and the twenty-sixth of December, from carbon monoxide poisoning. I went through bank account slips and statements from mutual funds. It looked as if Kris Nielsen had inherited twelve million dollars, as he’d drunkenly admitted to Penny Woolworth. So the “making money starting up a computer company” was bunk, as Lolly Vanderpool had suspected.

I sifted through the many pages until I found the one that Kris had written Jackass across the top of. It contained a name, Joe Pargeter, and a number. I called it and was connected to the police department in Lake Bargee, Minnesota.

“Is Joe Pargeter in?” I asked.

“Oh, no, he’s out on a job,” a female with a midwestern twang replied. Then she probably remembered she wasn’t supposed to give out information to a stranger and became suspicious. “What do you need him for?”

I gave her my name and cell number and asked if Joe Pargeter could please call me as soon as possible. I said I desperately needed to talk to him about the death of Rita Nielsen.

The woman clucked. “You’re another insurance investigator?”

Insurance investigator? I said, “No, I’m not. But I really, really need to talk to him.”

She said, “Yah, I’ll pass the message on to Joe.”

“Thank you.”

“You betcha,” she said, and signed off.

I had no idea whether Joe Pargeter would call me back. Ideally, Tom and the cops should talk to him if he did, but first I wanted to see if there was anything there, or if I was on another wild goose chase. Where was Lake Bargee, Minnesota? A place you could go on a wild Canadian goose chase?

I was due in the kitchen. I closed up both files and stowed them in my canvas bag. Yolanda, Ferdinanda, and I needed to make fresh cream of mushroom soup for the gathering at the Bertrams’ to remember Ernest.

My heart was still pulsing so loudly from my day of burglaries, I was sure I could hear it. Cooking would help me calm down.

Boyd was in the living room talking on his cell. Ferdinanda and Yolanda were already in the kitchen working. Yolanda was heating up the chicken stock. Ferdinanda narrowed her eyes at me, but I kept my mouth resolutely closed.

“Nobody tells me anything,” said Ferdinanda. She wheeled over to my portable CD player and slotted in a Tito Puente CD. Soon the first floor was reverberating with the sounds of Latin music.

I washed my hands. “The two of you started working without me.”

“We wanted to,” Yolanda replied as she melted butter in a huge stockpot. She kept her voice neutral, but she still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Why don’t you help Ferdinanda chop ingredients? I poured boiling spring water over some dried mushrooms, because I figured you’d want them in addition to the fresh ones.”

“And you were right,” I said, equally neutral. I drained the now-plumped mushrooms through cheesecloth and