“Thank you, Uncle Kev,” I said.
Melski glanced at Kev and then at the signora. “So, let me get this straight. These people say they live here. That right?”
For a brief moment, I almost succumbed to the temptation to say I’d never seen them before. But of course, I couldn’t do that as I’d already acknowledged Kev. Before I could add a thing, Kev sputtered, “Yes, we live here. We were fired by Vera Van Alst because of a woman who is trying to kill her. The police are no help at all!”
“Il demonio!”
“One at a time and in English,” I said, collapsing into a chair. “Yes, I’m afraid they do live here now, temporarily. We all used to work for Vera Van Alst. I’m hoping this is just a bad dream, but in case it isn’t, would you mind closing the door, Officer Melski? It’s getting cold in here.”
Everyone spoke (and “spoke” doesn’t quite capture it) at once. I raised my hand to silence them.
Uncle Kev was trying to get Officer Melski to understand how awful it all had been. “. . . and we were tossed out in the snow to wait for our ride because someone broke into the house. We were already inside. Why would we break in? What do you think of that?”
“O dio! Vera!”
I said, “Zip it, Kev. And Signora, please calm down.”
Officer Melski turned to me. “Are you sure they belong here?”
“Yes, they do, Officer. We’ve all been affected by whatever criminal takeover is happening at Van Alst House.”
“Sure,” he said. “I knew that.”
“Oh. Did you? Well, this so-called burglary at Van Alst House may have been staged to give a certain person unfettered access to the assets of Miss Van Alst, without the protection of her trusted staff.”
Gus Melski stared at Kev and then at the signora. “Trusted staff.”
“We all care about her.” I felt my lips twitching. “And we’re not just any employees, we’re like family. That says a lot, considering Vera—”
“—is not the easiest person to get along with,” Kev said, his baby blues glittering in a slightly deranged fashion.
“Povera Vera!”
“Right,” I said. “Poor Vera. It’s a bad situation.”
“It’s worse than bad,” said Kev. “In fact, it’s even worse than the worst.”
No point in my arguing there’s no such thing as worse than the worst.
I felt exhaustion settling on my shoulders. “Maybe we can talk about it in the morning. Let’s get a bit more sleep.”
Kev said, “What if that’s too late?”
Speaking of too late, I ran upstairs to check my phone. During the hubbub, I had missed a return call from Eddie. At least this time he’d left a message.
But I could hardly believe my ears.
“Eddie’s on his way,” I said, coming back downstairs.
“From Florida?” Uncle Kev said. “I thought he was on a cruise.”
“Apparently the cruise is over. The minute he got our message, he seems to have raced to the airport. His flight got into Syracuse just after midnight. He’s driving from there.”
“Whoa. Must have cost him a bomb.”
“He says he’s going straight to Vera’s.”
“Oh boy. You don’t want that, Jordie, but maybe he could make sure that nothing happens to her.”
Kev and I stared at each other. The signora crossed herself. Eddie had always floated like a ghost through the kitchen and back rooms of Van Alst House, buoyed by his devotion to Vera. I hadn’t wanted Eddie for his muscle. I was hoping he’d explain Muriel’s hold over Vera. If there were secrets, maybe Eddie would know them.
My message to him was high-pitched. “Eddie. Wait for us. We’ll come with you or get the police. For Vera’s sake, remember it’s dangerous.”
Officer Melski gazed at us, bemused and possibly befuddled.
I figured Eddie would put Vera’s safety way above his. I turned to Kev. “We need to make sure he doesn’t get into that house. He’s probably rented a car and it’s a good three hours from Syracuse. Even so, he could arrive any minute now if he’s not already there. You take my car and make sure he doesn’t get down the driveway until we speak to him. I have to wait here for Detective Jones, unless Officer Melski will authorize me to leave.”
Officer Melski shook his head. “Nothing personal, but no way in hell.”
The phone rang.
I snatched it up. Eddie again.
“Eddie! You’re where? Taxi? From Syracuse? Really? Oh. Well, since you’re there, you have to listen to me. Vera’s in real danger.”
Kev blathered. The signora wailed. Officer Melski cleared his throat.
I said, “Hold on, Eddie, I have to find someplace quiet so I can hear you.” I shot a sheepish grin at Officer Melski and headed up the stairs before resuming my conversation. I didn’t want Melski to hear that I knew the contents of the will. Talk about an admission of guilt. I said, “Eddie, Muriel and her minions have weaseled their way into Vera’s will. Muriel will get everything. I know, it’s a shocker. Yeah, I went to the cops, but they couldn’t care less about Vera. You know how some people still hold a grudge. I’m pretty sure Muriel got Frank and Junior Riley to run me over with a truck. Oh yes, I was hit by a truck. Well, there’s been a lot going on here. Muriel has a solid alibi for the time it happened. I’m sure the Rileys did her dirty work. Now Frank and Junior are dead.
“Like I said, there’s a lot going on. This woman is dangerous, Eddie, and I’m counting on you to help me figure out what she has on Vera.” I returned to the kitchen still talking to Eddie. “The cops have been worse than useless. I need you to be on Muriel twenty-four-seven. Muriel’s sneaky. Thank you. Don’t even go to sleep. Please try to convince Vera to let Kev back in, and the signora. No. Of course, they didn’t rob her. Did Vera say that? Of course, it’s not true. It’s all part of Muriel’s shakedown.”
After Eddie hung up, Melski crossed his arms and said, “Worse than useless?”
I glanced at Melski. I didn’t want to accuse Melski of being useless. He was, after all, my alibi. I didn’t feel secure enough to tell him that I thought Detective Jones was part of the whole conspiracy. “Not you, of course, but I brought some very credible concerns to Detective Jones and he dismissed them. I don’t see how two hit-and-runs involving the same people couldn’t even warrant some follow-up. Then I saw him buddying up to the two guys who most likely ran me over and next thing I know Jones is breathing down my neck over the B&Es at Vera’s and what’s-his-face the lawyer.”
“Dwight Jenkins,” Melski said.
“Whatever. Do you see where I’m coming from?”
“The Rileys are dead.”
I sank onto the kitchen chair, feeling exhaustion and hopelessness wash over me. “Yes, I know.”
“You know? Their names haven’t been released to the media yet.”
I didn’t want to mention Sullivan’s. “It’s a small town. People start talking right away. I think I was at the gas station when I heard it first.”
“And you believed it?”
“The guy at the pumps has never steered me wrong before. I believe the Rileys tried to kill me.” I added, “The woman who witnessed it is terrified. She won’t talk. Here’s why I think Muriel Delgado’s connected. Her own stepfather was killed in a hit-and-run nearly forty years ago and her mother inherited from him. When the mother died shortly after, Muriel inherited from her. There was a million-dollar insurance policy in the pot too.”
Melski looked stunned. “You think she murdered her mother?”
“No, her mom was in very poor health. Muriel didn’t get along with her stepfather. If her mom died first, Muriel would have been out in the cold. Conveniently, Pete Delaney wound up dead before that could be a problem for Muriel.”
“And you know all this how?”
I was unw
illing to throw Audra and the Snows to the wolves, although I didn’t really think that Melski was a wolf.
“You understand that I am not trusting everyone from the police, present company excepted.”
Melski stared at me for a long minute. Then he said, “What about this blond woman?”
“What?”
“We have a BOLO for a blond woman who was seen with the Rileys not long before they died. Detective Jones believes she’s involved.”
Cherie.
Cherie had made quite a splash at Sullivan’s. And Detective Jones had been there too, fraternizing with the two murderous landscapers. Naturally, I couldn’t let anything slip about me being there spying on them. Somehow I knew that admission would blow up in my face and I might lose this new possible ally.
I shook my head. “No blondes at Van Alst House. Or here.”
I was thinking fast. Could Cherie really have been involved? Or was Detective Jones just pointing the finger to get attention away from Muriel and possibly himself?
Tricky situation.
I said, “It’s hard to believe all this stuff is happening in Harrison Falls.”
“And that’s not all,” he said.
“What?”
He leaned in, conspiratorially. “I hear there’s a big bust going on too.”
I stared at him, exhausted and slack-jawed. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s been a sweep and it looks like the feds have broken up a counterfeiting ring.”
Uh-oh. “You think that has something to do with the Rileys?”
“Like you said, there’s all this stuff happening in our little town.”
“Here? Counterfeiting seems a little sophisticated for Harrison Falls.” My Spidey Senses were doing backflips. Please, not my uncles.
“Apparently here and Grandville and downstate.”
“Albany?”
“New York City.”
Counterfeit ring. Of course, my uncles would be all over that. Kellys love a crime with zero violence and a lot of sleight of hand. This must be why they’d been so elusive lately. I’d been thinking more along the line of a jewelry heist. But then there was all that equipment in the building across the way. Were Uncle Mick and Lucky caught up in this sweep?
My eye began to twitch. I wasn’t sure I could hide my anxiety, so I tried a diversion.
“You don’t think this has anything to do with Muriel and Vera, do you?”
“Oh no, just making conversation.”
At the sound of heavy footsteps from the shop, I whirled to face Uncle Mick. Safe and sound. Wild Irish hair standing on end. Yawning and stretching, he whipped off his jacket. As usual his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show off the gold chain nestled in the ginger thatch on his chest. “What a night. Long drive back from Baltimore. Can’t wait to hit the hay. What are you doing up so early?” He glanced around, staring at Melski. Then turned to Kev and the signora. He frowned at the door to Lucky’s, where a cat protest could be heard. Finally back to Melski. “Perhaps I’m already asleep and this is a nightmare. Wake me when it’s over.”
I barely managed not to collapse with relief.
“Officer Melski, this is my uncle, Michael Kelly. This is Officer Melski, Uncle Mick. Officer Melski’s been a huge help. He kept me out of jail tonight.”
“Huh. You are the last person in the world who would ever get arrested, my girl.”
“That’s changed, apparently.”
Melski ruined the mood. “I suppose you can account for your whereabouts from two to three this morning, sir?”
Uncle Mick chuckled. “Sure can. Got pulled over in a roadblock on 81. Some FBI thing as far as I could tell. You guys keep records of that kind of thing, don’t you?”
Perhaps the stars were in alignment for the Kellys tonight.
Kev said, “We heard they were looking for a bunch of paperhangers.”
Mick chuckled. “Counterfeit—paperhangers? In Williams County? That’s shocking. What’s the world coming to?”
He was light and breezy, so I figured whatever he’d been up to, it wasn’t counterfeiting.
I had to ask, “And Uncle Lucky?”
“Still a happy honeymooner in the big smoke. Home again tomorrow, I think. Well, I’m off to bed.”
Only an innocent man could saunter up the stairs leaving us in the kitchen. Surely.
I stood up but felt my knees buckle. All that adrenaline.
Officer Melski said, “Maybe you should get some rest too. I have a feeling you won’t get much today. I’ll be outside if you need me.”
I barely made it up the stairs. Cobain and Walter came with me. Although I hoped Melski didn’t recognize Cobain, I was too tired to question why a patrol officer was free to spend his night keeping an eye on us.
Kevin checked that the signora had everything she needed in Lucky’s place and he crashed on the sofa there, giving Bad Cat an opportunity for a bit of fun, I figured.
Just before I went to sleep, I texted Cherie asking a very special favor. I needed a wireless webcam set up in Vera’s room, one at each entrance and one in the study if I was to keep an eye on whatever was going to happen in Van Alst House. I probably needed a spare too and a laptop. If anyone could make that happen, Cherie could. That is, if she got my text and if she really was one of the good guys.
At this point, I had very little to lose.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IF THINGS HAD been bad up until that point, at nine the next morning they got much worse. For the first time in my life, I was arrested.
This set up a wave of opposition from Uncle Mick and Uncle Kev, Signora Panetone, Walter and Cobain and, unless I was wrong—given how shocked I was—a cat or two in the distance. Everyone had been caught flatfooted competing to make breakfast in the small kitchen.
Everyone except me. I was caught flatfooted enjoying the results of competition between Uncle Mick and the signora. The only flatfoot in our group seemed to have gone home when his shift was over.
“I’ll get you a lawyer,” Uncle Mick said.
“Make sure it’s not Dwight Jenkins,” I muttered.
Uncle Mick shrugged. “Don’t worry. He’s useless.”
Detective Jones scowled at Uncle Mick. His expression radiated menace.
If I had an expression it would have radiated stunned, just plain stunned. The fact of the pot calling the kettle black just added to my stunnedness.
I was ushered from the house by Detective Jones after being given time to get dressed. What does one wear to the interrogation room? Something that would survive a spell in a cell? I wore black tights, black boots and a gray dress. I decided against jewelry and a scarf. They’d just take those from me.
I had no role models for this. Although some of my uncles were no strangers to jail, Mick and Lucky had never spent a minute behind bars, giving new meaning to “the luck of the Irish.” Kev was a different story, but who would ever use Kev as a role model for anything?
As Detective Jones put his hand on my head and I slumped into the back of a Harrison Falls Police Services patrol car, Uncle Mick called out, “Don’t say a word until the lawyer gets there. Not a word, my girl.”
After being fingerprinted, having my mug shot taken and being left to twitch in an interrogation room for at least an hour, I decided my model would be Archie. An innocent person might be puzzled, angry or panicked, but, of course, I was not an innocent person. Still, I did not intend to become a convicted person.
The interrogation room wouldn’t win any prizes for décor. It was Vera-sweater-beige with a single table and four hard plastic chairs. The lights were unpleasantly bright and humming, the worst that fluorescence has to offer. Naturally, the door was locked.
I sat there and tried to remember the details of Archie’s interrogations. I assumed a languid and relaxed p
osition, not to give anyone on the other side a moment’s satisfaction. Of course, I was guilty of the burglary of Dwight Jenkins’s house and of orchestrating the theft of the will at Van Alst House. I doubted that they could prove it. Still, I worked on remembering my uncles’ many tips on convincing lies.
I did not trust this guy Jones. I wouldn’t put it past him to manufacture evidence to frame me. He had bad taste in drinking buddies and I bet his integrity was subpar.
After an eternity, he showed up, well groomed as always, with a young officer and a tape recorder. I looked bored. I declined his offer of a soft drink or some bottled water. Coffee too. Did he think I was a fool happy to hand over my DNA?
“Thanks. Still enjoying memories of breakfast.”
“It could be a long day.”
I shrugged. “Bring it.”
“Your choice.”
He made himself comfortable in the plastic chair next to the younger officer. The tape was already running.
“You know why you’re here?”
“I’ve been advised not to say anything without my lawyer.”
“Why would that be? An innocent person doesn’t need a lawyer.”
I resisted an urge to blow him a kiss. I think that was Archie’s influence. I managed a smile.
And so it went. Questions about where I was, who I was with, who I had contacted, what time this, what time that. All the answers were the same: not until my lawyer gets here.
“You sure you have a lawyer?” he said with a sneer after a lot of wasted questions. “Why would you need one?”
“I didn’t before this morning actually, but my uncle will contact a family friend.”
“Name?”
I figured the most innocuous question could blow up in my face. I could become rattled, and once rattled I would be a sitting duck for whatever shots Detective Jack Jones wanted to fire. “You’d have to call my uncle for that information.”
Uncle Mick was more than equal to anything Jones could dish out.
Archie would have dished back, never answering the question as asked, pushing and even taunting the cops as he went. There were plenty of entertaining examples of that. Inspector Cramer’s face always turned bright red. Of course, Archie was brave about being beaten up and I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t be, even if it led to a successful litigation. I kept it to smiling and hoped that Jones would be only manageably enraged. Unlike Cramer, his face never got the slightest bit red.
The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) Page 24