nineteen

Francine had no idea how Charlotte had managed to set up an appointment with Dick, late as it had been the night before, but she didn’t ask too many questions. As it was, the appointment was near lunchtime. That meant they were able to get an early start on the display boards using the material they’d nabbed at Eric’s. Despite the promise to tell her about the cemetery, Charlotte made Francine wait until after they had a mid-morning snack break.

“Let’s be civilized about this,” Charlotte insisted. “No discussing business over food.”

“That’s not like you.”

“More coffee?”

“I’ll switch to tea. I try to limit myself to no more than one shot of cognac in the morning.”

“Since when?”

“Since you started adding it to the coffee.”

Francine clipped another article from the Hendricks County Flyer and put it in a preliminary location on the white poster board she was working on. Charlotte had obtained three of them, and she and Francine had tentatively planned them for “The Early Years,” “Midlife,” and “Recent.” Francine was working on Midlife.

“I don’t know if this will work,” Francine told Charlotte. “I can’t find much in the way of Midlife. This whole board is skewing toward Late Midlife. Are you sure you won’t let me look through the pictures?”

“Nope. The cemetery pictures are in there. I don’t want you to see those until later.”

Charlotte was in the kitchen slicing up orange cranberry tea bread. She wore a red and white Kiss the Cook apron over her blue Indianapolis Colts sweatshirt and elastic waist jeans. Francine thought it was appropriate the jeans were elastic waist. She considered that maybe she should have worn hers. She’d done an awful lot of eating lately without much exercise.

Charlotte put the bread knife down and came over to see the poster board. “What article has you concerned?”

“This one.” Francine showed her the clipping. “It’s only ten years old but it’s about the oldest one I can find that doesn’t go back to her teen years. It was when she was involved in helping the police bust a child pornographer.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “I knew about it, but only in a general sense. It was ten years ago?”

“She had been working for the cable company for quite a while back then.”

Charlotte scanned the article. “She monitored the public WiFi at a coffee shop and found the guy downloading porn and reported it. What was she doing monitoring the WiFi?”

“The article doesn’t say, but that was in the early days of public WiFi. It wasn’t so widespread then, and some places charged for it. The owners of that coffee shop go to our church. I’m willing to bet they wanted to make sure it was being used for legitimate purposes.”

“I miss that place. They just couldn’t compete when Starbucks moved in right down the street.”

Francine remembered the coffee shop. It was in a strip mall along Northridge Drive. Starbucks built just west of the strip mall, where it had more visibility from State Road 267, known locally as Green Street. The Starbucks name brought in a lot of traffic, and being that close, it drove the the local shop out of business. Francine thought they could have made it if they’d served better coffee, had free WiFi, and paid more attention to the ambiance. It had been a narrow, sterile place with stainless steel tables and chairs.

“A lot of Brownsburg public officials used to congregate there in the mornings when it was the only game in town.”

Charlotte nodded. “I remember seeing Tricky Dicky oozing his homespun charm trying to put together real estate deals on the cheap. And boy, were they cheap. Dollar and Less is hardly a desired grocery store.”

Francine laughed. “I wonder what beauties Camille would have found on his WiFi.”

The two of them stopped laughing as the words sunk in. Then Francine held up a hand. “Let’s not go there. Dick is hardly a techie. I doubt he would have been using WiFi back then. And he was cheap enough he certainly wouldn’t have paid for it.”

“They gave out the security password when you bought a drink, remember? So technically, it was free. He was cheap, but he always bought coffee.”

The teakettle sang and Charlotte hurried to take it off the stove. She pulled out a selection of teas and let Francine choose one while she poured water in a mug.

Francine selected a black Oolong tea and tossed it into the mug to steep. She began to sort through the articles again. “Camille started her consulting business six months after the FBI made the porn arrest.”

“Do you think the two are related?”

“Maybe. Not sure it means anything.”

Francine carefully put double-stick tape on the back of the articles and secured them to the poster board. She had left space where she could put a few photos, when and if Charlotte would ever let her look at them.

Charlotte turned her back to Francine and took hold of the bread knife again. She had a chocolate zucchini tea bread yet to slice. While Charlotte’s attention was diverted, Francine thought she might be able to check the photos.

The two were working on Charlotte’s rectangular kitchen table, a solid maple Tell City product, and Charlotte had placed the stack of photos on her side in the corner farthest from Francine. But being a tall person with long arms, Francine had a good wingspan.

“I see you eyeing those photos,” Charlotte said. “No peeking.”

Francine snatched them anyway.

Charlotte trotted to the table with the two sliced mini loaves. “Put down the photos and slide your poster over so we can sit.”

“How did you know I was going for them?”

“Easy. First, you got too quiet, and second, you were doing exactly what I would have done, only about a minute later.”

Francine took two paper napkins from the dispenser and put them next to their plates. Charlotte took a seat at the corner Francine had cleared. Francine took the chair opposite her.

Charlotte sipped her tea. “I really needed something warm. It’s cold enough outside to freeze Eric Dehoney’s sexy body, and that boy is hot, hot, hot.”

Francine deliberately rolled her eyes in front of Charlotte. There were certain phrases Charlotte would say that sounded rehearsed, like she’d be thinking of them for a long time and worked hard at concocting some kind of opening to use them. “You’ve been waiting for a tea break so you could use that line, haven’t you?”

“Not necessarily. If you’d have gone for the second coffee with cognac, I would have used it then too.”

Francine took a few sips and declared, “Done! I can look at the photos now.”

She began to paw through them. Charlotte had placed the photos in chronological order with the cemetery photos at the end. Francine presumed it was because there was no way to date them.

In some ways, the photos were a disappointment. There were no closeups, no marked graves to go by. By anyone’s standards, the cemetery was unkempt. Weeds and overgrown grasses obstructed any serious view.

“Got any ideas as to where this cemetery is?” Francine asked.

Charlotte sat back in the wooden dining chair and wrinkled her forehead. “Not a clue. It’s got to be a private cemetery, because it’s so overgrown. But it could be anywhere.”

“There aren’t any signs, either. I wonder why there are so many photos of the cemetery but none of the actual graves. I feel like the point of being at a cemetery is because of who’s there.”

“You’re not looking close enough,” Charlotte said. She dabbed her fingers on the napkin and pointed at a photo without touching it. “The photos are taken from different angles, but this one grave is in every photo.”

Francine laid out the photos in a group next to her plate. “That’s why you’re a good detective. I would never have noticed. I was still trying to get my bearings.”

“The gravestone on that one is particularly hidden from view. Even in the photos that are close, you can see how thick the rose bushes are. It looks like they were originally planted on the side of the tombstone but have grown up to surround it.

“Are you certain they’re roses?”

“Fairly. And it provides me a clue as to what time of year the photo was taken. Late spring, probably April. The buds were out but they hadn’t bloomed yet.”

“I’m sorry, Charlotte, but you acted like these photos were going to be a source of major clues. I’m let down. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Charlotte checked her watch. “Look at the time!” She licked her finger and used it to accumulate the crumbs of cranberry orange bread from her plate. “Think that’ll hold you until lunch?”

Francine took a bite of the chocolate zucchini bread. “I should think so.”

“Good. Let’s go meet Tricky Dicky and see this five-acre property he’s selling.”

 

Francine drove to a part of Brownsburg near the border with Boone County. Land this far north wasn’t actually in the Town of Brownsburg but rather in Brown Township. Most of the land was agricultural, and most of the houses were farmhouses that dated back to the early or mid-1900s. Any houses less than twenty years old were on large lots carved out of the farmland along county roads. Charlotte directed Francine to the place she’d agreed to meet Tricky Dicky, which turned out to be Cass Carter’s driveway.

Francine pulled up on the concrete driveway. She stayed to the right. “What are we doing here? Why are we not meeting at the property you supposedly want to buy?”

“I think because the property in question may not have a driveway.” Charlotte got out of the car. She wandered in front of it, walking over to the left side of Cass’s driveway. “I think it might be where that For Sale sign is.” She pointed to a large wooden sign painted white. Because it was angled so it was readable from the road, they couldn’t see the letters from where the car was parked.

Francine got out and joined Charlotte. She turned up the collar on her coat to protect her neck from the freezing wind. “How do you know it’s a For Sale sign?”

“I don’t. But what else could it be?”

A white Cadillac came roaring down the street toward them from the direction of the sign. “That’s Tricky Dicky’s car,” Charlotte said. “You have to help me remember not to call him Tricky Dicky.”

“How am I going to stop you from doing that? I have trouble remembering myself.”

The Caddy passed the sign, slowed down, and then eased into the driveway, allowing the two women to move to the side of the concrete for safety.

Dick got out. He was a self-important man, with a big belly and diamond-encrusted pinky rings on both hands. Jonathan joked that at Dick’s funeral there would be handouts that read, “You can buy this coffin and gravesite for less money than a new car!”

“Hello, ladies,” he called out, the wind making little ripples of the skin across his fat jowls. “Francine McNamara, I didn’t know you were going to be here. Are you also interested in some land?”

“No, Dick, I’m just here to help Charlotte consider new locations for a home. Jonathan and I have our hands full with the land out in Parke County.”

“I heard you inherited a big bunch of acreage out there. You interested in selling any of it off ?”

Before Francine could answer, Charlotte said, “It’s too cold for chitchat, Dick. Let’s get down to business. Where’s this land Fuzzy’s selling?”

“Right there,” he said. “Where that sign is.”

“Five acres, you were telling me? I guess I don’t know how big five acres is.”

“That plot of land goes from the property line here with Cass Carter’s house out to where that tree is down the road.” He pointed in the same direction as the sign.

“So it goes to the edge of that field?” Charlotte pointed to a field that had been harvested in the fall. You could still see where the rows of soybeans had been.

“Yep. That’s it. And the end is along the fence row.”

Francine thought it looked rather barren.

“It doesn’t have any trees?” Charlotte asked.

“Well, it includes that tree at the end of the field, and there are a few trees along the fence.”

“Those are scrub trees, Dick. I want some kind of wooded lot. And maybe five acres is too small.” She had a mischievous smile on her face.

“How much are you interested in?” Dick asked.

“Well, let me think.” She looked admiringly at Cass Carter’s house. “What about this one? How many acres come with this property?”

“Seventy. But it’s not for sale. Boy, do I know that. We could get a lot of money for it with the development that’s proposed for this area.”

“Suppose I just want ten of it. Cass Carter doesn’t need that much. I hear she’s hired a cleaning lady to come in once a week to do the house, and she rents out fifty acres to one of those organic farmers. She got any wooded acres?”

Tricky Dicky’s eyes shifted back and forth like he was formulating a plan. “I don’t represent her, so I don’t know. But Fuzzy’s got some land that might suit you. It’s not for sale that I know of, but at the right price, it might be.”

Charlotte frowned. “I won’t be taken to the cleaner’s, Dick. Does it have some woods?”

“Nice woods, and about eight acres.”

“Sounds nearly perfect.”

“I have to warn you, though, it borders on a cemetery.”

Francine and Charlotte looked at each other.

“Even better,” Charlotte said. “How soon can we look at it?”