Smoked (The Alex Harris Mystery Series) Read online

  “Darn. I was hoping he did,” I said feeling let down.

  “But the door is never locked.” Ellery’s voice came over the speaker. “Dad is too trusting and my mother always had her mind on something else and would forget.”

  “Do you know if your uncle came by the house recently?” I asked.

  “No. Not that I know of. I do know my mom wanted to talk with him. Something about the house. But that’s all she said. She did say that maybe she could get him to come over for dinner. But as far as I know that never happened. What’s this all about?”

  “I found something in the emails but I’m not sure if it means anything. I want to check it out first before I tell you.”

  “Okay. Look, they’re getting ready to release my dad. I have to go.”

  The phone went dead. I poured another cup of tea. If Sergei and Maria didn’t lock their doors, just about anyone could come in and empty the pens, go out into the yard, plant the poison ivy and leave. I could see their yard from my house, but the way their house was situated someone could be in their yard and the other homes on the street wouldn’t be able to tell. Plus both of our homes backed up onto woods. There was a walking trail through the woods and sometimes I saw people out there. Potentially, just about anybody could sneak in through the trees and tamper with the pens and leaves. But why? Clearly the whole city wasn’t out to get Maria Kravec. Or maybe they were. Maybe her blogs had bothered the entire community. Now I was just being silly.

  I logged onto her site again and went to the blog page. I clicked on the various months shown and the woman had clearly been active with her writing. The most recent series had been on the meat industry and I quickly glanced at some of the blogs. I never like watching those exposés they have on TV about some industry doing horrible things. I know I should be a better citizen but hearing about how the ocean is filled with trash or how meat is produced is just disgusting and makes me upset because I don’t know what to do about it. I can understand why people become vegetarians and vegans. But if you listened to everything, the truth is you would never eat. Even vegetables are sprayed with poisonous stuff. And every day we read about how something that was supposed to be good for us, has in actuality been slowly killing us for years. My way of coping is to just stick my head in the sand and pretend I don’t know any better.

  Maria certainly didn’t pull any punches and no one could blame Sergei for being furious with her. But killing her? Let’s face it, she wasn’t the only one expounding on the evils of the meat industry. And people who liked their meat weren’t giving it up no matter what. But Nena did say Sergei wanted to get back at his wife. I need to find out exactly how he planned to do that.

  I continued looking at the blogs. Earlier in the year she had taken to writing about the obesity problem, once again not pulling any punches. The woman was controversial to be sure, but still, if you don’t like the blog, stop reading it. Which made me think of Frank and Carol Corliss. Some people take these sites to heart and stop patronizing someone’s business.

  I had an idea and I went back to Maria’s business emails and clicked on the miscellaneous folder. I did a search on Frank Corliss’ name and low and behold a couple of emails popped up. Just as he said, he had contacted her, but he also told me she never replied. I found one email from Maria to Frank. In it she told Frank she had a few minutes before a taping at a local radio station and she could meet with him at a coffee shop next door. I couldn’t find a reply and had no idea if Frank ever showed up. I rinsed my cup, left it on the draining board to dry and went to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  While I had been scanning Meme’s posts earlier I saw one announcing the opening of the Body Expressions, Sloth’s tattoo shop. It was located in Pirates Cove and Meme had told me Sloth was able to negotiate a great deal for the first floor of an old home located in the city center. It had several rooms and he planned on living there as well to save on the cost of two rents. So far it sounded like Sloth was doing everything right.

  I didn’t have an address, but like Indian Cove, all you had to do was drive down the main street through the town and you could pretty much find everything there. Sure enough, I found the Body Expressions at the end of the main road and pulled into a parking spot located out front. Two people were coming down the walk as I was going in.

  I don’t know what I expected, but the inside of Body Expressions wasn’t it. The place was lovely. The walls were painted a soft tangerine and there were a lot of plants. There were a couple of chairs off to the side and several books containing pictures of tattoos placed on a small table. On the walls were several pieces of framed art. An open door led to a room in back and I could just make out a long table and some equipment. But what really got my attention was a display case with rosary beads. Beautiful rosary beads.

  “See anything you like?” a young man with a tight T-shirt and thick biceps asked.

  “Are these yours?” I asked pointing to the beads.

  “They are. I also make custom ones and the designs on the walls are mine as well. They’re just a sampling. I have a lot more in the books over there. Are you looking for something special?”

  “I’m Alex Harris Van der Burg. Mrs. Redmond is my grandmother,” I said extending my hand.

  “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Seymour. Seymour Pratt.”

  “Oh, sorry, I thought you were Sloth. The owner?’

  The young man smiled and turned a slight shade of red. “That’s me. Not too many people call me Sloth anymore, but your grandmother gets a kick out of telling people that’s my name. I used to run with a tougher crowd and Seymour wasn’t bad ass enough.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, my grandmother’s a real character. So you design rosary beads and tattoos?”

  “I know, a strange combination. I was raised Catholic and as I kid I made some for my mother and grandmother. Just kid stuff, but it stuck. Now I use crystal beads or wood, whatever the customer wants. That’s how I met Mrs. Redmond. Through the church. I’m getting back to it after all these years.”

  “So tell me something about tattoos. I’ve been thinking about getting one for years, but just haven’t done anything about it.”

  “Most of the designs I use, I create. I also have some standards. I use commercial ink and I mix my own colors as well. But I’m hearing some hesitation in your voice. Tattoos aren’t for everyone but if you want to have some fun I also have a custom line of temporary tattoos.”

  “You mean the kind that you transfer on and then can wash off?” I asked thinking this might be the way to go.

  “Those, yes, and I can design something directly on your skin with a henna. It will last several days or I can do temporary airbrush tattoos. There are a lot of options but what I think you might like the most is for me to custom design a temporary transfer tattoo and then I can create as many as you want. You can put them on when you like, wash them off, and then use another one another day. Sound good?”

  It did sound good and after working up some ideas I left Body Expressions with an order that would be ready in about a week.

  Next, I drove over to the Corliss home. Carol Corliss answered the door and said Frank was in the kitchen having a cup of coffee and reading the paper.

  “Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, Mr. Corliss, but I have a couple more questions if you don’t mind.”

  Carol placed a cup of tea in front of me. Frank folded the paper and set it aside.

  “Sure. What else do you need to know?”

  I looked over at Carol. I wasn’t sure I should bring any of this up in front of her, but I figured they were in it together whatever it was. “You told me when I talked with you the other day that…”

  “You two talked?” Carol asked looking at her husband.”

  Okay. So maybe these two didn’t tell each other everything.

  “I stopped by your husband’s work the day after I spoke with you.” I turned back to Frank. “You told me you never met Maria Kravec. You said you emai
led her but she never replied. I’ve been sifting through her emails and I found one she sent to you saying she could meet with you for a coffee before a radio interview.”

  Frank Corliss sat there sipping his coffee slowly. He put it down and ran a hand through his red hair.

  “Frank? Is this true? You talked to that woman?” Carol asked.

  Frank sighed and then leaned back in his chair. “I told my boss I had a dentist appointment and I met her at a coffee shop. I wanted to see what she had to say for herself.”

  “And? What did she say, Frank?” Carol pressed.

  “Not much, actually. She showed up with her burlap sack purse and these funky shoes.” He shook his head. “She never said she was sorry. I told her the blog ruined our business and what was she going to do about it. She just said she was done with vegan restaurants. She had other blogs to write.”

  That must have been when she started her series on the meat industry, I thought.

  “I told her I was thinking about suing and she just laughed and said with what. She knew darned well we didn’t have any money for a lawyer. And then she left. I just sat there steaming for a few minutes and then I went back to my car. I listened to her radio interview on the way back to work and she never even mentioned the blog. Kind of like, okay, I ruined one business, on to the next. No remorse at all. And that was that. I went back to work.”

  Even now, after all this time, Frank Corliss still looked angry. He may have gone back to work, but I’m not sure he let the conversation he had with Maria go. He may not have had the money for a lawyer, but there were other ways to deal with the woman and I wondered if Frank had followed through on another option, one involving some poison ivy.

  Chapter Thirty

  I found the fact that Frank Corliss never told his wife about the meeting with Maria troublesome. He didn’t even tell her about his meeting with me. Maybe he was the strong silent type or maybe he had something to hide.

  Maria Kravec never mentioned in her email which radio station she would be appearing on but as Indian Cove only had one, which also served several of the coastal towns, I headed over there now. I knew the station manager as they were clients of Always Prepared plus I had gone to high school with her. I wasn’t sure if she worked on Sundays but they were in their annual fund drive mode so I had a good feeling she would be working.

  Renee Blakely was a nervous ball of energy. She always had been and watching her bounce around the station checking to see how the bank of volunteers was handling all the incoming calls was like watching a basketball player in the NBA in the final game with the scored tied. She finally looked my way and waved.

  “Alex. Hey. What brings you to my neck of the woods? Dropping off a large donation, I hope.” She smiled and I followed her to her office watching her ever-present blond pony tail bobbing along as she walked.

  “My sister will be sending our donation on to you sometime this week.” I made a mental note to tell Sam to send a nice check. “I’m actually here for some information.”

  “What kind of info? Sheryl, get someone else on the phones! I don’t want to hear them ringing more than twice before they get picked up!” Renee yelled to her assistant out in the front office.

  “You did an interview with Maria Kravec a few months back.”

  “Right. The Vegan View. She came in and talked about her site and the new line of products they planned to sell online. Read she died.” Renee shook her head sending the pony tail into a horizontal line. “What about her?”

  “Would you happen to have a copy of the interview?”

  “Sheryl, get in here.”

  Sheryl ran in, pen and pad in hand.

  “Set Alex up with the interview we did with that vegan lady and then call in some more volunteers unless you want to answer ten lines by yourself.” Renee turned to me. “If that’s all I gotta get back on the floor. It was great seeing you again,” she added as she sprinted out of the office.

  I looked at a frazzled Sheryl and gave her a sympathetic smile. “It was an interview with Maria Kravec from a couple of months ago.”

  Sheryl brought up the interview on the computer and left. I turned up the volume and listened. It only lasted about twelve minutes but Maria had managed to mention that she was deathly allergic to several things, including poison ivy, and so she was very conscious about what ingredients they would be using in their product line. Frank Corliss admitted he had listened to the interview so he was well aware of her allergies. It would do me no good to ask him where he was the night Maria was killed. That was the problem with this case; who knew when the ivy had been planted under the leaves. Ellery said her mother had been out raking them up over the course of about a week, getting them into the huge pile they were. If I was the murderer, I would have come by under the cloak of darkness through the woods when everyone was sleeping. I needed to think about how to approach Frank again but for now I turned my attention to Maria’s brother George.

  Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb. I love reading about Winston Churchill and quoting him when the need arises or when I want to annoy my sister, but this quote bothered me because I hoped Winston was wrong. I needed to get to the end of this journey and find out who killed Maria even if it led me to Sergei or, God forbid, Ellery. I didn’t want to think of that young woman going to prison.

  I pulled up in front of George Shruder’s house and walked up the path. I rang the bell and got no answer. I waited a bit and rang it again and then I heard sounds coming from the back yard. I walked around the side of the house and found a gate. It was unlocked and I opened it, calling out to George as I made my way into the back.

  “Ms. Harris, right?” George asked. He stood up straight and pulled a gardener’s glove from his hand and pushed his thinning hair out of his eyes. He leaned on his shovel and admired his work. “It’s a lot of work but I do love being out in the garden.”

  I took in the yard. I didn’t realize how big it was from the street. I could see houses behind his but there was a small wood that separated the homes; certainly not as deep as the one behind my house but enough to give him privacy from the neighbors. He had quite a few large trees, several mature hydrangeas and a lilac hedge.

  “Yes, and now you’ll get to stay here and won’t have to leave.”

  “Excuse me?” he asked, though his coloring had reddened a bit.

  I mused over the wisdom of confronting this potential murderer, a man currently in possession of a weapon. Through the large stand of lilacs I could see a neighbor working in his yard and felt help was nearby if I suddenly took a blow to the head and so I forged on.

  “With your sister dead, you now own this home outright. You failed to mention that the other day.” Of course, if he did indeed kill her, why would he implicate himself? I mentally slapped my head.

  George pulled off the other glove and dropped the shovel. “I didn’t think it pertinent to our conversation.”

  A conversation where I was trying to ascertain if there was anyone who would want his sister dead. Of course he would omit it. “From the email exchange I found, things seemed pretty heated between the two of you. You’d have to find another place to live. Give all of this up,” I said waving my hands around the yard.

  George walked over to a table and took a sip of something that looked like orange juice. He did not offer me anything. “I was working on a way to buy her out. She got the house and I got some money from our parents. I have some friends of means and I planned to ask them for a loan.”

  I thought back to a few things Ellery had told me. George made his living playing the violin but according to his niece he never achieved great success. He didn’t even have a regular job at the moment, instead filling in for various orchestras around New England when they n
eeded someone last minute. Whatever money he inherited had to be helping him pay his bills it would seem. I couldn’t see him with a large mortgage or having to repay his friends.

  “If you think I would kill my sister over the house, you’re wrong. I would have found a way to stay here, I assure you.” George pulled the gloves back on and walked over to a large pile of yard debris. “I could never leave here. Never.” He began tossing clippings into a large green waste receptacle.

  And that’s when I saw it. Along with dead flowers and twigs and dried leaves, George Shruder had a hefty pile of poison ivy.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  As I was driving down George Shruder’s street I looked in the rearview mirror and saw John’s car coming from the other end. Luckily there was another car between us and I felt confidant he hadn’t noticed me or else I’m pretty sure I would have heard sirens and seen a lot of flashing lights.

  That was the good news. The bad news was that once he talked with George, he would know I had just been there. But as I explained to him last night during our tiff, so what. I was allowed to talk with whomever I wished. I wasn’t tampering with evidence, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. And, I might add, the police certainly took their sweet time getting around to talking with all the possible suspects.

  I glanced at the clock on my dashboard. It was well past lunch and it certainly didn’t look like John was coming home anytime soon. I suddenly felt like some pasta and I knew exactly where I could get some. A few minutes later I pulled up in front of Meme’s house just as her Sunday afternoon card game was finishing up.

  “Alex, this is Walter Hofstader. He’s new.” Meme winked at me from her front porch. “Walter, this is my granddaughter, the private eye I was telling you about.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Hofstader,” I said, taking the man’s hand in mine. Walter Hofstader may have a good butt, according to Meme and her friends, but the man was stooped over and walked with a limp. He had tuffs of messy gray hair sticking out from underneath his Yankee’s ball cap and a scowl on his face.