A rtie just had a glimpse of Myrtle as she went to her room. Instead of the hysterics he had anticipated, she walked in a daze, her wide eyes focused on something she couldn’t possibly be seeing. She said she wanted to be left alone, closing herself into her room. They let her be.
Artie didn’t forget Dorothy. Leaving Hazel with a silent Theo, he retrieved the sack that he had dropped in his room and went on a search for Fred.
He found the man seated at his desk, hands folded together, a frown on his face. He turned his head wordlessly on Artie’s entrance.
Artie pulled the note Dorothy had given him from his pocket, laying it on the desk in front of Fred with rather more force than he intended. Clenching his jaw, he stepped back and waited.
Fred only blinked down at the note before looking up at Artie once again. He didn’t touch the paper.
Artie put the sack down at his feet. “Tell me, Fred, do you know where my father has been since his disappearance a few weeks ago? Have you been in communication with him?”
Fred blinked again. “Certainly not.”
“Am I to assume that you wrote this on your own initiative then?”
Fred stared at the paper as if it might be written in a foreign language. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Artie crossed his arms. “You don’t recognize that note?”
Fred worked his jaw back and forth, still blinking rapidly. “I recognize it as a notice that would be sent to your father’s debtors. I assume the ‘Dorothy’ mentioned is Dorothy Hodges. I did not send it, nor do I know when she received it.”
“She received it on Tuesday night.” Artie’s anger deepened. “Do you really expect me to believe that you, as the only person who is currently knowledgeable regarding my father’s affairs, did not write this note?”
“I never did write them.” Fred finally raised his eyes to Artie’s face.
Artie didn’t want to believe him, but he did. “Who wrote them?”
“Mr. Sinclair, I would imagine. I never asked him. The notes were being delivered before I ever became his secretary.”
Artie narrowed his eyes in the man’s direction. “You know that because you received notes, didn’t you?”
Fred blinked at him.
“That is why you are so afraid of my father. He lent to you too and somehow, I think that you never paid off your debt.” Artie uncrossed his arms. “How much do you still owe him?”
Fred fidgeted, then he coughed. “I don’t have a glimmer of an idea. Mr. Sinclair never would tell me what interest I got up to, that way I couldn’t calculate it myself.”
“Did that happen before or after you became his secretary? And why did you stay?”
“My work as his secretary is my payment. He takes 10% of every dollar I make.” Fred coughed again. “Yet, my wife and children still have their husband and father. Alive with the full use of his limbs. Even if I am in debt for a lifetime.”
Artie’s stomach turned. “Why didn’t you tell someone? The authorities, for instance?”
A smile, grim and quite odd, crept over the little man’s features. “Charles Sinclair is known as a kind and open man to all the right people, including his sons. Where could I go and be believed? He would deny it. He knows even the sheriff personally.”
Artie stared at him. The conversation made him ill.
Fred coughed again. “Have you read the diary?”
Artie shook his head mechanically. “Only the beginning.”
“I suspect it may prove of assistance to you. My instructions were that, should anything happen to Mr. Sinclair, I was to keep the diary hidden. If he were to die, he instructed me to destroy it. No exceptions.”
“Destroy it.”
Fred nodded. “He kept the diary in his desk. Locked. I removed it before the sheriff’s men went through his things.”
Artie sat on the edge of the desk. “You’re very loyal for an indentured secretary.”
“My life depends on it.” Fred blinked up at him. “If your father does manage to return alive, I beg you would remember that. I am not loyal. I am obedient.”
Artie waited before asking his next question. He expected the truth, but the day had already left him weary. He sighed.
“Fred, do you know why my father went to the Superstition Mountains?”
The little man shook his head. “He did not share his plans with me.”
“Have…” He lowered his voice. “You have not heard from him in any way since his disappearance?”
“Not once.” Fred gestured down at the paper still lying in front of him. “If this note was truly delivered this last Tuesday evening, it would seem to indicate he still lived at that time.”
“If my father is dead, Fred, what will happen to your debt?”
Fred blinked up at him again. “I’m sure I don’t know. It will depend on what records may be found and the mercy of those who inherit.”
Artie stood silent.
“If you are suggesting that I had a motive to have killed him myself…” Fred coughed. “I suppose that I do.”
“Opportunity and means, as well, Fred. You could not prove an alibi for Tuesday night any more than you did when my father disappeared, I suppose.”
“No.” Fred tapped his fingers. “At the time indicated on Tuesday night, I was at home alone. My wife and children had spent the late afternoon with my mother-in-law and had yet to return.”
“While on the day that my father disappeared, you spent all day traveling toward Flagstaff with no one you could refer as a witness.”
“I suppose that anyone with a long continuing debt to your father might have a motive to end his life.”
Artie shuddered.
Fred tapped his fingers again, his beady eyes on Artie’s face. “You don’t believe that Miss Dorothy is responsible?”
Artie stood. “I am certain that she is not. I want to know who is.”
“Understandable. Understandable, indeed.”
Artie picked up the sack, the invisible weight on his shoulders heavier than an hour before. “Make a note that Dorothy Hodges paid and in gold as demanded, so that we can show whoever is discovered to be making the demands. Do you know the combination to the safe?”
Fred looked up from writing the note as instructed. “No. I believe that Mrs. Sinclair knows it.”
Artie nodded. “Very well. I will deal with this.”
Fred looked at the sack in his hand. “The gold?”
“Yes.”
Fred looked down at the note once again. “I don’t know who Miss Dorothy was going to meet on Saturday. Perhaps the writer of the note planned to meet her themselves at the Pavilionp.”
“That is a good point to consider.” Artie took the note, turning away.
“I am sorry.”
Artie looked back at the little man. “Sorry?”
Fred winced. “No son should have to hear such things about his father.”
“No. No, they should not.” Artie sighed heavily. “Thank you, Fred.” He turned away again.
Lord in Heaven, when will I reach the end of my discoveries?