Deadly Cost of Goods

by Margaret Evans

  “What would happen if you came in tomorrow with the glove on your left hand?”

  “It would be funny, but it also wouldn’t fit. Thumb’s in the wrong direction.”

  “Your right hand was not in the bet, though. Just the glove.”

  “He’d find a way, and I want him in that tank.”

  She smiled at the thought, recalling how adamant Connor had been for months about not participating in the dunk tank at all. She changed the subject.

  “Connor, I want to restore the Old Library. I’ve seen pictures of it online and you wouldn’t believe how beautiful it was. It probably still is. Just dusty, moldy, cobwebby, and in need of some love.”

  “Brass railings first.”

  “Yes, I know, but I’m looking to the future. A tour through that library should be included in the Heritage Days Festival, and it could grow into a tourism money-maker with a nominal entry fee. Melba Coombs mentioned they’re running out of space for old and rare books. What a perfect solution if they could be housed at the Old Library! We could sell postcards and tour guides with maps showing the hidden passageways and give actual tours. We can print these things ourselves at minimal cost. People might come from afar to see our wonders. The town’s coffers might once again be overflowing. You could get more officers…”

  “It may not be up to you to do that, though,” he said, admiring her vision.

  “Ghost story tours—even tours to the mine. Wait. Who owns the Old Library and the land it’s on?”

  “I think that’s the problem. It’s in a trust, but I’m not sure what kind of trust or how long it’s supposed to last or who the beneficiaries are.”

  “How would I find that out? County records?”

  “Maybe. Start there. Okay, how did the library meeting go?”

  “Awesome. Melba is excited about the exhibit and even told me they have the original card catalogue in their basement storage. Can you imagine? She thinks they have the sign-out logs for book check-outs and microfilm reels, as well as the readers. I’m meeting her there on Sunday with the books I bought from Peter.”

  “And the cards?”

  “I told her about them, and she went nuts.”

  “Lorelei’s card?”

  “I said I’m keeping that one. She was very understanding about it. I also told her to keep a lid on that.”

  “She’s probably trustworthy. Just don’t spread it around.”

  “Okay. I didn’t want anything to come up later because I didn’t tell them.”

  He nodded.

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “My plan is to look through the microfilm reels and the sign-out logs for the books that Lorelei checked out and read. And whatever activity took place on the last day she was there. All while you and your trusty team look quietly into what might be going on at the Old Library.”

  “Trusty? You make them sound like steeds. I’ve discussed the situation and facts with someone above my pay grade and they’re looking into it. So please forward your photos to me for sharing with them. But how will your looking through all those records help you figure out what happened to Lorelei?”

  “How did you know that was my end game?” she asked, a bit surprised.

  “I’m the cop in the room. And I know how you think.”

  “That’s pretty scary.”

  “Sometimes it’s very scary.”

  “Okay, I’m looking for anything that happened on or around the day Lorelei disappeared—any detail or incident, no matter how unimportant. The history of roof repairs, building whitewashing, etc., and who was doing what when.”

  Connor looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “Interesting. You think she never left the library. What would someone have done with her body?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m convinced that’s where she was killed. There’s no incinerator and I’m not sure they ever had one from the descriptions and old photos online. There used to be swing sets and slides behind the library, even a merry-go-round. She may not even be there, but you and I both know we saw her. If her spirit is trapped there, that means she probably died suddenly and she’s not at peace. I have to do something.”

  He was quiet, thinking that no one was supposed to believe in ghosts. They just didn’t exist, did they? He remembered what they had seen all those years ago. That kind of thing didn’t fade. His mother used to tell stories of hearing her grandfather’s footsteps through their house after he died from a fall down the stairs. It apparently went on for years until they spoke with a priest who held a prayer service for her grandfather at their house. The footsteps vanished. Maybe there was something to what Laura was telling him. Maybe Lorelei didn’t even know she was dead.

  “Don’t do anything without asking me first and nothing at all but your Internet research. Wait for me to get back to you about what the powers-that-be want to do with the Old Library. And don’t tell any of your friends what you’re doing. Promise me.”

  She nodded.

  “I promise.”

  “I want you to change that sign on your fridge.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “To what?”

  “ ‘I will listen to Connor.’ ”

  She stared at him in disbelief.

  “You want me to promise to do something I couldn’t even do for my own parents when they were alive?”

  “Yes. Because we don’t know what’s going on at the Old Library. I have a sneaking suspicion that you may be right about something going on there.”

  “Okay, I can’t change the sign, because my friends will see it and laugh. I do solemnly promise, however, that in this case, I will listen to Connor and do or not do what he tells me, including any related activities I think of later, without asking Connor first. And I will wait for more information before I do anything beyond Internet research on the Old Library’s maintenance. And Bulletin archives on Old Library maintenance only.”

  “You promise? No fingers, toes, arms, legs, or eyes crossed?”

  “Yes, Connor, I promise. Nothing crossed, see?” She slipped off her shoes, held up her hands and looked him straight in the eye.

  “Good, thank you,” he said, leaning over to kiss her. “I’ll be back in touch as soon as I have something.”

  She noticed that Connor seemed distracted the last couple of days but didn’t want to think too much about it. Kisses were quicker, as were hugs. She wondered what was on his mind that he couldn’t share with her.

  Chapter 12

  Wednesday morning was Laura’s second busiest day of the week, topped only by Saturday. All of her holiday merchandise was on the shelves, including the soft, blinking sparkler caps that had arrived Tuesday afternoon. She was up early, ready to go, and her phone dinged.

  Connor was at the back door.

  She got a quick barely-a-kiss on the forehead from him.

  “Want some coffee? I have a fresh pot.”

  He nodded and followed her into the kitchenette.

  “You look tired,” she commented as she filled up a mug for him.

  “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” he responded, sitting down.

  “Work?”

  He shook his head.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  He looked at her as if she were the whole problem.

  “What is it?”

  “Just a lot of stuff on my mind right now,” he said, brushing away whatever it was, and stirring the cream and sugar in his coffee.

  She sat with him, in silence, until he spoke again.

  “I’ll be in Minneapolis for a few days starting tomorrow.”

  Tipping her head, she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “It’s the new rookies who are scheduled to graduate in December. They ask previous Walk-A-Mile cops to come speak to the rookies about the value of the program and visiting other jurisdictions after they graduate. Your father created a very effective, short-term program. I’m glad it’s catching on more.”

  L
aura gave it a thought for a moment. Another of her father’s dreams was a program whereby rookie officers could gain a better perspective of other towns and cities by spending some of their first months as officers in another officer’s shoes. Shadowing steps was proving not only helpful in understanding other jurisdictions’ unique issues, but also in giving the rookies some good ideas for working out problems in the jurisdictions in which they would be assigned.

  “Who’s in charge while you’re gone?”

  “Brianna and Sven. Chief Mallory promised to stop by twice, but I don’t know which days.”

  “How will you manage that?” she asked, nodding at his white glove.

  “Pictures of me at the podium.”

  “Could be altered with one of those photo programs.”

  “Sven wouldn’t think that of me. But I’ll get signatures from everyone I can, including the captain of the Academy, to post on Sven’s board when I get back, right next to the date I started wearing it. Evidence that I wore the glove the whole time.”

  Laura smiled at the thought he was so determined to get Sven in the dunk tank with him.

  “I don’t remember which cities where you walked a mile.”

  “New York, Miami and San Francisco.”

  “A good mix. Did the Academy ask you to speak?”

  “Yeah. They always try to get a different group to come speak to the rookies to get them interested about going. If they can’t for whatever reason, there are repeats. I’m a repeat; it’s my third year in a row. But the program is voluntary. They want us to focus on rookies from small towns to try big cities and big city rookies to try small towns, like Raging Ford.”

  “I know you’ll inspire them. Has anyone done this in Raging Ford?”

  “Not yet, but this year, I’ve heard we’re getting one.”

  “You don’t look very excited about that.”

  “His father’s some high level cop in the Minneapolis-St. Paul P.D., and all I need is some punk who knows nothing but thinks he’s important.”

  “Is that what’s weighing on your mind?”

  “No, I can handle him. A minor annoyance.”

  “Can you tell me what kept you up last night?”

  He looked at her then and smiled.

  “When I get back, we’ll talk. Remember your promise to me.”

  * * *

  Next stop for Connor was the barbershop next door. Pulling off his hat, he waved to Harry Kovacs.

  “Can you give me a trim, Harry?”

  Few knew that these were Connor’s “safe words” used only between him and Harry, just as hula hoop were safe words between Connor and Laura.

  “Sure. Give me about five minutes to finish up this gentleman, Sergeant. Have a seat.”

  At the end of the five minutes, Harry closed the door behind his customer, locked it, and turned the sign to Closed. He motioned for Connor to follow him to the man-cave behind his store.

  Harry had spotted a problem the minute the safe words came out of Connor’s mouth. The man-cave had been Connor’s haven during the stormy years following the murders of Laura’s parents and her sudden departure with her great-aunt out of Minnesota, leaving Connor with…nothing. The younger man had a similar look right now, just minus the anger.

  “What’s your poison today, Sergeant?” Harry asked, standing next to the clear glass refrigerator displaying its wondrous array of soda pops, beer, fruit juices, and other drinks.

  “I’m good. When do you expect your next customer?”

  “You’re my next customer. The rest of them know I’m an older man who sometimes needs a break. They’ll come back later. I’m all yours.”

  Harry didn’t offer him a seat; he just plopped down in his own lounger and waited for Connor’s next move.

  “I’m going out of town for a week tomorrow. Academy business in Minneapolis.”

  “Did you really need a trim?”

  “Probably…”

  “But probably not the thing that’s weighing you down. I can spend time guessing but feel free to tell me what’s troubling you. I may not be able to help, but I can certainly listen.”

  Connor sat on the comfy couch and stretched.

  “I could fall asleep here in seconds.”

  “Hmm,” Harry commented. “Seen you do that before.”

  Fitzpatrick remained silent a few more moments.

  “I’m worried about the future.”

  Harry shifted in his chair, pulled the lever that raised the foot rest.

  “That’s a big subject: the future. Can you narrow it down?”

  When Connor didn’t immediately respond, Harry continued.

  “Silly me. I thought you had a fight with Laura.”

  Connor looked at him them.

  “No, we’re good. Funny, Brianna asked me the same thing. Didn’t know I was that easy to read.”

  “People who know you well can read you. It’s not obvious to others. Women are better at it than men. We’re oblivious unless we really know someone well. Sometimes we’re still oblivious.”

  “Laura reads me.”

  “There’s a good reason. You’re both on the same wavelength. Always have been. So is this in some way to do with Laura?”

  “I don’t know how to move to the next stage, Harry. I want to stay in Duluth, but I can’t ask her to drive to work when all she has to do is walk down a flight of stairs right now.”

  Harry was silent a bit.

  “Maybe that isn’t the question you want to ask her. Maybe there’s another question you want to ask her first, one she might even be waiting to hear.”

  “Yeah, that’s my problem. I don’t know what she wants. She’s so independent. I know what I want, but those two things might not match.”

  “So, I think,” Harry concluded, “that this week of yours in Minneapolis is a good opportunity to get out of the situation and take a few deep breaths. Sometimes when people do that, they’re able to come back and see things more clearly.”

  The pair returned to the barber shop. With that on his mind now, Connor turned his focused to the trip and what he wanted to tell the rookies, as he sat in Harry’s barber chair. The trim went quickly.

  “What do I owe you?”

  “Fifteen bucks.”

  Connor paid him, plus a tip, and gave the older man a long handshake.

  “Thanks, Harry.”

  “I did nothing. But you should know that, like wood slivers, everything always works itself out in the long run.”

  “Yes, millions of people say that, so it must be true,” Connor returned, pulling on his hat and heading for the door. At least a smile had returned to his face.

  He went next door and waited for Laura’s customers to leave. Then he pulled her into the back room, gave her an enormous hug and a kiss to remember him by for several days. Or maybe it was for him to remember her.

  “I love you. See you next week!”

  With that he was gone, but he did glimpse the look of astonishment on her face. It pleased him.

  Chapter 13

  It was lonely in Second Treasures on Thursday.

  Laura had no lack of customers, but she knew that Connor was away. Normally, she chatted with people, especially those from Raging Ford, but today, everyone seemed in a rush. In-and-out, like a drive-through restaurant line.

  So, when Eric Williams jangled the bells on her shop’s front door, Laura’s spirit lifted. Now here was somebody who would talk with her, or rather, to her, someone she wouldn’t be able get to shut up easily. Eric was just the distraction she needed.

  He glanced about the shop and ambled up to the counter.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “That’s not like you to greet me, Eric. You generally push an insurance policy at me—”

  Williams pulled a policy from his inner jacket pocket and slapped it on the counter.

  “Your wish is my command, Laura. Always.”

  She glanced down at the policy.

  “How are
the security bells and whistles on your shop working?”

  “They’re all working. And my insurance premium did go down to justify the cost. Thank you.”

  It was also on this day that Justin Carlson decided to come to his sister’s shop to observe her and maybe even buy something again. Telling her about himself was not yet on the menu, so when he entered, he spotted a man at her counter having a conversation with her and was fine with that. This gave him the perfect opportunity to mosey through the store without attracting too much attention while he pursued his observations.

  Meanwhile, Eric beamed and nodded, made a half-turn as if to leave.

  “Is that all you’re going to do? Leave me a policy?”

  “It’s self-explanatory.”

  “No, I want a sales pitch, Eric. I can’t buy any more policies from you without a sales pitch. Besides, I’ve…borrowed…some of your sales pitches and they’ve proven effective.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “That’s plagiarism.”

  Before she had a chance to respond, Colin Anderson entered the shop. Laura glanced around at her customers, noted the young man she was pretty sure she’d seen before, as well as a few regulars, before she gave a little wave to Anderson and returned her attention to Eric Williams.

  “ ‘I have your best interests at heart’ is on every infomercial on every TV channel in the world.”

  “Oh, that one,” Williams replied. “That one’s okay to use. I have others that you are not allowed to use without prior, notarized, written permission and signed by a judge. Hey, look who’s here!”

  Anderson edged to the other side of the register, and the two men gave each other the usual barely-a-greeting.

  “Changed your mind about the fly fishing, Colin? They all resist until they try it.”

  “No, but thank you for the offer. How are you doing, Laura?”

  “I’m good,” she said. “Yourself?”

  Dr. Anderson nodded.

  The corners of Justin Carlson’s eyes caught all of these interactions, if not all of the words in their conversations. He decided on a set of placemats and cloth napkins the color of the Caribbean Sea, at least in postcards and photographs, that would go well with the seashell coasters he had bought on his previous trip to the shop. While it seemed like a nice gift to give his girlfriend, it also appeared to him more than slightly ironic that these tropical-themed items should be discovered and purchased in Minnesota. He continued his perusal of the merchandise.