Page 66 of In the Bones
“Oh yeah. He got a killer deal on the house—waterfront properties like that are always a good investment—but then he blew his budget on the renovation. His contractor didn’t cut him any deals, if you know what I mean. And that shitty ice rink, Christ. He sent me pictures; there’s hardly anything left of it. Nightmare of a build, if you ask me, and he doesn’t have the capital for it, not even close. He spent the bulk of his savings on that house. But Mikko got obsessed with the idea of starting up a business; he had all these grand plans and no idea how much the work was gonna run him. I couldn’t talk him out of it. So, I suggested he find a silent partner, someone who could fund the project behind the scenes while he leveraged his image and brand to promote it. Mikko being Mikko, he overshot and found three.”
One of those partners, Tim knew, had been Woody. The second surprised him.
“Stacy Peel,” Tim repeated, stunned. “You’re certain about that?”
“Oh yeah. She’s the real estate agent who sold Mikko his house. She was his first partner, in fact. He brought up the idea to her, and she jumped at the chance to get involved.”
“How much did she invest?” Tim asked.
“A hundred thousand.”
Three times, Tim had spoken with Stacy Peel since Monday. They’d talked about Mikko’s house and Woody’s affair. She’d referred to Mikko as her client. But just as she hadn’t mentioned the party, she’d failed to note that the man was also her partner.
Tim was astounded that she’d been sitting on that much cash.
“Her real value’s in her contacts,” LaPine went on. “She’s the one who connected Mikko with the third partner, andheponied up a quarter of a million.”
“Who was the third silent partner?” asked Tim.
“The contractor,” LaPine said, sounding scandalized. “If you can believe that. Guy rips Mikko off on the reno, and Mikko says welcome aboard. I think Martino felt like a safe bet, since he has assets and is gonna be overseeing this renovation too. I gather he doesn’t do much commercial work, but he’s making an exception.”
Tim’s heart was thumping in his chest. Three silent partners, all connected to Mikko, the house, and the Rivermouth. From what he could tell, Terry’s contractor business was thriving. No doubt he had the money. What Tim had overlooked was the possibility that a former NHL player—even one who’d had to retire early due to an injury—would need to bring in silent partners to foot the bill on a small-town business.
“How was the partnership structured in terms of revenue share?” he asked. “Do all three of Mr. Helle’s partners get a percentage of revenue based on what they put in?”
LaPine said, “Exactly. Their cut’s based on the size of the buy-in. It’s Woody Durham who’ll be handling day-to-day management, with some oversight from Mikko, but as owners, they’ll all provide input on major financial and strategic decisions that could impact their investment.”
Mikko had won the Rivermouth at auction for seven hundred thousand. Pinning the phone to his ear, Tim pulled a calculator from his desk drawer and did the math. If Stacy had put in a hundred thousand, her ownership would be about 14 percent. For his quarter of a million, Terry would get 36. Together, they owned more than 50 percent of the future Rivermouth Arena.
And then there was Woody. He’d put in just forty thousand, and would take only 6 percent of the profits, but he was an owner just like Terry and Stacy. And that gave him control.
Tim was already halfway out of his chair. He needed to tell Shana and the team what he’d learned. Find Terry Martino and get him into custody before he saw them coming. He just had one more question for Michael LaPine.
“The investors,” Tim said. “Do they know about each other?”
“You’d need to ask Mikko about that,” he replied. “But they’re called silent partners for a reason.”
Tim thanked the man and ended the call, his blood singing in his veins.Woody Durham.Stacy Peel. Terry Martino. All three had a connection to Mikko Helle. He’d already confirmed that two were at the party the night Angelica died, and he had a strong suspicion that the third had been there as well.
In his interview with Tim, Terry Martino had asked how much information about the body was likely to make the news. He’d shown concern that the bones had been in Mikko’s basement.Not great for the brand, he’d said. Tim had thought the guy was referring to the reputation of his own business, seeing as he’d been responsible for renovating the home. More likely, he’d been thinking about the Rivermouth, knowing Mikko’s name needed to stay clean if they hoped to make the place a hit.
Not all business partnerships were created equal, and that was OK. You went into them knowing the responsibilities, rewards, and risks. What happened, though, when a partner wanted to take control of the business?
How far would he go to cut someone out?
FIFTY-FIVE
Blair
Blair wasted no time flopping down on the couch when she got home. It had been nice of Stacy to give her the day off, but Nash—and all of Blair’s other friends—still had their internships, which left Blair alone. After last night she had no idea what to say to her parents. Blair couldn’t look at her mom’s battered face without feeling sick, and her dad was basically a murder suspect, so she’d snuck out early and gone to the river where she’d stared, eyes glazed, at Boldt Castle. On Sunday night, when she’d seen this same view, everything had been simple.No, she thought. Not true. It had only seemed that way.
When Blair got back just before ten, she’d been surprised to find the house empty. Her dad had work and Alana was at school, but where could her mom have gone, looking the way she did? Blair couldn’t imagine. After scrolling on her phone for a while, she went to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was then that she noticed the door to the garage. Her parents were always griping about drafts and heating bills, and the garage was perpetually chilly. That door was always closed. Alana knew this rule as well as Blair did, so she didn’t think her sister would have left it open. The sliver of darkness she could see beyond the jamb felt ominous.
Blair crossed the kitchen, and tugged on the knob.
The garage looked the same as always, with her dad’s boxes of various shapes walling up half the space. As she stood in front of them, a tingle of unease tripped up her bare arms. What she felt might have been nothing more than the dread that had been rippling through the community for days. “Come out,” she said, the words as calm as anything.
And then, someone did.
