The dead of winter, p.12
The Dead of Winter, page 12
“Hey, Junior.” I sidled up next to him. “Long time no see.”
The blank look he gave me morphed into a smile. That was a relief. For a second, I worried he wouldn’t remember me, which would drag out the introductions, and rob me of the few precious moments I had with him.
“That it is.”
He introduced me to his kids with a warmth I hadn’t expected. Most people outside of my immediate circle treated me with the caution afforded a rattlesnake when I approached them out of the blue. This was a pleasant switch.
Even if it was more likely that I’d saved him listening to a conversation that was boring him to tears.
“I was wondering if you could help me with something.” With his kids right next to him, I needed to choose my words with care. “I’m doing research on gun safes for one of my authors’ books. Do you have a few minutes?”
He shrugged and pulled his coat collar tighter around his neck. “What’s up?”
“If someone brought you a safe with an electronic combination, but they didn’t know the code, could you get it open for them?”
“Depends on things like the safe’s age and manufacturer. If it’s a model we sell, I might be able to use the serial number to get ahold of someone to figure out how to reset it to its factory settings.”
“What if the serial number’s been removed?”
“It could still be done, but at that point, I’d refer the customer directly to the manufacturer.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you know if the serial number’s been removed, something shady might be going on.”
“My author’s story is a thriller, so there’s a lot of shady stuff going on in it.” I forced a laugh. No need to tip my hand.
“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms. “Your author’s interest in safes wouldn’t have anything to do with certain events closer to home, would it?”
“Purely coincidental. I promise.” I was going to have to say another extra Hail Mary or three as additional penance for my white lies. “Now that you mention it, did you know Newt?”
“Through the gun club. Nice enough guy, but a little out of touch.” He shook his head. “Awful sad what happened to him.”
His kids pulled at his coat. My time was up. I thanked him for his time and caught up with Mom. The chat had been helpful, but I sensed that Junior knew more than he’d let on.
“Doing some snooping?” Mom asked as we got into her car.
“What makes you think that? And I prefer the term sleuthing. Sounds fancier.”
My mother and I had reached a détente regarding my sleuthing efforts. I knew she didn’t like it because she was concerned for my safety. She knew I wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines if I could help bring about justice.
Given our truce, her question caught me off guard. I’d assumed she wouldn’t want to talk about my investigation. I’d assumed wrong.
“Since you’ve been back, this is the first time you’ve spoken to Junior McCormick after Mass. He works at a farm supply store. Newt’s murder appears to involve things one might get at his store.”
“Some true Poirot-like deduction you’ve got going on there, Mother Dear.” I unzipped my coat as she started the car’s engine.
“You’re not the only one who likes a good mystery. I just happen to prefer to find mine in the world of medicine.”
“Indeed.” I laughed as Mom maneuvered into the line to exit the parking lot. “A lot safer that way, I suppose.”
Countless times during my youth, I’d come home from work at the library or hanging out with Sloane to find her curled up on the couch studying the latest edition of the Family Practice Medicine Journal or some other medical periodical. When I asked her why she needed to do so much reading since she was already a doctor, she told me she was faced with medical mysteries practically every day. One way to help solve them was to keep current on the latest developments in her field.
“Much safer. Though there was the time I went to Haiti after the earthquake to help fight the cholera outbreak. With all the suffering those people were going through, there was no way I could stay home.”
“Yeah, that totally wins on the hazard scale.”
Mom had spent three months in deplorable conditions—no running water, no electricity, surrounded by the sick and dying—providing the best medical care she could. She’d returned to a hero’s reception but hadn’t enjoyed the attention.
When I’d asked her why, she replied that she’d only been doing her job. The real heroes, in her mind, were the people who stayed on the island, working every single day to improve a dreadful situation.
“I don’t know about that.” She took a right-hand turn out of the parking lot. “We all knew what our adversary was. Contaminated water. Even though we couldn’t see the bacteria, we knew how to fight it. You don’t know who Newt’s murderer is, so you’re at a disadvantage there. You also don’t know how this foe of yours will act. My colleagues and I knew what to expect.”
We pulled into the Pub’s parking lot. There was a banner hanging above the front door encouraging customers to try its new Sunday brunch. Mom must have noticed my slack-jawed expression.
“I’ve been after Rachel to try this for months.” She winked. “You’re not the only one who knows how to keep a secret.”
Rachel greeted us with an ear-to-ear smile, and her hair was back to its usual state of looking gorgeous. She wrapped us both up in a lung-squeezing hug.
“I saved a spot for you. VIP service for family.” She guided us through the bustling crowd to a table by the front window. “Thanks for coming. Gotta go. Love you both.”
And with that, she was gone.
“Wow.” I took a sip of the mimosa a server placed in front of me. The bubbly, fruity drink tickled my tongue. “How long has she been working on this?”
“A few months. You know how long the line to get into the diner can get. She saw an opportunity. She’s going to do this until May. At that point, she’ll evaluate whether to make it permanent.”
“Did she talk to Angela?” It was one thing to identify and fill a need in the market. It was another to compete with the Brown County Diner for Sunday brunch. Potentially making Angela Miller, who was both the diner’s owner and the mayor, mad at you didn’t seem like a bright idea.
“Of course. I mean, she didn’t ask permission, but what can Angela do? This time of year, nobody wants to wait outside in the cold.” She held up her index finger. “Angela’s smart. She understands that if this works out, it’ll be a good thing for the whole community.
I pondered Mom’s words while Calypso took our orders. My assistant winked at me before she walked away. She’d been in on the secret, too.
“Holy cats, how out of touch am I? If I missed this, what else am I not seeing?”
Mom must have sensed my distress had more to it than being oblivious to Rachel’s plans. She took my hand.
“Look at me. Just because you didn’t know about this doesn’t mean you’ve lost your attention to detail. You have other things on your mind that are more important. Like your work.” She took a sip of her Bloody Mary. “And your investigation.”
“You think so?” The knot that had formed in my stomach loosened. Maybe she was right. The mind could prioritize only so many issues, after all.
“I know so. I’m actually proud of you about this. It tells me your days of Allie ‘Undercover Boss’ are firmly in the past.”
I laughed. It was a healthy, tension-releasing laugh. I was a silent partner in Rachel’s restaurant empire. Not so long ago, I’d taken that status a little too far and had started to annoy staff. Mom had set me straight over a brunch not unlike the one we were having. The topic had never come up again.
Until now.
“Touché.”
Calypso dropped off our orders and we dug in. My Belgian waffle with strawberries and cream melted in my mouth. The fruit gave it a welcome tartness that suggested scenes of green grass and cool beverages.
Mom raved about her eggs Benedict as much as I was relishing my meal. When she was finished, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin and let out a satisfied “aah.”
“Couldn’t agree more. Is it okay if I tell people about this?” Okay, I was still a tiny bit sensitive about the whole Undercover Boss accusation.
“Absolutely.” She finished off her Bloody Mary. “If you promise not to get huffy, I have some more intel for you.”
I had no idea what she was referring to, but given her phrasing, I had a sense it had something to do with Newt. This was different. When I’d peppered Mom with questions on prior investigations, she’d always answered them. She’d never volunteered information, though.
“Intel away, Mother Dearest.” It couldn’t hurt to do a little sucking up, after all.
She looked around, as if to confirm nobody was eavesdropping on our conversation. There was even a hint of a smile. She was enjoying this. I made a mental note to remind her of this very moment if she ever gave me grief about my sleuthing again.
“While you were talking to Junior, I managed to do some, I believe the term is background research, on him.”
I leaned forward. “Do tell.”
“It turns out that he’s a member of the gun club. Did you know that?”
“Not until today. Makes sense, though, given where he works. The club would be a good audience for him to promote some of his merchandise. Maybe I should talk to him again.”
“Exactly. That’s not all, though. According to a friend of mine, he ran against Newt for club president the last time the club had elections.”
“Really?” Mom’s intel had just gone from interesting to full-out fascinating. “Any idea if there was any bad blood over the election results?”
She smiled. “There was. Supposedly, Junior accused Newt of cheating. He claimed that before the election, he’d gotten enough promises from club members to vote for him so that the only way he could have lost was if Newt rigged the election.”
“Or members simply lied to him and went ahead and voted for Newt.” I mulled the information over while I gave Calypso my credit card to pay for brunch. “Regardless, is losing a club election reason enough to commit murder?”
“That’s for you to figure out, my dear. I can tell you one more thing. According to my sources, Junior can be a bit of hothead, especially after a couple of drinks.”
“Well, all righty then. Thanks for the intel. You’ve got quality resources.”
As we exited the Pub, my mind was running full speed with questions stemming from Mom’s information. I had the answer to one question, though.
Did I have enough on Junior McCormick to consider him a suspect in Newt’s murder?
Definitely.
Chapter Seventeen
By the time Mom dropped me off at my building, the Open sign in Renee’s front window was shining like a vermillion beacon. With a couple of manuscripts to edit the only things on my to-do list, I gravitated toward the store’s entrance like a sailor following a siren’s call.
“Allie, I’m glad you’re here.” Renee poured me a cup of coffee. “I’ve got some exciting news I’ve been dying to share with you.”
Renee was a huge supporter of the agency’s books. She gave new releases prominent displays and had even broached the subject of having Malcolm Blackstone, my most high-profile client, in town for a signing the next time he released a book. We often joked that I should give her a cut of my agent commission because of all the sales she generated.
“You’ve decided to put Cobb Literary Agency books on permanent rotation in your front window?”
“Something better than that.” She held up a small stack of papers. “It’s a signed lease for the apartment above you. For the first time since I bought it, this building is full.” She bounced up and down on her tiptoes. It was a massive emotional outburst from my low-key landlord and friend.
For years, the building had needed a new roof. Renee hadn’t felt comfortable renting that space until a new one was installed. Last summer, she’d finally been able to get the project done. Once that happened, it was only a matter of time until she found a tenant. While I was happy for her, I’d gotten quite comfortable with the apartment above remaining vacant, and the silence that came with it.
I shook the selfish thoughts away. Renee was a good person and had taken her time looking for the right tenant. This was good news.
“That’s fabulous.” I gave her a hug. “Is it someone local or someone moving to town?”
“Hey, neighbor.” Gabe Sandoval gave me a tap on the shoulder.
My gaze went back and forth between Renee and Gabe three times before my brain caught up. Even though he grew up in Rushing Creek, some people looked at him askance because of his brown skin and last name. One time, he’d confided in me that the unkind behavior made him feel like an outsider in his hometown. In my younger days, I’d often felt the same. We’d made a connection via that shared outlook. While I didn’t know him well enough to consider him a friend, he was someone I trusted.
And it took a while for me to come to trust someone.
“Hi.” I gave him a fist bump. “Welcome to the neighborhood. If there’s anything I can do to help you get settled in, let me know. Oh, just an FYI, if you hear some weird yowling coming from my apartment from time to time, that’ll be Ursi, my cat complaining about the birds.”
“Thanks. And to return the FYI, I’m moving in tomorrow. I’ll try not to bother you too much.”
“That’s quick.” I raised my eyebrows as I turned back toward Renee.
She shrugged. “The apartment’s available. The weather looks decent for the next couple of days—”
“And I’m dying to get out from under my folks’ roof.” He chuckled.
“Their loss is our gain. I don’t mind having an officer of the law as one of my tenants. A full-time officer, to boot,” Renee said.
Since Renee opened the door, I decided to take advantage and step through.
“Any news on the Arbogast investigation, Gabe?”
He took a quick look around. A few shoppers were browsing in the aisles, but nobody seemed to be within earshot.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but Mr. Arbogast’s firearms are missing from his gun safe. His wife told us she has no idea how long they’ve been gone. We’re not certain there’s a connection between the apparent theft and the murder, but we’re looking into it.”
“Interesting. Does that mean that Cammy Flanagan is no longer a suspect?”
“That’s not for me to say.” Gabe tugged at the collar of his flannel shirt like it was suddenly too tight. “I should get home to do more packing. See you around.”
Even though he was off duty, he marched out of the bookstore like he was responding to an emergency call.
“The ink’s barely dry on the lease and you’ve already scared him off.” Renee crossed her arms. “Well done, Ms. Kickboxing Crusader.”
“Oh, come on. Gabe could have stuck to the old ‘we’re pursuing a variety of lines of investigation’ schtick. He didn’t.” I raised my chin a bit. “He told me as much as he was comfortable and knew it was better to get out before he said too much. Which goes to show how persuasive I can be.”
Renee gave me a hard stare. One of her nostrils even flared for a moment. Then she burst out laughing.
“Allie, my friend, nobody can say with a straight face that their life is boring when you’re a part of it.”
“I live to serve.”
After perusing the New Releases section, I picked out a couple of graphic novels for Calypso. Her birthday was coming up in a few weeks. It would be fun to surprise her with a gift.
My business in the bookstore complete, I headed upstairs. Ursi greeted me with her usual demand to be fed. I wrapped her up in my arms and held her until she started squirming.
“Oh, my goodness. It’s been a whole four hours since you’ve eaten. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.”
She let out a mrrw and wriggled out of my arms. Once she was free, she made a beeline for the kitchen. Since I’m a complete pushover, I poured some dry food into her bowl. Even with favorable weather in the forecast, it was too cold to take her for a walk. To make up for that, I promised her we’d go up and down the stairs and take laps on the second- and third-floor halls. It wasn’t ideal but was way better than having my kitty go without exercise.
The same could be said for me.
With Ursi’s demands addressed, I turned my thoughts to the conversation with Gabe. So, the police thought burglary might have played a part in Newt’s murder. I didn’t buy it.
Especially since no other valuables were taken and there was no sign of struggle, as far as I knew.
Besides, why go to the trouble of putting the body in the safe and then make sure it was found?
No. This murder had been planned down to the most minute detail. So, if the murderer was into symbolism as much as I thought, how did the gun theft figure into the equation? I studied my case notes as I tried to suss out a connection more substantial than sending the cops on a wild-goose chase.
An unsettling thought pushed itself to the surface. Maybe the crimes weren’t connected. Maybe the guns were taken by someone as a simple crime of opportunity.
Or, what if Newt removed them from the safe so he could sell them? The president of a gun club unloading his collection didn’t make much sense to me. On the other hand, the Arbogasts sure seemed to be having some money troubles.
Maybe someone gave him an offer that was really a setup. He went to make the sale and they did him in. If, and it was an if as big as the Empire State Building, my supposition was correct, then dumping him in the safe might have been a way to send some kind of message. I had no idea who the message recipient was supposed to be, but at this point it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility.
Implausible? Definitely. Way more unlikely than not, in fact. But with an imagination as fertile as mine, not impossible. If that were the case, knowing when the firearms went missing was critical.
