Fool's Puzzle by Earlene Fowler (reading eggs books .TXT) 📕

I studied it a long time, uncertain of exactly what I’d discovered. I still couldn’t believe I took it. Any scruples I’d developed in the last thirty-four years seemed to have disappeared in the last few days. If the money I found in the upstairs of the museum was blackmail money belonging to Eric and the money Marla had was too, then these money order receipts to this Suzanne Hart led me to believe she was profiting as well. And that she, hopefully, was still alive.

That left the newspaper article. What could Jack’s accident have to do with any of this? He was alone when his jeep turned over out on a desolate stretch of old Highway One. It was the reason no one found him for hours, probably the reason he died, a fact that still tore at my heart. The coroner said he most likely never regained conciousness, but no one could guarantee that. I still lay awake at nights and wondered about his last moments, whether he was in pain, if he thought of me. For the millionth time, I wished Wade had reached Trigger’s before Jack left.

I stuck the papers in my purse and as I drove back to town, tried to decide what my next move should be. Or rather, what it would be. I knew I should head straight for the police station and show them what I found, but I also knew that Ortiz would bite through a metal bit if he knew how I got it. And the thought of Jack’s death being a part of this whole mess was something I needed to ruminate on. Finding this Suzanne Hart looked like the next logical step.

Sitting in the driveway at home, I inspected the contents of the envelope one more time. This was incriminating stuff and I didn’t want anyone finding it until I knew what it was all about. Remembering how easily I found it in Marla’s house didn’t make concealing it inside my house feasible. I looked around the cab of the truck. Not a lot of hiding places there. In the corner, the glove compartment smiled at me. I pulled it open and surveyed the fifteen years of accumulated papers and junk. Taking the contents out of the white envelope, I stuck them inside a faded blue folder containing the outdated warranty information on the Chevy. Hide in plain sight. I mentally patted myself on the back for my cleverness.

So now all I had to do was find Suzanne Hart. I set my mind on the mechanics of it, not wanting to think about what she might have to tell me about Marla, Wade, Jack. A part of me wished I could stop, but I felt somehow as if I were in a spiral going around and around, caught in its twirling center. The question was whether I was spiraling up or down. And that seemed to be an answer that would only come when the spinning stopped.

14

AS WITH A lot of things in my house, I’d stuck my phone directory in such a safe place, I couldn’t remember where it was. After being informed by the directory assistance operator that three numbers were the limit, the library was my next stop.

San Celina’s new public library, perched on a bluff overlooking San Celina Central Park, was a two-story, gray concrete building that must have been designed by an architect specializing in federal prisons. The latest county phone book showed twenty-five Harts, any of which could have someone named Suzanne living there. I photocopied the page, begged change from the librarian at the reception desk, settled into one of the glass-and-wood phone booths and started dialing.

An hour and six dollars later, I’d reached twenty-three wrong numbers, two numbers no longer in service and one No-Suzanne-here-but-my-name-is-Leon-and-I-can-take-you-to-heaven-baby.

As I folded the photocopied page and stuck it in my purse, I couldn’t help but wonder if Ortiz or any of his men were even remotely close to what I’d discovered. This, of course, would be like cracking pistachio nuts to them—they’d just run the name through the Department of Motor Vehicles and get all the Suzanne Harts who’d ever lived in San Celina County and their current addresses. Unfortunately, I didn’t know anyone who worked for the DMV. But, I reasoned, driving toward the city administration buildings, one government agency was as good as another and it was a well-known fact all bureaucrats knew each other.

“I told the receptionist I didn’t want to see you,” Angie moaned as I plopped down in the black vinyl office chair next to her desk. A red plastic makeup mirror and a small array of Avon cosmetics decorated her gray desk blotter.

“She knew you were kidding.” I laid a candy bar in front of her. “There was a time you’d do anything for a Snickers.”

She checked her thin gold watch. “Those days are long gone. It’s four twenty-five and I’m out of here in five minutes. Whatever it is you want, I won’t do it. You promised I wouldn’t get in trouble for showing you Ortiz’s file.”

“Shoot, did that idiot report you?”

“Oh no, he’s more devious than that. He’s toying with me, like a cougar with a half-dead squirrel.” She looked at me miserably through her large tortoise-shell glasses and started scooping up her makeup.

“What’s he done?” I felt irritation bubble up inside me. Then again, he never actually promised he wasn’t going to report her.

“Nothing concrete. Just things. Annoying things.”

“Like what?” I picked up a square acrylic paperweight with pennies floating in it. They looked like small copper fish frozen mid-glide.

“Well, for one thing, he greeted me by name this morning.”

“And?” I inspected the paperweight more closely. How did they do things like this? It made a loud clumping sound as I turned it from side to side on her desk. It looked the same no matter what side you laid it on.

“He brought me a