Hot Dogs by Janice Bennett Read Free Book Online

money was supposed to have gone to the
charity organization she ran.
    “There was a considerable amount,” she went on, “because it
wasn’t just the entrance fees, it included a large number of charitable
contributions. No one else has disappeared. So where is it?”
    Good question, I reflected. Someone must have a sizeable
amount of money stashed away somewhere. Sarkisian would check everyone’s bank
accounts of course but would the murderer be stupid enough to just deposit it
somewhere obvious like that? I had a sinking feeling I’d probably be finding
out firsthand. Any situation that comes up at the sheriff’s department that
hints of money usually gets dumped in my lap. For some reason I’ve developed a
reputation for being able to unravel financial swindles. I have no idea why. I
think they just like to dump work on me and watch me sweat trying to come up
with answers.
    Theresa sniffed. “I hope the sheriff will talk to Mr.
Vanderveer.”
    “What?” Ivan Janowski stared at her. “Edward Vanderveer? But
he—” He broke off. “Damn.”
    “What?” I asked, looking from one of them to the other. Vanderveer
was a member of the Fourth of July Committee of course but I had no idea what
connection he might have with Lee Wessex. And come to think of it, Vanderveer
should have been here by now.
    “Vanderveer and Wessex were partners in their brokerage
firm,” Lizzie explained. “The business went bankrupt when Wessex ran off.
Vanderveer said Wessex cleaned out the accounts and took everything.”
    “But Mr. Vanderveer managed to salvage more than a million
dollars,” Theresa declared, “of what he claimed to be personal funds and not
stolen client funds.”
    “And you didn’t get anything.” Lizzie patted Theresa on the
arm. “He should have given you some sort of severance package, all things
considered.”
    Theresa stiffened. “I wouldn’t have accepted any. That money
should have gone to the investors who lost money because one of them stole
it all. And we now know it couldn’t have been Mr. Wessex.”
    Janowski shook his head. “Maybe it was. Someone else could
have killed him and taken it all.”
    And was that someone his business partner, trying to save
himself when Wessex tried to abscond with everything—including the investment
firm’s reputation? If Vanderveer had found out what his partner was up to, that
could be a viable motive for murder. I wondered how long it would be before Edward
Vanderveer showed up this morning—or if Sarkisian would be forced to run him to
earth for questioning.

Chapter Four
     
    Our auditorium isn’t large but neither is our county. Nor
our county’s budget for that matter. According to the fire marshal’s sign in
what passes for the lobby, maximum occupancy is five hundred and eighty-three.
How they arrived at that number is anyone’s guess. Like the rest of the
fairgrounds, construction began in the late 1930s and continued sporadically
until the early 1990s when it was declared not so much finished as a waste of
more money. Let’s just say the style is eclectic though it has a charm to it
I’ve always enjoyed. Judicious use of climbing ivy covers the worst of its sins
and careful pruning reveals its more beautiful points. Now, aside from making
sure the roof doesn’t leak and the wiring doesn’t catch fire, it’s left pretty
much alone.
    Pete Norton led the way to the stage door and unhooked from
his belt the carabiner with its heavy ring of keys, identified the right one
and let us back in. The poodles raced inside along with Roomba doing her crumb
searching routine. Even Mazda put on an impressive burst of her former zoom to
investigate this previously terra incognita .
    “Hey.” Pete turned from the vanishing dogs to glare at Lizzie.
“No animals allowed.”
    Lizzie straightened to her full if unimpressive height.
“They’re my act for the talent show. They’ve got every right to be here.”
    “I don’t want those animals scratching