One Tale from the Countryside

By David C. Schultz

After losing his wife in the tragic events of September 11 and his daughter in a coma, Sam Kaplan quit his New York City private investigation firm that he founded several years earlier. But when his business partner is blackmailed, Sam is compelled to take the case, leading him to follow the trail to rural Maine. He soon discovers corruption and shocking crimes hidden in a quaint, touristy town. With time ticking down and in over his head, Sam must act swiftly to expose an apparent cover-up and save his business partner as well as other innocent victims. Find out if he solves the case in this intriguing murder mystery story.

About the Author
David C. Schultz, author of Chipping Through Time, is an avid follower of mystery and suspense stories. He resides in the New York City area and is working on his next books in between his full-time information technology job and a round of golf.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Mar 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891270367

Book preview

Chapter 1 – Shot of Whiskey

Office of High-Road Investigations,

Westchester, New York - 14 days

I came to my office the same as every day since September 11, a walking zombie who barely ate or slept. My office overflowed with unpaid bills and crumpled paper spilling over from once hollow waste baskets. Broken computer equipment and disconnected phones scattered the floor. I wondered how much longer I could keep the place going; I just had the electricity turned back on yesterday after catching up on the bill that was three months overdue. Had to let all my staff go after a great three-year run. My mind was so heavy, I couldn’t figure out what was next.

Looking out my office reception area window, I saw monarch butterflies swarming near the trees across the road in the mild April sun. Also, I spotted Frank, my long-time friend and business partner, parking his classy maroon Cadillac. Back for one of his weekly motivational speeches; but wasting his time. I left the door half open.

Frank stormed in, brandishing a case file I knew meant trouble. They murdered Figuerelli! I need you to prove it in two weeks, or I’ll lose my life. He slammed the case file down on the coffee table and began pacing.

Slow down; what are you talking about? Who’s Figuerelli? Who’s losing their life?

Frank continued his tirade. The case I’ve been telling you about! Old friends of mine who just want to find out what really happened to their brother.

I took a seat on the posh black leather couch. You know I’ve been distracted—just came from the hospital again.

So, how’s Cassie? asked Frank, now more even-tempered.

No change, I said, shaking my head. It’s been five months. I’m there every day talking to her, praying but no response. I’ve used up all my Hail Mary’s. The doctors say her condition is stable and no signs of brain damage, but they don’t understand why she can’t wake up, I said, raising my arms in frustration.

 Frank’s lower face relaxed, and his eyebrows flattened. Terrible trauma for a five-year-old kid. Should I even ask how you’re doing?

You can ask anything you want, I replied, but you won’t get a straight answer.

Don’t you think it’s time to move forward? Frank countered.

What brings you here today, Mr. Hernandez? Still teaching those criminology courses at NYU? I did my best to thwart Frank’s inquisition, but he kept pushing.

Frank replied with his chin high, Of course, once an intellectual, always one. Work, that’s what brings me here. You should get back; it’s time. You come here to your office every day and do nothing? He continued pacing.

I said, shaking my head, Just can’t get back.

Frank walked over to the window to view the town. The afternoon car traffic beeped and screamed—the evening rush had already started, and a police siren wailed in the distance. He picked up a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels from the bookshelf and shook it at me.

What’s this half bottle of bourbon? Thought you couldn’t drink? asked Frank, a bit puzzled.

Still can’t. Before I leave each day, I pour a shot in the whiskey glass and dump it down the sink, I responded.

Frank sneered, Why waste such valuable spirit?

He sat in the chair near the window, waiting for me to respond. He tapped his left foot, sending tremors through the old floor, leaned forward, and continued his rant. You should consider taking this case, a chance to start over again. Your firm was always well-regarded and showed a passion for helping people. I spoke to your former associates, and they’re doing well but would come back and work for you without hesitation. Besides, my friends are willing to pay good money.

I glared out the window into the harsh sunlight. There’re other investigators around. Any real reason to get back to work? Besides, I’m dedicated to Cassie’s recovery and fine taking this sabbatical.

Okay, I get it. You and I go way back and are always grateful for our friendship and business partnership, even from our glory days in college tearing up the campus of New York University. Remember that one time at our fraternity house when we snuck in the middle of the night and pulled the fire alarms? Still remember the guys running outside in the cold with just their underwear, Frank said with a grin.

Frank got a half smile out of me. He’d always had my back and was a good mentor. I owed him a lot—he introduced me to Maria and helped me start this business. Reminds me of all the good times, but sometimes, I can’t get past that Maria is gone. I rolled the ring around on my finger. I couldn’t take it off, even now. I needed the comfort of a piece of my wife.

I was distracted looking at the mess around my office.

Frank slammed his right fist into his left open palm and shrieked, Are you listening? They got to me!

With my head down and fingers rubbing my forehead, I said, hearing the petulance in my voice and hating it, Still don’t know what you’re talking about.

Frank walked over with concern and handed me a plain white letter-sized envelope that he pulled from the inside pocket of his blue blazer. This showed up at my office yesterday.

I leaned forward, opened the envelope, unfolded the plain white paper, and read the non-descript typed words aloud—You have something that belongs to us. Return it and abandon the case. Save yourself and your family. You have two weeks.

Maybe it’s a bluff, I said. How do you know this note is linked to Figuerelli?

It’s the only case I’m working on right now, said Frank. Been busy with midterms and research papers. I had similar warning messages on my cell phone the past two weeks. Plus, a letter like this showed up in the mailbox at my house, and my daughter found a letter in her backpack after a school soccer practice. The wife’s now in a complete panic. I told her not to worry and that some ‘crackpot’ from an old case was trying to make trouble. But I can’t take the risk and ignore the situation.

I handed the letter back to Frank. You must’ve kicked a hornet’s nest. Any idea what they want returned?

 I’ve been through the case file multiple times. Nothing of any value comes up except this old gold coin. Frank placed the curious looking piece, wrapped in a black cloth handkerchief, on the coffee table in front of me.

I picked up the shiny round piece of metal, which was about the size of a US dollar coin. It had an emblem of King Tut’s burial mask on one side with Egyptian hieroglyphs and images of ancient artifacts on the other. Do you think it has any value?

Valuable to someone, quipped Frank. He paused for a moment. Really need you on this one, old buddy. If you can expose what happened to Figurelli, I expect these bad actors will back off. Time is critical, though.

Tense silence followed like two chess masters contemplating their next moves.

Frank said, I have to leave but need an answer now.

I paused, digesting the information Frank had shared. I walked with him to the door, put my arm around his shoulder, and affirmed, I’ll contact you first thing tomorrow.

Frank nodded but left disappointed with my half-baked commitment.

I returned to my office desk and gazed at the picture of Maria and Cassie when we were together at the local park, long before September 11. I picked up the case file and prepared to head home for the day. I can’t let Frank down. Before leaving, I poured a shot of Jack Daniels, watched the brown liquid swirl, lifted the shot glass up to eye level, and looked in the past. After I got sick once on alcohol in high school and taken to the hospital, I decided to stay away from the stuff. I dumped the liquid into the sink and watched the Tennessee whiskey go down the drain.

Chapter 2 – Memory Lane

Sam’s Home, Westchester, New York - 13.5 Days

I started to read the case file at the kitchen table. It covered Anthony (Tony) Figuerelli’s personal history, including his divorce, accident out in Las Vegas, and relocation up to Maine about three years ago. Also, a small packet of Tony’s personal effects provided by the family.

I took a break for some tea. In the bathroom mirror, I noticed more stress gray intermingled with my once all brown hair.