Grilled for Murder (21 page)

Chapter 31

After Jim dropped my cycle and me at home, I took the time to shower before calling Buck. I stood and savored the warm water streaming through my hair, down my back, over my shoulders. It had been comfortable talking with Jim as he drove. I'd been afraid I would be too angry, or he would be too uncomfortable, to spend time together. But it wasn't like that at all. Maybe we could end up friends. I'd like that. He was smart and generous, and I knew he cared for me on a certain level. Or, hey, maybe it wouldn't work out with Octavia and he'd come calling again. I'd cross that bridge when we came to it. I now realized it was still good to stay friends, no matter what.

I dressed in a thick red Indiana University hoodie and black leggings, dried my hair, and poured half a glass of red wine before dialing the police station. When Buck came on the line, I told him what had transpired.

“So you think somebody got into your house with a wrench and fussed with the brakes, do you? Do you ever leave the place unlocked?”

He'd rhymed
wrench
with
Grinch
but I was used to that by now. “No, of course I don't leave it unlocked. And I checked the door when I came home. It didn't look like anyone had messed with the lock.”

“No windows broke or nothing? Are all the windows locked tight?”

“Nothing's broken,” I said. “I know I went around and secured all the windows a few weeks ago when the weather started to turn cold.”

“I'll come down and fetch up the bike, then. Not sure what we'll find, but we'll give 'er a look. Give an eyeball to your locks, too.”

“You'll be careful with my cycle, right?”

“Sure thing, Robbie. I know how much you like that piece of machinery. And Wanda gave me an earful last month about how expensive them things run.”

After I disconnected, I examined the outer door again, then checked the one connecting my apartment to the store. My unpracticed eye couldn't see anything different. With any luck, Buck's would. Because if not, some kind of magician had slid into my house and slid out again. Under the door? Through the walls? I sipped my wine and giggled, remembering the old
Caspar the Friendly Ghost
videos Mom had rented for me when I was little. I must be punchy from the afternoon's adventure, because what had happened really wasn't funny. Not even remotely.

I glanced at the clock. I hoped Buck would show up soon. It was already five o'clock, and I was determined to decorate my Christmas tree tonight, accident or no accident. But I needed to pick up a stand at Shamrock Hardware first, and they closed at five thirty on Fridays. I paced and munched a handful of trail mix as I waited. Birdy strolled into the kitchen and nipped at the back of my left pants leg.

“Don't do that,” I scolded. He had good reason, though. His bowls were empty, and it was his dinnertime. I scooped out canned food onto his little red plate with black catprints around the rim and watched him chow down as I cleaned and refilled the bowls with water and dry food. What if the person who'd sabotaged my bike had stolen Birdy, or worse? My skin tightened and the hair rose up on my arms as I leaned down to pet him. Despite being squeaky clean from the shower, I felt dirty all over again thinking of a stranger rooting around in my house. What else had they touched, examined, taken pictures of, even? I should call Max and get some new super locks installed. I'd do that first thing tomorrow.

At a rapping sound, I hurried to my back door and opened it to Buck. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

“Not a problem. Just checked the outside lock. Don't look like nothing's out of place, like scratched or tampered with. That the bicycle in question?” He pointed behind me into the hallway.

I turned. “It is.” I hadn't hung it up on the plastic-coated hooks on the wall where I usually kept it. I squatted so the front brakes were at my eye level. “See how loose this is? Even if you squeeze the lever, it doesn't apply to the wheel like it should.”

He bent way over and examined the brake. “It surely don't.” He straightened. “Let me take a gander at the door leading into the store.”

I led him through the apartment.

“Nice homey little place you got here, Robbie.”

“Thanks. I like it.” I opened the door and followed him into the store, where he closed the door and pulled out a flashlight, kneeling to inspect the lock. I made my way across the space and flipped on all the holiday lights.

“Nope, don't see nothing.” Buck stood, shaking his head. “Now you haven't been poking your nose in the murder investigation, have you? I'd sure hate to think our killer-at-large is coming after you now.”

“No, I haven't. Well, except for talking to Vince about what happened in Chicago. And it turns out that isn't even related to the murder.”

“What all happened up there?” Buck scratched his head.

I told him what Adele and I had discovered about the investigative reporter, Jon Shermer's death, and Bart Daniel. “Your brother in uniform wasn't a fine upstanding cop at all, as it turns out.”

“Shee-it. I guess not.”

“Anyway, I talked to Vince about that. He didn't like Erica much at all. I told Octavia about it, though.” I blinked a couple of times. “At least, I think I told her. So no, I haven't been poking around.” Not too much, at any rate.

“You should be real careful now, all right?” Buck looked me straight in the eye. “Make sure all the doors are locked and secure. Keep your phone on you. I'll try to have a cruiser swing by a couple three times a day, so's to have a presence.”

“Thanks, Buck. I appreciate it.” I remembered the green note. “So did you happen to sort of leave me a new Christmas tree yesterday?”

“Now did you go and figure that out?” Buck's cheeks reddened.

“The note was on the same paper as the toy collection poster. It isn't rocket science, Buck. Thank you so much, though. You have to let me pay you for it. Trees aren't cheap.”

“No pay. And you're welcome. Seemed like you'd had a run of bad luck, and I don't want to see nobody without a Christmas tree this time of year.”

“Really, let me pay you.”

He let out a slow laugh. “Nah. My cousin has a tree farm. And he owed me a favor. I didn't pay a red cent for it.”

“I appreciate it. A lot. But did you ever find out who took mine?”

“Matter of fact I did. Had an idea about who it mighta been and did some asking around. There's a man lives up Gnaw Bone way. A little touched in the head, but he's got a big heart. He'd seen you unloading your tree, and he wanted one for his old mama who he lives with. So he just up and took it.” He made a
tsking
sound. “What can you do? He don't make a habit of thieving. Instead of arresting him, I went on over and gave him a talking to. And then got my cousin to bring over another tree for you.”

“I see. As long as you're sure the guy in Gnaw Bone won't be doing any more stealing.” I glanced at the wall clock and wrinkled my nose. “Yikes.”

“What, you got a date? It is Friday night, after all.”

I laughed. “Yeah. A date with the hardware store.” And with Phil, to make a gingerbread country store.

* * *

I hurried into Shamrock Hardware with only ten minutes to spare. The parking lot was full, though. Three guys waited in line at Barb's cash register, and several other people milled about in the aisles. A big array of Christmas stuff was for sale in a special display right up front, where a mother and a little girl browsed the array of miniature lit-up houses. Maybe I wasn't almost late, after all.

Passing Barb, I raised a hand in greeting. “Awfully busy in here. The store doesn't close at five thirty on Fridays?”

She laughed. “Holiday hours, Robbie. Open till nine every night right up through Christmas Eve.”

“Perfect.” I headed to Don's counter in the back, patting my pocket. I'd picked up that strange device I'd found and decided to finally ask him about it since I was coming in for a Christmas tree stand, anyway. Maybe I'd pick up a few of those little houses, too. With the lights inside, they'd look super festive in the front windows of the store. And I could use some festive after what I'd been through.

At the counter, I didn't see Don, only a skinny kid whose arms and legs looked too long for his still-growing body. His face displayed an unfortunate case of acne along with deep brown eyes. He could be eleven or sixteen, I had no idea. Old enough for someone to trust him to work here, certainly.

“Can I help you, ma'am?” he asked in a voice cracking on the last word.

“Is Don here?”

“I think he's in the office.” The kid pointed to the labeled door a few yards away. “I'm Sean. I'd be happy to find something for you.” When he smiled, his eyes lit up, and a dimple creased his cheek.

“Thanks. It's just that I found some kind of weird object in my restaurant a few days ago.” I held out my hand. “I'm Robbie Jordan, by the way. I own Pans 'N Pancakes down the street.”

Sean shook my hand. I was surprised and pleased he had a good, firm grip. Lots of teenagers didn't.

“My dad has talked about your restaurant, Ms. Jordan.”

“Are you Don's son, then?” I didn't realize Don had children, but why wouldn't he?

“No, he's my uncle. And he's letting me work here part time during the holidays.”

“Cool.” I drew the object out of my pocket. “Anyway, I found this on the floor in my store. I have no idea what it is, or how it got there.” I laid it on the counter.

Sean leaned over and studied it. He straightened. “No clue. Let me get my uncle for you.”

“It's okay. I can go ask him. Thanks for giving it a look, though.” I picked up the thing.

“You're welcome, ma'am.”

The kid had manners, too. I'd turned toward the office when the door opened and Don ushered Max out.

“Hey Robbie,” Don called. “Is our boy getting you what you need?” He waved at me before he shook hands with Max. “Sorry I couldn't help you, Max.”

Max frowned at Don before he looked at me. “Hello, Robbie.”

“How's it going, Max?” I asked.

Max turned away and stepped into the nearest aisle without answering.

“Actually, Don, I need to ask you something. Here's the thing I found in my store. I asked Sean, but he didn't know what it is, either.” I proffered the mystery item in my palm.

Don picked it up. He turned it all around, peering closely, and slid the two pieces apart. Bringing them back together, he bounced it in his own palm.

“I don't rightly know. We don't sell anything like it here, that's certain. Hey, Max. You still here?” he called, craning his neck toward the aisle Max had entered. “Maybe he knows,” Don said to me.

Max came back around the end of the aisle. “What is it?”

“I found this little thing,” I said. “Ever seen anything like it?”

Max turned it over in his big hands. He opened and closed it, and rubbed it against his pants. Peering at it, he said, “Thought maybe there'd be a manufacturer's mark on it but I can't see one.” He blinked a couple of times. “Sorry.” He turned away again.

“Max,” I called after him. “Buck told me I should get new locks for my store and apartment. Can you help me out with that?”

He glanced back. “I can get to it next week if it isn't an emergency.”

“That'll be fine, thanks.”

“Can't you Google a thing?” Don asked me after Max left.

“I tried but I didn't really know how to describe it. I have no idea how it got in my store, or who dropped it there.”

“Sorry I can't help you with it.”

“Maybe I'll never know.” And maybe it didn't matter. “Hope you still have some Christmas tree stands left.”

He laughed. “Are you kidding? Got a new supply in only this afternoon. All the holiday stuff is up front there.”

“Then that's my destination. Say, Sean there is a really polite kid. He's your nephew, he said.”

“He's a super young man.” Don lowered his voice and glanced at Sean, now helping another customer. “They've done good by him, despite the difficulties. You know, with the divorce and all.”

“Is he your wife's nephew?”

Don stared at me. “You don't know?”

“Know what?”

“He's Abe's boy.”

Chapter 32

I stood like a zombie in front of the racks of decorations. I glanced toward the back of the store even though I couldn't see the counter where Sean had been working. Those brown eyes and that dimple. Of course he was Abe's son. And he had the same polite manners, too.

Why wasn't I aware Abe had a son? But why should I be? I didn't know Abe that well. He'd never brought his son into the restaurant and I hadn't seen them around town together. Last night was the first time Abe and I had spent any extended time together, and his having a family had never come up in conversation other than the story of his parents and their VW. I hadn't talked about my mom or dad, either. Maybe Sean had a little sister or brother. I doubted he'd have older siblings, because Abe must have been really young, only twenty or so, when Sean was born. The news had gobsmacked me, as an Aussie friend used to say.

But I still needed to do my shopping. I spied a tree stand I wanted. I lifted off the top one from the stack and set it in a small shopping cart. I needed lights and ornaments for the tree, too. Despite this being my fourth Christmas in Indiana, I hadn't bothered to get a tree before this year. I'd either gone back to California to celebrate with Mom, or to Adele's. I'd saved a small box full of sentimental ornaments from when I'd cleared out the Santa Barbara house after my mom's death. The collection included a tiny surfboard, a miniature yellow carpenter's drill, a starfish, and a two-inch Mexican crèche, along with a few other ornaments, plus a glass angel for the top. But since this tree was going to be in the store, I'd better pick up some more conventional glass balls, too. I added a couple of boxes to my cart, along with festive strings of red and green beads. When I saw a little muffin pan ornament, I dropped it into the cart, too.

I checked the prices on the tiny lit-up houses. A bit costly, but since they were for the store, the purchase would be a business expense. I selected a cute building with “Country Store” lettered on it, plus a brick house and a typical Hoosier cottage with the wide covered front porch. Finally I added two packages of white fluffy stuff to go under the tree and in the front window, a few rolls of bright holiday wrapping paper, spools of ribbon, and a bag of bows. I could wrap empty boxes to look like presents.

I paused with my hand on the bows. Wrapped beribboned boxes were exactly what Tiffany had put in her window display. What was going to happen to her store? This had to be her most profitable time of the year. I hoped they'd let her out on bail. But would small-town Hoosiers want to shop from her after her reputation got around, which it probably already had? We live with the choices we make, obviously. But I liked her, and I wished her well. I didn't care what she did in her spare time. Maybe I should go over there and do some shopping right now, as a show of support from one merchant to another, if the store was even open. Although with Tiffany in jail, who would be running her shop? I focused on my cart full of decorations again. One thing at a time. I'd stop by tomorrow.

“Hey, hon, you found what you needed?” Barb asked when I arrived at the cash register.

“I guess.” I laughed, gesturing at the full cart. I lifted out the items, laying them on the counter one by one. I'd accumulated quite a load. I wrinkled my nose.

“What's wrong?” Barb paused, her hand on the register.

“I just remembered I walked over. I'm not going to be able to haul it all home.”

“You want I should put it aside and you can come pick it with your car?”

“Thanks, but not really. Can I borrow a cart? I promise to bring it back.”

“Sure you can, dear. You'll look like one of them bag ladies, though.”

I laughed. “I don't care. It's only a couple of blocks.” In the dark. South Lick had streetlights, though, and I would stay on the sidewalk. I paid, thanked Barb, and wheeled my way out.

The sound of my stomach growling was almost as loud as the wheels on the pavement. I'd burned plenty of calories this afternoon without really replenishing them, and I didn't want to take the time to cook something in my apartment. A lit sign featuring a cheery red chili pepper waving a gloved hand caught my eye. Of course. A burrito to go. And it would taste like home.

* * *

I had in fact felt a bit like a bag lady with my cart full of purchases, but I made it back without incident, clattering along the sidewalk between the burrito place and Pans 'N Pancakes. After I stashed the cart around the corner, planning to return it tomorrow, I let Birdy into the store again as my Friday-night date, at least until Phil got here at eight, and after prowling all the corners, he settled onto the bench by the door and watched me with slitty eyes. I unloaded the bags, flicked on all the holiday lights, then grabbed a plate. The warm burrito, chock full of beans, seasoned meat, shredded cheese, salsa, and guacamole was almost impossible to eat without making a mess. Living alone had its advantages, I thought, as I licked my fingers. A Half Court washed it all down perfectly, with one of Phil's brownies to top off the meal.

I transferred the tree to the stand, tightened the four screws to hold it in place, and filled the big basin with water. I laid out all the decorations I'd bought on a couple of tables and retrieved the box of California ornaments from my apartment. I sang “Jingle Bell Rock” at the top of my voice as I wove the tiny colored lights through the branches. When I finished, I ran the extension cord to the same socket as the other holiday lights so I could turn them all on and off with one switch. Stepping back, I checked my skills. Not bad, and the lights glowed like home. But something was missing.

I snapped my fingers, headed to the desk, and brought up a selection of Christmas carols done in a swing style by Postmodern Jukebox. I cranked up the volume on the speakers. Now it seemed like Christmas. As I sat there, I felt the tool or whatever it was in my pocket. I laid it on the desk to study it. Maybe I could simply Google its image. I'd never tried doing that, but thought I'd read about it somewhere. I snapped a picture of the object with my phone, then plopped the image directly onto a Google Images search bar.

I swore as I stared at the result. Max had to have known what it was when I asked him. The object was a lock pick. Max lied to me. Who has lock picks besides burglars? A locksmith, that's who. Now it made sense. Each of the two prongs looked like a skinny key, with only the little bump at the end instead of all the ins and outs cut into most keys. I thought a lock pick would have looked like an ice pick. Clearly wrong.

Someone must have entered my apartment to tamper with my bike by picking the lock. Max? But I'd found this pick early in the week. A lump of ice settled in my gut and my pulse beat fast in my neck. I shook my head. If Max had left a dead Erica on my floor and dropped his lock pick, why had he broken the door in? Or maybe it wasn't Max. Maybe Vince was the killer and he stole the pick from Max. Vince definitely had had a beef with Erica.

Or the two of them could be a team. They seemed to be friendly enough. Vince might have some kind of hold over Max. Maybe he knew a scandal or a crime from Max's past that Max didn't want made public. Max was certainly a volatile, unpredictable guy with a military past, the kind of person who well might have gotten out of control at some earlier point in his life. He and Vince were both local. Vince could have forced Max to open my door to get the bike. And the broken glass in the door could have been a ruse to make it look like a locksmith couldn't be the killer. I had no idea how the pick got in my store. Either way, Max had lied to me in the hardware store. But I was going to let Octavia figure out this business.

I stood, sliding the pick back into my pocket, and pressed Octavia's number as I glanced at the wall clock. It was already almost seven. The odds weren't good she'd be at work. Much more likely to be having a romantic dinner with my now-former boyfriend. Sure enough, she didn't pick up. After the tone, I spoke.

“I found a lock pick near where Erica's body was. Someone tried to kill me by tampering with the brakes on my bike. Ask Buck, or Jim for that matter. I think maybe Max and Vince are in this together. Please call back as soon . . .” I froze. A shadow passed the side window. A shadow heading back to my apartment. I swore as the hair lifted on the nape of my neck.

“Someone's sneaking around the side of my building! I'm calling nine-one-one.” My clammy finger shook as I disconnected. Nobody, seeing all the store lights on, would go to my back door even if it was a friend dropping in. Phil was due later, but he would come in the front. This had to be Vince or Max. Whichever one of them had let himself in unasked last time. And they probably carried another lock pick.

I jabbed nine-one-one and identified myself. “19 Main Street. Someone is sneaking around to the back of my building. There might be two of them. Please send help. Quick.” I heard my shrill voice as if from a distance.

“Is that the country store?” The dispatcher's voice came across scratchy and tinny.

“Yes!” My throat was almost too thick to speak.

“Are you hurt, ma'am?”

“No,” I said in a hoarse whisper. “But I don't know what to do.” If it was both Max and Vince, one could be waiting at the front. Or opening its lock right now. I stared at the door. If he was there, he was crouching, because I hadn't turned off the porch light and couldn't see anyone through the new door glass. At least I'd locked the door after I came in with the decorations. “Should I go out the front door?”

“I can't say,” the dispatcher said. “Please don't disconnect this call. Officers are on the way.”

I could barely swallow. My knees felt like rubbery overcooked sausages. As ex-military, Max surely carried a gun. I was positive he wouldn't hesitate to use it. Vince probably knew guns, too, since he grew up here.

I didn't want to die. I hadn't even met my father yet. The speakers played “I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas” in a garish counterpoint to my fear.

“I'm heading out the front,” I told her.

“Afraid not,” a deep voice boomed.

I whirled. Max stood inside the service door. The gun in his left hand was aimed straight at me.