Page 112 of Maddy's Justice

The chopper carrying James Labelle and Alan Dale gently thumped down on the landing pad. It was flying right back to Chicago, so the pilot did not bother to shut down the engine. The co-pilot opened the door and extended the stairs.

Evan Carlin was there to greet them. The men shook hands but because of the noise, only nodded a greeting. Despite the fact that the chopper’s blades were six feet over their heads, all three men ducked down as they hurried away from the rotor’s wash.

While the helicopter began its ascent, the three of them walked quickly toward the main building. Before they got there, the island’s owner was outside coming to greet them.

“Hello, James,” he said to Labelle, his right hand outstretched.

“We need to talk. This may be serious,” Labelle replied. “Evan and Alan should hear this, too.”

As they walked toward the door the island’s owner told Alan to give the two bags he carried to Odessa. Once that was done, the four men went into the basement to the soundproofed, secure room.

“Take a look at this,” Labelle said removing the 8 x 10 photo from his satchel case.

The four of them were seated on the circular sofa. Labelle handed the photo to the island’s owner and waited for a response.

“This is that investigator, what’s-her-name, Madeline Rivers,” he said. “Where…?”

“She was photographed with her head inside the door to my office. She opened it, took a quick look around then left,” Labelle answered.

“That’s it?”

“She was doing surveillance,” Labelle said.

“Obviously, but why?” the island’s owner rhetorically asked while looking at no one.

“Roger is going to get all of the offices swept for bugs. But I told him not to do anything if he found some.”

“Good, good thinking. Let’s see if we can find out what she was up to.”

“We need to find out,” Evan said. “She is clearly up to something. What and why.”

“Alan,” the island’s owner said, “what do you think?”

“I agree with Evan. A private investigator from Minnesota who just happens to be engaged to the lawyer handling a publicized lawsuit against the Stafford firm is snooping around Labelle Commodities. That can’t be a coincidence,” Alan answered.

“No, it can’t.”

“Those lawyers were damn fools,” Labelle grumbled.

“Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do about that now,” the island’s owner said. “I’m afraid it may be too late to get rid of this even if they settle that lawsuit. If Madeline Rivers is snooping around, her partner, that other P.I., Carvelli, is probably around somewhere.”

Labelle’s phone rang with a call from his brother Roger.

“All three offices?” Labelle asked.

“Yeah. What do you want to do?”

“The guy said the one in your office is just where you sit?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Don’t say or do anything in your office. Don’t even talk on the phone.”

“I haven’t.”

“I’ll be back in the morning and we’ll check it out,” Labelle said.

“What did you find out?” the island’s owner asked.

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