Secondhand Stiff (16 page)

eighteen

My nose did not
appear to be broken, but the paramedics told me I should get it x-rayed just in case. They stopped the bleeding and offered to take me to the nearest emergency room, but I turned the offer down. “My husband will take me if I think I should go.”

I always keep ibuprofen in my bag and now pressed it into service. I swallowed two, washing them down with bottled water offered by the paramedic. I swallowed two more two minutes later. Something told me this was going to hurt even more in a few hours. The paramedic told me I might even get a black eye. Great.

Once again we were giving the auction-goers a memorable day, but at least a dead body wasn't involved. While the paramedics took care of me, Fehring was questioning Greg. I didn't like not being part of that little party, but I had no choice.

Whitman was with Linda, who was now in handcuffs and more subdued. Fehring had ordered Greg to let her go, but he refused until someone removed Linda's gun. As soon as Fehring saw the weapon, she took it into custody. Like Ina, Linda wasn't licensed to carry a concealed weapon. She was calmer now but still agitated. Uniformed cops had been called. I looked over just as Whitman handed her off to a patrolman. As she was being led to a squad car for a trip to the station, her eyes caught mine and she grinned. It took me aback. Was she smirking because she'd hit me or because she wasn't worried about being arrested? She certainly didn't seem concerned about a police record. Then again, she probably already had one, so what's a little thing like a weapons charge?

Released by the paramedics, I made my way to Fehring and Greg. While the cops dispersed the crowd, Detective Whitman approached Tiffany Goodwin and Kim Pawlak.

When I reached Greg's side, Fehring said to me, “I see you still have a knack with people.”

“Yeah,” I answered, carefully touching my nose. “It's a gift.”

“Cut the smartass remarks. You're lucky.” She looked from me to Greg. “Both of you are lucky that McIntyre didn't pull the gun and start shooting. People like her don't carry guns as fashion accessories.”

“People like her,” I parroted. “So she's a criminal?”

“Nothing major on record, but she's a very tough cookie. No telling who her friends are.”

“Someone like her has friends?” In spite of just having the snot smacked out of me, I couldn't help myself or my mouth.

“The way I see it,” Greg said to Fehring before she could scold me, “there are only two reasons to carry a gun—offense or defense. I have no doubt the gun Ina had in her backpack was for defense, but why would Linda McIntyre be carrying one? I'm guessing for the same reason or else she would have pulled it on us.”

“Which means she's afraid of something,” I added, quickly seeing where my hubs was going with this. “She didn't have a gun the last time she was here. The way she was dressed, there was no place to hide it.”

Fehring gave us a look that said loud and clear we weren't telling her anything she hadn't already thought of on her own. “Listen,” Fehring began, “I really appreciate you letting me know Linda McIntyre was here. We weren't very far away at the time. But you two are too smart for your own good. Hopefully this altercation will put the fear of God in you, since I can't seem to. I have no doubt Linda is afraid of something. I wouldn't be surprised if a few others here today have weapons of some sort on them.”

Greg and I looked at each other, both knowing what Fehring said about the others was probably true.

Whitman came up to us. “Any news on Buck yet?” I asked him.

He ignored me and spoke to Fehring as if she was the one who had asked the question. “Tiffany still claims he hasn't contacted her. Says she's worried sick.”

“Do you believe her?” asked Fehring.

Whitman ran a hand over his chin. “Yeah, I do. Seems he's gone to ground.”

When a wave of pain passed, I said, “Linda thinks he set the blast at his store to cover the fact he killed Tom Bruce.”

Fehring nodded. “It's a definite possibility.”

She closed her little notebook and stashed it in a pocket of her trousers. As usual, she was dressed very masculine. Not for the first time, I wondered what Andrea Fehring would look like in a dress and heels. She was fairly attractive in a no-frills way, and I had to admit she was growing on me.

“By the way,” Fehring said, “where's Mrs. Littlejohn today?”

“She and my mother are getting their hair done,” Greg answered.

“Good,” Fehring said with a hint of a smile. “Just where she belongs. Last thing I need is another nosy Nellie.” She turned to me. “You should have gone with them.”

I placed a hand gently on the side of my face and winced. “No argument there.”

The auction crowd had dispersed quickly after the third and final auction of the day. Some stood around hoping to see more girl-on-girl Fight Club, but when Linda was hauled away in the patrol car, they also left.

Kim Pawlak approached us with Tiffany in tow. Up close, Tiffany looked more worried and exhausted than she had before. “What am I supposed to do with that storage unit?” Kim asked the police. “Linda McIntyre hasn't paid for it yet.”

“Give her a few days,” Whitman said. “Unless we find something more serious than a concealment charge, she'll probably be released in record time.”

“That's not how this works,” insisted Kim. “It's a cash business. You bid. You pay. Elite needs that locker. Acme needs their money.”

“A couple of days,” pressed Whitman. “It won't kill you or this dump to give her that. Just charge McIntyre rent on the unit until she clears it out.”

Seeing Kim wasn't sold on the idea, Fehring added, “My partner is right. You can always put it back up for auction, but won't that take several days to set up again anyway?”

Her eyes rolled behind her glasses as Kim weighed her options. “Yeah, you're right. Linda has always been a good customer. I'll talk to Elite about extending the time on the unit for her, but I'm sure they're going to charge her for the extra time.”

She turned to Tiffany. “I'll be right back. Why don't you stay here in case the other bidders have questions.” Leaving Tiffany behind, Kim took off at a trot for the front of the complex.

Whitman zeroed in on Tiffany. “Anything you want to add or remember before we go?”

The young woman shook her head, her eyes down, giving the appearance of being meek and mild.

“You have my card,” Whitman added. “Give me a call if you do remember something or if your father contacts you.”

In response, Tiffany held up a white business card pinched between two fingers like something sticky and stinky.

Whitman and Fehring started to leave, but not without a parting gift from Fehring in my direction. “Go home, Odelia. Put your feet up. Put some ice on that face. We've got this from here.” The detective took a few steps, then turned again. “Or should I stay to make sure you leave?”

“We're going, we're going,” I confirmed. To emphasize my point, I wobbled a little when I took a step. “Trust me, all I want to do is go home and take a long, hot bath.”

With an assured nod, Fehring left.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Greg asked, putting a strong hand on my elbow.

“Dandy,” I replied. I turned my attention to Tiffany Goodwin, who was watching the detectives leave with a relief similar to my own, although I doubted it was for the same reason. I wanted to talk to her without them around. Tiffany probably just wanted them gone, which was confirmed when she crumpled Whitman's business card and threw it to the ground in disgust.

“Hi,” I said, approaching her. She gave me a steely look of wariness and studied the blood stains that had dribbled down my boobs. “We're related to your friend Ina Bruce,” I told her. “My husband here is her cousin.”

When Tiffany's eyes moved to Greg, her defensive demeanor changed and her shoulders relaxed. “You're Greg?”

He wheeled closer. “That I am. And this is my wife, Odelia. We're trying to help Ina and would like to talk to you.”

“Ina's told me a lot about you.” She took a solid stance and hugged the clipboard to her chest like armor. “Like I told the police, I don't believe Ina killed Tom. It's not who she is, even if he did smack her around.”

“We don't believe she did it either,” Greg assured her. “Did you know she was leaving town right after that auction?”

Tiffany pursed her lips and stuck a hand in the pocket of her jeans. “Yeah, I knew. She told me the only way she'd ever be rid of Tom for good would be to disappear.”

“But Tom was with Linda McIntyre,” I pointed out.

“That wouldn't have lasted. Tom and Ina have broken up before, but he always came back to Ina and she always took him back. This time she was going to put some serious distance between them so he couldn't find her. She didn't tell me where because she didn't want Tom to try and squeeze it out of me.”

“It was Paris,” I told her. “She had a plane ticket for Paris and a fake passport.”

A sad smile crossed Tiffany's lips. “She always said she wanted to see Paris.”

“Linda just told us Tom was going to buy Ina out of their business,” Greg said.

Tiffany scoffed. “With what? Tom was always broke. If not for Ina, he'd have spent every dime they made from the store.”

“My cousin must have been a good little saver then,” commented Greg, “because the day she was supposed to fly to Paris, she withdrew three hundred grand from their bank accounts.”

Tiffany's mouth almost hit the pavement. “Wow! I didn't realize their store was doing that well.”

“Can a secondhand store generate that kind of money?” asked Greg. “Seems unlikely to me.”

“Yeah, they can,” Tiffany answered, “depending on the type of merchandise and the turnaround time. The less time merchandise is in the shop, the sooner you can restock and make more money. Some of these guys have a good eye and stumble onto very valuable stuff from time to time. I've been around these resale shops most of my life. My dad has one.” She looked down at the ground. “Or did have.”

“Is that how you hooked up with this job?” I asked.

She nodded without looking up. “I used to come to the auctions once in a while with my father.” She glanced up at us. “That's how I met Kim. Since I already knew the business, when she became an owner of Acme, she asked if I wanted to work for them.”

“Did you also work with Red Stokes?”

“Sometimes. And sometimes Kim still acted as his assistant.”

Before we could say anything more, Tiffany started to edge away toward the bowels of the storage complex. “Look,” she said, “I have a job to do here. I want to help Ina, but all I know is that she was leaving right after the auction.”

“But,” I persisted, “why would she bother coming here at all if she was leaving?”

Tiffany stopped walking. “She came for a couple of reasons. She wanted to say goodbye to Tom and to tell him it was over for good, and she wanted to say goodbye to my dad. She was like a second daughter to him. The night before the auction, she dropped by my place and said there were things she wanted to tell Dad, but she couldn't reach him.”

“Do you know what those things were?”

“I think it was about me. About him being more understanding and not pushing me away.”

“About you being gay?” I ventured.

She was surprised by my question, but only for a second. “Yeah. He didn't take it well. He was really pissed off when I moved in with Kim.”

She started walking away, and we followed. We could walk and talk with the best of them.

Greg pulled alongside her and kept pace with her strides. “Tiffany, do you have any idea where your father is?”

She'd stopped short in front of the locker where Tom's body had been found just days before in a lounge chair. It was difficult to miss the unit since yellow police tape was still stretched across the front like tape at a finish line—Tom's finish line.

From the look on Tiffany's face, Greg's question had hit a nerve. “As I told that slimy cop, I don't.”

“You mean Detective Whitman?” I asked. I wasn't a big fan of his either and was pleased to see someone else had my good taste.

“Yeah,” Tiffany spat. “He couldn't keep his hands off of me while he talked.” She shivered. “Kept calling me ‘sweetie' and rubbing my arm. He said he could help my dad if I'd cooperate. I got the feeling he didn't mean cooperate with the cops either.”

“Are you sure?” Greg asked.

“He even put his private cell number on the back of his card.” She shivered again. “Pissed at me or not, my dad would have knocked his block off if he'd been here. For all his faults, my father has a soft spot for women, especially women being mistreated or in bad situations.”

“He likes to save women?” I asked, interested. “Like be their knight in shining armor?”

“Yeah, kind of, but not like make them dependent on him—nothing like that. Dad likes to empower women, help them stand on their own two feet. I think it's something he does because he was raised by a single mom. That, and he always felt it was his fault my mother never kicked her drug habit.”

I thought of the big bruiser of a guy in the muscle shirt standing next to my mother and taking her crap without so much as a blink of an eye. He certainly didn't look the part of a sensitive feminist-supporting guy, but, as most of us discover in life, looks were often deceiving.

“You sound sad but very proud,” I told her.

“I am proud of him, but it also surprised me how angry he got when I came out and moved in with Kim. He always told me I could do anything I want as long as it made me happy. Guess that didn't include sexual orientation.”

I shook my head at the mix-up caused by Bill. Guess he wasn't as observant as he thought. “Bill Baxter told us that you and Buck had a falling out about a young man who worked at the store.”