Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) (13 page)

Nine

“Murder? As in someone intentionally
killed Ginny Chapman? How?”

Another sigh. “I’m not allowed to divulge details, and I’m pretty sure Sheriff Jackson and Sean haven’t notified the next of kin.”

Both fair points. Unfortunately, neither made me want the information less. After all, I had been in the building acting like Bridal Bingo’s answer to Vanna White when Ginny was killed. I was a witness. I might have seen the killer.

As much as I wanted answers, though, I wasn’t about to push Lionel. Not after a day of accompanying a dead body and observing while it was poked, prodded, and pierced. Ew. Lionel didn’t need to relive that adventure. What he needed was food and a distraction. Lucky for him, I was happy to provide both.

Twenty minutes later, I was standing at Lionel’s front door with a vegetarian pizza and a shoulder bag containing a change of clothes and my toothbrush. Just in case.

Lionel smiled when he saw me and the pizza. His jaw dropped when I took off my puffy white coat and revealed the low-cut, black lace bustier Jasmine had talked me into buying two years ago. I’d never had a reason to wear it and often complained that it was money wasted. Turned out I was wrong. Not only was that cash not wasted, it was quite possibly the best money I’d ever spent.

The next morning, I woke with the bustier on the floor and a smile on my face. Unfortunately, Lionel was once again nowhere to be found. This whole morning disappearing act was enough to give a girl a complex. On the plus side, coffee and cold pizza were waiting for me when I arrived downstairs. As were a text message from Danielle asking what I thought of bags of nuts for favors and a voice mail from my grandfather telling me to drop by his place pronto. He had news.

Since the nuts sounded, well, nuts, I vowed to come up with something better and sent my grandfather a text saying I was on my way. Then I burned my tongue chugging coffee and grabbed a slice of cold pizza for the road. It was time to hear what the Indian Falls Senior Center grapevine was gossiping about.

The minute I stepped into the kitchen, Pop announced, “Ginny was murdered.”

“I heard.”

Pop’s face fell. “You heard? How?”

“Doc asked Lionel to observe the autopsy. He called on his way home to let me know why he hadn’t been in touch.”

“Why didn’t you call and tell me?” Pop plopped a hand on his brown-velour-clad hip. “Ginny was my friend. I had a right to know.”

“I was waiting for you to call me back. I left you a message.”

Pop snapped his gnarled fingers. “I forgot about your message. Sorry.” He poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter and handed it to me. “I had a date with Francine Holmes and meant to call when I got home, but one thing led to another. You know how that goes.” He winked.

I winced.

“Since your father cramps my style, we went back to her place. That’s the only reason I know about Ginny. I was Poligripping my dentures when Francine got a call from Nan, who just talked to Doreen, who heard from Eleanor that Ginny’s death had been ruled a homicide.”

My head spun trying to follow that game of telephone from hell. Not sure if the information was going to be any more accurate than when I played that game in elementary school, I asked, “Did Eleanor mention the cause of death? Lionel wasn’t in the mood to share.”

“He probably doesn’t want you mixed up in another murder investigation, seeing as how the last murderer came after you while you were investigating.”

Technically, the murderer was gunning for me all along and just missed the first time. I wasn’t sure that counted. Still, Pop could have a point. During Sherlene-n-Mean’s murder investigation, Lionel changed his mind about my selling the rink and suggested I leave town and go back to Chicago. He wanted me safe, even if that meant losing whatever we were building between us. His suggestion ticked me off then. Now the memory made my stomach all tingly. Relationships were weird.

Pop didn’t notice my tingling. “Francine said Nan had a hard time understanding all the details, but according to Doreen, who heard it from Eleanor, Doc Truman was concerned about Ginny’s toes.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it was her nose. Whatever it was, Doc decided the situation was unusual enough to call for an autopsy. That’s how we know Ginny died of insulin shock.”

“Was Ginny diabetic?” Maybe this wasn’t murder but a terrible accident. Maybe everyone was overreacting. After all, Indian Falls had seen more murders in the last year than it had in over a decade. Jumping to conclusions would be understandable given the circumstances.

“Nope.” Pop burst my bubble. “Ginny eats sugar like a champ. She always wins the center’s annual Halloween candy-corn-eating contest. Louise started a petition last year to get Ginny disqualified based on her lack of medical conditions. Thank goodness the board nixed that one or we’d have been eating leftover candy corn for weeks. That stuff is hard to pry off the dentures.”

Before Pop could pull out his teeth and clean them in front of me, I steered the conversation back to the murder. “I’m surprised Eleanor told”—I blinked, trying to recall who Eleanor had talked to—“someone about the cause of death. Was the next of kin notified by the time she called?”

“Eleanor wouldn’t have leaked the information before they were called. Normally Eleanor wouldn’t have leaked it at all. You know how tight-lipped she can be unless she’s provided with a big incentive.”

I winced as a picture of Eleanor decked out in black leather flashed through my mind. Yeah—Eleanor kept her mouth shut unless she had a good reason not to. Last time her reason was an evening with Pop. “What was her reason for sharing information this time?”

“The cause of death.” My blank stare made Pop explain. “Eleanor was concerned the murderer might have stolen someone’s insulin prescription and swapped it with water or something worse. She’s coordinating a medical task force to make house calls on anyone in Indian Falls who takes insulin and verify they have the right medication. I volunteered for the job, but Eleanor said watching
M*A*S*H
reruns doesn’t qualify as medical training. She’s probably right.”

Pouring myself another cup of Pop’s coffee, I asked, “Have you heard what Sean thought of the medical examiner’s ruling?” Sean was the one who originally said Ginny died of natural causes. He wasn’t gracious when proven wrong.

“Not a clue, but I’d imagine he’s going to be too busy running down a murderer to catch the Thanksgiving Day thief. He must be grateful you’re picking up the slack.”

Sure, and Elwood might guide Santa’s sleigh this year.

However, Pop’s optimism made a great segue to the questions I’d wanted to ask yesterday. “Are you friends with Seth and Jan Kurtz? I went by their house yesterday to talk to them about the first theft, and only the dogs were home.”

“I’ve known Seth for almost forty years, but I can’t say he’s my friend. He used to be thick with Paul Jacabowski, but the two had a falling-out. Since then Seth hasn’t been much for socializing unless he’s talking about dogs or plants. His main objective in life seems to be beating Sheriff Jackson for first place in the St. Mark’s Women’s Guild’s Beautiful Garden Contest. Part of me thinks he keeps that many dogs just so he has enough fertilizer.”

Interesting theory.

“What about Jan?”

Pop grabbed a box of Cocoa Puffs off the counter and frowned as he shook it. Empty. My father’s appetite had struck again.

Pitching the box, Pop said, “Jan’s a nice lady. She spends most of her time painting flamingos on ceramic bowls.” When I blinked, Pop added, “She’s trying to convince Seth they should go to Florida during the winter. A few of the folks at the center started a snowbird club. Every year they rent a house in Sarasota and spend their winter on the beach while the rest of us are up to our eyebrows in snow and cold.”

“Why haven’t you gone with them?” I asked. Pop’s Elvis act would be a hot commodity among the senior Floridian set. Although just thinking about him being that far away for several months made me sad.

“I thought about it, but it’s too much work finding someone to house-sit. Not to mention the packing involved. Packing sucks.” Pop jumped, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. “Ethel’s calling. She’s the branch above me on the center phone tree.”

While Pop talked to Ethel, I snuck into the garage to raid Pop’s secret food stash. Pop-Tarts. Score!

Careful to pull the tarp back over the small fridge and Rubbermaid container, I hurried back into the warmth of the kitchen and made a beeline for the toaster. I was just polishing off the last piece of the frosted imitation-strawberry treat when my father sauntered into the kitchen, wearing black denim pants and a beige sweater.

“Do I smell Pop-Tarts?” His nose twitched. “I didn’t know we had those.”

“I think I ate the only one in the house,” I was able to say truthfully. The rest were out in the garage. “Sorry.”

Dad shrugged. “It’s probably for the best. Too much sugar creates wrinkles.” Pop walked back into the room with drooped shoulders and a wistful look in his eyes. I might have imagined the sympathy that crossed Stan’s face before he smiled and nodded toward my grandfather. “See what I mean about sugar causing wrinkles?”

Pop didn’t even glance at my father. “Ethel said the murder ruling has thrown a wrench into the services. The wake has been moved to Sunday. The burial will be on Monday, weather permitting.”

The weather report I’d heard said the first snow of the year might come as early as this week. Just thinking about it made me depressed. So did the dejected expression on Pop’s face and his lack of reaction to Stan’s jibe. Pop loved an excuse to fight with Stan. The fact that he didn’t throw back an insult told me just how deeply Ginny’s death had affected him.

I needed to make Pop smile, and I was pretty sure I knew a way. Tugging on my coat, I said, “I’m going to head over to the Kurtzes’ place today to see if they’ll talk to me about the theft. Want to come along?”

The investigation would be a good way to distract Pop, and his familiar presence could encourage the Kurtzes to talk to me about the breakin.

“Hey.” Stan looked up from the coffee he was pouring. “Are you visiting Seth and Jan?”

I blinked. “You know them?”

“I ran into them at the center yesterday when I was doing a consultation.” My father grabbed a spoon and ladled sugar into his mug. I guess he didn’t care if he got wrinkles after all. “Seth has a distinguished look I can sell to advertisers. I planned to search for him at the center and make my pitch, but if you’re going by his place I can just tag along for the ride. Maybe I can even help you with this whole investigation thing. Your old man’s just as wily as your grandfather, you know.”

I did know. How else could I explain the way he had neatly boxed me into letting him accompany me and Pop to question witnesses?

Pop made four phone-tree calls from the passenger seat while my father rummaged through his briefcase in the back. I couldn’t help but note that Stan didn’t make a single comment the entire ride. Either his work was that engrossing or he was being respectful of Pop and his feelings.

I parked the car in the middle of the long driveway and got out. Dogs came flying from around the side of the house, barking their heads off. Three ran for the front porch. The other trio stormed toward me.

Yikes.

The barking grew louder and angrier as I shrieked and dove back into the car. Getting mauled by dogs wasn’t on today’s to-do list. I grabbed the handle of the door and slammed it shut as a Cujo wannabe mashed his nose against my window, bared his teeth, and growled. Doggy drool smeared across the glass. Yick—but better the window than me.

I was about to put my key in the ignition and clear out when a loud whistle pierced the air. The dogs stopped barking. A second whistle had them bounding up to the porch, where Seth Kurtz was waiting. One by one they sedately padded through the front door.

Impressive.

Not impressive enough for me to get out of the car. Pop and Stan didn’t feel the same. As soon as the dogs were out of sight, they climbed out of my Civic and headed up the walk. Crap. Unless I wanted to look like a total wimp, I had to follow.

“I don’t believe you’ve talked to my granddaughter, Rebecca, since she came back to town,” Pop said as I cautiously stepped onto the porch.

Seth shook my hand but didn’t invite us inside. I didn’t mind. Being outside was nice. Warmth was highly overrated.

Pop didn’t agree. “Julie Johnson hired Rebecca to look into the Thanksgiving Day thefts. Since you were the first victim, Rebecca needs to ask you some questions. Can we come inside?”

Instead of answering the question, Seth folded his arms over his chest and nodded toward Stan. “What’s he doing here?”

“I’m just along for the ride,” my father answered. “I’d be happy to wait in the car if it’d make you feel better.” He rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet in an effort to keep warm and gave Seth a tremulous smile.

“Seth, where are your manners?” a pleasant but firm voice said from behind Seth. “Invite them into the house. You’re letting out the heat.”

My grandfather didn’t need to be asked twice. He gave Seth a big smile and marched into the house. Stan followed. I paused at the door and cocked my head, listening for the sounds of Cujo’s second cousins.

“I put the dogs in the basement, dear.” Mrs. Kurtz smiled her understanding. “They wouldn’t hurt you. My boys aren’t biters, but they do get a bit overenthusiastic when visitors drop by. Come in from the cold. I have hot tea and sugar cookies waiting in the kitchen.”

A gust of wind and the promise of cookies chased me inside. After hearing so much about Seth being protective of his home, I expected something … different. Flashier. More expensive. Not that the house wasn’t lovely. It was. The honey-colored wood floors were polished. The walls of the living room we passed as Jan led us down to the back of the house were painted a warm, muted yellow that complemented the comfortable-looking deep blue sofa and chairs. The pale green-and-white kitchen was stylistically dated, but inviting. If it hadn’t been for the scratching and whining coming from a door on the other side of the room, I would have felt very much at home.