Uncertain Truths

Ch 16 - Commissions

The light on Kae's answering machine flashed a relentless blue. Last night she'd refused to check it, but this morning she knew she probably should. Most of the people she'd called regarding the memory book thought it was a fine idea, and had started emailing pictures and anecdotes. A few volunteered to help her get information. The ones she'd left messages for were starting to get back to her. It was curious how many shared their activities leading up to when Gerald died, like they were giving alibis.

She sighed as she listened to the first currently waiting message of three. Two 'it's in the mail' responses, one request for a copy, and an offer to be interviewed via phone from one of his professors. Not bad. She wrote everyone's response on a sheet of paper by the phone. As she hung up, her cellphone rang again.

"Hey Kae, huge commission for us if you take this next job."

Her old boss already sounded happy. She imagined him in his second-floor corner office looking out the window at the bank across the road, drooling. "There's a church that needs some research done. The person doing it quit, and they're on a time crunch. Can you go down there and see what they need?"

"A church? They thinking corruption, back-door dealings? And what's the catch?" she asked.

"Nothing like that." He chuckled. "It's research. And the associated paperwork. Should take a week. That's all they'd say. Oh, and they want the work done on-site as much as possible."

"How religious are they? I won't have to sit through anything 'educational,' will I?" Mentally, her caution lights were still flashing.

"No. It's a straight-up research job. Do you want it, or do I find someone else? The money is very good on this one."

"I'll do it."

"Great! The contract should be in your email by now."

"Which church?"

"Downton Free Church. It's near the college."

It sounded familiar, but she wasn't sure quite why. "Tomorrow? Okay." She'd been puttering around, just killing time anyway. Might as well get paid while she did. It wasn't like anything interesting was happening.

Were cold trails common, and if so, did evidence start to mean less and less over time? Statistics said that the first twenty-four hours after a murder were critical. She was on day four. Little knots started forming in her nerves, and bubbles rose in her gut. Was she running out of time? Or already out? She said a quick prayer, hoping for help and truth.

She almost regretted taking the research assignment. But what else could she do? No one was there to share the bills. She rushed out to do her ranch chores. Feed and water weren't an issue with everyone but Kate out at pasture, but she needed to check that the waterer was still working, still clean. When the horse transport came, she'd send Scooter too.

Kate had lots of pasture to munch on in the section she currently occupied and a tub of pregnancy minerals to lick. Odd, though – two bags of feed were missing. It was possible she remembered wrong. If her mind was on a stronger topic, she could have no recollection of what she had just finished doing, the only evidence being that it was done. She moved through the tasks as quickly as she dared, then went back inside to stare at the murder board.

The memory book had given her a false sense of progress. There were no new leads and too many names crossed off her list. Maybe the question "Where were you when Gerald passed away?" creeped too many people out. As unlikely as they were to be a suspect, those who refused to answer had to stay on her list.

She decided to call Gerald's workplace to ask about getting a copy of his travel schedule.

"You say you're Diane's sister? That's a shame, what happened to Gerald. I think it's kind of odd to be drawing a map to his death, but I'll help," said Beth, one of the administrative assistants at his office. "He was a good guy. And Diane's good people. I'll e-mail you his schedule. It's nothing he wouldn't have written down at home anyway."

"Did his cellphone send call records in automatically?"

"No, they all come in as part of the billing. I can't share that."

"Thanks anyway. I appreciate any help you can give."

"Like I said, he was a good guy," Beth said, sounding pleased with Kae's response. "You get to his locker yet? The key should've been in with his office things."

Two minutes later Kae had a copy of Gerald's schedule and permission to clear his locker. She pulled out a map and found the locations he was supposed to be at, jotting the time and day of each beside the town name.

Feeling frustrated, she pulled out the box of Gerald's personal effects from the office and started searching. The key had moved, shifting around until it was on the very bottom caught under a flap. Now she knew where to take it.

She pulled up the binder. Why would a church want to change its entire belief system? She flipped through the pages slowly. It struck her as an odd thought. Wasn't the point of religion to give you a sense of stability? Under the heading "Church History," the three founders' names were listed. Mira Caldecker, Alexandra Belarius, and Gerald Landover. She scowled. Since when was Gerald religious? What kind of church was this?

The address looked familiar. She jumped to her feet and ran over to the papers René had faxed over. It clicked – it was the same church. What was he up to? This couldn't be coincidence, right?

Now her curiosity was up. Way up. This binder must be what the church had hired her to remake. She struggled a moment with the ethics. If she simply returned it to the church, she'd be out of a job. But more than that, she might lose her best lead so far.

With a sigh, she closed the binder. Talking to the people there could be more fruitful than talking to Gerald's old friends and contacts anyway. Something in her gut twinged. This could be the start of the path that led to Gerald's death.

Of course, she could make a photocopy and destroy it if it turned out to be irrelevant. Seemed like they might need a backup copy anyway.

Next she called each of the people on Gerald's travel list to see if he'd made his appointment. He was right on track until two days before his death. Something had happened while he was in Grand Prairie. A phone call, an e-mail, somehow a message got to him. And her best guess was that news came to him about Becca. Mira must have called him.

The logical next step would be to call the person he was supposed to have met with next, and find out what reason he'd used to reschedule or cancel. She dialed their number and waited. When it went to voicemail, she hung up. She hadn't considered what she would say.