by Dana Mentink
His eyes wandered to the red tissue-paper flower that festooned the rearview mirror, Bobby’s little joke. He wondered again why he couldn’t say those three words she needed to hear. Why is that so infernally hard for you, Jack? Let go of Lacey. She’s dead, and she would have wanted you and Paul to move on.
His head told him it was true, but his heart, or his conscience, would not sign on. So much for mind over matter. “God, help me, please. I’m making a mess of things down here.” His prayer was cut short as he pulled up to Mrs. Hodges’s cottage.
Alva met him at the front drive. His white hair stuck up from his scalp like fluffy icebergs. “It’s a heinous crime, a traverstine of justice. They coulda been lying in wait. I coulda been murdered in my sleep or maybe tied up and smuggled to Barbados to work as a slave.”
Jack held up a calming hand. “Let’s just slow down here, Alva. What’s the problem?”
“I done been burgled. Someone busted into my room and went through my stuff.”
“What was taken?”
“Nothin’. But that ain’t the point.”
Mrs. Hodges lumbered over, her round faced etched with concern. “Good afternoon, Jack. Come in for some cookies. I just took some out of the oven. Alva, would you go ahead and put some napkins on the table?”
With a grumble, the old man shuffled off.
She took Jack’s arm as they headed into the house. “I thought Alva was just off on one of his tangents, but this time I think he’s right.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “You think someone broke in?”
She nodded, setting her jowls wobbling. “They tried to, anyway. Come and have a look.”
Jack forced himself to walk past the pan of still warm cookies in the kitchen, the aroma making his mouth water. Mrs. Hodges escorted them into Alva’s room, a small whitewashed space that looked out on her prodigious vegetable garden, jammed with clusters of tomatoes just beginning to show color, and several zucchini plants decorated with showy yellow blossoms.
Alva scuttled by them and sat on his tidy bed, arms folded.
Jack noted a small wooden writing desk stacked with newspaper clippings and comic books. A crate at the foot of the bed held the rusty can opener and a hodgepodge of other dubious treasures.
“So, er, how do you know someone’s been in here, Alva?”
Alva glared at the detective. “It’s obvious, ain’t it? Them books on my shelf been moved, and the dust under the bed’s been stirred around.”
Mrs. Hodges pinked. “I promised Alva when he came to live here that I wouldn’t intrude on his privacy so the cleaning is up to him.” She fanned her cheeks with a hand. “I can tell you there’s no dust under any of the other beds in this house.”
“Right.” Jack peeked under the bed frame and scrutinized the bookshelf. “Alva, are you sure you didn’t, uh, just look at some books and maybe forget you’d done it? Or maybe Mr. Hodges—” His voice trailed off at the ire kindling in the old man’s eyes.
“Number first, I ain’t prone to forgetting things, and number second, I ain’t touched one of them books in all the years I done lived here.”
Mrs. Hodges nodded. “He prefers comic books. And Mr. Hodges is out of town on a fishing trip. He doesn’t go into Alva’s room anyway.”
Jack went outside to peer at the window that was open halfway. Alva trotted along at his heels. There was no sign of a forced entry. “Did you have it locked?”
Alva snorted. “Locked? What fer?”
Jack sighed. Mrs. Hodges pointed to the ground. There was no imprint of a foot, but she directed his attention to an overturned pot, pressed down into the earth.
“Someone needed a boost. That pot was right side up yesterday, with a new pepper plant in it.”
Jack continued to scan the ground and windowsill for any telltale marks. “The guy or gal was careful anyway. What time do you guess they had access?”
Alva spoke up. “They came when I was out digging for treasure, I’ll bet. I was gone from about seven to ten thirty. Then I spent the night at Petey’s cuz it was Boy Scout camping night, so I didn’t notice it until just now when I got back from walkin’ Ruth to the jewelry store.”
Mrs. Hodges nodded. “I didn’t notice it either, but late night seems most likely. I was at a F.L.O.P meeting until around then. I know it definitely happened before eleven.”
“Why?”
“I finished up watching the shopping network about then and let him into the garden.”
“Who?”
“Pedro.”
Jack couldn’t restrain a nervous glance over his shoulder.
“It’s okay.” She patted the detective on the arm. “Pedro only has access to the yard during the night. He’s in Mr. Peterman’s field during the day doing weed control. Otherwise that goat would have mowed down any trespasser and chewed him into little bits.”
Alva nodded, rubbing his knee thoughtfully. “I still got a piece missing from the last time Pedro waylaid me on my trip to the mail box.”
Jack smiled. “Everyone who has ever met that goat has lost a part or two. It couldn’t have been Pedro that upended the pot and ruined your pepper?”
Mrs. Hodges shook her head. “Pedro can’t stand peppers.”
Alva cackled. “Human flesh is more to his taste.”
Jack nodded. “You’re sure there’s nothing missing?”
Alva shook his head. “Nah. Just some stuff moved around, kinda.” His shaggy eyebrows drew together. “If I hadn’ta hidden my treasures, the burglar would have made off with a fortune.”
Jack followed Mrs. Hodges and Alva into the kitchen. “What treasures are we talking about here, Alva?”
Alva settled himself into a chair and tucked a checked napkin around his neck. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“My jar of glass marbles is over at Bubby Dean’s place. They’d be after that fer sure. And Ruth’s got my baloney shell and a box of old coins I found on the beach. My collection of newspaper clippings is hidden in the fake potted plant at the library, but Big Foots don’t know it. Good thing I spread ’em out, otherwise I’da lost it all.”
Jack held up his coffee cup for Mrs. Hodges to fill. “Definitely a good thing. Has anyone been interested in your treasures lately? Asking questions, things like that?”
Alva jammed a cookie in his mouth, chewing carefully. “Nah, but I been pretty busy keeping track of Ruth and all. I’m her ninny, uh, nanny.”
Jack and Mrs. Hodges exchanged a smile as the lady filled Jack’s plate.
“Ya know,” Alva said, eyes rolling around. “If I’da been home when he busted in, I might be dead now. He mighta conked me over the head and I’d be too dead to be eatin’ these cookies now.”
“Is anything disturbed in the rest of the house?” Jack tasted the gooey chocolate chip cookie. He would never take handouts or kickbacks, but it would be a sin to refuse a neighborly offer, especially from Mrs. Hodges, the best cook in the county.
“No, nothing else. I’m glad Mr. Hodges is going to be home today. I never would have thought someone would break into our house.” She sat heavily in the chair, causing the floor to tremble. “Then again, I never would have thought someone would murder that poor cameraman, either.”
Alva took a gulp of coffee. “Never say never.”
Jack drove Alva to the police station so he could give a statement. It wasn’t strictly necessary, as Jack could take one just as well from the cottage, but Alva was not going to be cheated out of his experience. The old man made sure to fill his pockets with change to use the station’s vending machine.
“Best M&M’s in Finny in yer machine,” he said. “It’s on account of the patina of terror that paints this place. The air is plumb filled with the aura of desperation from all of these hardened criminal types.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Have you been watching a lot of television lately?”
He nodded. “Masterpiece Theater. Oh, just looky there. A desperate citizen, right in front of our noses.
” He made straight for Maude, who sat on a chair in the reception area with her ankle cast propped on a chair.
“Hey, Maude. Whatcha doin?”
She looked up from the book she was reading. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m here to ask Jack to execute an investigation.”
Jack forced himself to ask. “What kind of investigation?”
“I think we should check into Ellen’s past, see what sins she has buried under that self-righteous facade. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that she’s not who she says she is.” Her black eyes gleamed in her tiny face.
“We don’t investigate citizens unless there’s a good reason, Maude. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go.”
Maude shot to her feet. “There is a good reason. She’s poking around in other people’s business all the time, as if she was collecting information or spying.”
Alva laughed. “Sounds just like you, Maude.”
She shot him a look of pure acid. “Stay out of it, you old goat.”
Alva folded his scrawny arms. “It’s clear as icicles that yer jealous cuz Ellen is tryin’ to get her hooks into that dentist fella.”
Maude colored. “Oh, fiddlesticks. That’s ridiculous.”
“I ain’t thinkin’ so.”
She snorted. “You don’t waste any time thinking, do you?”
A sly look crossed Alva’s face. “I’m all wet, huh? Then I guess you ain’t interested in what the doctor was buyin’ at the jewelry store ’round lunchtime today. A real pretty thing, he bought, a romantic type thing.”
Jack barely suppressed a smile at the change on Maude’s face. Hooked like a trout, he thought.
“I’m not interested, no.” She grabbed her purse and took a step to the door. “But Ellen probably already knows because she’s a bigger snoop than you.”
Alva chuckled. “Maybe. Or maybe she knows because he done gave the gold heart locket to her. Wouldn’t that be something?”
Maude’s expression kindled a surge of guilt in Jack. There was a sadness and vulnerability there that he had never seen before. For the first time he realized how lonely it might be for Maude. Forgive me, Lord, for judging. He summoned the words of Romans 14:10 in his mind. You, then, why do you judge your brother? Or why do you look down on your brother? For we will all stand before God’s judgment seat. And the Lord already knew he had plenty to answer for. “Maybe we can talk later, Maude, after I’m done with Alva.”
She waved a hand at him as she stumped away. “You’re wasting your time with that geezer. He won’t help you catch anything but a cold.”
Maude left and Alva toddled away to stock up on candy. Jack said a hello to Nate and Mary, who were both keeping company in the coffee room until Maude left.
Nate looked around Jack’s shoulder. “Is it safe to come out now?”
“Yes. Maude’s gone. Can you take Alva’s statement?”
“I’ll do it.” Before Mary cleared the door she stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you something I found out about our cameraman.”
“The dead one or the living one?”
“Reggie, not Ethan. He’s got a local connection.”
Jack waited for her to finish.
“He got busted for some petty theft stuff along with a kid named Eddie Seevers.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Okay. What’s the connection?”
“Eddie Seevers was Roxie Trotter’s son.”
“Was?”
“Drug overdose five years ago.”
Nate tapped his mustache. “Five years? Isn’t that about the time Roxie came to Finny?”
Jack sighed. “I guess I’m on my way to visit Ms. Trotter, then.” He headed back out to the car. But I can spare a few minutes to stop by Monk’s for a cup of coffee, he thought, crossing his fingers that a certain lady would be there to pour it for him.
Bobby was there, but she was up to her elbows in dough. Even worse, Jack noticed, she was deep in conversation with Ethan Ping. He tried to tamp down the irritation that flared in his gut as he took his coffee to a table. Sandra Marconi sat nearby, soaking in the sunshine that poured through the glass window.
She gazed out at the glittering expanse of ocean that was visible down slope from the coffee shop.
“Hello, Ms. Marconi. How goes the filming?”
She jumped, almost spilling her tea. “Filming? Oh, er, fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Are you finding it hard to work without your official cameraman?”
“No. Ethan is great with a camera.”
“How is he with salvage work?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Underwater salvage, for historical artifacts and such.”
“I, uh, I don’t know. We’ve never done that before. Why do you ask?”
He let the silence linger for a moment. “Reggie did some questionable recovery work, so I wondered if Ethan was in on it.”
She blanched. “No. He’s here to direct a film for our project, that’s all. I’ve got to go.” She hopped out of her seat and went to the door.
Darting a quick look in Jack’s direction, Ethan said good-bye to Bobby and followed Sandra out.
Jack approached the counter. Before he could speak, Bobby shot him a look.
“Scaring away our customers, Detective?”
“Not at all, just having a friendly conversation, like you were with him.”
She opened her mouth to reply when the phone rang. “Monk’s Coffee and Catering.” After a second her eyes widened. “Okay. Okay, yes, I’ll come over right now. Are you at home? Okay, I’ll close up here this minute.” She stood with the phone dangling from her fingers.
Jack took the receiver gently and hung it up. “What is it, Bobby? What’s wrong?”
“That was Uncle Monk. They just met with the doctor. I need to go.”
Chapter Twelve
Monk went to find Ruth a drink of water while she pulled her clothes on with shaking fingers. She made it to the hallway and slid into a chair, chin on hands, and let the cool air bathe her heated face.
Her insides felt like the tiny seeds of a dandelion, blown in all directions by a careless wind.
“Hello, Ruth.”
She looked up to find Roxie, emerging from a room a few doors down.
“Hi, Roxie.” Her voice trembled only a little.
Roxie pulled on her knit cap and looked at Ruth for a minute, before sinking into a chair next to her. “Looks like you’re having a bad day.”
“I—” Ruth clamped her mouth shut to avoid bursting into tears.
Roxie sighed. “I’ve been there.”
Ruth noticed a square of white tape on the woman’s arm. She swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”
“Sure, sure. I get regular blood tests because my kidney is failing.”
Ruth was temporarily jerked from her malaise. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to the idea. Normally I go to a hospital in San Francisco. They’ve got a specialist there who is determined to keep me alive, in spite of all the given facts.” She fingered the tape. “I had an appointment in the city yesterday. Saw Dr. Soloski there. I don’t know what his problem is, but our paths cross a lot at that hospital.”
Ruth pressed the balled-up tissue to her nose again.
Roxie gave her a sidelong look. “Say, if you’d rather be alone. . .”
“No, no. I–I’ve just had a shock, is all. It’s—it’s. . . twins.” Saying the words aloud almost sent her into a shower of tears again.
“Twins?” Roxie smiled. “Oh, boy. Double blessing, huh?”
“I know that’s what I should be feeling. Twins are a miracle, an amazing special gift times two. I should be on my knees thanking God, but all I can think of is, how will I cope?”
The words gathered momentum and flew out in a steady stream. “I’m going to be forty-nine, and I didn’t do a good job the first time I had a child. I spoiled him, sheltered him from disap
pointments so he never learned how to deal with them. And now—” She swallowed a tide of rising panic.
“Not me,” Roxie said. “I was a perfect mother. I was patient, but firm. I had rules and plenty of structure with time left over for fun. As both the mother and dad I was great, even if I do say so.” She handed Ruth another tissue. “You know what? My son turned out to be a screw-up, and eventually his choices got the better of him and they are getting the better of me an inch at a time. He couldn’t keep away from trouble and it killed him, just like it killed Reggie.”
Ruth straightened, wondering at the connection between Roxie’s son and the dead cameraman.
Roxie gazed at the worn tiles on the floor. “It killed me, too, really, only my death is taking awhile longer.” She shook her head. “Anyway, the thing is, Ruth, I couldn’t have loved him more if he’d turned out to be the president of the United States instead of a deadbeat.”
She stood. “Funny, isn’t it? It doesn’t really matter who they are or what they decide to be, or even how many in the batch. Mothers love their children in spite of everything. Where did we learn how to do that, I wonder?”
Roxie patted Ruth on the shoulder and left, as Monk arrived, puffing, with a bottle of water.
They walked back to the cottage in relative silence. Monk’s expression changed alternately from wonder to abject fear. Several times he started to speak but sputtered into silence. He settled for gripping her hand firmly in his, as if she might fly away if he let go.
She couldn’t keep her mind on any practical thought. It kept spinning back to the incredible truth: twins. The writhing bundle of kicks and pokes was the project of two babies. Two. She had to rest for a minute to stop the spinning in her head.
They’d made it several blocks when Alva caught up with them. “Oh, sakes,” he said, wringing his cap between his hands. “I was at the hospital getting me some of that free coffee when I done heard the news.” He panted and pressed a hand over his heart. “Don’t let it worry you none. Even if it comes out with scales and a tail we’ll love it, you’ll see.”