The Garden Club Gang by Neal Sanders

Author:Neal Sanders
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-09-11T00:00:00+00:00

12.

The office exuded prestige. A large blue marlin was mounted on one wall, below it was a framed, 8x10 color photo of the fish being exhibited at dockside by the man who now spoke in hushed tones on the small, cheap phone. Another wall was taken up by a massive bookcase but, instead of books, it was plaques and framed certificates that filled the shelves. Each of these items attested to the charitable good works, laudable public service, low handicap and business acumen of the office’s occupant, one Gordon McLeod.

A third wall, covered with a richly textured wall paper selected by Mrs. Gordon McLeod, held a dozen family photos, each one in a custom frame of a rich, dark wood. Two angelic children were at the center of most photos, with Mr. and Mrs. McLeod flanking them. The backdrop to these photos was as diverse as the Great Wall of China and an exclusive Hawaiian beach.

The fourth wall was of glass. It, unfortunately, overlooked a parking lot though, at this early hour, there were only a handful of vehicles present. Beyond the parking lot was a modest shopping center. As a result, the cream-colored drapes were usually kept drawn.

McLeod, age 38, attired in an expensive, light blue suit suitable for a warm August day, checked the heavy oak door to his office. He pushed it open just far enough to ensure that the outer reception area was empty. He then pulled the door to his office closed and locked it before continuing the conversation.

“Tell me everything you know,” he said, simply.

A man’s voice was on the other end of the line. The voice had a decided Latino accent, full of clipped-off ‘T’s’ and fl’s’ that came out as ‘E’s’. “We don’t know squat yet,” the man said. “No eye witnesses.” It came out as “We don’ know squa yeh. No eye-weetnesses.”

The man continued. “Whoever did it cleared out the area by smelling it up with some kind of stuff that smells like puke. One old guy saw two people…”

“I read the paper this morning,” McLeod said angrily, cutting off his caller. ‘What do you know that isn’t in the paper?”

There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the phone.

“I’m waiting,” McLeod said.

“It may take a day or two,” the voice said. “But I’ll find out who did it, and I’ll get the money back. All of it.”

“What about Erskine?” McLeod asked.

“He wasn’t in on it, if that’s what you mean,” the man with the Latino accent said.

“What makes you so goddamn certain?”

“Because one of my boys put a gun under Erskine’s chin last night and said he had ten seconds to tell my boy where the money was. All Erskine did was crap in his pants and cry. He doesn’t know.”

“And what makes you so certain you’ll know something in a day or two?”

“Because I’ve got somebody on the inside,” said the man on the other end of the phone. “That’s all you got to know. I got this thing wired.

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