A rtie went in search of Fred on Monday morning, after he knew the man ought to have arrived. He had gone over his visit with Dorothy the day before several times by breakfast, while his short meeting with Joseph Hodges still irritated him.
Fred had been thoroughly questioned upon his return from meeting an investor in Flagstaff but claimed to know nothing whatever regarding the whereabouts of Charles Sinclair or why he would have made a trip to the Superstition Mountains. Artie, however, had other questions.
Fred looked up from his desk at Artie’s entrance, puffing as if he’d run a marathon.
Artie stopped in front of the little man, hooking his thumbs onto his suspenders. “I need you to tell me a few things, Fred.”
“If I can.” The little man coughed, folding his hands together in front of him.
Artie raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see why you couldn’t.”
Fred merely raised his eyebrows.
Artie decided to continue. “How much does Joseph Hodges owe my father and why?”
Fred smiled grimly. “I couldn’t tell you how much he owes, though the why is quite simple.”
“How is it simple?”
“I told him.” Fred paused to cough. “I told your father that if he didn’t want you to find out, he should never have involved you with Dorothy Hodges.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Artie crossed his arms. “If he didn’t want me to know what?”
Fred straightened a few papers on his desk, refolded his hands, then blinked in Artie’s direction. “Your father is a moneylender.”
Artie blinked this time. “He is a what?”
“A moneylender. People borrow money from him, paying it back on interest.”
Artie took a step back, dropping his arms. “He has always said he is an investor.”
“He is.” Fred smiled his grim smile again. “He invests. He also ‘invests’ into people on the side. Joseph Hodges is one of those people.”
Artie lowered his chin, narrowing his eyes. “You’re saying that my father is a loan shark.”
Fred coughed. “That’s one word for it.”
Artie clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Why did my father keep his side business such a secret? What is the point?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Fred looked down at the papers on his desk.
“Fred!”
The little man blinked up at Artie again. “I never said that I knew why he kept it a secret. Just that he did.”
Annoyed, Artie shook his head. “Why can’t you tell me how much Joseph Hodges owes?”
“Because I don’t know.”
“Fred.” Artie leaned forward, his hands on the desk in front of him. “I am Charles Sinclair’s son. He is missing. I see no reason why you cannot tell me.”
Fred still sat with his hands folded in front of him, his eyes unflinching on Artie’s face. “Except for the very real reason that I do not know the answer.”
“How can his secretary not know the answer?”
Fred shrugged. “He never let me see the exact figures. I tallied, gave him the numbers, he told me whether they had finished paying or hadn’t. I kept track of what came in, not what went out.”
“Does Joseph Hodges know how much he owes? Because his daughter doesn’t.”
“One would imagine.”
Artie straightened. “Essentially, you’re telling me that you know as little about the Hodges debt as you do regarding the reason my father is missing. Or why he would have taken a trip to the Superstition Mountains.”
Fred coughed.
Artie stared at the man for a long moment. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
Artie gave the man another once over before leaving the room.
Either he’s lying to me or he’s keeping something secret. It isn’t possible that he’s as in the dark as he claims to be. I don’t believe it.