Murder by Chance (Betty Chance Mystery) (18 page)

“This image was taken around the same time your aunt’s laptop and cell phone were stolen,” Tom informed her. “There’s something else we want you to see.”

Songbird fast-forwarded to a picture of Mr. Ogawa walking down another hallway.

“Why are you showing me, Mr. Ogawa?” she asked, still shaken from seeing what looked like Tillie breaking into hotel rooms.

“Keep watching the tape,” Severson demanded.

Lori watched Ogawa walk slowly down the hallway using his cane as support. Then she heard a loud pop. Lori knew that sound. It was the sound of a gun being fired. Obviously, Ogawa recognized the sound as well.

As soon as he heard it, Ogawa’s entire demeanor changed. He immediately straightened up in a pose of perfect posture while his face tensed. His body did a quick 360, surveying the entire area with his eyes, as he pulled a handgun out of his pocket. When he determined there was nothing to fear, he slipped the gun back into his jacket and assumed his frail, bent posture. He again proceeded to shuffle down the hallway. Lori realized for the briefest of moments, Ogawa appeared to be thirty years younger.

“He’s been lying about his age!” Lori exclaimed, acknowledging the incredible performance she’d just witnessed.

Songbird nodded. “Looks that way. We’ve determined that the pop sound came from a couple of kids lighting firecrackers in their hotel room. But it was loud enough to snap Ogawa out of performance mode.”

The tape continued rolling. Lori watched as the then frail Ogawa reached the elevators. Even from behind Lori could recognize his hunched back, and a rear end that was flatter than a …

“Wait a minute!” she yelled. “Rewind back to the image of the woman at the door, the one you think is Tillie.”

Songbird rewound the tape and pressed freeze.

Lori instructed, “Zoom in on the woman’s butt.”

Without questioning Lori’s judgment, Songbird did as she asked. The image of the woman’s rear end filled the screen.

Lori said, “I know that butt, and it’s not Tillie’s. Tillie is always saying the only thing God gave her bigger than her mouth is her butt. That butt is as flat as a pancake, as flat as Ogawa’s, and as flat as Boris the Baffler’s showgirls.”

“We only have forty-seven minutes left to do this,” Betty said anxiously, standing on the steps of Boris’ luxury coach.

Tillie unlocked the front door and the two women stepped inside the bus. Tillie asked, “You’re wearing gloves, right?”

“Sure am,” Betty said. “But remember, there’s still a chance the cops could find a strand of our hair or something.”

Tillie smirked. “
Please
, that forensic crap is for television. No police department can afford to investigate hair follicles for a B&E. Just remember your promise that you’ll take the rap for both of us. It’ll be your first offense. You’ll get off with community service. But me?”

Betty repeated Tillie’s earlier explanation of what would happen to her. “You’ll be screwed, and not in a good way.”

“Let’s get this over with. I’ll take this side.” Tillie pointed toward the gleaming kitchen area and small flip-up dining table.

Betty began to search her side, which included an eight-foot couch, two swivel chairs, and cabinets.

Tillie slid open a door under the small stainless sink.

“Nothing unusual,” she announced while shifting through a bucket of cleaning supplies. She closed the door and began rummaging through the side drawers.

Betty removed the leather couch cushions. She reached deep into the side of the couch. She called out, “Jackpot!”

Tillie swung around on her knees. “What did you find?”

Betty looked embarrassed as she held up a coin. “Sorry. That’s what Codey and I would yell when either of us found a quarter in the sofa.”

Tillie sighed. “My family didn’t yell anything. We’d just tackle each other for it.”

The two women continued working as quickly as possible. Betty rushed through the small built-in drawers under the couch while Tillie riffled thorough the rest of the kitchen.

Opening a drawer Tillie uttered, “Wow!” She held up a shimmering fork. “Boris’ silverware is real, as in sterling. His eating utensils are worth more than my car.”

“His crystal is just as fine,” Betty responded.

“I bet his sheets have a thread count of a million.” Tillie said, and then teased, “Oh, I forgot you already know that.”

“Tillie! I only peeked inside his bedroom.”

“Uh huh,” Tillie answered in exaggerated disbelief.

Betty shut the drawers closed. Her eyes roamed to the framed photos on the walls. There were at least three-dozen. All of them were vintage black and white snapshots of carnival performers. Boris had told her they were of his family.

She checked her wristwatch. “It’s been twelve minutes and we haven’t found a thing.”

“You found twenty-five cents. By the way, did you put it back?”

Betty’s face flushed. “Heck, no. I went into automatic and slipped it in my pocket. It seemed like the right thing to do because that’s what I’ve always done.”

Tillie replied, “And now you should be able to understand how a criminal thinks. It’s doing what seems like the right thing to do at the moment, even though you know it’s wrong.”

“Like stealing Tampax,” Betty responded.

“Like stealing Tampax,” Tillie confirmed.

Betty opened a closet door. Inside were shelves of men’s shoes, but it was the items on the top shelf that piqued her interest. Stacks of men’s inserts were piled high. She held one up in the air.

“Look at this. I had no idea Boris wore lifts.”

Tillie walked over, grabbed a shoe out of the closet and studied its sole. “This shoe alone would add four inches to his height.”

“And the insert another three,” Betty said, peering inside. “I guess he’s not tall. In fact, he’s kind of short.”

Betty said, “Do you realize that everyone are pretending to be someone they’re not?”

Tillie opened the bathroom door. She stepped inside and said, “There’s nothing in here that I can see.”

Betty pushed back the expandable door to the bedroom. She and Tillie squeezed inside. The room was only big enough for a full-sized side bed with two small nightstands on each side. Like the rest of the bus, the walls were paneled in teak. Maroon curtains hung across the top half of the back wall.

Tillie pointed to the drapes and said, “I could use those after a night shift. Not a golden drop of sunlight gets through.” She looked up. “But, I don’t need
that
,” she said as she pointed her index finger to the center of the ceiling. “Not unless I decide to become kinkier than I already am.”

Betty was shocked. She hadn’t noticed the small web cam on her previous visit. She’d never been as thankful in her life that she’d turned down sex with a beautiful man.

Betty gestured toward the six-framed headshots of Boris that lined the walls, each one featuring a different pose and costume. “I guess Boris doesn’t have an issue with self-esteem.”

Tillie answered, “Sure he does. That’s why he has a half-a-dozen pictures of himself. He has one of those Neapolitan complexes, because he’s little.”

“Napoleon,” Betty said, correcting Tillie’s misspeak, but not feeling the need to explain further.

“Yeah, him too,” Tillie said, not noticing the correction. “Even with that stupid hat of his, Napoleon was still looking at other people’s belly buttons twenty-four seven.”

Tillie paused before adding, “This bed is weird.”

“Looks nice to me.”

“I’m talking about the way the bed is positioned.” Tillie cocked her head. “Most people insist the bed is placed parallel to the road. The sleeper doesn’t get tossed around as much when the driver hits a pothole.”

Betty shrugged. “Maybe, the bed’s too long to be turned the other way.”

Tillie took a quick glance around the room. “I’ll be damned.”

She swung around and yanked the curtains open. Instead of a window, the curtains covered a solid wall.

“Where’s the window?” Tillie asked. Tillie began placing one foot in front of the other and walked toward the front of the bus. As soon as she reached the end of the bus she yelled back to Betty, “Fifty-two! It’s only fifty-two feet!”

“What are you talking about?” Betty yelled back.

Tillie raced back to Betty’s side. She said, “I figure my clunkers are about a foot each in length. According to my fake Blahniks, this bus interior is fifty-two feet long. There’s eight feet of bus missing.”

“But how could ...?”

Tillie interrupted, “I know busses, Betty. Trust me, this one is sixty-feet long. I check out every bus I see. And there is a rear window on this motor coach. I’ve seen it.”

“Where is it?”

Tillie said, “Behind the solid wall the curtains are hiding. The back window is inside a secret room.”

“Get out!”

“No, really! I’m positive there’s a secret room.” Tillie spread her gloved hands wide and placed them on the back wall. She began methodically tracing up and down on the wall. She asked, “Do you see anything that could be a button or a switch? Something that could open a secret door or entryway?”

“No.”

“Then go through the drawers,” Tillie instructed. “It could open by remote control.”

Betty rushed to the nightstand and pulled out the drawer. As the contents fell onto the bed, she jumped back quickly into the air as a handgun bounced upon the mattress.

“God, I’m sorry. If this thing had gone off, you ...”

Tillie interrupted her. “We don’t have time for apologies. Give me that thing.”

Betty reluctantly handed the gun to her. Tillie clicked on the safety but instead of handing it back, Tillie slipped the gun inside one of the pockets of her coat and zipped it shut.

“Tillie, I don’t think you should take the ...”

“Keep looking for a door. We’re running out of time.”

Reluctantly, Betty returned to her search, concerned that the former felon she knew as a friend was in possession of a weapon. If Tillie were found with a gun, she’d definitely end up back in jail.

Betty rummaged through the drawer, announcing each of her finds to Tillie. “One tube of chap stick, two bottles of lotion. Oh ick. Six packages of condoms, a boxed DVD, and oh ick again, double ick.”

Tillie turned around. “What did you find?”

“The DVD’s an adult DVD,” Betty admitted.

“Big deal,” Tillie answered.

“That’s the problem. It is a big deal. Now, I know why Boris was attracted to me. I’m a fetish!” Betty held the DVD up in the air so Tillie could read the title.

“
Big Old Mommas Gone Wild
,” Tillie read out loud before adding, “I wonder if there’s a series called
Redheaded Bus Drivers I’d Like To
…”

“Okay, back to work!” Betty interrupted and glanced at her watch. “The show’s over in eighteen minutes.”

“Check out the other areas in the bus for switches, or a remote,” Tillie instructed.

Betty rushed to the front and pressed every button and switch she could find, also jiggling the thermostat, pushing every number on the microwave, and working the TV remote in the living area. Nothing did anything except what it was supposed to do.

“Wait a minute!” Tillie yelled from the back room and rushed to Betty’s side.

“I’m smaller than you, right?”

“Ah, yeah, give or take by about eighty pounds.”

“Go to the bedroom and wait for me.”

Betty watched as Tillie scrambled off the bus. She raced to the back room. Whatever Tillie had in mind was important.

Betty’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t know if she was excited or terrified. She’d always wanted to be a cop, to be one of the good guys chasing down the bad. She just didn’t envision doing it as a fifty-five year old tour operator.

“Betty? Can you hear me?” Tillie’s voice was coming through the back wall.

“Yes!”

“I think I found the switch to the secret room,” Tillie yelled. Within seconds the door on the back wall slid open. Tillie stood in the middle of the once hidden room. Breathless, she said, “Not only did I find the switch back here to open the wall up, but I figured out earlier that the entrance to this secret room was located in the luggage compartment underneath the coach. That’s how I got into this room. I entered through the luggage compartment. I’m small enough to fit.”

“But not Boris, Rose, or Slevitch.”

“Or Farsi, or anyone else of size. Bottom line, whoever could squeeze through the luggage compartment was in control of the room.”

“And that alone could tick off a plus-sized crony.”

“Enough to kill?”

“Maybe. Take a gander at what’s hidden back here.”

Tillie stepped aside and Betty entered the tiny room.

A countertop rested along the backside of the room. In the center sat a computer along with inkjet printer and a paper cutter. The shelves above the counter were divided into sections, filled with bottles of brown and green liquids, reams of paper, and what appeared to be stacks of blank plastic cards. A blow dryer sat next to them.

“Look at that thing,” Tillie said, pointing toward the elaborate ceiling exhaust fan.

“That’s pretty fancy for a bus.”

“Not if you’re using chemicals.”

“You think Boris is a counterfeiter?” Betty asked, wondering why she bothered asking the obvious.

Tillie said, “They’re
all
counterfeiters. This isn’t a one-man job. See the sink? Remember how Rose claimed to work at a Laundromat? And how Boris glared at her?”

Betty’s face lit up in recognition. “Boris was furious at Rose for admitting onstage what they were up to! Not only are they counterfeiters, but they were laundering money.”

“Not exactly,” Tillie said. “I think Rose was complaining about having to wash
new
currency to make it look old. See the chemicals and the sink?”

Betty asked, “You know how this counterfeiting thing works?”

“Counterfeiting was one of the trades I learned in jail, just in case my sobriety didn‘t work out. I called it my 13th step. It’s actually pretty easy to do. Any kid with a thirty-dollar ink jet can turn five bucks into a fortune.”

Betty said, “Until he gets caught.”

Tillie responded, “Most people get caught because they’re stupid. Boris and his gang aren’t dumb. Look at what they’re making.” Tillie pulled out a printed piece of paper from the printer feed. She showed Betty the front and flipped it around to show the back of it. “Three perfect looking five-dollar bills on one sheet.”

“Fifteen dollars that cost pennies to make.”

“Look around you.” Tillie used her index finger to count the reams. She stopped at twenty-four. “Five hundred sheets multiplied by twenty-four equals 12,000 sheets.”

Betty did a quick mental calculation. “At fifteen dollars on one sheet, that’s would be $180,000 in fake bills. Just think what they would have if they’d printed a hundred dollar bill.”

Tillie answered, “They wouldn’t. They’re too smart. Who checks a five-dollar bill? You walk into a store with a hundred, odds are, the clerk will hold it up to a light. But, paying with a crummy old Abe Lincoln? Who gives a crap?”