Paying The Piper - 3. Chapter 3

The trip to Jim Stahl’s place only took ten minutes. It was, however, on the opposite side of town from the McCoy Mansion, which was a good indication of just how small Farther's Run was. Still, it was scenic – a shaded drive through wooded valleys and sun-drenched fields. This particular morning, Quent couldn't help but hate it. Occasionally, his picture perfect town turned his stomach. Much lurked beneath the surface, hiding behind tall brick walls and formal gardens. The previous night had shown that in spades.

Throughout the short trip, Cale was silent, and Quent suspected he was once again reflecting on his disastrous marriage. Elizabeth’s words came back to him and Quent angrily shoved them aside. He wanted no part of what, or what was not, between her and Cale. He had bigger problems. Unfortunately, he couldn’t completely evade the usual guilty twinge that he had not been more vocal from the beginning about the wrongness of the match. He had failed Cale.

"So what’s the lead?" Cale asked from the passenger seat. His voice was listless.

"Cynthia was seen with a man last night at The Tin Man. He paid her and they left. That was the last time anyone saw her."

"Before this morning," Cale added.

Quent ground his teeth. "Yes. Before this morning."

Cale settled back in the seat and spoke without taking his eyes off the passing scenery. "So you think he did it?"

"It’s what I hope to find out," Quent replied.

For a few minutes Cale said nothing. Then, "I heard voices downstairs this morning. Were you talking to Elizabeth?"

Quent’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. "If you could call it that."

Cale nodded but didn’t inquire further. Quent felt compelled to speak. "She thought perhaps you might be a suspect."

Cale laughed and finally turned his head toward Quent. Quent didn't return the look. "She’d like that, I think," he said.

"She also said you never look at her during sex." As soon as the words left his mouth, Quent cursed himself.

Cale’s resigned expression didn’t change. He merely turned his head to look out the window again. "I don’t," he answered emotionlessly.

And that, Quent decided, was far too much information for him.

**********

They knocked on Stahl’s door at 7:00 a.m. sharp. The small home, set back from the road and nestled in a grove of trees, was tomb-silent. Quent knocked again, louder and sharper, and Cale cringed.

"What if he’s not awake?"

Quent shot him a disgusted look. "All the better."

Cale rolled his eyes. "Will you never change? You and Jim haven’t been in school together for twenty-five years. Don’t you think it’s time you bury the hatchet?"

"No."

Cale shook his head and fought a smile, and a second later Jim Stahl opened the door. No matter how old Cale got, Jim would always be ‘Mr. Stahl’, a carryover from his youth when the man had taught at the high school. His gray-streaked brown hair and ever-present cream cardigan were the same as always, Cale noticed with a smile. He wondered if Jim knew the meaning of 'stuck in a rut.' His career as a teacher was long over; these days, he managed the finances for several dozen of the town’s more wealthy citizens. His work was solitary, but he seemed to prefer it that way.

Quent may have been surprised about Jim taking in the young man they were coming to see, but Cale wasn’t. He'd always been that way – overly kind and trusting and always willing to go the extra mile for someone in trouble. When he'd been a teacher, students in trouble often chose to confide in him rather than anyone else.

Jim squinted out into the early morning sun. "Cale? Quent? This is a…surprise."

"Isn’t it?" Quent responded nastily. Cale rolled his eyes.

"Hello, Jim," he said, hoping the warmth in his voice offset Quent's rudeness. Jim took Cale’s proffered hand and shook it once.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Jim’s question was directed at Quent and his tone indicated he was anything but pleased.

Quent raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly over Jim’s shoulder. As Cale watched, his old professor blushed and invited them in. "My apologies. I’m a little caught off guard. Please sit." He ushered them in to the cozy house and directed them to chairs in the living room. Cale nodded at the warm, comfortable décor, but Quent sneered. "With all the money you’re making, is this the best you can do?"

Cale shook his head and wondered how Quent ever made Chief of Police considering his love for insulting people. Jim’s eyes flashed at the comment and his hands clenched at his sides. After a moment, though, the tension bled out of him. "I’m comfortable here, Quent," he said mildly, as though not offended in the slightest. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"We’re here about the boy," Quent said directly.

Jim cocked his head. "Boy?"

"Don’t play stupid, Stahl. The boy living over your garage."

Realization dawned on Jim’s face and he smiled. "Drew is hardly a boy, Quent. He’s a grown man."

"Living with you."

"Living in the spare apartment over the garage," Jim ground out, cheeks reddening.

Quent plowed ahead. "Since when do you rent those rooms out? You don’t need the money."

Cale winced at the relentlessness of the questioning, but Jim seemed to be holding his own, so he kept quiet.

Jim sighed. "Quent. This ‘boy’ you keep referring to is an accomplished young man. Skilled and college educated. I don’t know the whole story, but he’s down on his luck and I had the ability to help him out. I assure you, he's performing a valuable service for me. I was at my wit’s end with this new computer program. In exchange for the apartment, he is transferring and integrating all my records and assisting me in setting up a new database. He's hardly the type of person you’re making him out to be."

Quent shrugged. "We’ll see. Where is he?"

Jim clenched his teeth. "Asleep. Where all decent people should be at this hour."

Cale reluctantly concurred. The night’s activities were catching up with him, and he barely stifled a yawn.

"Murder doesn’t wait, Stahl," Quent said.

Cale sighed. "Why every not? The damage is done." Quent turned – to berate him for his crudeness, Cale imagined – but Jim’s voice cut in.

"Murder? What on earth is going on?" he demanded.

Feeling sympathetic toward his old professor, Cale answered, but he guided Jim to a chair before saying anything. "It’s Cynthia, Jim. I’m afraid she was murdered early this morning." He said it as gently as possible, but Jim still gasped and went pale.

"Cynthia…." he whispered. His eyes lost focus, then he shook his head and lowered it into his hands. When he looked up again, there were tears in his eyes. "How?"

"Gutted," Quent answered helpfully. Cale threw him a scow,l when Jim turned even whiter. He patted the other man’s back and Jim gave him a grateful look. A moment later, it turned speculative.

"Why are you here, Cale?"

"It happened on my property," Cale said quietly.

Jim’s eyes widened. "Oh, dear. I imagine Elizabeth wasn’t too happy about that."

It was when Quent tried unsuccessfully not to laugh that Cale realized how completely his private life had become public fodder. Was it worth even speculating, he wondered, as to how many other people knew the details of his rocky marriage? "No," he said, "she wasn’t."

Quent’s laughter cut off abruptly, as if he'd suddenly realized his display of amusement was inappropriate. However, since Cale knew Quent cared little for what was appropriate and what wasn't, he shot a questioning look at his friend. "What is it?"

Quent’s head was cocked to the side and he was listening. "An engine." Without another word to Jim, he shot to his feet and left.

Jim watched him go but didn’t budge from his chair. "Some things never change," he mumbled quietly to himself.

So true, Cale agreed to himself. After a murmured apology, he followed Quent out the door.