The Minstrel & The Beagle

by Lila K Bell

  I shrugged and gestured vaguely to the television. “I was loosely inspired.”

  “There must be something wrong.” He spun around on his stool to put his back to the TV. “How about you tell me what this project is that you’re working on? Does it have to do with Barnaby Coleman and your curiosity about the slippery Edwin Fraser?”

  For a moment, I hesitated. I had this horrible image in my head of him laughing at me over my feeble attempt to plays cops and robbers. Most likely, he would tell me to quit while I was ahead, report to Detective Curtis in the morning, and put this whole mess behind me. Or maybe I was projecting and giving up was what my rational mind wanted me to do. Behind all my worries lurked my obnoxious subconscious, my boredom, and my curiosity, all urging me to keep going. To find the next answer that would clear up one more puzzle.

  Maybe talking it out with another human being, here in this underground lair where nothing said ever went past the doors, would help me see things in a different light.

  It was a risk, but the only play I had left.

  Blowing out a sharp breath in a drawn-out raspberry, I rolled my shoulders and said, “Fine. So you remember I said I had a vested interest in finding out who killed Coleman?”

  Ryan nodded. “Sure. Why wouldn’t you? Random guy stabbed in his kitchen in Brookside, and suddenly you’re curious about his debts.”

  “He’s not so random. I went to school with his son, so I knew the man. More than that, I happened to be the one to find his body.”

  The changes that came over Ryan’s face were subtle and gradual — almost amusing if I’d been in the mood to enjoy it. His eyes widened, taking on a sort of glazed shock, and his lips parted.

  “I know,” I said. “It was not a great evening. I happened to be going by when I saw someone in a black mask go into the house.” I figured if I was going to tell the story to someone, it made more sense to stick to the one I planned to give Detective Curtis. It’d give me a chance to practice and make sure it was believable. “Since I knew Coleman when I was growing up, I wanted to make sure he was all right. When I went in, he was lying on the kitchen floor and Charles, his beagle, was standing over him. I managed to get the dog out of the way, rolled Coleman over to see if I could do CPR, but he was already gone.”

  I knocked back my drink, and Ryan had returned to himself enough to wave Troy over. “Forget the sour,” he ordered, pointing at me.

  I opened my mouth to tell him it wasn’t necessary, then thought better of it. Another drink sounded kind of good right now.

  “Unfortunately,” I continued, “the police caught me standing over the body. Sheer coincidence and horrible timing, but apparently luck wasn’t with me that night. Or maybe it was, because the cop was someone I grew up with. He let me go with an understanding that I would come in to make a statement… and take the dog.”

  “And you’re trying to avoid doing that? The statement, I mean.”

  I could almost hear the wheels grinding in his head as he tried to figure out where I was going with this. I didn’t blame him. I had serious questions about that as well.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “I don’t mind going in and speaking with the detective. It’s not like I killed the guy. It’s just…” I sucked in a breath and debated my next move, considering it wise to stay as diplomatic as possible. “I might not have been as forthcoming about my reasons for being in the area as I hinted to Sam. I’m worried that if I go in to speak with Curtis, she’ll ask questions and get the wrong idea.”

  “I see,” said Ryan, though I suspected he didn’t have any clearer idea about what was going through my head than I did.

  “So I’ve started looking into Barnaby’s life to try to find out who might have killed him,” I explained.

  “You’re trying to solve his murder,” Ryan said, without any hint of judgement or incredulity, which I appreciated.

  “That’s kind of it, yeah. Or at least to see if I can gather enough information to give to the police to make sure their interest stays away from me.”

  “Right.”

  “That’s why I was asking about Ed Fraser. The more I learn about Coleman’s debts, the more I have reason to think that’s why he was killed. According to Jeremy, Fraser has taken to leaving threats on his answering machine and sending letters to the house. I went to speak with him to get his view of the situation. I wanted to gauge how upset he might be about losing all that money. He pointed out that killing Coleman wouldn’t get him repaid, but I don’t know. I feel like there’s more to his side of things than meets the eye.”

  I crossed my arms on the bar and saluted Troy my thanks when he delivered my whiskey.

  “Sam let slip that some paperwork had been stolen from the house, and I have reason to suspect Fraser’s involvement,” I continued after worrying my drink for a moment or two, “but I have no way to prove it. He’s certainly not going to tell me.”

  For a moment, Ryan was silent. I glanced his way, but his face was a neutral mask, his earlier surprise nowhere to be found. He sipped his beer and his gaze returned to the hockey game, though I suspected if I asked what was happening he would have no idea.

  I allowed him time to think over all I’d said and decide whether he was going to ignore it or not and turned my attention to my own drink.

  Was I stupid for having filled him in? Maybe, but I didn’t really see the harm. Compared to my usual hobbies, trying to solve a murder was almost tame. Worst case, I came out looking like a naive amateur, but I was all right with that. Better than someone finding out the truth and telling my parents. It would break Gramps’s heart if I were arrested.

  As the silence stretched out, I started to wonder if I’d short-circuited Ryan’s brain, but finally he turned to face me.

  “I want to help you,” he said.

  I blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Why not? It sounds like a fun excuse to get into some trouble and snoop around other people’s stuff. How can I say no to that?”

  “I — uh, how?” I asked.

  I honestly had no idea how to react, and the obvious result was that I’d degenerated into a bumbling fool. But really — help me? He couldn’t have surprised me more if he’d climbed off his stool and started doing backflips across the bar, ending in a climax of bench pressing the Jewels on his shoulders.

  “I have my own skills,” he said, and his eyes twinkled. “I don’t suppose you have any issue with a little breaking and entering?”

  ***

  Ryan Clark is full of surprises. I’d figured that out the second time I’d met him, when he told me he didn’t drink hard liquor on Thursdays nights and never came into the bar on weekends. He continued to prove it for the six months I’d known him. But tonight was a whole new level of intrigue.

  We set out from the Trove after I finished my drink, and I had the pleasure of riding on the back of the Ducati. Let me tell you: if you’ve never experienced it before, get out to a bike show and do it. Just for the heck of it. You won’t regret it.

  My legs were shaking by the time we pulled up in front of Ed Fraser’s building, and it took more than a few minutes for the vibrations to settle. I didn’t mind a moment of it.

  Ryan led the way into the building with his backpack slung over his shoulders, and I stuck close behind him, trusting him more than myself right now to get in without making noise.

  We bypassed the elevators and went to the stairs, taking them up to the fourth floor. By the time we reached Fraser’s office, my legs were shaking again, though for less exciting reasons. I’d never broken into a place of business before. Especially one filled with so many confidential documents. The thrill was different. Less innocent somehow, even if my motives were actually less selfish.

  I’d also never worked with a partner before. That was a whole new level of weird.

  At the moment, Ryan only confirmed my preference in working alone. He was taking his sweet time coming down the hallway, peering into every office door as we passed.
<
br />   “Will you hurry up?” I hissed. “Evolution moves faster than you.”

  He waved at me to keep going, and I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to the names on the door until I reached the one we needed.

  “This is it,” I whispered, gesturing to the glass door with Fraser’s name stamped onto the window in black block letters.

  “Can you get it open?” Ryan asked, finally upping his pace.

  I nodded and pulled my lockpicks out of my back pocket. I didn’t have my full set on me, not having planned for any itch-scratching this evening, but I never left home without the basics.

  I knelt down and fit the picks into the lock, feeling around the pins and tumblers until I felt them click.

  When I eased the door open, an alarm sounded. I braced my feet against the floor, ready to run, but Ryan pushed past me into the office and slid his backpack off his shoulder. He reached into it and pulled out a small black gizmo I couldn’t identify in the dark. He plugged it into the alarm and within fifteen seconds was pressing numbers on the number pad.

  The alarm fell silent.

  “Well that’s a handy little device,” I said. I peered over his shoulder to get a better look at it, but barely had time to notice the hint of a logo on the corner of the box before he slid it back into his bag.

  “You never know when you’re going to need help getting into a sticky situation,” he said. “I think I got it before the system sent the signal to the cops, but let’s play it safe and move quickly, shall we?”

  We split up, Ryan taking Daniel the Receptionist’s desk while I headed into Fraser’s office.

  I was ready for another alarm to sound in here, but the place continued silent, and I released my breath. When snooping through someone else’s belongings, I always found a steady intake of oxygen was a good way to keep a clear head.

  It was only when I broke into the top drawer of the filing cabinet that I realized my heart was racing, finally having tapped into the usual rush of a job. It seemed strange for me to be here without any intention of taking anything for myself. At worst, I would leave empty-handed. At best, I would have something to slip to Sam at the station tomorrow morning, solving his murder case and covering my butt at the same time.

  Having Ryan in the other room only increased the rush of my pulse, and I wondered what his hobbies were that he carried a gadget to kill alarms in his backpack.

  Questions for later, Fi, I thought. Focus.

  I turned my attention to the files and flipped through until I found Coleman’s. I pulled it out and grabbed my penlight from my jacket pocket. Right at the top of the file were the papers I’d seen on his desk the night he died.

  At first I thought the dim light had caused me to misread, so I brought the folder to the desk and lay it out over the surface.

  “Nothing out here,” Ryan whispered as he came into the room. “Did you find anything?”

  “Coleman’s file,” I said. “Look at this. Do my eyes deceive me or is this number really high?”

  I pointed to the final tally at the bottom of the final statements. To the large writing in bold that said Balance owed: $400,000.

  “Nope, that is most definitely the number you’re looking at.”

  “How is that even possible?” I asked, shaking my head. “I know my share of shopaholics, but even they stop before they get this deep over their heads.”

  “Welcome to the world of addiction,” Ryan said. “Trust me, I’ve seen it far worse than this.”

  I flipped through the pages until I found what I’d hoped but hadn’t expected to find. THIEF written in large red letters across the front of what appeared to be some kind of price breakdown. I angled my penlight over the page to cut down on the glare and allowed my eyes to scan over the words before I really appreciated what I was looking at.

  “Is that a boat?” Ryan asked.

  “Of course it is,” I said. “What else would it be?”

  “Something meant to look like a boat, maybe? A model? A prop from a movie set of something that washes up on shore after a storm or being attacked by a kracken? Who would buy something like that?”

  I saw now what he was talking about. The paper I held was a purchase agreement for The Beagle, the houseboat Roger Hardwick had appeared so content to lounge on.

  Beneath the purchase agreement was an estimate for all the repairs that needed to be done, soaring into the tens of thousands of dollars.

  “He spent how much on this piece of garbage?” Ryan asked, his eyes widening as he took in the amount noted on the purchase agreement. It was almost a full hundred thousand dollars.

  “Not in money,” I said, trying to ignore the oily feeling in my stomach. “For something far more precious than that.” I set aside my questions about why Roger would make such a horrible agreement or why he’d decided to deal with it by sending the agreement back to Coleman with his insults written all over it, and focused instead on the question of why the agreement was now in Fraser’s filing cabinet. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this,” I said. “It came from Coleman’s house. Why would Fraser want it?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Maybe he intended to use it against Coleman somehow. Blackmail him?”

  I had so many more questions, but didn’t have time to ask them. Through the office, beyond the reception area, someone had just unlocked the door.

  12

  At the sound of the key in the lock, I froze, but the moment the lock clicked over, my training kicked in.

  I hadn’t been robbing houses for ten years without learning a thing or two about being quick on my feet. Staring into the headlights only got you dead. Or, I guess in my case, arrested and having to deal with my mother. Death would be the more merciful punishment.

  So before the door opened, I’d already moved to the cabinet and stuffed Coleman’s file back in the drawer. I slid the door shut and gave it a tug to ensure it was locked. No point letting Fraser know he’d had company.

  The door to reception opened, and whoever it was that had so rudely interrupted us flicked a switch, spilling harsh white light across the floor. My heart leapt into my throat and my mouth filled with cotton balls.

  While I’d been tidying, Ryan had slid the window open and stepped out onto the small balcony. I closed my eyes as I followed him. I don’t know why. Maybe I figured that if I couldn’t see the person who had walked in, they couldn’t see me.

  It was only when I jerked my other leg through that I realized our rush to hide the evidence of our visit was useless. The alarm hadn’t gone off.

  I pulled the door shut behind me, keeping hold of the handle so the latch didn’t click, and cursed when the blinds rattled against the glass.

  If Fraser’s second visitor — or Fraser himself — noticed the recent change in security measures, I guessed we had maybe a few minutes to get down from the fourth-floor balcony and well away from here before they called the cops.

  Easy peasy.

  Ryan and I moved together to the left of the door, getting out of view if the person inside happened to look through the window. The light in the office switched on, and to make sure I stayed out of range, I shifted further toward the railing, cramming me and Ryan into a three-foot square. My chest pressed against his, and his hand rested on my waist to edge me farther out of view. From here, I could make out all the hints of evening stubble coming in along his jawline and the steadily beating pulse in this throat. At least I wasn’t the only one with a racing heart.

  “The alarm,” I whispered.

  He nodded. By the determined concentration in his gaze, he’d already considered our error, and I sent a silent curse to the gadget in his backpack that it hadn’t been smart enough to magically reset the system for us.

  Ryan peered over the side of the balcony, his gaze following the drainpipe attached to the wall. He glanced to me, and I arched an eyebrow. Was he serious? I wouldn’t trust a drainpipe to save my life.

  I peered down and noted the tall railings around
the balconies. It would probably be a simple matter to drop down one to another. Sure footing and good balance would be a necessity, but thankfully I had those in spades.

  Ryan didn’t give me time to decide. He tightened the straps of his backpack and slung one leg over the railing, then reached out to trail his fingers over the uneven bricks in the wall until he reached the pipe. He grabbed on to it, but used the uneven bricks as toeholds to hold his weight and help him descend.

  I shook my head as I watched him. The man was crazy, but he knew what he was doing.

  Noise sounded inside, and my heart gave another lurch. No more time for dilly-dallying.

  I followed his path over the railing, and held on to the spindles as I slowly lowered myself down. As soon as my feet reached the top of the next railing and I was sure I had my balance, I dropped into a crouch to grab hold. Once there, I lowered my feet to the floor of the balcony, shifted my hands from the top of the railing to the spindles, and repeated the steps. My arms trembled and sweat crept down my back. My gloves weren’t my usual working pair, and they slipped across the metal, dropping me a few inches on the spindles. I squeezed tight and breathed out slowly.

  Muscle control. You never realize how important it is until you’re dangling from a third-storey balcony.

  I wanted to look over my shoulder to see how Ryan was making out, but knew I shouldn’t waste the time. Nothing fatigued a body more than waiting. Better to move and meet him at the bottom.

  Taking in another breath, I continued down, dropping from the third to the second. Once there, I needed to catch my breath. I was comfortable climbing trees and making use of my environment, but it had been a while since I’d had to rely solely on my upper body strength. I knew what I needed to focus on in the gym for a while.

  While I summoned the strength to tackle the second half of my descent, my thoughts flew to the summary of Coleman’s debts. Four hundred thousand dollars. And he thought he could pay that off by dressing up and selling a few knick-knacks?