Nick of Time (A Bug Man Novel) (24 page)
“Certainly—it’s very simple. What are these photos of?”
“That’s what I need you to tell me. They’re bug things— that’s all I know.”
“‘Bug things’?”
“Little brown things that look like grains of rice.”
“Ah, puparia—the casings left behind by larvae when they pupate into adults.”
“Whatever. The point is, Nick found these things in a bedroom not far from here—I went there after him and I found them too. Somebody died in that bedroom.”
“Really? How can you be certain?”
“Because my cadaver dog found the exact spot on the floor.”
“Oh yes, your remarkable dogs—I remember.”
“The carpet was pulled back from the wall. I figured Nick must have been looking for something, so I looked too—that’s when I found them.”
“The ‘bug things.’ ”
“Right.”
“Exactly where did you find them?”
“In a little crack where the wall meets the floor.”
“And how far was this crack from the location of the body?”
“Why does that matter?”
“It’s a bit complicated, my dear, but trust me—it does.”
“I took photos of the wall and the floor—you can see for yourself. If I send them to you, do you think you can tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s possible, Alena, but I have to tell you that the odds are against us. ‘What’s going on’ depends entirely on the species of insect Nicholas discovered, and species can be very difficult to determine from a puparium alone. Nicholas at least had the opportunity to examine them with his own eyes; I’ll have to work from a cell phone photograph, and the resolution could be very poor.”
“I took them as close up as I could. It’s a brand-new phone.”
“Well, that at least is in our favor. But I’ll have to enlarge the photos in order to identify any distinguishing features; I’m afraid that could take some time.”
“Noah, I don’t have any time—the wedding is tomorrow evening. I have no one else to go to—you’re the only guy I know besides Nick who might understand this stuff. I know this is last-minute, but can’t you hurry for me—for us? You can even make this our wedding present. There—you’re off the hook.”
Noah laughed. “And what am I to do with this coffeemaker?”
“Nick’s birthday. Please?”
“Very well. If you’ll send me the photos, I promise to clear my schedule and make this project my number one priority. I’ll call you the moment I know anything—
if
I know anything.”
“Thanks, Noah. If you can tell me what these things mean, maybe I can figure out what Nick’s doing.”
“Perhaps it’s a bit late to pose this question, but . . . why don’t you just wait for Nicholas to tell you what he’s doing?”
Now it was Alena’s turn to hesitate. “Noah . . . you know Nick better than anybody. He says you’re sort of his mentor.”
“It’s been my privilege to know Nicholas for several years.”
“Then you know how he works—how he thinks.”
“I’m not certain anyone knows precisely how Nicholas thinks, but I have watched him work many times.”
“Then tell me something: Is Nick the kind of guy who . . . follows through on things?”
“For example . . . a proposal of marriage?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Things like that.”
“I can tell you this: Nicholas has never been one to run away from things. In fact, he generally gets into trouble because he insists on running
into
things. He may be having doubts or second thoughts right now—that’s quite common on the eve of a life-altering event—but it would be unlike Nicholas to simply run away.”
“But does he ever just . . . forget things?”
Noah let out a sigh. “I wish I could tell you no—but I’m afraid he does.”
“Even big things? Important things?”
“As I said—he can be quite singular at times.”
“Noah—do you think Nick could forget our wedding?”
“Alena—can a man forget his own right arm? How could Nicholas ever forget you?”
E
d Yanuzzi sat at a round four-top in the center of the Pine Summit Diner, picking at a chicken salad sandwich and reading the Wednesday edition of the
Hawley News Eagle
. The diner was crowded as it always was at lunchtime, being the only sit-down eating establishment in downtown Pine Summit, and he enjoyed the ambient noise produced by all the conversations going on at once. It was one of the things he missed about New York: the background noise—the constant drone of conversation without having to listen to any of them. A little town like Pine Summit was different; here when people talked to you they expected you to listen. Ed found it exhausting, and the diner was where he came to relax.
He heard the sound of a chair scraping on the linoleum floor and looked up just in time to see Nick Polchak turn the chair across from him and straddle it.
Yanuzzi looked at him without expression. “You still in town, Polchak?”
“Still here. Surprised to see me?”
“Not really.”
“I was told I’d find you here.”
“So you found me. What’s on your mind?”
Nick tossed a lump of dark metal across the table; it bounced twice and clinked against the edge of Yanuzzi’s white ceramic plate. “Know what that is?”
Yanuzzi picked it up and looked at it. “I was in the FBI, Polchak—I’ve seen a bullet before.”
“Know where it came from?”
“Let me take a wild guess: a gun?”
“I dug it out of a wooden post I was leaning against.”
“Well, good for you. A souvenir of your visit to Pine Summit—most people just buy postcards.”
“Somebody took a shot at me this morning.”
Yanuzzi looked at him. “Where?”
“That cabin you sent me to—
your
cabin. You know, the one where Michelle Keller stays for your little weekend rendezvous.”
Yanuzzi glared across the table. “Would you mind holding it down a little?”
“What’s the matter, Yanuzzi? Are you worried that your reputation might lose a little luster if the good people of Pine Summit find out you’re shacking up with your dead deputy’s widow?”
The diner became suddenly quiet.
“Can we talk about this someplace else?” Yanuzzi whispered. “Someplace private?”
“I don’t think so,” Nick said. “I was in a private place this morning and it almost got me killed. There’s safety in numbers—didn’t your mother teach you that?”
“What is it you want, Polchak?”
“For starters, I’d like to know why you took a shot at me this morning.”
“Me? You’re out of your mind.”
“I can’t figure you out, Yanuzzi. Suppose you had a thing for your deputy’s wife, so you decided to get rid of him in a little ‘hunting accident.’ So the deputy’s widow moves away, but she drops by to visit from time to time and whenever she does you put her up in your cozy little cabin. Okay, I get that—but why would you tell me about it? You knew I’d go see her—I told you I would—but why would you take a shot at me? That makes no sense.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. That’s because you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I never had a ‘thing’ for Michelle Keller. Her husband died and she moved away—too many bad memories here. But she misses the mountains and she loves Pine Summit so she comes back to visit from time to time—and whenever she does I let her stay at my place. Where else is she supposed to stay?”
“And I suppose your wife would tell me the same story.”
Yanuzzi took a cell phone from his shirt pocket and set it in the center of the table. “Call her and find out.”
Nick stared at the phone for a moment. “Okay, so you gave your wife the same story—and she was dumb enough to believe it.”
“You think I’m cheating on my wife right under her nose?
You don’t know Gloria.”
“I think you’re cheating on your wife with your wife’s help.
She probably thinks she’s doing the Christian thing, showing compassion to the grieving widow. I’ll bet she bakes a pan of brownies every time Michelle comes to town.”
“So you talked to Michelle.”
“That’s right—I drove out there the other night.”
“And did Michelle tell you we were having an affair?”
Nick paused. “No—she said I had it all wrong.”
“So Michelle says you’ve got it wrong, and I say you’ve got it wrong, and Gloria would too if you gave her a call—that’s a perfect trifecta. You’re a hard man to convince.”
“There’s one little problem with your ‘trifecta,’” Nick said.
“What’s that?”
Nick took the bullet and held it up. “Michelle left a voice message for me early this morning. She said she wasn’t completely honest with me the other night—that there were things she needed to tell me. She asked me to meet her at your cabin at eight o’clock. I showed up, but she wasn’t there—and a few minutes later someone fired this bullet at me.”
“And you think it was a setup.”
“Maybe it was just one of those ‘hunting accidents’—that seems to happen a lot around here.”
“You’re sure the message was from Michelle?”
“She has a very distinct voice.”
“Sort of smoky, isn’t it?”
“Funny you should notice.”
“You did. What time did this shooting take place?”
“Eight fifteen—I happened to look at my watch just before I heard the shot.”
“I was in town all morning—and yes, I can prove it.”
Nick paused. “That’s too bad.”
“Why?”
“Because the only other interested party here is Michelle— and she didn’t show up this morning.”
“Now you think
Michelle
took a shot at you?”
“She knows the area. All she had to do was walk up the hillside.”
Yanuzzi smiled.
“Did I say something funny? I must have missed it.”
“You sure did,” Yanuzzi said. “Michelle left yesterday afternoon—she stopped by the house to say good-bye to Gloria on the way out of town. Michelle wasn’t in Pine Summit this morning, Polchak, and I’ll bet she can verify that. I was in town all morning and Michelle was back in New York—so who does that leave in your little conspiracy theory?”
“Michelle left the voice message. She could have made the call from anywhere.”
“She could have—but why would she? To cover up an affair we’re not having? This is a small town, Polchak—people talk. They know about Michelle and they know where she stays when she’s in town. You think you’re the first one to wonder what might be going on out at that cabin? I’d be taking shots at half the people in town.”
“Look,” Nick said. “I came up here because my dead friend and your dead deputy were both working on the same cold case. I asked Michelle Keller if she could tell me anything more about the case, but she was clueless—then a day later she leaves me a message saying she has something to tell me after all. So I show up at her door and somebody tries to kill me. I hate to sound paranoid, Sheriff, but how does that look to you?”
Yanuzzi leaned across the table and took the bullet from Nick’s hand. “Know what kind of bullet this is?”
“It’s a .308,” Nick said. “I stopped at a sporting goods store and asked them to size it for me.”
“A .308—a standard hunting round. The average man’s torso is about eighteen inches shoulder to shoulder—that’s a big target. Somebody took a shot at you with a hunting rifle and missed—but they somehow managed to hit the post you were leaning against. Gee—what a coincidence.”
“You’re suggesting they missed on purpose?”
“I’m saying nobody’s that bad a shot. It was probably just a prank—some kid with a rifle showing off for his friends.”
