A Novel Way to Die (26 page)

“Speaking of Robert, what are we going to do about helping him find a place to live?”
she asked Jake, lowering her voice, although the youth, who was upstairs busily stocking
books, could not hear her. “He can’t keep going from place to place each night like
he’s been doing.”

“I know. I put out a few feelers, but nothing’s come up that’s in his price range.
If James is tired of him, I guess he can stay on my sofa for a couple of nights until
we think of something.”

The bells on the front door range just then. Darla saw with pleasure that it was Mary
Ann walking in, carrying a covered dish. She gave the old woman a friendly wave.

“There you are, my dear,” Mary Ann exclaimed, setting the dish on the counter. “I
tried calling your home number, and when you didn’t answer I took a chance you might
be down here. I brought a little something for you so you don’t have to cook dinner
tonight.”

“That’s nice of you. I have to admit, I’m pretty tired of soup.”

“I’m sure you are, dear. How are you feeling?”

“Much better. And Hamlet is feeling pretty perky now, too.”

In fact, the cat had risen and walked over to the casserole dish that Mary Ann had
left. He took a sniff and sneezed. Then he did a little scraping motion with one paw,
as if he were burying something in his litter box, before turning tail and removing
himself a few feet from the offending dish.

“Hamlet!” Darla scolded him. “Mary Ann went to all the trouble of making us food,
and you diss it right in front of her.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” the old woman replied with a smile and a wave of one bony hand.
“It’s a vegetable casserole, which is probably why he doesn’t like it. But what are
you doing back at work already? Didn’t you just get out of the hospital?”

“They only kept me for a night . . . but don’t worry, I’m still on part-time duty.
I won’t be back to working full-time until next week.”

“Well, my gracious, don’t hurry it. Though I have to keep reminding Brother of that,
too.” She sighed. “I have to admit, it’s been difficult trying to work in the store
and
take care of him. I wonder if it’s time for us to shut the place down and retire.”

“But Mary Ann, you love that store,” Jake protested. “Can you hire some part-time
help?”

“My dear, I would love to, but in this economy, people don’t really need antiques
and collectibles. We’re barely scraping by as it is.” The old woman gave her head
a brusque shake. “Quite frankly, we can’t afford to hire anyone. And if we can’t find
someone to rent our garden apartment soon, we’ll surely be in trouble.”

Darla hesitated, glancing Robert’s way, and then exchanged a glance with Jake. So
the apartment was still available. Maybe with a little tweaking and compromise, it
could prove a solution to both the Plinskis’ and Robert’s problems.

“Mary Ann, I have an idea.”

Swiftly, she explained Robert’s situation. And then, as the old woman
tsk
’d in consternation, Darla told her how she and Jake and James were taking turns keeping
a roof over his head while they tried to figure out how best to help him.

“You know how it is, Mary Ann. With needing to scrape together enough money for first
and last month’s rent, plus a security deposit, there’s no way Robert can afford any
place that’s inhabitable. I know your rent is pretty much what he makes here in a
month now that he’s full-time, but maybe you can take some of it in trade? We’d have
to ask him, of course, but maybe he could work for you a few hours on his days off.
And since you know him, maybe you’d be able to waive all the upfront money.”

Mary Ann frowned, tapping a finger on her chin.

“Oh, Darla, I’m not sure,” she said in a tone of dismay. “That’s so much money.”

Darla immediately felt contrite. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have suggested it. You
and Mr. Plinski need to do what’s best for you. We’ll find a place for Robert eventually,
and in the meantime he can stay with one of us.”

“Oh no, my dear. You misunderstood me. I meant, that’s far too much money for me to
charge the dear boy for rent.”

Then, as Darla stared at her in surprise, Mary Ann went on, “Frankly, I’m quite distressed
that you didn’t tell me about Robert’s troubles before now. I had no idea that he
wasn’t living with his father anymore.”

She assumed a militant expression, her strong gaze as she surveyed Darla and Jake
that of a woman half her age.

“Face it, girls, Brother and I are old. And that means we can’t do things we used
to do, that we have to swallow our pride sometimes and ask for help. And I have accepted
this. But some people think that old means foolish. They think that they can take
advantage of us just because we don’t see and hear as well as we used to. I don’t
want to be one of those old people who wakes up one morning and finds out that her
tenant stole her identity and emptied her bank account. And I don’t want to be the
old woman who didn’t know her tenant was operating a drug lab in her basement.”

“Mary Ann, that would never be you,” Darla protested.

The old woman gave a firm nod. “And that is because I know that a fat rent check doesn’t
mean a thing if the person signing it is a criminal. We know that Robert is trustworthy,
and we like him very much. And it will be a comfort to have a strong young man around
the shop on occasion to do the heavy lifting. So I think you need to call him over
so that we can sign the deal.”

Darla grinned. “You bet! Robert, come down here,” she called upstairs. “Ms. Plinski
is here, and she has a business proposition for you.”

Robert, dressed in black and wearing a tiger-striped vest, appeared at the top of
the stairs. “Yo, Ms. Plinski,” he called with a smile and a wave.

Taking the steps three at a time, he landed at the bottom of the staircase and trotted
over to join them. “Hey, food,” he said in approval and lifted the lid. “Green bean
casserole, awesome! I just ate breakfast, but I can probably eat again.”

“That food is for later,” Darla admonished him with a smile. “We’ve got something
more important to discuss. Mary Ann, why don’t you tell Robert our idea?”

“Of course. Robert, it’s like this. Brother and I need a tenant in our garden apartment.
You would be doing us a huge favor if you moved in.”

“I’d love to, Ms. Plinski . . . but I can’t, you know, afford the rent,” he protested,
looking embarrassed.

Mary Ann shook her head. “Nonsense. We are prepared to suggest a substantial reduction
in the going rate in exchange for a few hours of labor a week. I believe the revised
rent amount would be within your budget,” she said and named a dollar figure.

Robert’s eyes widened. “That’s not much more than Bill charged me to stay in his basement.
Do you, like, really mean it?”

“Certainly. How soon can you move in?”

“I can move in, like, now!” he exclaimed, his tone excited. Then he paused and glanced
at Darla. “That is, you know, if Ms. Pettistone says I can leave for a few minutes.”

“Go ahead. You can make it up later.”

Robert gave a little whoop and reached under the counter for his backpack. Then he
put out a triumphant fist to Hamlet, who obligingly bumped.

“Hey, little bro, guess what? I have a home. Maybe Ms. Plinski will let me get a dog
or something, so you can have some company.”

“Oh dear,” Mary Ann said with a shake of her head as she let the youth escort her
out, “let’s talk about
that
another time.”

As the front door closed after the pair, Darla turned to Jake. “Fist bump for finding
Robert a forever home,” she said and touched knuckles with her friend. “I think this
will work out fine for all of them.”

“Agreed,” Jake said with a matching grin. Then she glanced at her watch. “Sorry, kid,
gotta run. I’ve got a client meeting in five. Will you be all right alone until Robert
gets back?”

“Sure. Thursday is usually a slow day, anyhow. Besides, my official attack cat has
my back.”

After Jake left, Darla reached under the register for the stack of invoices that had
been piling up since her hospital stay. “Might as well work on these while we have
some down time,” she told Hamlet and reached for her checkbook. But barely had she
opened the register when she heard the shop door jangle, and a familiar voice said,
“Hey, Red.”

TWENTY-FOUR

DARLA LOOKED UP. “REESE?”

She hadn’t seen him since the evening in the hospital, when he had come to take her
statement. Jake had assured her that was no reflection on her. After all, she reminded
Darla, he had a few other things on his list, like making sure there weren’t any other
victims of Barry’s besides Curt and the building inspector. But Darla couldn’t help
but wonder if his absence had something to do with the fact that he’d arrested the
wrong person for Curt’s murder, and that Hamlet had been the one, for all intents
and purposes, to solve the crime.

His expression unreadable, he strolled on in. Darla noted that he was back to the
motorcycle jacket and jeans look. Either it was his day off, she thought, or he was
no longer bucking for a promotion.

“So, holding down the fort alone?” he wanted to know.

She nodded. “Robert is next door with the Plinskis . . . it looks like he’s going
to rent that garden apartment from them. And James doesn’t get here for another hour.
So it’s just me and Hamlet taking care of business.”

Hearing his name, the feline in question opened a sleepy green eye and gave Reese
a disdainful look. Apparently, Hamlet was not impressed by his human counterpart’s
detective work. Not that he and Reese had ever been best buddies; still, the cat tolerated
his presence.

Unlike with Barry.

“Oh my God, I just realized something,” she said with a small gasp. “Ever since the
day Curt was murdered, whenever Hamlet saw Barry or sensed his presence, he would
disappear. He didn’t want to be in the same room with him. He knew what Barry had
done, and he was afraid of him.”

“Smart cat,” Reese observed.

He hesitated, and then went on, “I don’t like telling you this, but you’ll find out
eventually. It turns out this wasn’t the first time the guy has been arrested for
murder.”

“You mean, Barry killed someone before Curt and Toby?”

The detective nodded. “There was an incident about ten years ago in Connecticut. Similar
scenario, though that time the weapon of choice was a tire iron. Unfortunately, there
wasn’t any physical evidence to tie him to the crime, and the only witness statement
got tossed for some reason. But I have a feeling the boys in Hartford will be reopening
that case again soon.”

“Wow,” Darla replied in stunned disbelief. “I guess next time I decide to date a guy,
I’d better be sure I get a paw’s up from Hamlet.”

And then, to her mortification, she began to cry, not stoic tears of fear or confusion,
but loud, full-on sobs filled with equal parts outrage and self-pity. Reese handed
her a handkerchief but wisely let her keep on crying until the storm subsided and
the painful sobs had given way to the occasional sniffle.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked out once she’d blown her nose and dried her eyes. “I feel
like an idiot. I’m fine, Hamlet’s fine, and Barry the bastard is in jail. So I don’t
know what I’m crying about, except that my head still hurts and my throat looks like
something out of a horror movie.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Red. If you were a cop and this had happened to you,
you’d have got some mandatory days off and been sent in for counseling. But being
the tough bookseller lady that you are, you’re trying to soldier through this on your
own. What you’re suffering from is survivor PTSD.”

“Posttraumatic stress disorder? You mean, like what happens to soldiers?”

“And cops and firefighters and pretty much anyone who gets put in a life-and-death
situation and manages to survive it. And a concussion on top of the mental trauma
makes it twice as bad. You’ve got your nightmares, your feelings of helplessness and
paranoia.”

All of which sounded uncomfortably familiar, she realized, thinking over her mental
state the past few days.

He paused and gave her a keen look. “I’m not trying to tell you how to run your life,
but you don’t do anything about this now, you walk away as a permanent victim. I’ll
get you the names of a couple of people who know about that kind of thing. You might
want to give one of them a call.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “All right, no more waterworks, at least for
now. So, how’s the case going? How long before he goes to trial?”

“Depends on the court’s caseload, but it’ll probably be a good six months at a minimum.
But don’t worry,” he added when she gasped a little, “no way Eisen is getting out
on bail. You won’t have to see him again until you testify.”

Testify? She hadn’t thought about that, but obviously she was a prime witness in the
case. “How about I send Hamlet in my place? After all, he was the witness to the original
crime.”

“Yeah, about that.” Reese gave his head a resigned shake. “Jake told me that all you
guys think he solved the case.”

“Well, he did. He knew it was Barry, and he told us so.”

She went on to explain in detail about the clues that centered on “murder” and “iron,”
and how Hamlet’s final dictionary clued had led James to tie everything to Barry’s
name. Then, not bothering to hide a small smirk, she finished, “I’m sorry that my
sweet little kitty outsmarted you.”

“We would have figured it out eventually without him,” was the detective’s dry response.
“But so you know, there was plenty of evidence pointing to Hilda Aguilar. I didn’t
just pick her name out of a hat.”

“The pictures I gave to Jake?” Darla asked, remembering the photos that Curt had taken
of Hilda, and how the woman had torn them to shreds.

He nodded, and to her relief didn’t mention the whole chain of custody thing. “That,
and a series of threatening messages she left on Mr. Benedetto’s voice mail that were
pretty damn incriminating. And it turns out that her relationship with her daughter
wasn’t all sweetness and light. She and Tera had been fighting over the past couple
of weeks. One of Tera’s friends overheard Hilda threatening to hurt her if she didn’t
break it off with Curt. But the topper was that she’d bought a gun off some street
guy.”

A gun?
So Barry hadn’t been lying about that one thing, at least.

“You think about it,” Reese went on, “if Eisen had waited just one more day, there’s
a good chance Mrs. Aguilar
would
have taken care of Benedetto for him.”

“Or maybe Bill the Porn Guy would have stepped in,” Darla added. “Did you ever find
out why he and Curt were feuding?”

Reese nodded. “I dropped by to question him the day we located Tera’s phone in the
Dumpster. Ferguson wasn’t willing to do much talking without a lawyer around, but
he did manage to give me a little something. Apparently, Benedetto’s photography skills
went beyond taking pictures of pretty women in parks.”

Darla held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. He was photographing all the people going into
the porn shop and then blackmailing them?”

“Good try, but you’re not thinking like a true bottom-feeder. Turns out Benedetto
had modified one of the video booths in the porn shop with a couple of strategic holes
in the wall. That way, he could be in there pretending to watch movies, but the whole
time he was secretly using his own video camera to record the action that went on
in the room next to his.”

“That’s disgusting!”

Reese grinned. “Hey, it gets better. He owned one of those members-only porn websites.
He was posting his home movies there and making a nice chunk of change doing it. Ferguson
found out and was pretty ticked . . . but not because of any violations of privacy
for his customers. He thought that since it was his place, he should be getting a
cut of the action.”

“Ugh, bottom-feeder is right,” Darla said with a disgusted snort. “I’m seriously considering
running background checks on all my customers after this. So what about Barry and
Curt’s brownstone? What happens to it now?”

“That’ll be up to the courts . . . and by the time they figure it out, chances are
the city will have already condemned the place and razed it.”

“I hope so,” was Darla’s fervent reply. Knowing that the place where two people had
died—the same place from which she had barely escaped with her life—might one day
be someone’s home or place of business was a chilling thought, indeed.

“And what about the scrap thieves?” she wanted to know. “It’s good to know they’re
not the ones out there murdering people, but it would be nice to know that it’s safe
to leave my nice metal fixtures where they are outside.”

“As a matter of fact, we haven’t had any more theft complaints since we arrested Mr.
Eisen,” Reese said with a shrug. “It might be pure coincidence; maybe the gang found
another neighborhood with better pickings and moved on. Or maybe that whole stolen
scrap metal thing was another little side business that Eisen and his building inspector
buddy had going. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if I find out anything on that.”

With the subject of murders and scrap thieves exhausted for the moment, an awkward
silence fell between them. She abruptly found herself wishing for a customer to conveniently
drop in and dispel the mood. When that didn’t happen, she began, “So—”

“So—” Reese said at the same time and then broke off at the same moment that she did.

Darla smiled. “Let’s try again. You first.”

“I was going to say, so, that’s all I have,” Reese told her with a shrug. “You?”

“Pretty much the same.”

The awkward silence fell again. Then Reese said, “Actually, there is just one more
thing.”

“Isn’t that what Columbo used to say?” she asked with a small smile. Then, at his
questioning look—surely he wasn’t so young that he’d never heard of the quirky television
detective before—she shook her head and added, “Never mind. What’s the one more thing?”

“I thought”—he paused for a breath—“well, since I kind of barged in on your dinner
the other night at your apartment, I thought I could take you out after work, if you
were up to it.”

“You mean, like a couple of friends going out?” she carefully asked.

He gave a quick nod. “Sure . . . I mean, like you said . . . a couple of friends.”

“That would be fun. But not Greek food, if you don’t mind,” she hurried to clarify.

He looked perplexed but agreed. “No Greek. I was thinking we stick with good old Italian,
if that’s okay by you.”

“It’s okay by me. Shall we say seven-ish?”

“It’s a date! Well, it is, but it’s technically not . . . oh hell, you know what I
mean,” he answered and beat a hasty exit to the door. “See you later, Red . . . I
mean, Darla.”

“Red’s okay,” she heard herself saying, but by then the bells on the door were already
jingling behind him.

She smiled a little and then glanced over at Hamlet, who had slept through the entire
exchange—or, at least, had pretended to. She saw that both green eyes were open now
and watching her. Her smile broadened, and she reached over to scratch him under the
chin.

“What do you think, Hammy? He says it’s not a date. Should I believe him?” Then, when
Hamlet made no reply, she persisted, “How about this? Blink once for yes, and twice
for no.”

She didn’t really expect an answer to that one, either. And so she was surprised when
the cat slowly blinked once.

Yes, believe him, it’s not a date.

And then a second time.

No, it is a date!

And then a third time?

Darla frowned. “Three blinks? What the heck is that supposed to mean? The only choices
are yes, no . . . or,” her smile returned, “aha, your vote is a
maybe
. Well, so is mine.”

Then she noticed Mary Ann’s casserole dish, which she’d forgotten was still sitting
on the counter near the register.

“Green bean casserole, not exactly my favorite,” she admitted. “Guess you were right
on the money with this one, too. But I don’t want to hurt Mary Ann’s feelings.” Then,
remembering Robert’s reaction to it, she went on, “However, I think this dish would
make a nice little welcome-to-the-new-apartment meal for Robert tonight. What do you
say?”

Hamlet stared back at her with unblinking emerald eyes for a long moment.

And then he winked.

*   *   *

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