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Ben Leatherman, Planning/Building Department Manager, stepped up to the podium and pulled the microphone down to his level. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get started.” In white shirt and khaki trousers, tie but no jacket, he represented Ozarks white-collar mid-level management well, despite his short and somewhat stocky physique.
“White knuckle time,” Kate whispered in Bernie Sailor’s ear.
The TV newsman smirked but did not take his eyes off the speaker.
Leatherman, hired about two years ago when the previous man took a better job, had been overwhelmed ever since. He had the misfortune of arriving with the “Branson Boom”—as the press tagged it—following the 60 Minutes segment which introduced the town to the world. A rash of new country music theaters, hotels, and restaurants sprouted up along the city’s main drag. The affectionately nicknamed “Strip” stretched from downtown Branson westward toward Silver Dollar City, its neon lighting reminiscent of the Las Vegas Strip.
His attempts to deal with the growth met strong resistance from city government. According to the unofficial grapevine, he grew more and more frustrated with the “I’ve lived here all my life and you don’t know shit” attitude of local politicians and citizens.
Leatherman cleared his throat. “This is going to be brief. We want to set the record straight so as not to cause undue embarrassment for anyone. The Missouri Board of Architects and Engineers has asked the city of Branson to provide certain records for certain construction projects currently ongoing in Branson. We are cooperating fully. So far no red flags have been raised. Once they finish the review and submit a report with their recommendations, we will inform the public. City staff is confident that all construction inspected by our team is safe and has been completed to code. Any questions?”
Bernie raised his hand and said, “You say, Mr. Leatherman, no red flags so far. Has Missouri started its review?”
As if cued, the group chuckled in unison, then silently turned their eyes on Leatherman.
“The state has provided my office a list of projects. We’re collating the records to be turned over to the bureau staff as soon as possible.”
“So, nothing has happened so far?” A reporter from the Harrison Daily Times asked.
Leatherman glanced in her direction, said, “No,” then pointed to Kate, one of many with a raised hand.
“You say inspected construction is safe. But you’ve also gone on record recently that your department is understaffed. How can you keep up with the demand of current projects?”
Leatherman sneered. “Lots of overtime.”
“But,” Kate said, determined not to let him brush off the question, “isn’t it true your team consists of two inspectors after the third quit last week? And we have over thirty active projects in the city, not including residential construction? And don’t those same inspectors review all plans submitted as part of the permitting process?”
“Yes, to all your questions. However, we’re actively trying to replace our third man.”
“And then you’ll have three,” another reporter said, with a tinge of sarcasm.
City Administrator Mark Orchard eased between Leatherman and the podium, bending his six-foot frame to speak into the mic. “That’ll be it for today, folks. When we have more concrete information about the audit, we’ll let you know. Until then, please keep your media theories to a minimum.”
A man’s voice blurted from the back of the overfilled room. “When are you going to discuss what Fortune Enterprises gets away with?”
Bryan Porter stood with his arms folded across his chest, his naturally ruddy complexion flushed a deep pink, his ears beet red. He walked to the center of the crowd, stopping not far from Kate and Bernie.
“Well, Mr. Leatherman? Are you going to tell these folks about Fortune Enterprises starting construction before they had a permit, an apparent exemption from this code of yours?”
“Who’s that?” Bernie said, his words barely audible.
“Bryan Porter,” Kate whispered.
“Who’s Bryan Porter?”
“Until recently, the town joke, but his status may be elevated.”
“What’s he talking about?” Bernie said.
Kate leaned closer to the newsman. “Larry Allen is property development manager at Fortune Enterprises. He’s the grandson of one of the founders.”
Bernie mouthed, “Holy shit,” his eyes wide with excitement. “He was elected to city council this last April, right? Very heated contest as I recall, especially for a city council post.”
Kate nodded, amused by Leatherman’s distressed glance toward his boss.
“If you’re referring to the Fortune Plaza Office Complex—”
“I am.”
“—that project is not yet within city limits,” Leatherman said.
“But it will be soon. Isn’t that true?” Porter asked.
“On next week’s agenda.”
Porter forced his way closer to the podium, planted his feet firmly, and sunk his hands into his pants pockets. “Isn’t it also true your department is responsible for inspecting projects within a mile of city limits? And, certainly, ones about to enter city boundaries?”
Orchard shook his head and scowled. “That’s all we’re going to say today. Thank you.”
The city administrator eyeballed Leatherman, who quickly took the side door. Orchard pushed his way through the crowd to the lobby exit, closer to his own office.
“What’s the answer, Mr. Orchard?” Kate shouted.
Orchard stopped at the double swinging doors, pivoting around to face the media. “Yes, we have an agreement with the county to inspect those projects about to enter the city. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have work to do.”
For a few seconds everyone stared in the direction of Orchard’s departure, as if expecting his return. Porter broke the silence with a muffled, but breathy, “Humph,” followed by a more subdued, “Predictable,” as he started to leave.
“Excuse me, Mr. Porter,” Kate said, blocking his exit.
Deep lines appeared across his brow. She’d seen Porter around town but hadn’t realized how short he was until she stood directly in front of him eye-to-eye.
“I’m Kate Starling, Tri-Lakes News. Could I ask you a few questions?”
Again, the room became quiet, all eyes on the man who had disrupted the news conference.
“I’m sorry, Miss Starling. I’m not ready to talk about this until I get my own answers.”
Undaunted, Kate said, “Do you know for a fact Fortune Enterprises doesn’t have a building permit for the new office plaza?”
“They have one now. Question is when did they get it? By my calculations, they had steel up for all five stories, before they even had a foundation permit. Hell! The thing was almost completed, before the building permit was approved.”
“And you’re saying nothing was done because Councilman Allen is a project manager at the company?” Kate asked.
A low-level buzz traveled around the room.
“I’d say it seems like a hell of a coincidence. Wouldn’t you? Like inspection reports changing before being filed. Lots of coincidences.”
Porter stormed out before Kate or anyone else could ask a follow-up.
Bernie said to his cameraman, “Come on. Orchard promised a sound bite. Let’s see what he has to say about Porter’s comments. Want to come along, Kate?”
She started to follow Bernie but changed her mind when she saw Leatherman come out of his office and head for the men’s room. “No thanks, I’ve heard the drill,” she said.
As the chamber emptied, Kate hurried through the witness room to the neighboring office suite. Five small offices and a central bullpen provided limited space for the Building and Engineering Departments. An eight-foot round conference table claimed the center of the overcrowded room. It and a nearby customer counter were piled high with papers, rolled up building plans, and three-ring binders. At least a dozen file cabinets lined the limited wall space.
Kate spoke briefly to an engineering department road inspector, a guy she’d known since high school, then waited at the counter as the secretary finished speaking to a customer. The woman, who seemed to be only a few years older than Kate, started her job less than three weeks ago. With any luck she hadn’t been briefed on the reporter’s reputation as a city hall pest.
“Okay,” the woman began, walking toward Kate, “how can I help you?”
Hoping to put the woman at ease, Kate introduced herself and provided her credentials.
“Nice to meet you. My name’s Claire,” the secretary said.
“I know you started your job recently. Are you new to Branson too?”
“We came in a couple years ago from Des Moines. Apparently, we were among the many. I’ve had a few part-time jobs but was thrilled to see this one in the paper.”
“Yeah, the boom brought a lot of new folks to town. I’m glad you got the job. I’ve lived in Branson all my life and worked at the paper for quite a while, so let me know if you want the real scoop on anyone in town.”
Claire smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Seriously, we can have lunch sometime.”
“That would be nice.”
“One thing’s for sure, you folks will be needing a bigger office.”
“They tell me it was a lot worse before the Health Department moved downstairs.”
“That’s true,” Kate agreed.
“How can I help you today?”
Kate summoned her most nonchalant demeanor. “I’d like to see the file on the Fortune Plaza office project.”
“The entire file?” Claire asked, the whites of her eyes expanding noticeably.
“Is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, as you said, I’m new. The other secretary is on vacation and I’m not sure what the procedure is to see a file.”
“They’re public record, right?”
“Yes, I suppose,” the woman said, nervously twirling a long brown strand of hair.
“And I’m part of the public.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll have to speak to Mr. Leatherman.”
“Okay, but I ask to see city records all the time,” Kate said, not bothering to elaborate how often her requests were granted.
Claire glanced toward the door and relaxed.
Kate craned her neck, following the woman’s line-of-sight as Ben Leatherman crossed the threshold and hurried past the counter without acknowledging either woman.
“Excuse me, Mr. Leatherman?” the secretary said as he entered his office.
“Not now, Claire.” He closed the door behind him.
The secretary shrugged and said, “Sorry.”
Kate considered pushing the point but decided against it. Instead, she made an appointment to meet with Leatherman later in the afternoon. She had one thing to do before leaving City Hall and opportunity presented itself immediately.
Tom Collingwood and his boss, Detective Lieutenant Dan Palmer, emerged from the offices across the upper lobby as Kate crossed the building department threshold. Tom acknowledged Kate with a halfhearted salute, then turned to resume his discussion with Palmer.
First, he gives her his official stance about whatever was found down by the lake. Then, he fails to let her know about the subsequent press release, as he promised he would. Now, he brushes her off without a word. How can they be friends, let alone something more? She stormed across the lobby and out the exit.
The upper lot and street were empty. “Damn,” she said, remembering she’d parked on the lower level. Normally, she would have taken the shorter route, across the lobby and down the stairs to the police department entrance, but Tom and Dan blocked that approach. “Get a grip,” she whispered, before silently counting to ten. She took a deep breath, then set out around the building to the Adams Street parking area.
“Katie, wait up.”
She glanced over her shoulder but kept walking.
Tom jogged toward her and shouted, “Katie?”
She waited for him to catch up. “I’m in a hurry.”
“Okay. All I wanted to—”
She resumed walking toward her car, but he stepped in front of her.
“Hey, where’s the fire?”
She detoured around him.
“I get it. You’re mad at me. It’s been a while, but I remember this routine.”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell me? It’ll save a lot of time.”
“I’m so glad you’re amused,” she said, risking a sideways glance. Why are we acting like teenagers? Her emotions and behavior resembled someone not quite as mature as she would prefer to be. She stopped, slowly turning to face him.
“Go ahead. I’m ready. Blast me,” he said.
“Why would I do that?”
“Who knows?”
“If you’re going to make fun of me, we have nothing to discuss.”
“I’m sorry. Tell me why you’re upset.” He brushed her hand, then held it until she withdrew. His blue eyes had always had a calming effect on her.
She tilted her head to one side blocking the rising sun with one hand. “You promised to let me know what was found on the lot.”
“But I did. We sent a press release this morning.”
She rolled her eyes. “To begin with, the press release said nothing. Furthermore, I expected advance notice from an old friend.”
“I did. I mean, I tried. I left a message on your car phone and I paged you.”
“You did not.”
“Several times.”
Her anger returned. “That’s not possible!”
He squeezed his lips together and hesitated a moment before lowering his voice. “Have you checked your voicemail? Your pager?”
“My pager is fine.” She reached into the outside pocket of her portfolio, grasped the square object, and waved it in front of his face. “See?”
“Yeah, fine but off.”
She examined the switch, then remembered muting it to ignore Helen’s repeated calls. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He grinned and said, “Guess I should’ve sent a patrol car to track you down.”
“That would have been more efficient. You should have known when I didn’t return your call something was wrong.”
“What? This is my fault? What do you want from me, Katherine Margaret Starling?”
She took a step closer, and then stared directly into his eyes.
“Uh-oh,” he whispered.
“I want you to tell me everything you know about the skeleton you found yesterday.”
“Everything is in the press release. I swear. The coroner is trying to find an expert to help us. We probably won’t know anything for weeks. Besides, you know I can’t tell you anything until we make an official statement.”
“Yes. You’ve mentioned that once or twice.”
She pivoted around and headed for the parking lot before Tom could say more.
***
KATE’S FRUSTRATION had not abated by the time she entered the restaurant. Shirley Barrens, her best friend since kindergarten, was already sitting in a booth toward the middle of the room. Kate scooted across the bench, tossing her purse to the far side.
“Are we a bit huffy?” Shirley asked.
“Not at all,” Kate replied.
“I’ve known you a long time. Remember?”
Kate shrugged as she drummed the table with her index and middle fingers.
Shirley pointed toward the noise. “See. Dead giveaway. Tapping does not lie.”
“Okay, I had a little disagreement with His Exalted Detectiveness.”
Shirley’s amusement was palpable.
“And what did Tom do to offend your sensibilities this time?”
“I’m not sure I like your implication.”
“Shoe fits, does it?”
“Let’s order. I have an appointment in about ninety minutes with Leatherman.”
“Already ordered,” Shirley said. “Don’t be so surprised. You know you always have the same thing.”
“Did you call your friend in Forsyth?”
“Let’s talk about you and Tom.”
“We can’t get past his stubbornness.”
“His stubbornness?”
Kate stared at her friend. “Okay, I can’t separate my boyfriend from the detective.”
“I’m sure the relationship is difficult, especially when you deal with him professionally,” Shirley said. “But you need to talk about it. You and I are best friends, Katie.”
“I know.”
“Why then, have we never discussed your breakup with Tom all those years ago?”
Kate squirmed in the seat and glared at her friend. “I don’t discuss that day,” she said.
“You need to,” Shirley said.
“It was an impetuous mistake. There. Are you satisfied?”
“Not really.”
“I regretted our argument. I regretted it even more when he started dating Linda, but not nearly as much as when they married and moved to Kansas City two years later.”
“I’m guessing you and Tom haven’t discussed this.”
“Did you call your friend in Forsyth?” Kate asked, changing the subject.
“Okay, but we’re not finished with this.”
“Understood, but let’s move on right now.”
“The property was purchased by Clay and Henrietta Stupholds in 1929.”
“You’re kidding,” Kate said.
Shirley continued, “A superseding deed was filed in favor of Riverside Mercantile on October 23, 1942, and another on April 22, 1945. The last deed added Randall John Brighton and Henrietta Stupholds as co-owners.”
“That means that Fortune Enterprises must have a stake in it somehow.”
“You interrupted me.”
“Sorry,” Kate said, gesturing for Shirley to continue.
“Fortune Enterprises, incorporated in 1971, began paying taxes in 1973.”
“But no new deed?”
“Nothing since 1945.”
“Very interesting.”
“It makes sense given what I found out. The company has three officers listed with Missouri: Randall John Brighton, President; Henrietta Stupholds, Vice President; and Randall John Brighton Jr., Secretary/Treasurer.”
“You know what else?” Kate tapped her index finger on Shirley’s hand.
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I’m not sure about the sequence of events, but I’m guessing the original mercantile was on that land. Nothing’s been there since I can remember. Maybe Etta can help with an interesting angle for the series.”
“Hey, if there’s an angle, you’ll find it.”
“Thanks for your confidence.”