AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m very sorry.”
“Thank you.” She watched him over the rim of her cup as she took a drink. “Forgive me, but I sense an apology wasn’t the only reason you came to the center today looking for Arnie.”
“No, it wasn’t.” He set down his coffee cup, then laid out for her the hypothesis that the Fairground shooting hadn’t been random. “Given my professional history, it seemed possible to the detectives that I was the target, the shooter’s motive being revenge, and the other casualties simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She flattened her hand against her chest. “How awful for you.”
“Yeah.”
“You thought Arnie might have been that someone holding a grudge?”
“I didn’t remember him, or any altercation, cross words, nothing like that. He was suggested to me by the detectives because of a picture—”
“The one from the newspaper.”
“Yes. For my own peace of mind, I had to find out what was going on with Arnold Draper. Simultaneously, and unbeknownst to me, the authorities were also tracking him down as a possible suspect.”
“I was told that two sheriff’s deputies came to the center asking about Arnie.”
“We would have intersected if I hadn’t split when I did.” He looked down at the patterned rug between his boots. “I saw the two of you, realized the impossibility of your husband having any involvement, and decided not to bother you.
“Then, later, it occurred to me that he might have siblings who were out to avenge him. That’s when I called you. Otherwise, I never would have imposed. I appreciate your seeing me. You’ve relieved my mind considerably. I can’t thank you enough.”
“I’m sorry you were guilt-ridden even temporarily.”
“It wasn’t pleasant.” He checked his wristwatch, then stood. “Thank you for the coffee. I hate to rush off, but I have a mandatory meeting at five o’clock with the detectives. At this time of day, the traffic will be working against me.”
“You can dispel their theory that the shooting was an act of revenge committed by Arnie.”
“And the other two men in that picture are deceased, correct?”
She nodded. “One worked in the payroll office. Arnie didn’t know him personally. We heard he died of stomach cancer. The other worked on the production floor with Arnie. After leaving Maxwell, he suffered a severe back injury in a motorcycle accident and got hooked on pain medication.”
“I was told he died of an opioid overdose.”
“It was ruled a suicide. Because of that stigma, his widow desperately wanted to get out of Des Moines. Knowing Arnie and I had settled well here, she called to ask me about the cost of living, the housing market, and such. I gave her the name of the real estate agent who’d found this house for us. That’s the last I heard of her. I don’t know if she made the move or not.”
They’d been moving toward the front door. Calder had been only half listening. He was planning the most expeditious route to get him back to Glenda’s guesthouse by five o’clock.
But as Dorothy Draper’s words began to register, they raised the hair on the back of his neck. The relief and peace he’d felt just moments ago began to evaporate. Creeping back in like a malevolent fog were the misgivings that had haunted him for days.
“What were their names?” he asked her. “The suicide and his widow?”
“Uh, Smithson. Jim and Marjorie.”
“When did she call you?”
“Oh, mercy. It was before Arnie went into the center. Two years ago, maybe?”
“You said she asked about housing. Who was the real estate agent you recommended?” Calder held his breath.
“Foster Real Estate. Glenda was the agent’s name.”
Glenda looked at the readout on her cell, then clicked on. “Calder?”
“Glenda, listen. I need you to do something for me.”
“You’re asking a favor? You’ve got—”
