Tally of debt tupper jon.., p.1
Tally of Debt (Tupper Jones Mysteries Book 4), page 1
Copyright © 2024 by M. A. Gardner
Cover photo by FreezeFrames
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Visit the author’s website at:
http://www.article94.com
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: March 2024
5x8 Paperback ISBN: 9798870311067
6x9 Hardcover ISBN: 9798870408255
Remembering Stubby,
The best dog a boy could have.
Contents
1. The Dawn of a New Day
2. Surveillance and Snacks
3. Secrets in the Dark
4. Tangled Threads
5. The Webs We Weave
6. Operation Hot Dog
7. Skylight Conundrum
8. Encounters
9. The Archaeology Lab
10. Promises for Tomorrow
11. Off-Duty Diversion
12. Chasing Leads
13. Unfinished Conversations
14. Behind Closed Doors
15. Two Months Later
16. The Magnificent Mile
17. Tally of Debt
18. Caroline's Christmas Gift
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by M. A. Gardner
Character Bios
Time and Again
One
The Dawn of a New Day
Tupper Jones glanced at his smartphone.
I missed you this morning!
Got to the office early. Big pow-wow on Roosevelt today, he typed.
Why do you even keep that office anyway?
Tupper sighed. You know why, he replied.
I do. Say hi to Caroline for me, hon. I love you.
Tupper replied with a thumbs-up emoji, then after hitting send, he added a heart emoji. Technology, he thought and let out a breath. He placed the phone back on his desk and returned to the window again.
Mornings in Chicago could be magical. On its early rise, the sun would appear, as if by magic, from beyond the man-made mountains of metal and glass that were Chicago's skyline. The glow would warm the buildings, the rays making the windows gleam like precious gems, creating a rainbow of hues from the multicolored glass. It was a sight that stirred the hearts of even the most jaded city dwellers.
This city of contrasts was often shrouded in an enigmatic veil during the early hours. The metallic giants, now silhouette, seemed to harbor countless secrets, casting long, dark shadows over the streets. Each corner held stories untold, and every alleyway whispered of hidden mysteries. The colorful graffiti adorning the walls of these narrow alleys created a striking contrast to the city's steel and glass façade, turning the hidden spaces into vibrant canvases of urban art, where secrets and stories merged in a riot of color.
Maybe the newness of the day or perhaps the sense of solitude in a city known for its ceaseless activity gave Chicago's mornings an aura of intrigue. As the sun ascended, casting its warm glow upon the architectural tapestry of Chicago, the city's skyline emerged from the shadows, revealing a mosaic of steel and glass aglow with the morning light. In those quiet moments, the streets echoed with the footsteps of early risers, each imprint contributing to the narrative of a city awakening to the whispers of its own metamorphosis. It was as if the city was reborn each morning—past sins cleansed by the gentle touch of the sun's first light.
Chicagoans knew how to keep their secrets. The city crews did a remarkable job of cleaning up after the night's revelry, and in the early hours of the day, the smog hadn't yet taken over. The air was crisp, the Windy City indeed, and it hinted at Lake Michigan's mysteries.
Traffic was light—at least what passed for light in Chicago. That meant that if you were driving, you might get through a traffic light in fewer than three cycles. A plucky driver might score a coveted parking place near their destination. Assuming, that is, that one had the financial resources to pay for it. The parking meters that once stood as sentinels no longer collected their toll for parking near the city's hidden treasures. A new world made these prolific altars obsolete. Tupper Jones patted his pocket; it no longer jangled with quarters. Sometimes, he felt just as obsolete as those parking meters.
For most people, that meant they would find other means of transportation. The buses were already thick on the streets, resembling nothing so much as moving billboards with their brightly colored ads. In the morning light, the advertisements took on a different dimension, their messages conveying more than just consumerism. They were fragments of the city's identity, glimpses into its collective consciousness. Some held enigmatic promises, while others were cryptic reflections of the city's desires. Meanwhile, yellow taxi cabs, their checkered patterns a symbol of the city, weaved through the morning traffic, their drivers navigating the city's labyrinthine streets, ready to carry passengers into the heart of Chicago.
Tupper shook his head and raised a coffee cup to his lips. The cold coffee hit his tongue and made him grimace. It wasn't just the bitter taste but also a reminder of how long he'd already been in the office, laboring in the shadows of this great metropolis.
Tupper took one more look out the window. This view from the corner office on the fourth floor of Tupper Investigations was usually one of his favorite things, especially early in the morning. Of the two main office spaces, his was the only one to have a window—an imbalance that Caroline waxed on and on about. He smiled at the thought. He couldn't blame his partner at all. The world had infinite possibilities when he looked out over the cityscape below him. So many people, so many hopes, so many stories to tell, and so many secrets.
So many problems.
Sighing, he turned away from the coveted window and sat at his desk. He had problems today, and even the morning view wouldn't resolve them.
Even a fresh cup of coffee wouldn't help, so he didn't try to look for one.
He was good at what he did—he liked what he did. He'd retired from the Army Criminal Investigative Unit, then a stint in the FBI. Now, he had a contract with the Chicago FBI office—arguably more valuable than the view of the street below.
He sighed, grabbed his suit jacket from his executive chair, and headed to the street. The city held its secrets close, and Tupper was about to dive headfirst into a new mystery that would test his skills and uncover a tangled web beneath Chicago's glittering surface.
Tupper left his office, and the city embraced him. Footsteps echoed through the concrete canyons, mingling with the occasional hum of a passing taxi. Street vendors set up their stalls, selling newspapers and piping hot pretzels, their cries adding to the symphony of the awakening city. The scent of roasted coffee beans wafted from corner cafes, luring those seeking a morning jolt of caffeine to match the city's energy.
Amid the vibrant urban landscape, Tupper couldn't help but feel like a lone investigator in a grand theater, each street a stage for a different act, and every passerby an actor in a story yet to be told. His destination on Roosevelt was waiting, and as he walked, he couldn't shake the sense that Chicago held more mysteries than any case file could ever reveal. But he wasn't a lone investigator on the Chicago stage. He needed his partner. There were plans afoot.
Tupper's brisk pace led him through the bustling streets of Chicago, past the ever-evolving tableau of the city. Skyscrapers gave way to upscale boutiques and restaurants, and the air filled with the scents of culinary delights. He passed elegant art galleries, their windows showcasing masterpieces hinting at human creativity's depths.
As he walked, the city's heartbeat pulsed around him. The well-dressed and purposeful pedestrians navigated the sidewalk with the precision of choreographed dancers, moving in rhythm to the daily symphony of urban life. This symphony buzzed all around him, becoming a sound of its own. Each element was an instrument. It was a score he knew well. Taxis with gleaming exteriors glided past him, and the subdued purr of luxury cars punctuated the lively chatter of the streets.
Tupper's steps carried him to an upscale part of Chicago, where historic architecture and modern design coexisted in an elegant dance. The buildings exuded a sense of affluence, and the well-tended gardens and immaculate facades were a testament to the pride of the neighborhood's residents. He knew that this was where Caroline lived, in an apartment that offered sweeping views of the city, a tranquil refuge amidst the vibrant urban landscape.
A stately apartment building with an ornate entrance. He entered, was greeted by the doorman, and went to the elevator. The ride to the upper floors was smooth, and as he reached Caroline's floor, anticipation coursed through him. He paused at her door. The ornate woodwork beckoned to him. This was a space that offered relaxation. He needed some relaxation. He couldn't delay any longer. A new day dawned.
For Caroline, the new day arrived not with the sun rising but with a knock on her door. Caroline wrapped the sheer scarf around her neck as she moved to answer the knock. The click of the thin bracelets on her wrist and the swish of silk against her collar added a touch of elegance to her morning routine. She wasn't surprised to find Tupper Jones standing with a hand raised in preparation for another knock. It would've been a surprise if it had been anyo
"Good morning, Tupper," she said and stepped aside. The apartment, with its opulent furnishings and expansive windows, was a reminder of a debt she owed to so many people—Tupper included.
Tupper's face held an amused expression as he examined his partner. "Looking a little rough this morning, aren't you?" Caroline's feet were bare, her hair a curly disaster.
Caroline tapped the watch on her wrist. "You're seventeen minutes early."
Tupper's eyes glinted. "You can't rush perfection, right?"
Caroline flashed her fanciest grin. "Absolutely not." She gestured toward the kitchen. "I suppose since you're here, you could have a cup of coffee while I get ready."
Tupper smiled. "That's a marvelous idea!"
"Yeah, so glad I thought of it," Caroline intoned dryly. Her eyes tracked her partner into the kitchen for the promised coffee.
As if Tupper didn't show up early many days. And if he didn't, Caroline took a cup for him to go. It was a comfortable routine. One she, and she suspected Tupper, looked forward to each day. There was enough variation in the cases they worked that the routine had something new to offer each day.
While Tupper settled at the table, inhaling deeply over a steaming mug, Caroline buttoned her blouse collar and performed a lazy knot in her scarf. She brushed out her hair with vigor. She slipped into her pumps and glanced at her watch. Still a few minutes to go and time for another cup of coffee.
She wandered into the kitchen. Tupper turned at the waist to observe her entrance. "What?" she exclaimed. "Is my skirt wrinkled?" She knew it wasn't, but she ran her hands down her hips anyway.
Tupper shook his head. "No, no. You're impeccably dressed, as always."
"Then what's that smile for?"
"Just amazement, Caroline. It doesn't matter how long you've been here; I just can't make it work in my mind."
"I'd say I earn my keep," Caroline replied, pouring herself coffee. "I help Vivian with the messy part of running this place." She sipped. "Did you know that part of everyone's rent covers the upkeep on the common areas on the first floor?"
"What, like the laundry?"
"Tupper," Caroline sighed, "there are monthly activities here. Poetry slams, musicians, even an ice cream social."
"And a certain gender-bending magician?"
"Entertainment is a premium service, Tupper."
Tupper's face fell. "I mean Kimberly's other occupation."
"Her blog?"
"No, Caroline."
Caroline scowled at him, sipping her coffee. Then, her scowl turned to a grin. "I'm not sure what you refer to."
Tupper sputtered.
Caroline wrinkled her nose and grabbed a napkin to brush a few drops of coffee off Tupper's tie. "Don't hurt yourself."
"I heard Kimberly was looking to take her act on the road."
Caroline tossed the rumpled napkin on the counter. "She's got a license to drive now."
"So, this license. Is it in her real name?"
"Really, Tupper, what's in a name? People put too much stock into a name. I prefer to think of a name as a gift, and like any other gift, the recipient should feel free to exchange it if desired."
Tupper frowned at her.
Caroline raised her hands in mock surrender at the look on her partner's face. "Yes, her real name. I helped her study for the written and road test. She got like a hundred percent. You see, I'm an excellent driver, unlike some people…."
"I'm a good driver."
"Ha!" Caroline exclaimed. "You tend to take your eyes off the road."
"I do not."
"And your hands off the wheel."
"I…" Tupper's denial caught in his throat. "Only when you're in the car."
"I'm not sure it's comforting to know that I'm the only one you're trying to kill."
"Caroline…"
Caroline grabbed Tupper's empty coffee mug. She held it in one hand and raised the coffee carafe in the other, a single eyebrow raised.
Tupper shook his head.
Caroline gingerly placed the 'World's Sexiest FBI Agent' mug in the sink.
"Does Tiffany know you left the mug she got for your birthday here?" This time, both eyebrows went up. "Or does she think it's home is at the office?"
That seemed to derail Tupper's train of thought, at least for the moment. Caroline had a way of cutting through his defenses. "I'm sure she doesn't care," he said.
Caroline winked. "I'm sure she doesn't need to know."
"Yeah, well, what I need right now is to get to the FBI office. Let's go."
Caroline placed her mug in the sink next to his. "I don't know why you even need me there today."
"Oh, I have something special in mind for you."
That doesn't sound good, she thought. "Tupper, if you plan to dump a stack of cold cases on my borrowed desk…"
"No, no cold cases. You're too valuable to the Bureau to do busy work. Besides, we get junior agents to cut their teeth on that stuff."
The look on Tupper's face was a little too smug for Caroline's liking. "Then what?" she asked cautiously.
"A stakeout, with MacDonald and Fergus."
"The van? Tupper, come on…" she crossed her arms and pouted.
Tupper rolled his eyes. "Did you learn that from Tiffany?"
Caroline dropped her arms. "Learn what?"
"I've been married to her for a long time, Caroline."
"Well, I went to college with her before you, so maybe I taught it to her."
Tupper grinned. "I guess you could do the cold case files instead…"
Caroline huffed. "I'll take the stakeout. At least Fergus has a good sense of humor, and MacDonald…"
"No flirting with her."
"What?"
"She doesn't like it when you flirt with her." He held Caroline's blazer out.
Caroline took the jacket and shrugged into it. "She likes the flirting just fine."
"Tupper, you know she's…"
"Straight. Yeah, I know. It doesn't mean she hates the flirting."
"She says she does."
"Tupper, this is MacDonald we're talking about." Caroline grinned. "If she really didn't like it, she would've hurt me by now."
With no reasonable reply to counter that argument, Tupper shrugged in a sign of reluctant acceptance. She opened the door, and the two made their way out.
The ninth floor was abuzz with activity when Caroline and Tupper arrived. With Marsha running the meeting, the conference room on that floor was chosen to host. Agents, many of them from different units, milled about, waiting for the meeting to start.
Caroline recognized a few of them. Sam Sykes, from Organized Crime. After the fallout of the murder of Agent Frankie Sax, Marsha was promoted to agent in charge while Sykes moved to Organized Crime. Those two were the last agents active to work with Tupper when he was with the FBI. Sykes and Marsha were instrumental in revealing a mole at the Chicago FBI headquarters. Steve Braxton's former partner, Tom Hicks, set up Caroline for the murder of one Frank Donaldson, the Accountant to the Guastavino crime family.
Eric Sena was there from the technology crimes section. According to Kimberly, the man really needed to upgrade his firewall. Not that Caroline planned to mention it to him. She saw Steve Braxton, from Counter Terrorism, by the break room. In a surprising number of white-collar cases, Tupper Investigations uncovered information that was passed to Counter Terrorism.
White-collar crimes used to be simple and clean. The money from the thefts went to the perpetrator's pocket, not off to be funneled to terrorist groups to buy guns or explosives. Caroline shuddered. Sometimes, they purchased children.
Tupper greeted a few other agents Caroline didn't know, and then they stopped by MacDonald's desk. Fergus pulled his chair up, and the two reviewed a report on her monitor.
MacDonald looked up as they approached. "Heya, Tupper, Caroline."
"MacDonald, Fergus," Tupper leaned in and looked at the screen. "Anything new?"
Fergus shook his head. "Best information is still that the drop will go down today, most likely at that convenience store where some distant relation to Malcolm 'Morris' O'Ryan works." Fergus tapped the keyboard. "Bustamante."
Caroline made a gagging sound.
The three of them ignored Caroline's antics.
