Secondhand Stiff (8 page)

“Mom, you want a bite of my meatloaf?”

“Just a small one. I'm stuffed.” Using her fork, she picked up a mouthful of meatloaf and mashed potatoes from the end of the wrap and guided it into her mouth.

“Which reviewer was that?” asked Heide. “I know there are a lot, but we've gotten to know some of them over time.”

“His name was Bob Y.” I turned to my mother, playing the game she started. “Isn't that right, Mom?”

Her mouth was full, so she simply nodded.

I turned back to Heide. Her face was cloudy again, but I couldn't tell if it was because she was thinking or because she didn't care for the person behind the review.

“He's written several great reviews for food trucks, but he absolutely raves about yours. It's like he's addicted to your food.”

“And I can see why,” Mom squeaked out after swallowing.

“Do you know him?” I prodded when Heide remained silent.

“Can't place him,” she said, putting her game face back on.

“He only reviews two things,” I continued. “Food trucks and secondhand stores.” I took a drink of my lemonade. “Odd combination, isn't it? And as much as he loves food trucks, especially yours, he hates secondhand stores.”

Heide held up her hand in surrender. “Kids. Go figure.” She got up to go. “If you don't mind, let's take that photo now. I need to get back home and take a nap before tonight, and also get in some prep time in the kitchen. These nighttime events are usually jammed with customers.”

“I think Heide knows
who Bob Y is.”

We were in the car, travelling on the 405 Freeway, heading back home.

“I think you're right, Mom. Her face totally changed as soon as I mentioned his name, and she called him a kid. Either she made an assumption or knows him, but it still doesn't tell us who he is or if he'll be useful in helping us get the dirt on the stores.”

Mom was looking at the photo on her phone. I had taken it of Mom with Heide and Paul in front of their truck. “It came out great.”

“Do you really have a blog? Or were you making that up?”

“I do have a blog, just like I said.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” My voice sounded peevish in spite of my attempt to appear cool and relaxed.

“I didn't think you'd be interested in the ramblings of an old woman.”

“Did you post anything about the murder on it?”

“Sure did,” she answered with enthusiasm. “Much more newsworthy than
The Nutcracker
.”

“But I thought you liked the ballet Sunday.”

“I did, but let's face it, Odelia: no ballet can stand up to a murdered guy in a storage locker. And the blog has received more views than ever before. It might even go viral.”

Did my aged mother just use the term
viral
?

nine

Ina was still in
jail, and it wasn't looking good. Greg returned from the police department exhausted and frustrated the night of the auction. He informed us that along with the gun, inside Ina's backpack the police had found a fake passport and a plane ticket for Paris. The plane ticket was dated for the day after the auction. When questioned by the police and her lawyer, Ina had clammed up.

“It's as if she's given up,” Greg said after the arraignment two days later. We had all gone—Greg, Mom, Renee, Ron, and I; even Buck had shown up, but no one else I recognized from the auction. Ina entered a guilty plea to the gun charge. Since it was her first offense and Ina didn't have any other type of criminal record, we'd expected her to get released with just a stiff fine, which Greg was prepared to pay on her behalf. But the assistant district attorney effectively argued that since the gun was loaded when found and Ina was not the registered owner, that the charge should be elevated from a misdemeanor to a felony. He pushed for Ina to receive prison time.

The DA also stressed that Ina was a major suspect in a pending murder investigation, had been in possession of an illegal passport, and had proven to be a flight risk. Ina's lawyer pleaded vehemently against that course, underlining how Ina had not yet been charged with anything in connection with her husband's murder and likely had been fleeing the country to get away from her abusive spouse, not from a crime. Since her husband was now dead, there was no reason for her to flee the country. In the end, the judge took everything under advisement and set a sentencing date. He sent Ina back to jail without bail to wait until that time. When Ina was led away, she seemed reconciled to her fate; all her usual piss and vinegar drained from her like water from a bathtub.

“Do you think she's innocent of Tom's murder?” I asked.

Greg shrugged. We were alone in the house. After eating her lunch, Mom had taken Wainwright for a short walk. As with the cats, our dog had finally warmed up to her, especially now that he had another body willing to trot him up and down the sidewalks of Seal Beach, even if Mom did move at a much more leisurely pace than he preferred. As soon as they returned, Greg and Wainwright would head to Ocean Breeze Graphics for the rest of the day. Renee had been distraught after the hearing, and Ron had taken her straight home so she could rest.

“I don't know, sweetheart.” Greg polished off the rest of his grilled cheese sandwich and reached for a pear from the fruit bowl in the center of the table. “Even though her gun wasn't used in Tom's death, there's some pretty compelling and damaging evidence that points to her having motive, not to mention her silence. Her lawyer told me she's shut down and is even refusing to talk or listen to him regarding the murder. She seems resigned to sit in jail for a year on the gun charge, but if she's charged and convicted of Tom's murder, that year could turn into life.”

He took a bite of the fruit. As he chewed, he looked around. “Hey, wasn't Cruz supposed to come today?”

“She called and asked if she could come tomorrow instead. One of her grandchildren is home ill today, and she needs to take care of him for her daughter.”

Our doorbell rang. When I answered it, I found Dev Frye standing on our stoop. “Dev, what a nice surprise!”

He grunted and entered when I opened the door. “Didn't Greg tell you he called me?”

Although caught off-guard, I tried my best to hide it while I escorted Dev to our kitchen table. “Would you like some coffee or some lunch? Or how about a soda?”

Dev had lost weight since his bypass surgery. He was still a very large man but had trimmed down around his middle. His once- blond hair was now completely gray.

“A cup of coffee would be great, Odelia.” He took a seat at the table across from Greg.

“I called Dev when I found out Fehring was on the case,” Greg explained as I went to the counter to fetch Dev's coffee. “I was hoping he could help us understand what was going on.” He turned to Dev. “Did you find out anything?”

Dev jumped right into it. “It's not official, but it looks like Tom Bruce was killed by numerous blows to his skull with a long, thin, heavy object.”

“You mean like a bat,” Greg asked.

“More like a golf club or fireplace poker.”

Dev's answer took me back a bit. Seems I'm not the only one thinking about pokers as weapons, although my thoughts are fantasies.

“From the blood spatter and wound,” Dev continued, “forensics determined that he died in the chair in the storage locker where he was found.”

I set the mug of coffee and a spoon in front of Dev and placed the milk within his reach. “But Ina's much smaller than Tom. Could she have the strength to kill him like that?”

Dev splashed milk into his coffee and grunted. “You'd be surprised how strong a woman can be when motivated by years of abuse. I've seen men my size killed by women under a hundred pounds. And it looks like he might have been unconscious when the assault occurred, possibly drugged, which might prove premeditation.”

“So Tom was definitely abusing her?” I took a seat at the table between Dev and Greg.

Greg took my hand. “We suspected as much but didn't know for sure.”

“Looks that way,” answered Dev after taking a sip of coffee. “Although she's not talking about it. Andrea said there seems to be other bruises on Ina. And there have been past police reports filed by neighbors for domestic disturbances, but no arrests, and they couldn't find any incidents of emergency room visits.”

I scrunched my brows in thought. “But if she killed him, why would she go to that auction knowing the body would be there?”

“It's not uncommon for killers to return to the scene.” Dev took a long swig of coffee. “And it could have been used as a ruse to divert attention from her as a suspect. Even better that she had you ladies with her.”

I didn't like the idea that Ina might have used my mother and her aunt as decoys. She didn't know Mom from Eve, but she seemed to have more respect for Renee than that.

I sniffed. “I'm surprised Detective Fehring is giving you so much information.”

“I know you two didn't exactly see eye-to-eye last time, but Andrea's good people. I wish I could have hung on to her as a partner, but Long Beach offered her more opportunity for advancement. Besides,” he said, chuckling softly before continuing, “she also thinks if she funnels you small details here and there through me, you'll keep your nose out of it. She'll tell us what she can, but there's a lot she can't.” Dev looked directly at me. “I hope you understand that she still has a job to do.”

Greg's hand let go of mine and combed through his thick hair—a habit when he was frustrated. “And her job is nailing my cousin's ass to the wall.”

Dev put down his coffee mug with a soft thud. “Fehring's job is to find out who killed Tom Bruce. If your cousin killed him, then yes. If Ina didn't kill her husband, then she needs to cooperate and start talking so they can find out who did. I'll tell you this: having that plane ticket and fake passport did not help her case at all.”

No, it didn't, but I wasn't about to let that seal Ina's fate so easily. “As her lawyer said in court, she was disappearing to get away from Tom. Or she could have been starting her life over after Tom left her for that McIntyre woman.”

“The fake name would point to getting away from Tom,” Greg agreed. “But if he'd already left her, would he still be a threat?”

“I've seen it before,” Dev answered, “when the husband leaves but still controls his wife through fear. But what's really puzzling is now that Tom Bruce is dead, what does Ina have to fear? Andrea is pretty sure Ina knows something about her husband's murder but isn't talking, either out of fear or because she did it. I hate to say this, folks, but it looks like she was planning a getaway, not just a new life. Seems she had also cleaned out their bank accounts, both personal and the store's, the morning of the auction.”

Greg raked a hand through his hair again. “Did they find the money in her bag with the plane ticket?”

“No. Ina had a few thousand dollars in the bag, but not near as much as the withdrawal.”

My nose twitched in thought. “I never figured Tom and Ina as having a bundle of cash. I mean, the store appeared to be doing okay, but it didn't seem like a gold mine.” I turned to Greg. “Am I missing something here, honey?”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Another rake through his hair. If this kept up, I'd have a bald husband. “Dev, do you know how much the withdrawal was for?”

“Andrea said in the neighborhood of three hundred grand.”

Greg gave off a low whistle. I stared at Dev as if he'd said he found Jimmy Hoffa.

“Are you sure Ina withdrew the money and not Tom?” asked Greg.

“The bank said it was her. One of the theories is that she used the money to pay someone to kill her husband.”

Without another word, Greg and I looked at each other. I knew from the set of my husband's jaw that as soon as Dev was gone, we were going to talk about this some more. The missing money definitely added a new twist.

“What about security cameras?” Greg asked. “Don't all those storage places have them?”

“Yes, but nothing turned up. Not sure why. There was either a glitch in the system or the assailant knew how to bypass them. Either way, there's zip on the camera. Fehring and Whitman checked it out already.”

Dev kicked back the rest of his coffee and got up to leave. “Gotta get back to work. I had an appointment nearby, so I thought I'd tell you in person what I'd learned.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Is Mrs. Littlejohn here? I'd like to meet her.”

“Mom's out with Wainwright,” I said.

Dev laughed. “I thought I saw Wainwright prancing down the street when I drove up. At least I spotted a golden retriever walking with an older lady.”

“That's them,” I confirmed, “but they should be home soon.”

“Another time, maybe. I really have to run. Is Clark still in town?”

“No,” I told him. “He got called off to a job right after Thanksgiving, but he should be back in a day or so. He'll be accompanying Mom back to New Hampshire.”

Dev and Clark got along famously, bonded by their years of police work. I didn't know if Dev knew Clark now worked for Willie. He did know Clark had retired from the job and was currently handling private security for a company, but I left it up to my brother to give Dev the details. Or not.

Greg rolled over to the detective and held out his hand. “Thanks, Dev. We really appreciate your help.”

“I'll keep you posted as much as I can.”

I stood up and gave Dev a hug. “When Clark returns, maybe you and Bev can come over for dinner and meet Mom before she goes.” Bev was Dev's girlfriend, a schoolteacher he'd been seeing for some time.

Under my embrace I felt Dev stiffen. I let go of him and studied his face but saw nothing but his cop mask.

“Yeah, sure.” His tone held the enthusiasm of being invited to a wake. “That would be great.”

When Dev was gone, I turned to Greg. “What did you make of
tha
t
?”

“Of what?”

“Dev's reluctance right now. He sure didn't seem as friendly as usual.”

“What do you expect, sweetheart?” Greg picked up his plate and glass from the table and wheeled them over to the sink. “He was here to tell us it looks like my cousin could be convicted as a killer.”

I grabbed Dev's coffee mug and joined Greg in the kitchen. “I don't think it was just that.” I put the mug into the dishwasher, along with Greg's plate and glass. “There's something he's not telling us.” I paused, holding the dishwasher half open. “I could almost smell it.” I shut the door as if punctuating my comment.

Greg laughed. “What you smelled is a cop being cagey about what he can and cannot tell us.” He rolled back to the table. “Now let's discuss our plans before Grace gets back.”

I rinsed my hands at the sink and wiped them on a kitchen towel. “Our plans?”

“We need to start checking out some stuff.”

“What do you think I was doing yesterday?”

“Checking into that Bob Y character was a nice start, but I think we need to start digging deeper and faster.”

“I was thinking of paying some of those secondhand stores a visit. I could do that today if I can shake Mom.”

“I don't know, sweetheart, taking her along initially might be a good cover, as long as there's no danger. But as soon as things heat up, you'll need to get her out of the picture, not to mention yourself.” Greg fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “I'm sorry I can't join you today. I have a big customer order to take care of, and Chris is out.” Chris Fowler was Greg's right-hand man at the shop. “But he should be back tomorrow, then you and I can hit the road together. In the meantime, call or text me with anything you find out, and I'll tackle any research I can from the office.”

“Sounds good.” I walked over to the table and stroked my husband's hair, using a lot softer strokes than he had earlier. I noticed a bit of gray starting to appear around his temples. It looked adorable—but then I'm biased. “But are you sure, honey, you don't want to wait and see what the authorities come up with or at least wait until Clark takes Mom home?”

He took my hand from his head and kissed it. “That would be the prudent thing to do, but I don't think I can sit around and wait knowing Ina may go down in flames. It would drive me crazy. It's bad enough she's in jail.”

“What if she's guilty?”

“Then she's guilty. But until I know that for sure, I'm not going to stop looking into this mess.” He kissed my hand again. “You with me?”