The Snow White Christmas Cookie (15 page)

Des smiled at her sweetly. “Yolie, I do what I can.”

“Did the victim have any money troubles?” Toni asked.

“I hear he was into his ex-wife big-time. Mitch is the one who got wind of it—by way of a friend who didn’t have much use for Hank.”

“Any chance this friend might have killed him?”

“No, he’s over eighty years old. Can barely get around.” Then again, Des reflected, if Rut Park wanted someone to take care of Hank he had dozens of loyal friends who owed him favors. Would they do him this kind of a favor?

“Something’s bothering me, Loo…,” Toni said slowly.

“Then spit it the hell out, Sergeant,” Yolie barked. She rode the kid hard. Was supposed to. Plus it amused her. “
Don’t
waste the resident trooper’s valuable time by telling me you’ve got something to tell me. Just
say
it.”

“Right, Loo. Sorry, Loo. If the victim brushed up against a black-market meds ring then we are talking about some real bad boys. The kind of boys who’d put a bullet in your head. They wouldn’t bother to stage a suicide. Someone went to a whole lot of extra trouble here. Why?”

“Good question, Sergeant,” Des said. “I wish I had an answer for you. All I know is that Hank was one of my people and I let him down.”

“You’re taking this kind of personally, aren’t you?” Toni said.

“Miss Desiree Mitry takes
everything
personally,” Yolie lectured her. “Miss Desiree Mitry
cares.
That’s why she’s good at her job. You feeling me, Sergeant?”

Toni nodded her head convulsively. “Absolutely, Loo.”

Yolie gazed at Des curiously. “Sorry, did you say this was your second suicide of the day?”

“First one was Bryce Peck, Mitch’s neighbor out on Big Sister.”

“Any chance that one wasn’t a suicide either?”

“To me it played suicide all of the way. But given what’s happened here we certainly ought to take a…” Des’s cell phone interrupted her. She glanced down at its screen. “Paulette Zander’s calling me. I’d better take this.”

“Go for it.”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Des,” Paulette said when Des answered. “But I-I’m a bit … I’m worried about Hank.” Her voice was faint and halting. “He went out before dinner and he hasn’t come back and I-I don’t know where he is. This … isn’t like him.”

“What time did he leave, Paulette?”

“It was about 5:30, I think. But he doesn’t have band practice tonight. It was cancelled. Everything’s been cancelled. And he sent me the
strangest
text message. I was downstairs doing laundry and I didn’t notice it until just now.”

“What does his message say?”

“Here, I can read it to you … It says,
‘It’s all my fault. I messed up. Sorry for everything. Take care of yourself.’
”

“And what time did he send this?”

“I got it at 7:13.”

About thirty minutes before Paul Fiore phoned 911 from Kinney Road.

“I’m probably overreacting,” Paulette went on. “But I just wondered if there’ve been any accidents on the road tonight or-or…” She trailed off into uneasy silence. “Have there?”

Des didn’t like to break this kind of bad news to a loved one over the phone. Doing it in person was much more humane. “Paulette, how about if I stop by and we talk about this, okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Then she rang off and said, “That cell phone on the seat next to Hank just got a whole lot more interesting. He texted a suicide note to his girlfriend.”

Yolie frowned at her. “So maybe it
is
a suicide.”

“Or maybe he texted her at gunpoint. Then again, maybe
he
didn’t text her. Maybe one of his killers did.”

“We don’t usually have much luck getting developed prints off of those teeny-tiny buttons. But we might get one off of the phone itself.” Yolie sat there in brooding silence for a moment. “Damn, where were we?…”

“Today’s first suicide, Loo,” Toni reminded her.

“For breakfast in bed this morning Bryce Peck washed down a boatload of Vicodin, Xanax and Ambien with a fifth of Cuervo Gold. I saw no sign of a struggle. No bruises. No scratches. Nothing in the room was disturbed. Bryce had a long history of depression and substance abuse. He left a handwritten note. And he died out on Big Sister. It’s a private island. No one else was out there this morning besides Bryce, Mitch and Bryce’s live-in girlfriend, Josie Cantro. Josie and Mitch went out running together for about an hour. She found Bryce when she got home. Like I said, to me it played suicide. But I could have missed something. You may want to fast track his autopsy. The M.E. doesn’t usually get around to suicides for days.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Yolie said, shoving her lower lip in and out. “Bryce Peck OD’d on prescription meds. Any chance he was mixed up in stealing the meds from Hank Merrill’s route?”

“Anything’s possible, but I kind of doubt it. Bryce was a loner.”

“Well, is there any connection at all between the two men?”

“Josie Cantro. Both men were clients of hers. She’s a life coach.”

Yolie raised her eyebrows. “She’s a what?”

“Life coach. One of those gung-ho types who help you to lose weight or whatever.”

“Oh, is that what those bitches are calling themselves now?”

“Before Josie moved in with Bryce she was helping him get off of the Vicodin and Xanax. She helped Hank quit smoking. It so happens she’s also treating Paulette’s twenty-eight-year-old son, Casey.”

“Wheels within wheels,” Yolie said with a shake of her head. “Next I suppose you’re going to tell us Casey’s a mail carrier, too.”

Des nodded. “Part-time.”

“Shut up!” Toni exclaimed.

“And I haven’t even brought out the real funk. I walked in on Casey and Josie getting busy on her office sofa this morning. They like it rough.”

“Shut
up
!”

“Would you stop that?” Yolie roared at Toni. “This is a murder investigation, not a slumber party!”

“Mind you, Josie assured me that it absolutely, positively wasn’t what it looked like. That she was simply helping Casey with his self-esteem issues. All I know is I found them buck naked together not two hours after her boyfriend did himself in.”

“She sounds like a real slice,” Yolie said.

“She’s a real
something
.”

Yolie peered at her curiously. “Have you got more on her?”

“Nothing solid, but something about her feels wrong.”

“I hear you. She one of those perky girl types?”

“Real perky.”

“I hate perky. Always want to punch perky. Why else don’t you like her? Aside from the fact that she’s a blonde, I mean.”

“I don’t recall saying she was a blonde.”

“You didn’t have to. Your neck muscles gave you away.”

“Okay, that’s it. I have to start working on my body language.”

“Is Josie hot?” Toni asked.

“Plenty hot. Although her butt’s kind of big.”

“I thought black people liked big butts.”

“She ain’t black,” Yolie pointed out gruffly.

Des heard a truck pulling up behind them. She turned and looked out of the car’s rear window. “Well, lookie-lookie. This same bad penny just keeps turning up. Excuse me for a sec, will you?”

She got out and strode across the parking lot in the rain. A red Champlain Landscaping plow pickup was idling just beyond the perimeter of the crime scene with its window rolled down so that the driver could get a better look at what was going on.

“Evening, Pat,” she said, tipping her big hat at him. “Anything I can do for you?”

“No, ma’am,” Pat Faulstich said, then gulped nervously. “Just came out this way to plow the Beckman and Sherman places. Saw all of these lights and everything. What’s going on?”

“Someone did himself in, it appears.”

Pat’s eyes widened. “Another suicide? Who is it?”

“Can’t share that information with you, Pat. I haven’t informed the next of kin yet. Did you see that black Passat parked here when you came through earlier?”

“This is my first pass. I don’t usually do Kinney Road at all. Lem does. He asked me to on account of he’s still at the hospital with Kylie.”

“How is Kylie doing?”

“She’s out of surgery but she’ll have to stay there for a couple of days.”

“Take her some flowers. She’ll really appreciate it.”

He considered this, his brow furrowing. “You think?”

“I know. I’m a woman, remember? Are the Beckmans in town?”

“No, they winter over in Bermuda. When I cleared their leaves last month they were getting ready to take off.”

“Do they have a housekeeper or caretaker? Anyone staying there?”

“No, ma’am. They shut off the water, bleed their pipes, all of that. So do the Shermans, who’ve got like five, six other houses around the world. But these rich types still want their driveways plowed regular even when they aren’t around. Well, I’d better get to it,” he said wearily. “Still got seventeen more driveways to do before I can hit the Rustic. I need a beerski so bad I can practically taste it.”

Des watched Pat back up his truck and angle it around so that he was facing the Beckmans’ driveway. Then she started her way back to Yolie and Toni, who were over by the Passat now, getting wet and cold with the techies.

“Who was that?” Yolie asked her.

“Plow boy named Pat Faulstich. I spotted him rummaging through Hank’s mailboxes this afternoon. Thought maybe I had me something until I checked with his boss, Lem Champlain, who confirmed that he’d asked Pat to check the mailboxes.”

“Check them for what?” asked Toni.

“People leave Lem’s money out in their boxes for him. It’s been disappearing along with everything else.”

“They leave
money
in their mailboxes? Seriously, do they know what century this is?”

Yolie watched the lights of Pat’s truck as he plowed his way up the driveway, powering back and forth, back and forth. “I’m thinking it’s funny him turning up here right now.”

Des nodded her head. “Downright hilarious.”

C
HAPTER
10

T
HOSE GLEEFULLY MADCAP
P
ALM
Beach Story
opening credits were just starting to roll when she knocked on his door.

“Come on in, naybs!” Mitch called out, his mouth stuffed full of meat loaf and mashed potatoes.

Josie came in out of the rain wearing a bright yellow hooded slicker and matching yellow rain boots, a plastic bag tucked under one arm. She looked tired and defeated, which wasn’t at all typical of the Josie Cantro Mitch knew. But Josie hadn’t exactly had a typical day. Plus that swollen left eye of hers was turning into a real shiner.

Mitch set his dinner plate down on the coffee table and hit the pause button on his DVD remote. “How’s your eye doing?”

“It’s fine,” she said quietly. “It’s nothing.”

“Still, those ceiling tiles can do a lot of damage. You’re lucky you weren’t blinded.”

She studied him a bit curiously. “I guess.”

“Have you eaten? I made lots.”

“I’m not hungry, thanks. But, please, you go right ahead.”

“Okay, you talked me into it. Have you ever seen
Palm Beach Story
?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then you absolutely must. Have a seat.”

Josie just stood there, swallowing uneasily. Which, again, wasn’t at all typical of her. “Mitch, could we talk instead?”

He flicked off the TV and said, “Sure thing. How about a glass of wine?”

“A glass of wine would be great.”

He went into the kitchen to fetch it for her. By the time he returned she’d taken off her wet slicker and boots and settled herself on the loveseat next to Clemmie and Quirt. She wore an oversized charcoal-gray sweater of Bryce’s, jeans and thick wool socks. Her long, shiny mane of blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Mitch put another log on the fire, then sat back down with his dinner and resumed shoveling.

Josie sipped her wine. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Positive. Des had to duck out on an emergency call.”

“I noticed that her car was gone. Otherwise I wouldn’t have barged in on you like this. Was it anything serious?”

“I’m afraid it was. Hank Merrill committed suicide tonight. Attached a hose to the tailpipe of his car.”

She gaped at him in shock. “God, I can’t
believe
it. Hank was such a nice man. And he seemed so happy at Rut’s party. Do they have any idea why he?…”

“You know as much as I do.”

“Damn…” Josie slumped against the back of the sofa. “I guess this makes it official—I totally and completely suck at my job.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Mitch, two of my clients have committed suicide in the same day. That’s not exactly something I’ll be posting on my Web site.” She shook herself and reached for the plastic bag she’d brought. “I wanted to return the Randolph Scott movies you loaned us. Also your collection of Manny Farber essays.”

“Okay…” Mitch cleaned his plate and sat back on the loveseat. The cats rearranged themselves around him for warmth. “Talk to me, naybs. Is returning my stuff item sixteen on your to-do list or is something else going on?”

Josie took another sip of wine, gazing down into her glass. “I had it on my list to call Bryce’s lawyer, Glynis, but she beat me to it. I just got off the phone with her.”

“What did she have to say?”

“Something kind of … stunning. It seems that Bryce paid her a visit last week.”

This much Mitch already knew. Rut had told him. “Any particular reason?”

“He wanted her to draw up his will for him.”

“Bryce didn’t have a will?”

“Not until last week, according to Glynis.”

“I wonder if that means he was, you know, planning to do what he did.”

“I wondered about that, too,” Josie said.

“Why did Glynis call you tonight?”

“To let me know that Bryce left the house on Big Sister to me. It’s mine, Mitch, free and clear. Or it will be as soon as his estate clears probate. She also wanted to warn me that I’m going to have a nasty fight on my hands.”

“What kind of a nasty fight?”

“Apparently, as soon as Des notified Preston Peck that Bryce was dead Preston phoned Glynis to inform her he’d be on the next plane out of Chicago to come here and kick me the hell out. She had to tell him not so fast, cowboy. And Preston went absolutely ballistic. As far as he’s concerned the Big Sister house belongs to the Peck family and it’s going to stay in the Peck family. Glynis thinks he’ll contest the will. Fight me in court over it, knowing that I’m not someone who can afford a long, drawn-out legal battle.”