Greta sat back on the sofa. “James, I’ll understand if you don’t want to be involved in bringing all this out into the open. I can do it myself if you want to step away.”
Plummer flushed at a perceived, if inadvertent, personal insult. “Damn it, Greta. Although you may think you’re above practical considerations, some of us live in the real world!”
Before she could respond, Judy Plummer poked her head around a corner from the kitchen. “Though I couldn’t hear the details, it doesn’t sound like you’re having a mellow professional conversation.”
“Sorry, Judy. Just a ‘professional disagreement’ on how to proceed on a case.”
“Right. Try to be good children and get along.” Plummer’s wife disappeared again.
He looked at Greta in resignation. “If we go forward with this, it has to be by the book and with every ‘i’ dotted and ‘t’ crossed. No public speculation at all until we have incontrovertible facts backing everything up. If that’s not acceptable to you, then you can damn well go it alone.”
Greta believed him on both counts, that he was willing to pursue wherever this went and walk away if she went off without ironclad proof. She would have liked a more enthusiastic partner but would take what she could get.
“Deal. We’ll nail everything down. The scam of the mission is the most solid. We’ll have him dead to rights on that. The Toompas murder is something else. I’ll bet if we lean on Helen Snyder, we can get something there. It would also be nice to get a search warrant for the church and Balfour’s house.”
Plummer shook his head. “Forget the search warrant until we have the Peru mission scam down pat. After that, we can go for the warrant and see what else might come out of it. I agree on confronting the Snyder woman. From what you say about the husband, it needs to be while he’s at work, either Monday afternoon or Tuesday. You also know we’ll have to bring Wallace in on this first thing Monday morning.”
She couldn’t help herself—she groaned.
“I know, I know,” he commiserated. “Wallace will have kittens and go ballistic. I only hope once he comes back to Earth, he’ll see there’s no choice except to go after this very carefully and very thoroughly. Also, expect that at some point the fraud case will get taken over by either the Oregon State Police, the FBI, or maybe both. The Peru connection alone will guarantee more agencies getting involved, possibly all the way to the State Department. And if it looks like the press is going to pick up the case, then especially the FBI will want to take it over so they’re the ones getting good press.”
She grunted. “I don’t really care, as long as we get Balfour. The FBI can have the credit, for all I care.”
“Obviously, you haven’t dealt with the FBI before. Trust me, you’ll change your tune the first time you interact with them.”
“So, what’s our next step?”
“Before we talk to Wallace, we need to go over everything in detail. What I knew before today and all your new information and theories.”
“I brought all my notes and files with me,” she offered suggestively.
He sighed again. “Bring ’em in. I’ll tell Judy we’ll be using the living room for a few hours.”
It was half past five when Plummer stretched, then sat back on the sofa they’d shared while going over the case. “I’m satisfied you’re right, or at least I’m convinced we need to proceed as if it’s all true.”
As they gathered up papers and files, Judy Plummer popped back in. “I see you deputy sheriffs think you’ve solved more major crimes. Just in time. Dinner is in an hour. Greta, unless you swear to me you have a pressing engagement elsewhere, I insist you stay for dinner.”
Greta started to beg off; however, she stopped herself because she had no other plans except to drive home and fix something to eat alone. She accepted.
An hour later, they sat down for dinner. In the meantime, she got introduced to the three Plummer children, ages seven, nine, and twelve—two boys and one girl. In that hour, she learned how they liked school, what activities were their favorites, that Judy Plummer was a coach of the daughter’s soccer team, that James collected stamps, and that the older boy’s favorite sport was basketball and his goal in life was to start on the Tillamook High School boys’ team. He became Greta’s admirer when she revealed that she had played college basketball and was a m
ajor track athlete, things Plummer wasn’t aware of. She later found out that within days, her sports history had spread to the entire sheriff’s department.
Greta enjoying sharing the meal. She ate two helpings of the roast and the potatoes and then a large piece of a chocolate cake to die for, promising herself to exercise more in the coming week.
The Plummers’ dinner was a lively session of family members sharing their day, talking about the coming week, and querying their guest about her family and where she came from. Greta couldn’t help but contrast the Plummers with her family, where her mother wanted everyone to eat, not talk, so that she could clean up the kitchen. Eating and cleaning up were the only two priorities.
It was well past eight o’clock and dark when she thanked Judy for her hospitality. She promised the older boy she would visit again sometime and they could shoot baskets. She also double-checked with Plummer that they would meet with Wallace on Monday morning. She promised to be at the office by ten o’clock to deal with the ogre.
James Plummer watched from his living room window as Greta drove away. He sighed. She was right. It did all tie together. Even if it didn’t all prove out, it was still quite a piece of detective work. He felt equal parts admiration for Greta and regret he didn’t have the zeal for solving crimes that he had once had.
Despite the darkness and a light drizzle, Greta enjoyed the drive to Pacific City. There was minimal traffic on the Sunday night streets and roads, and she put on a Helen Reddy CD and hummed and sang along all the way home.
CHAPTER 24
The drizzle passed by the next morning. Fog took its place, created by the wet ground and a warm front that moved in overnight, combined with the usual fog bank drifting inland off the ocean.
Greta peeked out from the covers at the digital clock: 6:20 a.m. She rose, shivered once out of the bed’s warm cocoon, and padded into the living room. Outside the window, she saw the mother of all fogs. In the early morning light, she could barely discern the outline of the house on the other side of the street. She hesitated to go running because she might get a call to respond to a traffic accident caused by the fog.