Bingo You're Dead Read online

  “Eat up,” she said. “Can’t let all this go to waste. Have to throw out whatever’s left.” She added helpings of everything to Gus’s plate. “You need to get your strength back,” she said by way of explanation before she rolled on.

  “Maybe we need to split up,” I said, thinking out loud. “Tippi will talk to Perry. Then Gus, you go over those financial statements. See if you can figure out what made Alice suspicious. Finally, Applebee, you have a friendly chat with Joe. Maybe he’ll tell you more about his relationship with Alice. Find out if he wanted more—or I guess less—of a commitment from her.”

  “What about me?” Mr. Wittekind said. “I wanna help.”

  I stalled. “Just coming to you. Do you think you can keep Herb B. busy for an hour or so? I want to separate those three while I do a little investigating of my own. It’s obvious they’re cooking something up. I’m also thinking maybe Herb B. and Perry have their own secret they’re keeping from Guenther.” I felt a plan of sorts forming in my head. “Yes, we need to divide…”

  “And conquer,” Wittekind finished for me.

  We polished off our second helpings then helped ourselves to dessert. “I feel like a tick after lunch at the blood bank,” I said.

  “That’s totally disgusting, Hank,” Tippi said, her spoon poised over her second bowl of chocolate ice cream. “Some of us are still eating.”

  I was still trying to figure out where to begin, when I saw Violet and Mary approach Perry. The sisters each took one of the big man’s arms and managed to pull him to his feet. He glanced back over his shoulder at Herb B. and Guenther then shrugged, as he followed the women out of the room. Guenther pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and, pushing Herb B.’s plate aside, jabbed at the writing with his finger, his face getting redder with each poke.

  “I think we better get to work,” I told my team. “It looks like something’s breaking.”

  Mr. Wittekind pushed back from the table and shoved the last bite of brownie into his mouth.

  “I’m on it,” he said, making a beeline for the two men. We watched as he strode up, smiling greetings before taking the seat vacated by Perry. Guenther clamped his mouth shut so tight his lips disappeared, then snatched up the scrap of paper, flinging back his chair and knocking it over. He stepped over it and gave Mr. Wittekind one last glare before he stomped out.

  Herb B. stared at Mr. Wittekind, who hadn’t stopped talking since he sat down. I could imagine the range of subjects being shot rapid-fire and I knew I had the right man for the job.

  Gus and Applebee finished eating and left to work on their individual assignments. Tippi was getting to her feet when the Schmidts returned with Perry and his accordion. Once the dishes were cleared away, Elrod and Ernie pushed the tables and chairs around the perimeter of the room to create a dance floor in the center.

  “Guess I’ll have to wait to catch up with Perry,” Tippi said.

  Elrod and Violet came by to move our table, and then came back for Tippi. They resettled her in a chair, and with Marty on one side and Mary on the other, picked her up, chair and all, and carried her to the edge of the dance floor.

  “See you in a bit.” I waved as they carted her away. Now, I thought, find Guenther—but then what? I wandered down the hall to the lounge to the tune of Roll Out the Barrel, accompanied by singing and laughter as partners polkaed around the room.

  I toyed with the idea of coming right out and asking Guenther what the devil was going on: losing his temper, his threatening behavior toward Tippi and me in the shed, and his argument with Herb B. Individually, none of this seemed worthy of even a second glance. The real issue was Alice and Gus and if, and how, they related. Follow the money? The signs seemed to be pointing that way. But I couldn’t figure out how Applebee’s mishap figured into this.

  I needed some fresh air to clear my head and went in search of Frenchie. I figured I’d kill two birds, so to speak. She was sitting beside Tippi and Marcy, giving them what Applebee called “the stare,” waiting for scraps of “people food” to land on the floor.

  “Come on, you little beggar.” I pulled her leash out of my pocket. “This stuff will kill you.” I nudged a cube of cheese with my foot. “Missed one,” I said, right before she pounced on it.

  “You need anything before I leave?” I asked Tippi, who was sitting with her arms crossed over her chest and wads of Kleenex stuffed in her ears. She shook her head and shooed me away. “Not unless you can figure out a way to shut off his damn accordion,” she said just as Marty showed up. He popped Marcy onto Tippi’s lap and swept them away again, chair and all, onto the dance floor. I had to laugh as the others took turns pushing them from one to the other. Tippi sat tight-lipped, her face the color of Gus’s Santa suit, a string of the protective tissue unraveling from one ear.

  Mr. Wittekind was still on the job with Herb B., whose head swiveled, scanning the room for the rescue wagon. He brightened up seeing me, but curled his lip when I chuckled and walked away. I got my coat and boots before I searched for Gus to see how he was coming along.

  “I think I’ve found something,” Gus said. “I’ve just scratched the surface so far, but Herb B. is passing a lot of money to a contractor called ‘EldaWeiss.’ I’m sure if we drill down here, we’re going to hit the mother lode. It’s still just a gut feeling, though. I should know more in a few hours,” he said, turning back to the computer screen.

  “While you’re working on that, I’m going outside for some air. I’ll take Frenchie with me.”

  “Uh huh.”

  The black night sky was cloudless, keeping the temperature well below freezing. I could feel the tightness in my neck and shoulder muscles relax as I breathed in the cold air, cleansed by the passing storm. I took in the millions of stars blooming in the dark heavens and realized, not for the first time in my life, just how small was my place in the universe.

  The puppy nosed around before settling down to business. When she finished up, I walked her around to the back of the building toward the construction. The new media room, with seating for fifty and a 60-inch plasma screen TV with surround sound, would be state of the art. In addition, the center would have a new roof and, in the back, a quarter-mile walking trail. Frenchie strained forward on the leash, barking, her stubby tail going a mile a minute. “What is it girl?” All I could see were piles of lumber and plastic-bound bundles of shingles. “What’s in there? Raccoon?”

  The tip of a lit cigarette glowed bright, and then dimmed as Guenther stepped forward. He reached down to pet the little animal, who pulled on the leash, yapping and jumping at his legs. His big hands were chapped and raw, with the dirt and grime of a man who does manual labor for a living permanently etched into the creases. He stopped, feet apart, his heavy tan work boots, scuffed from wear were caked with mud, frozen from their owner’s tramp in the snow.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  Guenther picked Frenchie up and rubbed the top of her head against his chin. “Okay.” The puppy licked his face, making him smile. “You must smell my Rascal,” he said, setting her down.

  “Think your animals are okay?” I asked, remembering they had been on their own since the storm began.

  He shrugged. “Hope so.”

  “I’ll sure be glad to get out of here.”

  He dropped his cigarette into the snow and stubbed it out with the heel of his boot.

  “Herb B.’s sure a piece of work,” I probed.

  Guenther stared, not speaking.

  “Looked like you two were having a lively discussion back there,” I ventured again.

  No response.

  I decided I needed to be more direct so I plunged in. “I can’t stand the guy myself. Now I’m thinking he may be running some kind of scam. I would sure love to find out what he’s up to.”

  Still no response. Just the stare, although I thought I noticed a narrowing of the eyes, maybe a twitch?

  “I just work for the SOB,” he said finally. “His business ai
n’t got nothin’ to do with me.” I detected the smell of tobacco and beer on his breath when he leaned his face close to mine. “You’d do well to stick to bingo or playin’ footsie with your obnoxious girlfriend if you want everybody to stay healthy. Capeesh?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You heard me, Marine. Mind your own goddamned business or you and me are gonna have a problem.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Whadda you think?” he laughed.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Inside, the festivities were ramping up. Mary emptied a liter of rum into the punchbowl. Perry cranked up the music, and the group clapped and cheered their approval. Ernie climbed onto a table and danced the twist. Marcy twirled around the floor as she was passed from one partner to the next, waving to me as she danced by.

  I spotted Tippi, seated across the room with a plate of brownies and a tumbler of punch on the table in front of her.

  “Whew.” I sniffed the contents of her glass before taking a sip. “This’ll knock you on your kiester.”

  Tippi shrugged. “Got a better idea?” She took a long drink.

  “I just had an interesting conversation with Guenther,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Only that he’s not too fond of Herb B. and if—as he put it—we ‘want to stay healthy,’ we better stop snooping around.”

  “He threatened you?”

  “Us,” I corrected. “Oh yeah, and he also said you were obnoxious.”

  Tippi gave me a wide smile, obviously pleased with Guenther’s assessment of her.

  Across the room I saw Wittekind stand up and give Herb B. a good old boy slap on the shoulder. Both men laughed, and the director gave him a thumb’s up as he made his way to the punchbowl. I watched Wittekind ladle a generous portion into his glass. He joined Mary and Violet, who bounced to the music in between their own swigs of the punch, which was now mostly alcohol. Herb B. watched his new buddy make his way through the buffet line, until the older man joined the group in the corner where a game of cards was underway. Satisfied, Herb B. looked over at Tippi and me, and shooting us the middle finger salute, left the room.

  “Wonder what Bernie found out?” Tippi said.

  “Bernie? Who’s Bernie?”

  “It’s Wittekind’s first name. You’d be surprised how much I’ve learned about these people since we’ve been stuck here. For instance, did you know Hazel was Pork Queen when she was in high school?”

  “Pork Queen? What’s that? Some kind of beauty contest for fat girls?”

  “No, you idiot. You know about the Pork Festival in Eaton?”

  “Not really.”

  “Every fall, Eaton holds a humongous fair called the Pork Festival. I guess it’s because there’s a lot of pig farmers in the area. Tons of vendors, crafts, pig races, watch sausage made, see a pig butchered...”

  “See a pig butchered?”

  “Sure. Where do you think those pork chops you eat come from? People need to know this stuff.”

  “I’d rather just keep thinking my meat comes from Kroger’s, thank you very much.”

  “Anyway, the Pork Festival draws people from all over the Midwest. There’s a parade and the local girls all vie for the title of Pork Queen. One year, it was Hazel.”

  “Who’d a thought?”

  “Shows you what I can do given the opportunity. Now, if I could just get a little time with Perry.”

  We both looked to the front of the room where the group was urging him on with one request after another.

  “’Sup?” Mr. Wittekind said, as he came up behind us.

  “Hey, sit down.” I pulled out a chair. “How’d it go, uh, Bernie?”

  “Excuse me?” He frowned at Tippi.

  “I told him. Sorry.”

  “Me too,” I said. “I’ll stick with Wittekind.”

  “Good.”

  “Find out anything?” I asked. I checked to see who was in earshot before realizing the noise from the party made whispering unnecessary.

  “Herb B.’s a slime-ball,” Mr. Wittekind said.

  “We already know that,” Tippi said. “What else?”

  “He’s addicted to the Internet.”

  “Hardly slime-ball material. A lot of people are. Not to mention texting, something I really don’t get.” Tippi said.

  “Let the man talk, please.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Anyway,” Mr. Wittekind continued, “he’s into porn. All kinds of porn.”

  “Yuck,” Tippi said. “I noticed he always has the door to his office shut, and sometimes if I just walk in, he’ll close down whatever he was working on. Thought he was up to something but surfing porn sites didn’t occur to me.”

  “What do you mean by ‘all kinds’?” I said, my mind jumping to the worst thing possible—kiddie porn.

  Wittekind shook his head, reading my mind. “No, Hank. He’s swarmy but even he draws the line at kids.”

  “So he says,” Tippi said, her eyes shooting daggers searched the room for a target.

  “If we can get hold of his computer, we can find out for sure,” I said.

  “I agree,” Wittekind said, “but I tend to believe the guy. He was up front once we got talking about sex and the Internet. Talked about all sorts of weird stuff he found online, what he liked, and what he thought was just downright disturbing. Kids were the only things in that category. He got real angry about it too.”

  “We need to get into his computer,” I said.

  “How?” said Tippi.

  “Short of Wittekind asking Herb B. if he could go surfing with him, we either need to get his password, steal the computer—in which case we’d still need his password—or find a sneaky geek to break into his hard drive for us.”

  “We don’t need any of those,” Mr. Wittekind said.

  “No? Why not?” I said.

  “We’ve got Gus.”

  “Does Gus know a lot about computers?” Tippi asked.

  “No, but last week, Harry, our brilliant IT guy, set up a way for Gus to go into Herb B.’s computer from home so if the weather was bad or Gus didn’t feel like coming down to the center he could still work on the books. He told me it was just like he was sitting at Herb B.’s desk in front of his computer.”

  “We need to find Gus,” I said.

  “Looking for me?” Gus stood behind me. Next to him was Applebee, holding Gus’s laptop and wearing what my dad would have called a shit-eatin’ grin.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Tippi pulled herself up onto her crutches. “Don’t say anything until I get back,” she warned. “I have to make a stop at the restroom.”

  Marcy skipped up behind her, and the two made their way carefully across the room. Meanwhile, Perry found a seat with the Schmidts. I watched him shake his head when Violet offered him a cup of punch.

  “Anybody want to know what we found out?” Gus said. “Or do you two just want to sit there and watch the world go by?”

  “Right,” Applebee said. “Wait until you get a load of this. You’re not gonna believe how dirty this guy is, in more ways than one.”

  “We need to find a place to talk where we won’t be disturbed,” I said.

  “What about Tippi?” Mr. Wittekind said.

  “We can fill her in when she gets back. Right now, though, we’re up against the clock.”

  “Card room? The ceramics room is too damn cold,” Applebee said, leading the way.

  I asked Mary to tell Tippi where to find us and hurried to catch up with the guys.

  Gus turned on the laptop, and we waited for the Dock to appear. He tapped some keys and in a few minutes we were looking at a woman lying on an unmade bed. She stared back at us from between outspread legs, wearing fishnet stockings and red lipstick. Nothing else.

  Mr. Wittekind leaned in closer to the screen.

  “Back off, Bernie,” I said.

  “Bernie?” Applebee said.

  I ignored the question, “Gus, what are we looking at
?”

  “If you don’t know, Hank...” Mr. Wittekind said, wiping his hand across his forehead.

  “We’re in Herb B.’s computer,” Gus said.

  “Can’t he tell? I mean how the heck can you do this?” I said.

  “Harry set me up with what’s called a stealth VPN.”

  My blank stare prompted Gus to add, “Virtual Private Network, VPN. It lets me access his computer from my home, or anywhere, with the proper code.”

  “Way too Star Wars for me,” I said.

  “Light years past Star Wars, Hank,” Applebee said.

  “Just a convenient way for me to access Herb B.’s computer. I just started using this new system. Before, Herb B. would give me the bills, receipts, and bank statements at the end of each month. Alice would do the data entry, print checks, run reports, and the other usual bookkeeping duties. I have Quick Books loaded on the laptop, so after I reviewed all of Alice’s work, we’d backup the changes to a flash drive. I’d give the flash drive to Herb B. and he’d upload the current data to his computer. I labeled my file QBGus.”

  “What about the new system, with the VIP?”

  “VPN. Instead of updating my work onto a flash drive, I can enter everything directly into Herb B.’s file, QBHerb2, onto his computer here at the center. But, I discovered another account labeled ‘Lucy’.”

  “There are two sets of books?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Applebee chimed in, “In spite of the fact Herb B. spends most of his time on porn sites and equally sleazy chat rooms, he has engaged in a very creative bookkeeping scheme. Check it out.”

  Gus opened a file and pointed the cursor to “Vendors.”

  “Here’s where it gets interesting,” Gus said. He clicked on something labeled “EldaWeiss.” A screen appeared resembling an index card; Guenther Hoffman’s name appeared as the contact person with his home phone and address. More taps on the keyboard and a screen filled with columns of dates and figures appeared.

  “These are all payments to Guenther, who—as we saw—is EldaWeiss,” Gus said. “Some of them don’t appear in my set of financials—only in Herb B.’s.”