Annie Werth was apparently not one to remain reticent for long, at least once the topic switched to her ex-husband.
“Our divorce just became final a few months ago,” she said. “It shouldn’t have been contentious. It’d been coming for a long time. I was used to being an engineer’s wife, you see. I’d been one long before I met Frank.”
“You were married before?” I asked. Given their age, I’d assumed she and Frank must have been married a long time. Never assume.
“I was married to Todd for thirty years. Pancreatic cancer took him about eight years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Dad said. I nodded.
“Todd had always been a railroader too, so I was used to the shows. Either go with him or stay home and learn to knit.” The tone of voice made me think this woman placed knitting right up there with thumb twiddling and watching paint dry. “We did that for years and built a collection. Some couples have kids. Others have cats. We had trains. Todd and I started the train show, long before they added toys to it.”
“And then you met Frank?” I suggested.
“Swept me off my feet, that one.” She rolled her eyes. “But I didn’t just meet him—we’d all been friends for years. With Todd gone, Frank took over the show. I still had all Todd’s notes and all Todd’s trains. Frank would come over now and then to maintain them. Mostly I think he just wanted to run them around on the tracks, and we’d have coffee or dinner. I should’ve known that was what he was after all along.”
“You think Frank married you for your trains?” I asked.
She took a long time exhaling that last breath. “Don’t know,” she finally said. “I accused him of as much and he denied it. But he put a lot more time and energy into maintaining those trains than he did our relationship. I was used to being a train wife, like I said, but not a train widow.”
“Then why would you want to go to the train show?” Dad asked. “If it would bring up unhappy memories?”
“For one reason, Todd and I built that show from the ground up. I shouldn’t have to sneak around in disguise to go just because Frank and I are on the outs.”
“And the other reason?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“You said ‘for one reason.’ I assumed there was another.”
She rubbed the corner of her eye with her knuckle. “That’s where it gets a little tricky.” She looked at my dad. “I won’t get in any trouble, will I?”
“That depends,” he said. “Did you break any laws?”
She drew in a breath and held it. “I almost did,” she finally said. “Well, more than almost, but I think I fixed it. See, in our separation of property, I ended up with the house—which I had to sell because I couldn’t afford the taxes on it myself, but at least I got a substantial amount of equity from the sale—and Frank ended up with the trains. All of them. My lawyer suggested I sign off on it. And financially, it was a good deal for me. But . . .”
“You wanted the trains too?”
“Not all of them!” she said. “I’m not that greedy. But a couple of them were my father’s. And one of them Todd and I got on our honeymoon. The more I thought about it, the more unreasonable that seemed. I offered to buy them, but Frank was being stubborn.”
“You were going to steal them?” Dad’s eyebrows hit the roof.
She took a fortifying breath before continuing. “From Santa’s throne, I had a good view of Frank and his layout. When he left it, I had one of the elves post a ‘Back in Ten Minutes’ sign, claiming I had to use the restroom. My dad’s engine was sitting idle on a piece of diverted track. All I had to do was pick it up and shove it underneath the beard. I’d just managed it when that man comes flying out of nowhere and crashes right into the layout. He was only a few feet away. I know he survived the initial fall, but I could have been killed! I thought it was a warning.” She looked up. “I put it back the next day.”
“And you didn’t make any further attempts to take the engine?” Dad asked.
She vigorously shook her head. “That was all I needed to be drawn back to the side of the angels. I didn’t want my last act on earth to be so petty. Especially dressed as Saint Nicholas. After all . . .” She sighed. “It’s just a train.”
“You think she’s telling the truth?” I asked Dad on the way to the shop.
“No reason to suspect otherwise,” he said. “She had no connection to Craig and none to the mob that I know of. She didn’t have to tell us half of what she did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked her to be our Santa.”
“Ask? You practically blackmailed the woman!” I said.
“Blackmail is such a harsh word,” Dad said. “It’s why we went over there in the first place.”
“Yes, but her willingness to volunteer? That was all due to her knowing that you know her secret. It’s manipulative.”
“Maybe a little. But since it’s a position that could put her around children—”
“Proving my point.”
Dad nodded. “Also provides the justification to do a background check.”
“So you don’t believe her?” I said.
“Actually, I do. But it never hurts to check. Besides, mission accomplished. Boy, did I just save the town all kinds of money.”
“Do you think East Aurora is ready for a cross-dressing Santa, especially one known to hide stolen property under her beard?”
“They’ll probably never know.” Dad licked his lips. “Right?”
# # #
As we drove past the police station, I could see my father almost begin to salivate, so I pulled into the parking lot.
Dad sent me a confused look. “I didn’t ask to stop here.”
“You were thinking it.”
“That’s it. We’re getting rid of the Amazing Kreskin game.”
“The who?”
“Mind reader. Before your time.”
I closed my eyes and put my hands on my temples as if I were channeling a message. “We haven’t checked in on the official investigation in a while. How about we see if there’s been any new developments?” I looked up. “Am I close?”
“Nailed it.” He reached for the door handle. “Remind me to hide the spoons when I get home.”
“What?”
“Kreskin used to bend spoons. With the power of his mind.”
Dad’s winning smile was enough to get us past the clerk. Ken’s office was dark, but Howard Reynolds sat hunched at his desk, embroiled in paperwork. I followed Dad there.
Reynolds looked up, then stretched his neck. “Boy, am I glad to see you,” he said to Dad.
“Oh?” Dad took a seat in a guest chair, and I tried to look less obvious by leaning against a nearby unoccupied desk. “And here I thought I was just here to give you more information.” Dad filled him in on Annie Werth.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Reynolds said. “It’s probably a dead end. But at least it’s one we can rule out. I’ll run her background for you, though.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “And it will probably be reassuring to the chamber of commerce.”
“Although I don’t recommend you tell them the whole backstory,” Reynolds said. “And thanks for bringing in those videotapes, by the way,” Reynolds said. “They were actually more helpful than you realized. They got Millroy and Eicher talking. That and a little savvy police work.”
“Really?” Dad said. It was all he needed to say.
“We played it for the suspects. Slowly.”
“But you couldn’t see them do anything,” I said.
Reynolds wagged a finger at me. “Never underestimate the power of a guilty mind. When one of them started making excuses, we separated them. At first, they both clammed up. Then we hinted that the other was talking. Next thing you know, we got them both singing like the high school glee club, only in better harmony.”
“You got them to talk? I’m impressed.” Dad didn’t ask what they said. And if he had, I doubted Reynolds would have told him.
“Millroy was the one you saw leaning over the cup. We may have hinted that Eicher was an older man, probably not wanting to spend the rest of his life in jail for murder. Next thing you know, Millroy’s saying he might have put the scopolamine in the cup, but that was a far cry from murder.”
“Nice,” Dad said.
“Then we took that bit of confession to Eicher, hinting that he was complicit to murder. A few more back and forths, and, as best as we can work out, the two of them conspired to put the scopolamine into Craig’s cup while it was sitting out at the comic booth. The whole cup switcheroo was just a simple mistake. After Craig drank it, they told him to get the comic books and meet them outside. They both claim they had no idea he was going to climb up onto those catwalks. They said Eicher was waiting for him outside. Best I can figure out, Craig must have gone out a different door, not seen anybody, and then stashed the comics behind the planter. When Eicher got tired of waiting, he went in and saw all the ruckus. They said it took them a while to figure out what had happened, but they stayed to try to find those books.”
Dad’s brows furrowed. “Why . . . ?” Then he stopped.
“Why those books?” Reynolds said. “Here’s where they got a little quieter. Our last check with Mark Baker at the FBI picked up on a few connections between one Joshua Duncan and a few men suspected of involvement in organized crime.”
“The comic books were some kind of payoff?” Dad asked.
“Not sure yet,” Reynolds said. “But comic books have been used in money laundering schemes in the past. When the IRS asks where the money came from, it’s easy to point to a box of comic books you say you found in the basement. Who can prove otherwise? They’re next to untraceable.”
“That’s diabolical,” I said. “That means Jenna Duncan . . .”
“Made an honest mistake with her husband’s dishonest gains,” Reynolds said. “I almost feel sorry for what’s happening.” He glanced at his watch. “Right now, in fact.”
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Search and seizure,” Reynolds said. “When you tick off both the FBI and the IRS, nasty things happen fast. They think they’re going to find all kinds of items used to pay off Duncan for his services. They’re taking the whole kit and caboodle.”
“They’re leaving her with nothing?”
“Joint property, joint tax returns. And rumor was she was disposing of evidence and getting ready to flee the area.”
“She was having a garage sale and getting ready to visit her mother in Cleveland,” I said.
“Same diff,” Reynolds said. “But from what I gather, she’s talking, trying to get the whole thing pinned on hubby there. It’s just a matter of time before one of them is implicated in McFadden’s death. I think we got this one wrapped up. Just waiting on a pretty bow.”