Back Story by Renee Pawlish Read Free Book Online Page A

me.
    “Then I’ve got just the thing for you,” I said as I sat down on a ratty couch. Cal’s a genius with little common sense, and his office reflects that. He has computers and tech equipment all about the room, and it isn’t uncommon to find dirty dishes that have been lying around for days, as if he is incapable of cleaning them. The room is comfortable only for him, as my butt could attest. The office is the exact opposite of mine, but it works for him, so who am I to complain?
    He sat down in the chair in front of a large monitor, swiveled around and put his hands on his knees. “What’s up?”
    He listened thoughtfully while I told him about my case. “I don’t have a lot to go on,” I concluded a few minutes later. “I’m going through Dewey’s journal and notes, and I thought I’d find out what I could about some of these characters he mentions, but it’s not easy. The library was a bust, and my online search didn’t produce much either. I could pay some genealogy sites for information, but who knows what that’d get me. Besides, I haven’t bugged you in a while.” I grinned.
    “You know me,” he said. “As long as I can work here at home, I’ll help you all I can.”
    I laughed. Cal has an aversion to leaving his house in the foothills west of Denver. On occasion, he’s had to come to town to help me, and he never lets me live that down. Especially since some of the situations have been dangerous.
    He turned around and started typing, his fingertips flying across the keyboard. “Let’s see what we can come up with,” he said. “I’ll start with Floyd Powell.”
    “I know he died in 1956,” I said. I gave him the information I had about Powell’s children, and his granddaughter Lorraine.
    “She should be able to tell you more,” he said, “If you can get hold of her.”
    “Unless she has a reason to lie.”
    He glanced over his shoulder. “Why would she?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just pointing it out. Regardless, we might be able to fill in some gaps before I get a chance to talk to her.”
    “Gotcha.” He hummed to himself and then said, “I’m checking some genealogy sites to see what I can find. The problem is most of them have birth and death records, the kinds of things to connect family trees together, but there’s not necessarily a lot of other data, unless the site members add stories about their relatives.”
    I scooted to the edge of the couch and looked over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
    “Someone posted an article about Floyd Powell.” The article was dated June 1950, and we both skimmed through it.
    “Powell was quite a guy,” Cal said when he finished reading.
    “Dewey’s notes say that Powell may have had some financial trouble,” I said. “That’s why the insurance company thought he might be scamming them.”
    “Let me see if I can find anything on Powell Incorporated.” Cal started typing again.
    “I didn’t find anything when I searched on it last night, or in the newspaper archives today.”
    He snorted. “Looking at all the old microfilm is like trying to find a minnow in the ocean. And no search-engine capabilities,” he said. He worked for a few minutes, then turned back to me. “Yep, you’re right. Nothing to find.”
    I shook my head in mock disgust. “I need you to unearth the hard stuff that I can’t.”
    “It’s not easy when you’re going back sixty years.”
    “You wanted a challenge.”
    “That I did.” He concentrated on the monitor. After a bit, he said, “There’s just not a lot online, but I’ve got some tools to do a more sophisticated online search.”
    “See if you can find if Powell had any connection with the Mafia.”
    “Like if Powell did any kind of business with the mob?”
    I nodded. “Sure. Maybe Powell Incorporated worked with mob companies.”
    “Okay,” he said. “I’m following you.”
    “And can you find anything on Felipe Moretti?”
    “Someone with the