HDA - September Song by the Kiwi-Evergreen Connection Chapter 5

Frank glanced around. The coffee shop was filled to overflowing with people, and the many conversations made it difficult to hear Megan’s soft voice. "Why don’t we go outside; maybe take a walk, and you can tell me the whole story." He quickly drained his cup, then rose and took Megan’s arm to guide her from the little store.

Once outside in the bright fall sunshine, Frank steered her towards a tiny park a block or two away. "Come on, let’s walk over to the park."

They walked in silence. Megan was tense at first, but Frank could feel, through the contact he kept with her elbow, that she was beginning to relax a little. He kept her walking until finally she halted and turned towards him.

"I’m all right now. You’ve been really nice, putting up with me like this." She pointed to a nearby park bench. "Could we sit down?" They settled onto the bench, halfway facing each other, and Megan began her story.

"We lived in New York until last year. My father commuted to Bayport; he worked as an accountant for Ted Crowley Manufacturing. You know where that is, out in the industrial area?" Frank nodded quickly, encouraging her to continue. "I hate Ted Crowley. He’s arrogant and he’s always rude. Every time I’ve ever seen him, he’s been – creepy. Sometimes I feel like he wants to – no, never mind, that doesn’t have anything to do with my dad!" She shuddered a little, and Frank reached to take her hand.

"Take it easy," he murmured. "Just take it slowly, and tell me everything."

She nodded and continued, clasping his hand tightly. "My father was killed in an car wreck, about four months ago. His car went over an embankment near the cliffs. Not into the Bay, but close to there. When the autopsy was performed, the medical examiner found that his blood-alcohol level was point two-five. So the police simply dropped the matter; just another drunk driver."

Frank whistled softly. "Point two-five? Megan, that’s way over the legal limit!"

"I know, I know! but listen! My father would never have driven drunk. He hardly ever drank at all anyway – maybe an occasional glass of wine with dinner; something like that. He certainly never drank enough to impair his driving ability. He used to lecture me on the horrors of driving under the influence, and he told me that if I’d ever been drinking, I should never drive. He’d say, ‘Meggie, just call me. No matter what time it is, or where I have to come; if it’s a choice of you driving drunk or me coming to get you, I’ll take coming to get you every time!’ I know he hadn’t been drinking. He didn’t even like Scotch, but that’s what the medical examiner found in his stomach!" Her voice was rising in volume and shaking again, and her hands, beneath Frank’s, were so tightly clenched the knuckles were white.

"Shhh, shhh, take it easy." Frank soothed gently. After a few moments, Megan regained her composure and continued.

"So – he died. We had the funeral. My mom was almost completely devastated; they were really close, and she loved him very much. And so did I." She swallowed hard. "Ted Crowley came to the funeral service. I suppose he had a right to be there; he was Dad’s employer, after all. But I hated it that he came. And afterward, outside the church, he came over to my mother and started asking her questions. Questions about whether Dad ever brought home work from the plant; accounting records, that kind of thing. My mother told him no, she didn’t believe Dad had ever done anything like that. But Crowley didn’t believe her, I guess. He started demanding that if Dad had brought anything home, it had to be returned right away, because it was company property. My mom repeated that Dad never did work for Crowley Manufacturing at home, but he kept on badgering her. Finally, I told him to leave us alone or I’d swear out a harassment complaint against him. He left, then."

She sighed. "I’m sorry, Frank, this is taking so much longer than I thought it would. Just talking about it – reliving it – I didn’t think I would get so upset."

"Hey, I’m not going anywhere." Frank said. "You take all the time you want. Are you getting cold, or anything? Do you want to walk awhile?"

"No, I don’t really feel like walking. Sitting here is okay. I’m just so awfully – I don’t know – too emotional, I guess."

Frank hesitated a split second, then put his arm about her shoulders. "Just relax for a second, okay? We’ll get through this; nobody’s in a hurry."

She leaned against his arm. "I feel like I’ve known you for years, instead of only meeting you yesterday. Anyone ever tell you you’re an awfully comforting person to have around?" Incredibly, a smile was forming; the elusive dimple flashed, and her eyes were starry again.

"Uh – no, I don’t think so." Anyone ever tell you that you have the most beautiful eyes on the whole planet? He cleared his throat. "If you’re feeling better, go on with the story."

"Okay. Well, about a month ago – that’s three months after my father died – our house was broken into. Apparently, nothing was stolen, but the place was ransacked. Everything tossed around, turned upside down, spread all over. The police called it random vandalism. But I noticed something kind of odd about it. The most mess was in my dad’s den, like whoever it was had been searching for something particular in there. I have no idea what anyone could have wanted in his den – all he had were accounting books and stuff, and old magazines that he intended to read when he had time, and photos of my mother and me. All our photo albums were in there. They were dumped around, but at least the pictures weren’t damaged. When I remembered the way Ted Crowley had acted after the funeral, I wondered if maybe he wasn’t the one behind the break-in. And then I started thinking a little more. I began to wonder if he might not be responsible for my father’s death."

Frank sat up straight, startled. "That’s a pretty stiff accusation, Megan!"

"I know, I know. And I don’t have any proof of anything, so I can’t go to the police. I don’t have enough money to hire a private investigator; I’m going to college on a scholarship as it is!" She turned and looked him straight in the eyes. "Frank, I know your reputation as a detective, you and your brother too. I realize you aren’t licensed investigators, but you know your way around. I’m asking you – begging you – would you please, please look into this situation for me? I can’t pay you much, but – "

"Don’t worry about the money," Frank interrupted. He chewed his lip in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Megan, I’ll be honest with you. It’s pretty shaky. You don’t have any proof, and nothing but speculation to explain why you believe as you do. Joe and I usually like to have something more substantial to work with."

Her face fell. "I was afraid you’d say that."

"Hold on, I didn’t say ‘no’ yet. I just said it was shaky." His dark eyes twinkled a little as he looked down at her. "It wouldn’t be the first time we went out chasing phantoms."

"Then you’ll do it?"

"Let’s say we talk to Joe and see what he thinks. If he’s okay with it, we’ll give it a shot. How’s that?"

"Oh, Frank, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Megan threw her arms about his neck and hugged him tightly, burying her face against his chest. Frank automatically clasped her in return, patting her back gently.

"Hey, it’s not a done deal yet; you still have to convince my little brother that we haven’t both lost our minds!"

Megan jumped up from the park bench, tugging Frank to his feet. "Can we go talk to him now? Please?"

Frank laughed, shaking his head in defeat. "Okay. I give up. Let’s go." Maybe she hasn’t lost her mind, but I’m pretty sure I’m losing mine!