The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery)

by Victoria Abbott

  She sniffed. “It’s your party. We’ll do things your way. One distraction coming up.”

  I left Cherie to do her magic and I headed back outside. I reached the Eagle on the cell.

  “Bo Peep?” he said.

  “I found the truck that hit me. I know where the driver is and where his buddy is too. I’ll let you know how this next bit plays out before we find the right cop to talk to. In the meantime, see what you can find out about FXR, a landscaping firm. Where they’re located for starters, plus anything about the people who own it.”

  “Wait a minute, Bo Peep! Where are you? Can I come? I’ll be right there. Don’t keep me away from this.”

  “Sorry. Bad reception here. Breaking up. Hello, hello, Eagle?” I hung up. As if I would invite Uncle Kev to this covert op.

  I hustled back inside and stopped in my tracks. The two guys were gone. My face must have fallen.

  “We’ve lost them,” I said, slumping in my seat.

  “You may have lost them, but I don’t lose men,” Cherie said. “Not ever, sweetness.”

  “Except this time,” I said bitterly.

  “Stop fussing. They’ve just gone to the gents’, not that anyone’s a gentleman here. They’ll be back. And guess what I have?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She slapped a business card on the table.

  FXR LANDSCAPING

  Frank Riley, Owner

  I felt my excitement mounting. We had a phone number now, and better yet, on the bottom was handwritten in messy uneven uppercase: CALL ME. FRANKIE.

  I had to hand it to Cherie. She was irresistible.

  She wanted to talk about Uncle Kev.

  “That Kevin,” she said fondly. “He’s special, isn’t he?”

  “He is that, all right.” I had a feeling that we each meant something different by “special.”

  She leaned forward, revealing spectacular cleavage. Her large baby blues were shining. “I never met anyone quite like him.”

  “Oh, I can believe that.”

  “He has so much energy.”

  Hmm. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Kev’s supercharged energy levels, comparable to a six-pack of Red Bull, could wear on you, and I didn’t intend to let him derail this mission.

  Part of me thought, why not let them have their moment? After all, Cherie was like a secret weapon. But the thing was—and you can call me manipulative—I needed her on my side as everyone else in my life had gone AWOL. Without her and unpredictable Kev in limited doses, I’d be pretty much alone to solve the riddle of whatever was going on with Vera and Muriel. And of course, I was alone with a pair of dogs and two highly unpredictable Siamese and uncles that came and went like will-o’-the-wisps. That thought gave me a little shock. I wasn’t used to being in charge of all those animals on my own without so much as a wandering uncle. I glanced at my vintage Bulova.

  I was pretty sure that the dogs would have their legs crossed and the cats might shred Uncle Lucky’s new sofa if I didn’t get back soon.

  “I think it’s going to lead somewhere,” Cherie said.

  “Which one is Frankie?”

  “The old one. I’d say he’s the dad. They both have the same little piggy eyes. Did you notice?”

  “I did. And what’s the son’s name?”

  “Junior.”

  “That’s excellent. We need to learn more about this Frankie and Junior, especially their connection with Muriel.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “That Kevin. He’s very sweet.”

  “Oh right.” Special I could understand, but sweet? But again, not up to me. She’d find out in time. In the meantime, we needed info.

  “And Frankie?”

  To my relief, Frankie staggered back out from the men’s room, adjusting his very large jeans as he walked. The younger man swaggered behind him.

  “Can’t you just let the police know the license number? They can check the vehicle and see if there’s evidence that links it to you.”

  By now, I’d had enough of a look to be certain that the police officer at the bar was who I thought he was.

  “I’d feel a bit better about that if I didn’t see the lead detective in the case sitting right over there at the bar.”

  “What?”

  “That guy at the bar. That’s Detective Jack Jones. The local guy in charge of the investigation into my hit-and-run.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  At that moment, Jones got off his bar stool and sauntered across the room, pausing to exchange a few pleasantries with Frankie and Junior. “Good question.”

  Cherie said, “Do you think he’s investigating our landscapers? Perhaps he’s on to them.”

  “Maybe. He seems awfully friendly with them, don’t you think?”

  “He does, now that you mention it. He’s sitting down. Look at that. They’re buying him a drink. Could it be a setup?”

  “I don’t like this at all. Harrison Falls is a fairly small community. It wouldn’t be surprising if Detective Jones knew Frank Riley at least. They look about the same age, midfifties. Maybe they went to school together or something or played some kind of sports.”

  “So you’d better get your ducks in a row before you go to him with your suspicions.”

  I nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll need some kind of proof before I do, and I’m beginning to conclude that Detective Jones isn’t the person to present that proof to.”

  “Who would be?”

  Tyler Dekker would have been nice, but he was out of reach. “I don’t know yet. And I think I’d better find out.”

  “What do we need to do next?”

  “We need to find out more about them. We need to know if they have police records. If there’s a connection between them and Muriel, or between them and Vera. Or all of the above.”

  “I could try a date with Frankie.”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know. These guys are really dangerous. I wouldn’t want you out on a limb.”

  She laughed. A long, low throaty laugh that attracted quite a bit of male attention everywhere in the bar. I slumped down in my chair to make sure none of that attention came to me. Cherie had no known connection with Vera, Muriel or anyone else in our current drama. I did. And Detective Jones could easily recognize me if he took a good look. But it was fine. No one in Sullivan’s showed the slightest interest in me.

  “The date could be somewhere fairly public.”

  “And if he’s not happy with the outcome of it?”

  “He won’t find me.”

  “But he’ll have your name.”

  “You don’t actually think he’ll have my real name, do you, sweetness?”

  “Even so. We have to figure out what you’d learn from him that would make it worth the risk.”

  “Risk? I don’t think there’d be much risk for me.”

  “You are talking to a person who never even met him, let alone tried to ‘manage’ him, and then ended up facedown in a pile of leaves before being hauled off to Emergency.”

  “But you weren’t expecting trouble.”

  “Apparently I was asking for it, though. And you would be too. Don’t take a chance. We’ll think of something else.”

  “Like what?”

  By now, Jones’s and the two landscapers’ drinks had arrived. The hilarity level at the table had gone up. Lots of backslapping. Way too much. Although this gave me a sinking feeling, I was glad I had seen him. Otherwise I would have gone straight to him with what little I’d learned about them.

  Cherie tilted her head and regarded our suspicious backslappers. “We need to learn more about them.”

  “I already put Kev on it.” Of course, I wasn’t too hopeful that would get us anywhere. So many tasks with Kev end up with zero results.

  “That’s awesome
. And I can also check them out online and see what I learn.”

  “Sure thing. Then if we need to, and I hope we won’t, you can call him and we’ll set something in motion. Maybe if we could get a photo of them.”

  “We can do that now.”

  “What? Don’t—” But of course, it was too late. Cherie was heading back to the jukebox, iPhone in hand. She made quite a show out of getting a selfie with the jukebox. Then followed it by a pout. She sashayed over to the drooling Frankie and his son and a bemused-looking Detective Jones. I heard her ask if Frankie could take a picture of her.

  “I love this old jukebox,” she gushed. “Love it to bits. Do you mind, darlin’?”

  Frankie didn’t mind as it turned out. Cherie’s poses were provocative to say the least. I had to smother a grin as every eye in the place was on her. “Why don’t you get in the picture too?” she cooed. “You’re doing all the work.”

  Detective Jones took advantage of the interruption to slip from the bar and vanish through the front door. In the meantime, Frankie practically tripped over his own feet getting up there. “And Junior too. Do you mind taking a couple of shots of us?” she asked the server.

  It was quite obvious that the server really did mind. But there wasn’t much she could do. Once she handed the phone back to Cherie, insult was added to injury as Cherie checked out the results, frowning prettily. Eventually, she pronounced herself satisfied and swayed back to rejoin me.

  “Got ’em,” she said.

  “Can you send them to me? I’ll print them out and show them to the witnesses. I hope they don’t find you too distracting,” I said with a grin. “I’m heading out now, so I need you to create another of your little diversions until I get in the car. I’ll wait for you. I’ll get a shot of the truck too. Not sure why I didn’t before.”

  Once again, Cherie was the perfect accomplice. I slipped through the door like a noodle down a hungry throat. My heart almost stopped as Detective Jones stubbed out a cigarette and headed back in. I scuttled past him, head down, hoping he wouldn’t see my face and make a connection with the hit-and-run victim he’d interviewed.

  I kept looking over my shoulder as I snapped the photos of the red truck. Why had I insisted on telling that cop about the other hit-and-run? If there was a connection between him and the Rileys and between the Rileys and the old hit-and-run, he’d know about that too. I shook my head. Junior wouldn’t have even been born back then. But Jones and Frankie, they were tight.

  I was chewing my lip five minutes later when the door to the bar opened. Cherie turned around and waved back to someone, then hurried over to my car.

  “Did you get it?”

  “Yup. Lots of them.” I patted my phone.

  I gunned it and we spun out of the parking lot.

  “He’s still sitting there with them. Every time I went over, the conversation stopped. I thought I heard your name, though. Couldn’t be positive. Does he know where you’re staying?”

  “The cop? Sure he does. He interviewed me at Uncle Mick’s.”

  “Perhaps you’d better stay somewhere else.”

  “Where? I can’t go to Vera’s. I can’t go anywhere, really. He’s a cop. If I check into a hotel he’d be able to find that out.”

  “Stay with me. None of these people know my name or where I live.”

  “You’re pretty identifiable. They could find you.”

  “Trust me. They couldn’t find their noses on their faces.”

  “I guess we should keep moving before it’s too late,” I said.

  “Don’t forget my offer,” Cherie said.

  My head was beginning to swim. I asked myself how well I really knew Cherie. After all, she just showed up out of nowhere and now she was like family. I’d been had before by sudden intense friends. Could I trust her?

  On the other hand, she had helped out hugely. I was probably just being paranoid. But as we say in our family, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.

  I said, “Tonight I’m going to sleep in my own bed. Uncle Mick and Uncle Lucky will be back. I just need to relax. I’m safe there. Once you and Kev find out more about these guys, we’ll figure out what action to take. I mean, if they turn out to be criminals with a mean streak, we’ll factor that in.”

  “Killjoy,” Cherie said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FROM THE TIME I got home, walked the dogs, dodged the cats and climbed into bed, maybe twenty minutes elapsed. I didn’t even read the first page of Champagne for One before conking out. I did have a fleeting thought that “champagne for one” sort of described me in my abandoned state.

  The next thing, it was daylight and who knew what Archie Goodwin had gotten up to in that book. I crawled out of bed feeling like I had been hit by a truck. Oh right. I had been.

  Two dogs looked at me with great interest. Was I thinking about food?

  But before there was any food, we had pressing business to attend to. I slipped my jacket on over my pink plaid flannel pajamas and stuck my feet into the first pair of kicks I spotted and headed out with the dogs. The brisk fall air helped to clear my head. Perhaps I was starting to get back to normal. I didn’t run into any neighbors, of course, because our part of the street is entirely made up of buildings owned by my uncles, including the flagship Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques. The other buildings, purchased through the miracle of shell companies, were either rentals or empty. The garages were particularly useful for the storage of the many unofficial Kelly vehicles. Mick and Lucky had recently acquired the former dress shop across the street. No one had mentioned what they’d acquired it for. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. Whatever the purpose, it had a particularly vacant look today with the forlorn “FOR RENT” sign in the shop’s front window. With the economy the way it was, there wasn’t much hope that anyone would actually try to rent it.

  Maybe someday, Karen would be able to get her mystery bookstore business up and running again. But Karen still had lingering memory and energy issues from the attack on her the previous spring. Plus she was now living happily ever after married to Lucky. It occurred to me that I might get my own little business going there. The location would be right. There was a space upstairs that might make a wonderfully chic loft apartment. It would be close to my uncles. I was sure that they would cut me a deal on the rent. This made an entertaining daydream any time I was walking the dogs, but I really wasn’t ready to give up on my last job. Nor was I ready yet to toss Vera to the wolf that was Muriel Delgado and her vile Riley accomplices.

  So, back to work.

  First, I fed the dogs. Apparently they hadn’t had a bite to eat in a couple of years. Then I took my chances to give some food to the cats. Unfortunately, we had run out of their food. How had that happened? You can’t really count on Uncle Kev for anything and so, naturally, he had rescued the cats, but hadn’t brought enough of the food they really liked. Not, as you might expect, caviar or peeled shrimp or catnip-infused tuna, but Blue Wilderness brand, specifically duck flavor. Oh, pardonnez-moi. Decadent and not easily found, I grumped. They had started looking at me like I’d make a nice tasty snack.

  I did think they might carry Blue Wilderness at the Poocherie in their Famous Felines section. Of course, the shops weren’t open yet to check. I tried everything I could think. They turned down my offering of other treats. Finally, I had a vague memory of Uncle Kev once enticing them with Cheez-Its. Naturally, there were Cheez-Its in Uncle Mick’s cupboard. I listened to their complaints and tried to explain that (a) I would pick up more Blue Wilderness and (b) it shouldn’t be long before they were back to being kings of the castle at Van Alst House and (c) I really hoped Cheez-Its weren’t bad for them, even if they had survived when Uncle Kev had offered them.

  I don’t know much about cats or their diets and after all it was the kind of household where Cheez-Its could make
a human meal and I’d be most likely having sugary cereal myself.

  I tossed the Cheez-Its toward them and was surprised to see them pounce.

  “I hope you enjoy them, at least. Sorry they’re not served in a crystal bowl.”

  It sounded like they said “yada yada” in response to my comment. But that might have been my imagination.

  “I know you’re missing company,” I said, extending my hand, intending to stroke Good Cat. Good Cat likes a bit of human contact. Everyone knows Bad Cat doesn’t care for people except for Vera, so I quickly withdrew to get yet another bandage and a bit of antiseptic. He has quite the reach.

  As I settled in to my own breakfast—the last of the Sugar Frosted Flakes combined with the dregs of the Count Chocula added up to one bowl. I wondered what they were having at Van Alst House. A mountain of pancakes with high-grade maple syrup? Fluffy scrambled eggs with chives and a towering plate of hot buttered toast? A Dutch baby with fruit and whipped cream? It didn’t bear thinking about, but it did increase my resolve.

  As I had all that increased resolve, it was time to get going. I wasn’t the only one getting going. Although there was no word from Uncle Kev (maybe he knew I’d be upset about the cat food situation), Cherie had been busy. She’d sent me the series of photos of the Rileys, smiling like fools. In the pix where Cherie had also appeared, she seemed to have Photoshopped herself out of the picture.

  Good thinking.

  One of the photos had the Rileys appearing to be reasonably somber. Their pudgy faces in repose still managed to look dangerous. I printed five copies of that one as well as the silly smiling versions. This was a big step forward. I hurried upstairs to get dressed for the day. The dizziness I’d been experiencing since I’d been hit seemed to be gone. I was feeling good again. In fact, I was in Archie Goodwin mode. He’d be on the case if he were me. He wouldn’t be sitting around feeling sorry for himself and reading mysteries, not that I had been. Okay, maybe a bit. He’d keep hitting the streets to see what he could find. And he would look damn stylish doing it. I would stick to the basics, black turtleneck and tight well-worn jeans, my plaid coat and oversize deep orange purse.