Throw in the Trowel (18 page)

“Can you elaborate as to why Lila hired the detective?” Marco asked.

“What can I tell you, Marco? She thought that woman—what's she callin' herself these days, a duchess?—was conniving.”

Seedy suddenly appeared beside my chair with something in her mouth. She dropped it and looked up at me, wagging her tail. I bent down to see what it was and found a worn, dirty garden glove. I gave her a pat on the head, then edged the glove under my chair with my shoe. I'd have to put it back when we were finished.

“In what respect was she conniving?” Marco asked.

Rusty scratched his head. “I don't know if I should be telling you this, but Kermit cleaned out the company's bank account before he took off, and Lila was sure that woman talked him into it. She couldn't accept that Kermit would do that to his family—ruin his business and all. Luckily, she had Henry. That young feller knew just what to do to keep that company afloat.”

“Did Lila suspect foul play at all or did she just want to locate her husband?” Marco asked.

“As I said before, she didn't talk about it much. My wife was a gentle, kindhearted soul, and for her to speak out against someone, well, it took a lot to push her to that point. But I can tell you that folks around town were leery of that Duchess woman back then, calling her a Gypsy because of her foreign ways. Now they treat her like a movie star.” Rusty shook his head.

“Do you know if Lila ever located the Duchess?” I asked.

“Can't tell you that, Miss Abigail. Like I said, Lila didn't care to discuss the past with me. And her kids were very careful not to bring up their papa around her, knowing how his leaving had wounded her and all. Lord, how they did worship their mama. Would've done anything for her.”

I wrote down his last comment and underlined it. Would that have included murdering their own father?

“So you're not aware of Lila receiving any photos from Pete Morgan?” Marco asked.

“No, sir.”

“Was any attempt made at a later time to find Kermit?” Marco asked.

“Lila tried again before we got married. Said she didn't want to be a bigamist.” Rusty laughed. “She'd joke about that from time to time, saying, ‘What would we do, Rusty, if Kermit suddenly showed up?' And I said, ‘First thing we'd do is check to see if he was a ghost.'”

“So you believed Kermit was dead?” Marco asked.

That caught Rusty by surprise. He scratched his head again. “Well, you got me there, Marco. I guess I did think so.”

“Any particular reason?” Marco asked.

“None that comes to mind. Maybe because it had been so long since anyone had heard from him.” Rusty took a long drink of tea, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and got up. “Can I get either of you a refill?”

“None for me, thanks,” Marco said.

“I'm fine,” I said, and took a drink. I didn't much care for the taste and set it back down.

While Rusty had his back to us, Marco tapped my notepad, as if to ask whether I got that last interesting bit of information. I pointed out my note to him:
Rusty believes Kermit left town/was ghost. Can't explain contradiction.

“Did Doug ever tell you that he'd spied on Kermit and caught him with the Duchess?” Marco asked, when Rusty returned to the table.

His cheerful demeanor slipping a little, Rusty replied, “After a fashion. Doug had been helping me with the basement after his pappy left, and he'd drop little bits of information here and there, so I pieced together what had happened. I took him under my wing and did what I could to make up for Kermit's absence, and I think he really appreciated it. I feel good about that.”

“How much do you think that experience affected Doug?” Marco asked.

“It surely broke that boy's heart to see his pappy with another woman. No matter what happens, a boy still wants to be able to look up to his father. And then, of course, seeing his mama's pain affected him, too.”

“Lila was your high school sweetheart,” I said. “Finding out that Kermit was cheating on her must have affected you, too.”

He sipped his tea for a moment, then said, “I didn't like to hear about it, naturally. But there wasn't anything I could do.”

Seedy dropped another glove at my foot and wagged her tail happily. Clearly, she was pleased with herself for inventing a new game. I snapped my fingers to try to get her to come to me, but she hobbled off again.

“Do you think Doug would have been angry enough to take action against Kermit?” Marco asked.

“Are you askin' me whether Doug coulda done his pappy in?” Rusty asked. “No, sir. He was a kid, Marco, a nice kid who stepped up to help me when his pappy let me down. If you ask me, I'd take a long look at that Duchess woman. Always struck me as shady that she came back alone—and a success to boot. Why don't you ask her where she got her seed money?”

“I'll do that,” Marco said. “I know you're not going to like it, Rusty, but I have to ask you the same question. Where did you get the money to remodel your basement?”

Rusty gave him a puzzled glance. “Why shouldn't I like it? I've got nothing to hide. But I know how you fellers work. You've got to suspect everyone. So let me put your mind at ease. I saved a long time to have that work done and have my old bank records to prove it.”

“Thank you. Then let's move on,” Marco said. “Abby, would you show Rusty the photo we received yesterday?”

I pulled it out of my purse and handed it to Rusty. He brought it close to his face, squinting to see it. “Am I supposed to recognize these people?”

“Just the woman behind the table,” I said. “It was taken in nineteen seventy-six. Do you remember anyone who looked like that?”

Rusty blinked a few times, then took another look. “Is that what's-her-name? Duchess?”

“That's who we think it is,” Marco said. “That photo was taken in the fall of the year Kermit supposedly left town.”

“Looks to me like she's got a bun in the oven.” Rusty looked at the back of the photo, frowned as though doing some calculating in his head, then handed it back. “So she was carrying Kermit's child after all,” he said, more to himself than to us.

“Someone obviously wanted us to know that the Duchess was pregnant,” I said.

“Can I ask how you came by that photo?” Rusty asked.

“It was dropped off anonymously,” Marco said. “I'm going to venture a guess that Pete Morgan took this photo when he was working for your wife, but obviously he wouldn't be dropping it off now. That means someone who had access to Lila's belongings might have. Any idea who that could be?”

Rusty gave Marco a skeptical look. “Are you askin' if I did it?”

Marco replied with a flicker of a grin. “Did you?”

“Son, if I had something that I thought would help you, I'd give it to you.”

“Fair enough,” Marco said. “Maybe you can help with this. You said Kermit seemed to favor Henry over Doug, yet when we talked to Henry, he said he wasn't close to Kermit.”

“Let me tell you something,” Rusty said, crossing one booted foot over his other knee. “When someone is hurt by someone else, he has to make up a story in his head to take away the pain. I know Henry was close to Kermit at first because that was how Kermit operated. He'd charm the socks off you, then later on show his true self. Henry was always a gentle person. If Kermit hurt him, then Henry probably told himself that it didn't matter 'cause he wasn't close to him anyway. See what I'm saying?”

“You're saying that Henry was close to Kermit at the beginning,” I said, reading from my notes, “but later on, Kermit pushed him away?”

“That's what I'm saying,” Rusty said with a smile. He stabbed a finger at me. “She's a keeper, that one is, Marco.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling at my groom. “I think I'll keep Marco, too.”

“Ah, how I miss my Lila,” Rusty said, a look of intense sadness crossing his leathery features. He turned away and sat for a moment staring out the window, then wiped his eyes with his thumbs and said, “I hope you two will be as happy as we were. Now don't mind the musings of a maudlin old man. Get on with your questions.”

“Are you sure?” Marco asked. “We can stop at any time.”

“Let's get this over with once and for all,” Rusty said.

“Did you ever witness Kermit being verbally abusive toward Henry?” Marco asked.

“You mean laying into him? Can't say that I did but I wouldn't be surprised if he had. Kermit would lay into a judge if one crossed him. Got himself into some nasty fistfights because of that mouth of his. He even fought with the officers as they hauled him off to the slammer. He had a wicked temper, ol' Kermit did.”

“Is it true that you and Kermit got into a fistfight?” I asked.

Rusty chuckled. “Lordy, I haven't thought of that in years. Since you asked, here's what happened. Kermit was at my bar drinking after work, and being that he was already on his way to drunk, he took offense when I suggested he get home to his wife. Accused me of trying to steal her away. He socked me in the nose, that bastard did, so I let him have it in the jaw. Someone called the cops and they took him away.”

I wrote it down. That satisfied me.

“Think back to when you were having problems getting your basement finished,” Marco said. “Did you ever let Henry know what was going on?”

“I'm sure I did,” Rusty said, looking perplexed. “Can't really remember how that came about, though.”

“Do you recall going to see him at the savings and loan?” Marco asked.

Rusty scratched the back of his head. It seemed to be his gesture of concentration. “I guess I could be talked into it. Did Henry say I did? Because if he did, then I guess it's so.”

I really wanted to believe that Rusty's memory was foggy, but I also wondered if it wasn't a convenient excuse.

One of Rusty's employees stuck her head around the corner and whispered, “It's almost time for my lunch. Do you want me to wait? The store's empty.”

“I'll be done in a few minutes, darlin',” Rusty replied. “Right, Marco?”

“I think so,” Marco said.

“How's your mama been?” Rusty asked him.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I need to get Seedy.”

I picked up the gloves and headed through the doorway into the storage room. It was a large room that had deep shelves filled with store merchandise from the floor to the ceiling on all four walls, with one center aisle that had shelves on both sides as well. I didn't see my dog at first, but then I heard her scratching at something and located her in a back corner under a window, sniffing among rusty old garden tools in a big tin bucket that was partially tucked under the lowest shelf. A spiderweb stretched from the rim of the bucket to the wall, and more webbing clung to Seedy's nose. Obviously the bucket had been undisturbed for some time.

I snapped the leash onto her collar, wiped the sticky web off her nose, and dropped both gloves inside the bucket. That was when I took a closer look at the wooden-handled tools. They were identical to the ones I'd seen in the bar's basement.

Coincidence?

C
HAPTER SEVENTEEN

“D
id you find your dog?” Rusty called from the other room.

I heard him scrape back his chair and knew he would be heading my way, so I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a photo of the tools, then picked up Seedy just as Rusty appeared.

“Seedy was looking for a place to do her business, weren't you, bad girl?” I said to the dog, who tilted her head as though puzzled by my scolding tone. Gliding past Rusty, I said, “Marco, I need to take Seedy outside. I'll meet you by the car.”

I made a quick exit from the store and walked over to a tree to set Seedy down, where she actually did do her business. Marco appeared a few minutes later, so I tugged on the dog's leash and we jogged to the car.

“Is Seedy okay?” Marco asked, as we buckled ourselves into our seats.

“Look at this,” I said, and showed him the photo on my phone. “These tools are exactly like the ones at the bar, Marco, down to the same brand name carved into the wooden handles.”

Marco studied the photo then turned on the engine.

“Why are you frowning?” I asked.

“I don't like what we're finding, Abby. In addition to your discovery, some of the comments Rusty made aren't sitting well with me, like his ghost reference, which contradicted his earlier statement. And his itinerant theory. I've never had a problem with itinerants getting into the basement.”

“Do you think times were different back then?”

“Maybe. I can check police records, but that may take some time.”

“You know who might be able to help us with that? My dad.”

Marco gave me his irresistible grin, the corners of his mouth curving up just a little. “We're on the same wavelength, Mrs. Salvare.”

Mrs. Salvare.
Hmm. It didn't sound so bad coming from Marco.

“It's almost noon,” he said. “Do you want to stop for lunch somewhere? Then we can drop by to see your dad.”

“Not gonna happen,
Mr.
Salvare. Our new mattress is supposed to be delivered between noon and three p.m., and there's no way I'm going to miss that baby.”

He patted my knee. “And there's no way I'd let you miss that, baby.”

•   •   •

After a quick sandwich at home, Marco headed to Down the Hatch, leaving Seedy and me to wait for the new mattress. So as soon as I finished my own lunch, I called my dad to see what he knew about Rusty, Kermit, and the Duchess.

My father, Jeffrey Knight, had been a New Chapel policeman for almost twenty years when he was hit in the upper leg by a felon's bullet while chasing drug dealers during a sting operation. He was rushed into surgery, but an unfortunate surgical mistake caused him to be paralyzed from the waist down. He had regained enough feeling in his legs that he was able to use crutches to maneuver stairs, but otherwise he was confined to a wheelchair.

His Irish zest for life, however, had not been dimmed. He refused to look back and instead concentrated on his blessings. He was my role model and my earliest hero.

“Hey, Abracadabra!” he called jovially, using the name he'd dubbed me due to my ability to disappear at chore time. “Good to hear your voice, honey. Of course I'll help.”

“Thanks, Dad. Just don't tell Mom I'm inquiring about the Duchess.”

“I haven't lived with her all these years for nothing, Ab. Your mother practically worships the woman. How about I just won't mention you called? Now, what I remember about Rusty is that he had a couple of run-ins with homeless men trying to camp out in his basement. We advised him to keep a better watch on his back door and the problem stopped. I don't remember it being a big concern, though, and I don't think he ever had us arrest anyone.”

I was relieved that Rusty's story was confirmed. I hated to think that he had lied to us.

“As for the Duchess, back then there were some in town who called her a Gypsy because of the way she dressed and talked. As far as I know, she wasn't, but she did have a volatile temper. We had to pull her in once for threatening one of her neighbors with a knife, a man she said was harassing her. The man said she was nuts.”

That sounded like Parthenia.

“Kermit was a strange, self-absorbed man,” Dad said, “charming one moment, brooding and angry the next. We arrested him on several occasions for getting into fights. He was what you'd call an abject drunk, a miserable, unpleasant man.”

I made notes while Dad told a few more Kermit tales. Then I flipped the notebook closed and capped my pen. “Great stuff, Dad. Thanks for your help.”

With nothing to do after that, I rearranged the books on Marco's bookshelves in his living room by color, then headed for the kitchen to move the dishes in the cabinets and the utensils in the drawers. On the way, I had a sudden flash of Francesca rearranging my tool drawer and decided to play fetch with Seedy instead. When we both grew bored, she napped and I surfed the Internet for new ideas for floral arrangements.

It wasn't until five minutes before three that the doorbell rang at last, sending Seedy running for cover. Unfortunately, her shelter was the bed, and having strange men dismantling it over her did not help her nerves. She backed into a corner and growled and snapped at them until I had to drag her out and put her in the bathroom to calm her down.

Half an hour later, I had a brand-new mattress, and the deliverymen had extra twenty dollar bills in their pockets to haul away the old one. I let Seedy out of the bathroom, then remade the bed and stretched out on it to see how it felt.

It seemed as though I had just lain down when I heard “Abby?”

I opened my eyes to see Marco standing above me. “I was going to ask how the mattress is, but I guess you answered that question. It's almost dinnertime.”

I yawned and stretched. “That's the first good rest I've had since we started our honeymoon.”

“Something every groom wants to hear,” he said dryly, stretching out beside me.

Seedy began to make her little yipping noise, so Marco reached down and lifted her to the bed. “Just this once,” he said. “We're not going to make a habit of it.”

“I guess I should go make us some supper,” I said.

Marco rolled over to face me, propped on his elbow. “Want to see a movie tonight after we talk to your dad, Sleeping Beauty?”

“I already talked to my dad, Prince Charming.”

“Isn't Prince Charming from the Cinderella story?”

“Would you rather be called Prince Phillip or Prince Charming?”

“If we're sticking with the fairy-tale theme,” he murmured in my ear, “I'd rather be the Big Bad Wolf.”

It amazed me how fast he could change directions. Never able to resist his strong sexual magnetism, I snuggled closer. “You're straying into dangerous territory, Mr. Salvare.”

“I live for danger, Mrs. Salvare,” he said huskily, then kissed me with a passion that ignited all kinds of fires.

The flames were doused, however, when Seedy pawed my shoulder and whined, as if to say,
Let me in!

Marco sighed and picked her up, bringing her between us. “Nothing like a dog to get you back on track. Just remember, Seedy, this is a onetime deal.”

Seedy lay down, panting happily.

“What were we talking about?” I asked. “Oh, right. Dad said Rusty did call the cops on several occasions about itinerants sleeping in his basement, and he remembered people referring to the Duchess as a Gypsy. He also recalled having to haul her down to the police station for threatening a man with a knife. He described her as volatile.”

“That puts a different spin on things, doesn't it?”

“Yes, it does. For instance, what would a volatile person do to a man who left her pregnant and in the lurch? And do you remember what was outside her back window? A garden. And where there's a garden there are usually garden tools.”

“But there's the glitch, Abby. Presupposing that the murder weapon is in fact a trowel, would she bring her garden tools to meet Kermit?”

“You're right. If she were going to take them, they'd be packed in a box.”

“So back to my original question. Do you want to see a movie?”

“I'd love to see a movie, Marco. It's been ages since we took a Saturday off. But do you trust Rafe to handle the bar?”

“I left my brother a whole sheet of instructions. I made it so simple a five-year-old could follow it. So what I'm saying is that it's Saturday night, and I'd like to take my bride out for a movie date. Does my bride accept?”

“She would like to, except what do we do with Seedy?”

Hearing her name, Seedy's large tufted ears came forward and she looked at me expectantly. “What do we do with you, Seedy?”

Marco stroked her head. “She should be fine alone for a few hours, Abby.”

“But I feel so bad leaving her all alone. She hasn't been alone since we brought her home. How about if I ask Tara to watch her at her house? Then Seedy can play with Tara's puppy.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Marco lifted the dog's chin and gazed into her eyes. “Does it sound like a plan to you?”

Seedy gave her little yip, then started playing with him, pouncing like a cat and then backing away, her whole body wriggling in excitement. I watched the two of them for a moment, remembering what a sad little creature she'd been when I'd first laid eyes on her. How she was blossoming under our love. It was such a warm feeling that I almost hated to leave them.

I called Tara, who told me she was going to a sleepover and wouldn't be able to help.

“What about Jillian?” Marco asked. “She owes you.”

“Good thinking.” I phoned Jillian next, but she and Claymore were going to Chicago with another couple to see a play. Her brother was going to watch Princess for her.

“Seedy will be fine here alone, Abby,” Marco said. “We'll take her outside before we go. What trouble can she get into in a few hours' time?”

•   •   •

Within ten minutes of the movie's conclusion, Marco's phone vibrated. He held it down by his foot to discreetly check the screen, then whispered, “It's Reilly.”

“Can't you call him in ten minutes?” I whispered back. “If it's really important, he'll call again.”

Marco slid his phone into his pocket and stretched out his long legs. But when his phone vibrated a minute later, and Reilly's name popped up again, he left the theater. I was torn between wanting to stay for the ending and wanting to know what was going on, so I walked up the aisle and watched the last scene from just inside the door. Before the credits began, I hurried into the lobby and saw Marco waiting by the exit.

“Trouble at the bar,” he said, shepherding me to the parking lot. “A brawl started and the cops were called. It got messy. I've tried to reach Rafe three times, but he hasn't answered.”

“Is Reilly there now?”

“Yes. He says it's over and the troublemakers have fled, but my staff is shaken. They closed the bar for the evening.” Marco sighed. “So much for my list of instructions.”

I didn't envy Rafe. As the manager, the onus would be on him.

Marco didn't say much on the way there, and I could see by the look on his face that he was tense, so I stayed quiet. My phone vibrated, so I checked the screen and saw my mom's name. I let it go to voice mail.

Instead of trying to find a parking space, Marco pulled into the alley and parked just outside of the bar's rear entrance. Using his key, he opened the door, and we went inside.

“Hey, Marco,” Reilly said, as we came up the hallway and into the main room. He was sitting in a booth talking to Gert and taking notes. Rafe and Chris, another bartender, were sweeping up broken glass near the front door, and Mary, the other waitress, was mopping the floor behind the bar.

“Is everyone okay?” Marco asked.

“We're fine,” Gert said. “I've handled a few of these in my lifetime. No biggie.”

“Rafe?” Marco asked.

“Yeah, we're fine,” Rafe said in a subdued voice, keeping his gaze on the floor.

“Are you done with me, Sarge?” Gert asked. “I need to help with the cleanup.”

“We're done,” Reilly said.

Gert patted the bench that she'd just vacated and said to me, “Sit here, hon, and take a load off.”

As I sat down, Reilly said jokingly, “Trouble at the bar and you weren't at the center of it? Who would've thought it possible?”

“Gosh, I've missed you, Reilly,” I said. “We really should do this more often.”

“How did the brawl start?” Marco asked, directing his question to his brother.

Rafe paused his sweeping to give Marco a deer-in-the-headlights stare.

“Two college-aged kids caused a dustup,” Gert said. “One of them was wearing a New Chapel U sweatshirt. I didn't see how it began, but Mary waited on them.”

Mary, an attractive, friendly, thirty-six-year-old divorced woman, said, “I don't know for sure, Marco, but it seemed to me that they came in wanting to start something. It just felt staged, the way they were all friendly with me at first, and then after they got their beers, they started talking loudly and making obscene remarks about women.”