by J.J. Chow
CHAPTER 23
AS THEY WALKED BACK home, Winston pondered over his sister’s words: that she’d seen the wristlet before. He said, “Marcy, tell me all you remember about that purse.”
Marcy scrunched up her nose. “It was that mystery woman’s, the one who danced on the table.”
He stopped mid-stride. “The crazy lady who knocked over all the food? Ruined Heather’s party?”
“The same one.” Marcy nodded. “I remember because the blue wristlet matched her Smurfette costume. She was all covered with makeup, so you couldn’t really see her face.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you recognize her?”
“Not exactly. But she had the same build as Diana. And Diana herself said she hadn’t given her purse to anyone else.”
“No wonder she didn’t bring it up during the watch meeting after the party. She didn’t want the neighborhood to remember her causing a ruckus.”
“Well, kudos to her,” Marcy said as she reached the front door. “It’s really freeing, dancing like that.”
While his sister unlocked the door, Winston’s mind drifted to dancing. He thought about Kristy and waltzing—er, shuffling—cheek-to-cheek with her. He cursed himself for not saying more to her that night, for not voicing his feelings. By the time he entered his home, he felt weighed down by the lost opportunity.
In his cloud of unhappiness, Blueberry came by and surrounded Winston, weaving in and out of his legs. Well, what did you know? Had the cat sensed Winston’s mood and come to offer comfort? Unless Blueberry was just hungry.
After they squared away their meals (Blueberry ate kibble, while Winston and Marcy had Salisbury steaks), Winston excused himself to make a phone call.
When Kristy picked up, he said, “I really miss you.”
“Me, too,” she said. “Just to warn you, though, I can’t talk long. I’m helping bathe the baby.”
Winston couldn’t even imagine what that would look like. He racked his brain to think of something that could connect them across the long distance. “Guess what? Blueberry’s getting used to me, snuggling close.”
“Of course, he’s a great judge of character.”
Winston swallowed the lump in his throat. “You know, I was thinking about how we danced. On Halloween. During the party. It was great . . . moving our feet together and everything.” He smacked his palm against his forehead. Sometimes his words came out all wrong.
“I liked it, too,” she said. “Especially since Jazzman played our song.”
“‘Chances Are,’” he said. She had called it our song. They had a special secret tune. He’d try again to tell her how he had experienced an epiphany while dancing with her, how he’d imagined wedding bells ringing.
He took a deep breath. “Kristy,” he said. “When we were dancing, I knew that—”
“Oh no! The phone’s slip—” A splash, and then the line died.
Frustrated, he stared down at his phone with the broken connection. But as he thought about it more, he realized his thoughts and reflections would be better said to Kristy in person.
CHAPTER 24
IN THE MORNING, WINSTON still felt happy about his telephone conversation. He couldn’t help but hum a few bars of “Chances Are” in merriment as he neared the breakfast table, where Marcy was nursing a cup of coffee. Jazzman had really set the mood for romance that night. He thought about the old piano player with a fond smile—and then slapped his thigh. “That’s it!”
Marcy let out a small yelp. “What are you doing?”
“Grumpy much?” Winston asked, pouring himself a bowl of Lucky Charms. He made sure to give himself extra shamrocks. “We should talk to Jazzman.”
“The pianist? Whatever for?”
“He was playing during the party—”
“And observing,” Marcy said. She gulped down her coffee. “After you finish your bowl of sugar, we’ll get going.”
JAZZMAN LIVED IN A nice senior residential home called Green Pastures. The minute they walked into the place, Marcy and Winston knew where to find the old man. A lively tune permeated the home. They followed the music to find Jazzman seated behind a piano, tickling the ivories.
“Of course,” Winston mumbled to himself. As always, the gentleman had dressed up, today in a top hat and tails.
The last notes lingered in the air as Winston and Marcy approached him. A smatter of applause came from the residents seated nearby in plush armchairs. Winston even heard a wolf whistle from down the hall.
“You’ve got fans,” Winston said to Jazzman. “Me included.”
Jazzman dipped his top hat. “I aim to please. Good to see you again, Winston.” He turned to Marcy and kissed her hand. “A delight.”
Jazzman scooted over on the bench and motioned for Marcy to sit down, but she shook her head. She and Winston remained standing on one side of the piano bench to chat.
“We won’t be long,” Marcy said. “My brother has a few questions for you. About Halloween night.”
“During the party,” Winston added.
“A swell evening,” Jazzman said. He slid his fingers over the smooth piano keys, creating a whisper of sound. “Lovely neighborhood.”
“Actually, not so nice,” Winston said. “One of the residents recently died over there. And I don’t think it was of natural causes.”
“Another murder investigation?” Jazzman’s hands paused above the keys.
“Unfortunately,” Winston said. “It was Bill, the captain of the neighborhood watch.”
“A shame.” Jazzman put his hands at his side and hung his head.
Winston could see Jazzman’s face reflected in the glossy surface of the piano. The old man’s eyes looked half-closed, as though deep in thought. Maybe he was remembering Joe, his friend from Sweet Breeze who’d been murdered. But Winston had solved that case and provided closure. Maybe he could do the same now. “I promise to find out what happened.”
Marcy added, “My brother can do it.” Her encouragement surprised Winston. How long had it been since she’d actually rooted for him instead of bailing him out? Had he actually leveled up in her eyes?
Winston gave her a head nod, and she smiled back at him.
“How can I help?” Jazzman asked. He lifted his head and stared straight at Winston.
“Bill lived in the house right behind the neighborhood watch sign,” Winston said. “Do you remember when those floodlights turned on?”
“How could I forget?” Jazzman seemed to cheer up as he winked at Marcy. “There was some fabulous singing going on.”
Marcy shifted her feet and looked away.
“Do you know why the lights went on?” he asked Jazzman. “Did you see anything?”
“Can’t say that I did,” Jazzman said after a moment’s reflection.
“Oh.” Winston felt his excitement deflate as though his stomach had been punched. Crit happens, as his fellow gamers would say.
He wondered if he’d catch a break, when Jazzman continued, “That’s because I was focused on something else. An argument.”
“Between?”
“Heather and this real suave guy.” Jazzman described the man in question.
Marcy must have been thinking the same thing as Winston because they both spoke the same name: “Ryan.”
“Could you hear what they were saying?” Winston asked.
“No,” Jazzman said. “They were too far away. Under the awning of Bill’s house, in the shadows—besides, I was still playing.”
“So how did you know it was an argument?” Marcy asked.
Jazzman ran a hand through his short hair. “Looked heated,” he said. “Ryan was shaking his fist at her.”
Marcy gave a little gasp and braced herself against the piano frame. “Did he hit her?”
“No, it was all verbal.”
“What happened afterward?” Winston asked.
Jazzman shrugged. “Don’t know. The floodlights came on. And Miss Mystique over here distracted us
.”
Marcy ducked her head. Winston knew she would never be left alone about her grooving. “Wipe that silly smile off your face,” she said to him.
Winston moved from his sister’s side to get away from her angry vibe and focused on Jazzman. “Well, thanks for the info. That’s interesting to hear that something was brewing between Ryan and Heather.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” Jazzman pressed a few piano keys, and Winston knew the gentleman was itching to play again. “You know who might be able to tell you more, though? Pete.”
“Pete Russell?” Winston pictured the veteran who’d shown up at the party.
“The one and only. Grumbling about seeing somebody trespassing Bill’s land, he went to chase whoever had tripped the lights.”
Jazzman started playing an upbeat tune, and Winston and Marcy took their leave.
CHAPTER 25
PETE LIVED IN VA HOUSING, but he wasn’t in his spacious bedroom. Instead, Winston and Marcy were directed by staff to find him in one of the many recreation rooms. The space they entered displayed one expansive wall with a built-in bookshelf. It held not tomes, but all kinds of board games. Pete, though, was sitting at a square table with a few of his cronies, dealing out cards. His set was almost tattered, the color faded, and the cards worn smooth after years of playing. Winston recognized Pete’s personal deck of Bicycles. Except now he didn’t have to play solitaire, like he’d done at Sweet Breeze. He had found himself a group of friends, and Winston silently applauded the man for getting out of his shell.
Pete glanced up at Winston and Marcy as they came closer. “Can’t deal you in,” he said. “Table’s full.”
“No problem,” Winston said. “We’re not here for a game anyway. We’re investigating.”
“Really?” Pete raised his eyebrows at them and told his card-playing buddies to take a break. He promised to give his friends the sordid details later.
After his pals left, Pete pointed to the empty chairs. “Go ahead, sit.”
They settled in, Marcy lining the cards in front of her into a neat pile.
“It’s about Halloween,” Winston said.
Pete tapped his bad leg. “A lot of walking that night, and a little bit of waltzing.” He looked over at Marcy. “Unlike others, no extreme entertaining for me.”
Marcy’s hand fluttered on the table, knocking over the stack of cards near her.
“One of the residents from the neighborhood died,” Winston said. “And I don’t think it was an accident. It may have something to do with the floodlights coming on—”
“I remember that,” Pete said while helping Marcy gather and rearrange the cards into a tidy stack.
“Did you see anything?” Winston asked. “Jazzman said you might have chased someone?”
“That pianist doesn’t miss a thing.” Pete tapped a card in thought. “I saw somebody dressed in black carrying something the size of a plate near the side of the house.”
“The area on the left or right?” Marcy asked.
“Had bamboo on that side.”
By Zack’s house then, Winston thought. “Did you catch the guy?”
“No. My blasted leg,” Pete said. “When I leaned against Bill’s garage door to rest, I saw him squeeze past the bamboo over to the backyard . . . but then he returned moments later. I called out, but he scuttled into the house next door, so I figured he was a neighbor.”
Winston groaned. “Probably Zack, checking on Bill’s place.”
Pete nodded. “The man didn’t seem to be dangerous, so I let him be.”
It was still odd behavior, though, even for Zack. “Why would he be sneaking into Bill’s yard?” Not to gather more gray water.
“Well, you could always chat with Anastasia. She had her eye on all the young men at the party.”
That sounded about right and it wasn’t a half-bad idea.
CHAPTER 26
WINSTON AND MARCY VISITED Anastasia at the Silicon Valley Skilled Nursing Facility. Confined three patients to a rectangular room, Anastasia still tried to make her separate area bright and cheery. She had even hung up a silk curtain for privacy.
Lying in her bed, swathed in her usual layers (this time, made of satin), she pointed to her “visitors’ area.” In the corner, Winston noticed a bright-orange fabric ottoman.
“Nesting,” she told Winston, so he pulled out a mini ottoman from the larger one. His sister made him sit on the smaller version because she was a half-inch taller.
“Sorry. Don’t have any refreshments, my dears.” Anastasia gestured to her empty water pitcher, her bangles jangling with the movement.
“Not a problem,” Winston said. “Besides, we’re here for your company.”
She beamed at him and extended her thin hand for him to kiss. He almost couldn’t find a spot, what with all those glittering bracelets sliding down her wrist.
Marcy straightened up on the ottoman. “It’s about the men at the Halloween party.”
Anastasia’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, lots of wonderful specimens. Which one?”
Winston described the physical features and personality of both of the male suspects, Ryan and Zack.
Anastasia turned toward Marcy. “Which one drew your attention? Mr. Fancy Pants or Earth Man?”
Marcy looked startled. “Neither”—she twiddled her fingers—“I’m taken.”
Hadn’t Anastasia noticed his sister’s wedding band? But when Winston looked, he realized that Marcy’s left ring finger was bare. Had she taken it off? Where was her usual one-carat diamond? Marcy’s lips flattened into a thin line, and he knew not to ask her in front of company . . . or anytime soon.
Anastasia fluffed out her hair, drawing the attention back to her, and Winston noticed the jewels on her ring-laden fingers sparkling. “Here are my thoughts. Ryan’s a polished operator. He had the clothes down, but all borrowed. Men’s Wearhouse, I recognize their styles.” She sniffed. “His date was the real deal—dressed to the nines in this season’s fashion. But she took a break to find champagne, and he ran off to fight with the organizer girl.”
“Heather?” Winston leaned forward and almost fell off his mini seat. “You saw them argue?”
“I heard Ryan say, ‘Pay me back’ before I got distracted by the cat burglar.”
“Zack,” Marcy said. She scooted her ample ottoman closer to Anastasia’s bed.
“Very sleek, dressed in black. I saw him sneak into his neighbor’s yard with something in his hands.”
“What was it?” Winston asked.
“Hard to say, maybe something circular. It was dark, but I know he didn’t have it when he returned.”
“Curious,” Winston said. “Did you actually talk to either of the men?”
“No, I was enjoying the party. Glorious food, great dancing partner.”
“Who’d you dance with?”
“Pete, of course.”
“Even with his leg?”
“Oh, he can still cut a rug.” Anastasia smiled, and her eyes stared off into the distance.
Winston was glad she had fond memories of the evening. He gave her a big hug before they left.
As they walked out, Winston said to his sister, “Not everything is well on Magnolia Lane.”
She made an assenting noise. “Fighting between Heather and Ryan. Zack sneaking into Bill’s yard. If only we knew what really happened that night—if only I’d kept an eye on the neighborhood better.”
Marcy’s words rang in Winston’s head, an echo of something he’d heard during a previous neighborhood watch meeting.
“I know where to go next,” he said, steering the car back to the now familiar cul-de-sac.
CHAPTER 27
WINSTON AND MARCY STOOD staring at Bill’s house.
“Why are we here?” Marcy asked.
“Because Bill said he always kept an eye on the neighborhood—but how exactly?” Winston gestured at the doohickeys scattered around the building, the inventions hanging off the eaves.
He and Marcy looked at all the gadgets. They discovered fancy bird feeders and automatic watering systems. They uncovered a device that swept up fallen leaves into neat piles. Even a gutter sweeper numbered among Bill’s mechanical creations. But nothing that kept watch.
Marcy placed her hand on the doorknob. “I wish we could ring this bell, and out Bill would pop. He’d be able to answer our questions.” For now, she put her head in her hands. “I need some valerian.”
Winston glanced at the doorbell. Its exclamation shape mocked him. This investigation was glitching, and he didn’t know how to fix it.
Wait a minute. What kind of man used punctuation as a ringer? Maybe a writer. Not an inventor, though, unless he had a solid reason to do so. Winston peered at the point of the “exclamation mark” closely—it looked cracked. He then realized that the circle was actually the glass eye of a video camera—and he bet it’d been recording everything, from Halloween night until Bill’s untimely death. And somebody had tried to break it, to erase the footage.
“We need to get those videos,” Winston said. He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the contacts. Had he erased the name out of spite, or was it still there? Relief flooded him. Officer Gaffey’s direct line remained on his list of keepers.
He dialed and got the policeman on the line. Gaffey didn’t seem happy to hear from him. “Why are you calling me, Winston?”
Winston swore he could almost hear the man drumming his fingers against a desk. “It’s about Bill’s case.”
“Who?”
“The old man who lived on Magnolia. Does the station have his belongings? Computer, phone?”
“Winston, this isn’t CSI. That man’s death was an accident. An unhappy fall down a ladder, end of story.”