Georgia spent the next twenty minutes in her car researching stores that distributed International Yurt products, but the clumsiness of finding the right websites on her phone drove her crazy. Besides, Jarvis, or whoever bought the yurt, might have ordered online from the company itself. She called International Yurt.
“Hi. I’m in Chicago. Could you tell me who distributes your products here?”
A woman’s voice said, “Hold on. I’ll connect you to sales.”
A moment later, “This is Jerry. How can I help you?”
Georgia explained.
“So you’re interested in becoming a Chicago distributor? Hold on. I’ll transfer you.”
Before she could say no, she heard a click and tinny music, which was interrupted with an ad for, of course, International Yurt Limited. She hung up and redialed.
“Hello, this is Jerry. How can I help you?”
“Hello, Jerry. You transferred me before I had the chance to say I’m not interested in becoming a distributor. I’m an investigator working on a case, and I’m hoping you can give me a list of your recent customers in Chicago. I’m happy to send you a fax of my license.”
“Are you with the police?”
“I’m private.”
“In that case, I can’t do that without a subpoena or court order.”
Georgia squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay. Then what about your distributors in the Chicago area?”
“That’s easy. There are only three. I’ll transfer you to my assistant, who can—”
“Wait.” This time she caught him before he disconnected.
Betsy Start was right. It was becoming way too difficult to complete what should be simple tasks. “I’m interested in just one order. It was for a yurt from your company. I have the customer order number. Can you at least tell me which store sold it?”
“Unfortunately, that’s proprietary information.”
Georgia felt her teeth grinding in frustration.
“But our distributors in Chicago are the Camping Unlimited chain. Actually, they’re our wholly owned subsidiary. There are three in Chicago.”
“Can you tell me which store ordered the one for this customer? I have his name.”
“Sorry. Privacy issues.”
She sighed. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”
She looked up Camping Unlimited: one in Northbrook, one in Naperville, one in Bloomingdale. Naperville and Bloomingdale were more than thirty miles away, but Northbrook was close by. She drove over. Camping Unlimited occupied a corner property in a recently built mall. A parking area lay in front of the store, but few cars were parked there.
Inside was a huge sales floor filled with every piece of equipment a camper would need, as well as many they didn’t. Tents, even a yurt, it looked like, in one corner. Stoves, lanterns, ropes, dried-food packages, sleeping bags. She also spotted Wi-Fi connection products, even portable air-conditioning units. With gear like that, what was the point of leaving home?
A huge customer service desk took up the middle of the sales floor. Georgia approached it. Recalling Jerry’s reluctance to share with her, at least over the phone, she decided on a different strategy.
A younger version of Woody Allen stood behind the desk bent over a computer.
“Good morning.”
The kid looked up. “Can I help you?” he said in the sullen, minimum-wage, “I don’t really care if you live or die” voice.
“I hope so.” She flashed him a cheery smile. “A friend of mine ordered a yurt here a few months ago. I’m interested in the same thing.”
“Oh.” He gave no sign he knew about Jarvis. In fact, his tone signaled relief. “Let me get my manager.” Was a yurt too expensive or complicated for him to handle? He picked up the phone and pressed a couple of numbers. “Gail, there’s a customer here who’s interested in a yurt.” As he replaced the phone, he offered Georgia a weak grimace, which must have been his version of a smile. “She’ll be right out.”
Gail, a blowsy woman in jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers, emerged from a door across the floor. She trotted over. “So, you’re interested in a yurt?”
Georgia gave her a bright smile too and nodded. “A friend of mine had one delivered to his apartment. I think he ordered it around Christmas, and I wanted to check prices and amenities and all that.”
Gail stepped behind the customer service desk to another computer. “What’s the customer’s name?”
“Scott Jarvis.” Georgia held her breath, hoping the manager didn’t recognize the name of Dena Baldwin’s shooter.
“Sounds familiar.” Gail frowned. Georgia tried to ignore the thumping of her heart. Gail hunkered over the computer and clicked a few keys.
“Here it is. Jarvis. Rogers Park. Morse Street.”
“That’s it! Can you tell me about the yurt? I think he said it was a custom order.”
“Lemme see.” Gail read something on the computer monitor. Her eyebrows arched. Georgia fisted her hands. Had she just realized who Jarvis was?
“Yeah, it was custom all right. Lots of bells and whistles,” Gail said slowly.
“Like what?”
Gail proceeded to read the order out loud. “Twenty-foot yurt. A door. One window. Outer cover. Stove and stovepipe.” She stopped and looked up. “Wow. Sounds like the guy was gonna move into it permanently.”
“Really?”
“These things are almost like RVs or trailers nowadays. Without wheels. Hold on.” She bent down to retrieve a catalog under the desk and handed it to Georgia. “Here. You can see what all’s involved. They are pretty cool.”
“How much would one like his run?”
Gail checked the monitor and whistled softly. “Over four grand when all is said and done.”
Georgia made her eyes widen. “Well, I guess that’s that. I don’t have that kind of money.”
Gail grinned. “Who does?”
“To be honest, I didn’t know Scott did either,” Georgia added.
“Wait a sec.” Gail looked at the monitor again, then at Georgia. Georgia mentally crossed her fingers. “You should ask him yourself.”
“Why do you say that?”
Indecision came across the manager’s face. “Sorry. I’m really—I’m not supposed to reveal financial information.”
Georgia cocked her head. “It’s just—well—I don’t know Scott all that well. I’d like to know him better. You know what I mean? I just wanted to find out if there was someone—well, never mind.”
A knowing look replaced Gail’s indecision. “You’ve got a thing for him, and you want to know if he’s got enough money to buy a yurt.”
“Well . . .” Georgia hoped she was blushing.
“Or if someone else bought it for him.”
Georgia looked up. They were conspirators now.
Gail hesitated. “Let me put it this way. I didn’t sell it to him.”
“You didn’t?”
“Looks like it was another employee, Jackie.”
“So you don’t know if . . .” Georgia let her voice trail off.
“Like I said, even if I did, I couldn’t tell you stuff like that.”
“Not even if someone else was here with him? I heard this rumor, and I— Well, it would really help me out.”
“I’m sorry.” Gail’s expression was full of regret. But something else, too. Resolve. What had she discovered?
“So, is Jackie here?”
“She’s off until Monday.” Today was Thursday. “But she might remember something.” Gail kept a steady gaze on Georgia. “You should talk to her. Really.”
Georgia knew what Gail was trying to tell her. “Thanks. I’ll be back.”