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Authors: Earlene Fowler
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and told him to run a check on Jacob Chandler. I hope that doesn’t crowd your boundaries too much.”
“A private investigator? Can’t you just run some kind of record on him at the station? As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you to do that.”
“No, contrary to popular belief, cops can’t just run criminal records on anyone they please without a reason.”
“Not even you? Who would know?”
“Maybe no one. Maybe the Department of Justice when they audit our records. At any rate, there are privacy laws, and it’s a felony. I could lose my job over it.”
“So you hired a private eye?” I laughed, the idea striking me as funny. “On television, it’s always the other way around, a private eye trying to get information from a cop by slipping him fifty bucks.”
“I don’t know many cops who are willing to risk their jobs for fifty bucks. Anyway, I’ve known this guy since my L.A. days. He was a good cop and a whiz on the computer, which is mostly what private investigation is these days.”
“So, what did he find out?” I asked eagerly.
He pulled a slip of paper from his back pocket, glancing at it as he gave me the facts. “Not much. Chandler seems like a normal, if somewhat bland character. He was born in Houston, Texas, in 1930. That would make him sixty-four as of February. He served in Korea in the Army in 1950 and was given an honorable discharge in 1954. Shortly thereafter, he went to work for a trucking company that same year. Then in 1957 he got a job as a salesman for a restaurant supply company. His area was the Southeast. Never married and had no record of any children. He has one sister, a Rowena Ludlam, last know address Lubbock, Texas. He retired from his sales job when he was 54—that was 1984—came to Morro Bay, bought this house cash from a private trust, and opened up a checking and savings account at San Celina Savings and Loan—Paso Robles branch. He has no credit cards and no credit history except for owning this house.”
“Why wouldn’t he leave everything to his sister?”
“Good question, except he wouldn’t be the first person estranged from family. I have her address and phone number here, so that could be a place for you to start. I have no idea if it’s any good.” He laid the piece of paper on the trunk top, his face troubled. “You know, I get nervous when I have so little information on someone. He looks too clean.”
“Too clean? How can a person be too clean?”
“There’s just not enough history. He was sixty-four years old. Most people leave a paper trail seven or eight miles long by that age. It’s like he deliberately kept his trail skimpy, and that makes me suspicious.”
“Everything makes you suspicious. To me it sounds like he’s a loner who saved his money and retired to a small coastal town after years of being a traveling salesman. Doesn’t sound suspicious to me, just kinda sad.”
“A loner who was very obsessed with you. That’s not normal, Benni, no matter how you look at it.”
I sighed and nodded, laying my hand on Gabe’s forearm. “I’m going to do my best to find out who he was if for no other reason than to try to understand why he chose me. I have an eerie feeling there’s something more to all this. Something deeper.”
“That,” Gabe said, “is exactly what worries me.”
5
“WE’D BETTER DRIVE out to the ranch so I can explain all of this to Dove,” I said. “She’s probably already heard about it through the grapevine, and frankly I’m surprised she hasn’t called.”
Sure enough, while helping her peel apples for pies, I received a lecture from Dove for humiliating her by making her hear the news thirdhand from Edna Dunsworth down at the Farm Supply. When Gabe went out to the barn to visit with Daddy, I tried to encourage Scout to follow him, but the dog refused to leave my side.
“Looks like you’ve made yourself a friend,” Dove commented, scooping up my pile of apple skins and dumping
“A private investigator? Can’t you just run some kind of record on him at the station? As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you to do that.”
“No, contrary to popular belief, cops can’t just run criminal records on anyone they please without a reason.”
“Not even you? Who would know?”
“Maybe no one. Maybe the Department of Justice when they audit our records. At any rate, there are privacy laws, and it’s a felony. I could lose my job over it.”
“So you hired a private eye?” I laughed, the idea striking me as funny. “On television, it’s always the other way around, a private eye trying to get information from a cop by slipping him fifty bucks.”
“I don’t know many cops who are willing to risk their jobs for fifty bucks. Anyway, I’ve known this guy since my L.A. days. He was a good cop and a whiz on the computer, which is mostly what private investigation is these days.”
“So, what did he find out?” I asked eagerly.
He pulled a slip of paper from his back pocket, glancing at it as he gave me the facts. “Not much. Chandler seems like a normal, if somewhat bland character. He was born in Houston, Texas, in 1930. That would make him sixty-four as of February. He served in Korea in the Army in 1950 and was given an honorable discharge in 1954. Shortly thereafter, he went to work for a trucking company that same year. Then in 1957 he got a job as a salesman for a restaurant supply company. His area was the Southeast. Never married and had no record of any children. He has one sister, a Rowena Ludlam, last know address Lubbock, Texas. He retired from his sales job when he was 54—that was 1984—came to Morro Bay, bought this house cash from a private trust, and opened up a checking and savings account at San Celina Savings and Loan—Paso Robles branch. He has no credit cards and no credit history except for owning this house.”
“Why wouldn’t he leave everything to his sister?”
“Good question, except he wouldn’t be the first person estranged from family. I have her address and phone number here, so that could be a place for you to start. I have no idea if it’s any good.” He laid the piece of paper on the trunk top, his face troubled. “You know, I get nervous when I have so little information on someone. He looks too clean.”
“Too clean? How can a person be too clean?”
“There’s just not enough history. He was sixty-four years old. Most people leave a paper trail seven or eight miles long by that age. It’s like he deliberately kept his trail skimpy, and that makes me suspicious.”
“Everything makes you suspicious. To me it sounds like he’s a loner who saved his money and retired to a small coastal town after years of being a traveling salesman. Doesn’t sound suspicious to me, just kinda sad.”
“A loner who was very obsessed with you. That’s not normal, Benni, no matter how you look at it.”
I sighed and nodded, laying my hand on Gabe’s forearm. “I’m going to do my best to find out who he was if for no other reason than to try to understand why he chose me. I have an eerie feeling there’s something more to all this. Something deeper.”
“That,” Gabe said, “is exactly what worries me.”
5
“WE’D BETTER DRIVE out to the ranch so I can explain all of this to Dove,” I said. “She’s probably already heard about it through the grapevine, and frankly I’m surprised she hasn’t called.”
Sure enough, while helping her peel apples for pies, I received a lecture from Dove for humiliating her by making her hear the news thirdhand from Edna Dunsworth down at the Farm Supply. When Gabe went out to the barn to visit with Daddy, I tried to encourage Scout to follow him, but the dog refused to leave my side.
“Looks like you’ve made yourself a friend,” Dove commented, scooping up my pile of apple skins and dumping
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