Cleanup on Aisle Six

by Daniel Stallings

  Detective Hughes stopped twirling his pencil and began tracing an invisible mustache with the eraser again. “Nothing at all. It appears Oscar wasn’t here merely to shop for sustenance. Unless someone took his groceries after they killed him. But why would anyone do that?”

  Li flopped against the back of the folding chair, slapping a hand against his forehead. “I’m an idiot. How could I miss that?”

  “Would you mind enlightening me?”

  “Something else is missing from the crime scene.”

  “Besides these imaginary groceries?”

  “Oscar’s cane!”

  Detective Hughes stopped tracing and arched an eyebrow. “What cane?”

  “Oscar carried this cane when he came in the store yesterday. Dark wood. Like ebony. A brass head. It seemed like he enjoyed using it for intimidation. He certainly made a point of sticking it in our faces.” Li stood up and started to pace the little gray box like a tiger in its cage. His fingers continued to streak through his hair, causing cowlicks to erupt across his head. “I have a feeling that this cane was a trademark for him. He would have carried it everywhere. So where is it? It wasn’t near his body. Could someone have taken it? Why would they do that?” He stopped pacing and rounded on Detective Hughes, his blue-gray eyes bright like new silver. “What if the cane was the murder weapon?”

  Memories sparked in Li’s mind. Disparate images. Old clues to a mystery at his last job. A hat. A ring. A bottle of sunscreen.

  The pattern repeated itself. A list. A cane. A missing basket of groceries.

  Detective Hughes stood and crossed over to the furiously pacing boy. He seized Li by the shoulder and steered him back to the folding chair. Li looked like he had been snatched from a trance.

  The detective settled into his chair again. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, kid. This is the first time I’ve heard of this mysterious cane. I can’t make theories on facts I haven’t proven yet. If there is a cane, he may have just left it at home.”

  “But why would he do that, Detective? That didn’t seem like something he would do.”

  “Again, let me do the legwork before you jump headfirst into a theory. Besides, this isn’t your concern. I’m the cop here, and you’re the suspect.”

  Suspect. That word brought back all the horror. Li was involved in another murder. A violent murder. A murder in cold blood.

  A murder his new friend might have committed.

  Detective Hughes held the pencil eraser against his mouth and watched the boy. His face was unreadable, a veteran cop’s face. Li squirmed in his seat and tried to loosen the collar of his shirt. Why did it feel like his collar shrank on him? Li tugged at his necktie, hoping that the detective couldn’t read his thoughts. After all, Reuben’s involvement in the murder was circumstantial at best. A look of black hate. Nothing more.

  And his proximity to the crime scene.

  And the fact he knew Oscar somehow.

  Detective Hughes tilted the pencil so the eraser pointed at Li. “Uncomfortable?”

  Li’s heart skyrocketed into his nose. “Oh … um … no, I’m okay.”

  “You’re fidgeting.”

  “My uniform is kind of itchy. I guess I need to use more fabric softener.” His attempt at a laugh was depressing.

  “You’re holding something back. Something you’re afraid of.”

  Li swallowed.

  “A nervous swallow. Now I know you’re keeping something from me. Do I have to remind you what obstruction of justice means? And you still haven’t told me about your little snooping adventure. Does it have something to do with your very knowledgeable friend?”

  Li wound his fingers into knots, fighting to keep the shakes out of them. What should he say? Should he admit that he was terrified about his friend being the murderer? Should he mention Reuben’s hatred for the dead man? And what about the voices of Frank and Connie? He realized he was holding back more than he thought.

  The veteran cop’s eyes drilled into Li’s face.

  Li opted for a middle ground. He told half of the truth. At least for now.

  “Well, while I was looking around, I heard these voices in aisle four. Two people. One named Frank. The other Connie.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “That’s what they called each other. I couldn’t tell who they were. I never saw their faces.” He told the detective about the conversation he overheard. “It sounds like they’re … covering something up. Something that involved Oscar Lindstrom.”

  The pencil twirled in the detective’s dark chocolate fingers. “So you say.”

  “I swear that’s what I heard, Detective. I’m not lying.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. In this business, it’s not wise to believe too much of what you’re told. I have to check every fact in this case on my own. There’s no proof that your story is genuine.” His mouth quirked into a sly smile. “Besides, I have this feeling—call it police instinct, if you want—that you’re still hiding something.”

  Li fought to keep from swallowing nervously again. That would be a dead giveaway. He couldn’t sell out Reuben. Not until he was sure that … nothing happened.

  Detective Hughes let his smile collapse into a frown. “I think you’ve stopped being so forthcoming. Very well. I think I’m finished with you for now. I advise you not to leave town, or there will be a little gray cell in your future. You may wait down in the store until I release everyone for the night.”

  Li stood, but lingered by the chair. “Sir, you will check on everything I said, won’t you?”

  “Every last syllable. But I’m warning you … it may turn up some answers you don’t want to hear and some questions you don’t want me to ask. Do you understand me, son?”

  Li nodded slowly and turned toward the office door.

  “Liam?”

  Li turned back to the detective with the perfect poker face.

  “I want the truth, Liam. And I’m going to get it.”

  Li listened to the gallop of raindrops on the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. Rain still hurtled to the ground as if furious with its existence. Li had hoped the storm would ease a little, a gallop to a trot at least. Wait … Was that it? Was the rain finally—?

  Thunder roared in the soot-black sky. God, Zeus, Thor, whoever was angry tonight.

  There was nothing for it. The police kept all the witnesses late, so Li missed the last bus to his apartment. It would be a long, wet walk home. He plunged into the rain, soaked in nanoseconds. The water chilled his skin, brought to life goose bumps. Or was that a hangover from finding death where he worked again?

  The dull tha-wop of his sodden shoes in gathering puddles seemed to echo the same word. Murder. Murder. Murder.

  Rain blurred the glowing heads of the street lights pulsing through the black veil draped over Shorewood. The veil was so thick, so absolute that sound was the only clue to location and detail. The gallop of rain. The muffled bark of a dog followed by the rattle of a chain. The purr of an engine.

  Li stepped into the puddle of light dribbling down from the street lamp. The engine snarled. Darting out of the darkness, a car, camouflaged by the night, swung toward the sidewalk. Tires screamed, kicking up waves of rainwater. Li launched backward, twisted, tripped, and splashed on his side in a giant puddle. Third strike for his elbow. At the last second, the car spun away from the curb without scraping it. Li lifted his head, coughing and spluttering, wet hair plastered to his forehead. The car sped into the shadows, lost except for the now distant, rain-fogged brake lights glaring at him like the red eyes of a huge black beast.

  What the hell? That jerk could have killed me!

  Li rose to his feet, shivering in his drenched clothes. He was going to drown in this damn storm. Still spluttering and rubbing his furious elbow, he started to shuffle away when another car, lazy compared to its cousin, slid up to the curb. The window rolled down.

  “Li?” Reuben asked. “Are you okay? What happened?”

 
Li spat out a fat jot of rainwater. “Some jackass nearly ran me down. I fell in a puddle.”

  Reuben’s eyes, still cold and dark, scanned Li. He sighed. “Get in. You’re soaking wet. I’ll drive you to your place.”

  Li hesitated. “Maybe I—”

  “Just get your butt in the car.”

  Li shuffled over to the passenger’s side and slipped into the seat. Water pooled onto the floor mats. “I’m sorry about the water.”

  “I’ll clean it up later.” Reuben sighed again, stretching and curling his fingers gripping the steering wheel. “To be honest, I didn’t really want to pick you up. But then it was raining and you were lying in a puddle and my conscience got annoying, so here we are. I’m still really pissed at you.”

  Silence. Rain drummed on the car roof. The tension stretched taut between them.

  “Reuben, I’m sorry,” Li blurted out. “I shouldn’t have said that about Noah. It was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever said. I … I was mad at you and just wanted to take a cheap shot. I’m really really really sorry.”

  Reuben extended all his fingers while squeezing the wheel with his thumbs. He kept them that way. “It hurt, Li. I don’t respond well when people use my boyfriend as ammo. Because that’s a weapon that works too well. I don’t want to hurt Noah in any way. I don’t want to think about how he’d feel if … if something happened to me. I’m already stressed about this stupid mess with Oscar.” He turned hard, glassy eyes to his passenger. “I’m still your number one suspect, aren’t I?”

  “No, you’re not. I was just scared. This whole disaster snowballed on me. First, I find Oscar murdered. Then, you catch me by surprise. Then, I remember how much you hated him.” He leaned toward Reuben, his eyes like steel. “You did hate him, Reuben. A lot.”

  Reuben took a few deep, soul-settling breaths through his nose. His lips pushed out in a firm scowl. “I would see his face glare at me from his column in The Gazette. Do you have any clue what it’s like to suffer every day? To have a constant reminder of your misery?”

  Li’s stress lines deepened on his wet skin, making him look forty. His chin thrust forward, his glare searing. “Do you see my eyes?”

  “Is this going to get weird or—?”

  “These are my dad’s eyes. I inherited them from him. Every morning when I look in the mirror, I see my dad’s eyes when he shriveled up and died in that stupid hospital. How sick he was. How bloodshot they were from hours of crying, crying he hid from us. Some days, I feel like ripping them out of my skull, because I can’t bear to remember that look of agony. He suffered those last two years. And every morning, I see that suffering on my face. Every morning, I fight to keep from puking into my bathroom sink.” Li crossed cold, wet arms over his chest. “So yes, I know a little something about suffering.”

  Reuben’s eyes wavered. He deflated with another sigh. “He hurt my family, Li. That disgusting son of a bitch. He attacked us. The only thing I’m grateful for is that Noah wasn’t there when it happened. If he was …” His fingers strangled the steering wheel. “Oscar wouldn’t be safe. No one hurts Noah if I’m around.” His gaze flitted toward Li, then dropped to his lap. “Is that enough? Are you satisfied? I hate Oscar. He tried to destroy the people I love. Every time I saw his picture in the paper, it brought back all the terror … the hate. I’m happy he’s dead. Now I’m beyond done talking about him.”

  Silence again. The tension hummed in the air. Li wondered if this was the new norm for their budding friendship. Gone were the easy laughs and open generosity. Now there were long, tense silences broken only when one of them couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “So are we just going to sit here or are you going to tell me where you live, Li?”

  Li mumbled his address. Reuben’s car slipped into the Shorewood night, the headlights igniting the slanting rain into bolts of silver. For a long time, only the rain on the car roof and the squeaking wipers made conversation.

  Reuben cleared his throat. “So, uh, do you want to stop at the police station to report that guy who almost hit you?”

  Li started to shake his head, stopped, turned to stare into the black world outside of the window. That car. It could have hit him. If it wanted to. Swerving away from the sidewalk without even grazing the curb. Planned. Controlled. The car didn’t want to hit him at all.

  But the driver got close enough to get a good look at his face.

  CHAPTER 6

  Widows and Orphans

  This was the worst part of the job. Widow-maker duty.

  Detective Hughes lingered in his car, listening to the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof. He made it a duet by drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. His eyes swung over to the neon green numbers displayed on the stereo. Almost midnight. A bad time to get the news that someone murdered your husband.

  Then again, what was a good time?

  Detective Hughes glanced out of the driver’s side window. Prichard Avenue was dark and lifeless. The rain dissolved into a fine mist, blurring the houses across the street. Oscar’s house, vibrant as a tomb, should have been just a short jog across the asphalt, but the storm dulled these homes into inky smears against the starless night, all rendered anonymous by the rain. The detective thought he saw a light flickering in what he assumed was an upper story window. It made him think of haunted mansions.

  He had not been surprised to learn that Oscar lived on Pricey Prichard. But he confessed to a slight surprise to learn that Oscar had a wife and son. He didn’t look like a family man. His face, frozen in death, looked too angry and unpleasant to inspire love in a woman. You can never really tell with people, can you?

  Knuckles tapped against the window. Detective Hughes opened the door to meet Adam, rain-soaked but professional, standing on the street.

  “You okay, Tony?”

  “Yeah, just hate this part of the gig. Did you bring Kleenex?”

  “It’s under my coat, sir.”

  “Good. Something tells me we’ll be leaving the box here.”

  Detective Hughes pulled himself out of the safety of his car and slammed the door harder than he intended. A cloud of raindrops soaked him in a heartbeat. He and Adam jogged across the asphalt, their footsteps splashing through avenue-wide puddles. It was difficult to find the Lindstrom castle in this weather. All the lights were extinguished. Not even a porch light to guide a man home.

  After a couple minutes of wandering through a fog of rain and darkness, the two men blundered up concrete steps and found shelter under a wooden porch.

  “Think this is the place?” Adam asked.

  Detective Hughes grimaced at his partner. “One of these days I’m going to have to talk to you about your mind-reading powers.” He glanced at the silvery house number displayed next to the front door. “It’s the right address. Here goes nothing.” He lifted a fist and rapped on the door.

  No answer.

  “Maybe they all went to bed. Try the doorbell.”

  “I was getting to that.”

  He pressed the softly glowing button. Deep in the house, electronic bells echoed through the empty rooms. Diminuendo. Then crescendo. Like the classic chimes of a grandfather clock.

  Detective Hughes felt his toes tingle. Waiting made him antsy.

  The door glided open just a crack on well-oiled hinges, framing the half-sheltered figure of a beautiful woman. She peeked out like a shy but curious nymph. Her eyes, a deep, almost violet blue, were wide and scanned her visitors with immediate fear and distrust.

  “Kathryn Lindstrom?”

  “Yes.”

  Detective Hughes flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Antoine Hughes with the Shorewood Police Department. This is my partner, Officer Schafer-SchmiDetective We’re here to … to …”

  His words fumbled over his lips. Kathryn had opened the door fully, allowing him to take in all of her beauty at once. It was impossible to believe that this was Oscar’s newly crowned widow. Nestled in an indigo-blue bathrobe, Kathryn Lindstrom existed
with all the freshness of new violets, the coolness of spring rain, and the warmth of young love. Her thick brunette curls cascaded over one shoulder. Her violet eyes continued to search the faces of her guests for answers to silent questions.

  Adam nudged his superior in the ribs.

  Detective Hughes felt blessed that blushing didn’t show on his skin. “Erm, yes, sorry … I mean … I am sorry to inform you that … that your husband …”

  “Has something happened to Oscar?” Fear flushed all the color out of her peaches-and-milk complexion.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lindstrom, but … your husband was found dead at Esther’s Family Grocery this evening.”

  Kathryn’s heart-shaped lips parted with a gentle gasp. The lower one trembled. Soft tears poured over long eyelashes. She lifted a shaking hand to her lips and pulled away from the door. A sob, so tender it could have come from a heartbroken dove, broke through the muted horror and anguish caught on her lovely face.

  Adam held out the box of Kleenex. Kathryn took one without question.

  “Please,” she said, her voice as hearty as a whisper, “come in. It’s not good to stand out in the rain.”

  The Lindstrom house was already snuggled up for bed: curtains closed, lamps extinguished, feet muffled with slippers. Kathryn led her guests through the dark entryway and into a large room just to the right. A few floor lamps flickered on. A living room popped out of the darkness.

  Although the design was obscured by the shadows clumped in the corners, the room was warmly furnished with showroom pieces upholstered and painted in varying shades of cream and gray. The scant flashes of wood were either dark ebony or coated in black lacquer. Cream trim framed pale gray walls. Detective Hughes wondered whether this case would be colored in a thousand shades of gray.

  Kathryn wilted onto the arm of a white leather sofa, daubing her teary eyes with the tissue. Adam settled in an oversized gray corduroy club chair facing the sofa, discreetly resting an open notebook on his knee. Detective Hughes perched on the edge of the couch, close enough to breathe in Kathryn’s soft natural scent. Like lilacs and lavender. The detective cleared his suddenly parched throat and forced himself to focus on his model-gorgeous, Mensa-brilliant wife with her skin like Godiva chocolates and her inherent perfume of caramel and fresh brewed coffee.