Liquid Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 9)

by Alex P. Berg

  “You’re okay with us continuing the investigation without you?”

  He gave a resigned shrug. “It is what it is. It’s a small town. I’ll find you.”

  He was probably right about that, and with Bianca shooting icicles at anyone who bothered to get within eyeshot, I figured there wasn’t any point in me questioning him on it further. I gave Steele a nod and we left to gather Quinto.

  18

  “So, you learn anything from those ledgers, big guy?”

  Bianca’s home shrunk into the background as we hoofed it toward Aragosto’s main thoroughfare. A menagerie of small birds chirped from the trees lining the avenue, looking for love while spring was still in the air.

  Quinto shook his head. “Not much. Not that I know a ton about the market price for live crabs and fresh caught cod, mind you, and I didn’t have the ledgers in my hands long enough to start crunching any numbers, but on first glance, they seemed clean.”

  “You know,” I said, “for as many killers as we’ve caught who happened to drop their murder weapon in a wastebasket at the scene of the crime, you’d think we’d come across some brain dead money launderers sooner or later, but that breed always seems to possess at least a modicum of smarts.”

  Quinto smiled. “They don’t like to make it easy on us, that’s for sure. But as I said, a quick glance didn’t suggest that Johnny was trying to hide anything about his earnings or finances. And more importantly, all his ledgers seemed to be there, at least going back a few years.”

  Steele’s voice floated over my shoulder. “Which begs the question, what was the intruder after?”

  I glanced at my partner, who followed Quinto and me closely. “No idea. Bianca certainly didn’t seem to know, or didn’t want us to. Whether it was knowledge or something tangible could make a big difference. My first thought was that the murderer came by to remove a piece of incriminating evidence from Nicchi’s belongings, but why would they wait until now to do so? Why not take care of that right after they murdered him?”

  Shay shrugged. “I can’t answer that. But since we’re on the subject, you gave me a look when you came back to the living room. You found something else in the house?”

  “Rather I didn’t find anything,” I said. “No signs of forced entry, specifically, at either the front or back doors. Either Bianca didn’t lock the place up as tightly as she claimed, or whoever broke in was exceptionally talented with a pick.”

  “Or they had a key,” said Quinto.

  “Or that.”

  We followed the path our rickshaw had taken us through on our way into town, back to the main road. There, we saw the first of the signs for the Sea Ridge Preserve, following it onto a dirt path that meandered through the trees. As we walked, I pondered the similarities between a reserve and a preserve, ultimately coming to the conclusion that they were in fact the same thing, making the additional ‘p’ superfluous. So why did preserve get a free pass when other words with similarly useless additional letters, like irregardless, didn’t? Someone at the Department of Language should’ve been fired over that one.

  Eventually, the path opened onto a field of aromatic yellow wild flowers, full of bees and butterflies and swaying with the motion of hares that bounded between them, nibbling at their petals. Behind them all was the headquarters of the hunting tours business.

  And what a dump it was.

  Rotted beams barely held up the aging home’s sagging roof, one covered with a mossy green growth and pocked with holes. Vines grew over half of the front siding, and what little peeked through was so faded it would’ve taken the skills of a forensic painter to determine what color the home originally was.

  “Joey went from the family fishing business to working here?” I said. “I think we just discovered a motive for murder.”

  “Uh…Daggers?” Shay pointed up the road.

  I followed her finger. Another of the Sea Ridge Hunting Tours signs had been pounded into the earth at a bend, and beyond that I spotted a hint of a much newer, much less mossy farmhouse roof in the distance.

  “Oh. My bad.”

  Past the bend we found the real Sea Ridge Hunting Tours, a perfectly respectable ranch home painted in a rustic but pleasing red and white, surrounded by a field of grass and wildflowers that were overgrown but not to the point where a machete would be needed. A stone path led from the sign to the front of the house, behind which loomed a barn painted in the same traditional red.

  We followed the path to the front door, knocked, and waited, but no one answered.

  I tried again. “Joey Nicchi? Anyone there?”

  Still no response.

  Quinto shrugged. “Maybe we should try the barn.”

  It was worth a shot. We ventured off the path into the flowers, agitating the bumblebees who worked among them, skirting the house and heading toward the barn. One side of it stood open, the space in front of it tramped down and covered with hay.

  I poked my head into the cavernous space. Rays of light sliced through the boards at the barn’s side, lighting dust motes that hung in the air like dirty snowflakes. Old farm equipment lay discarded throughout: rusted plows and haggard carts, harnesses with cracked leather and splintered yokes for animals, not to mention some metal contraption with dozens of rusted spikes that would make for a wicked weapon of war should anyone be able to lift it. Racks on the walls held hand tools, hoes and pitchforks and pickaxes, most of them rusted, but I spotted a number of well-oiled knives as well, not to mention a pair of glossy hunting bows.

  Quinto and Steele pressed into the open door beside me, looking in.

  “Hello?” I called. “Anyone home?”

  “Hey, there!”

  We all turned, but the voice wasn’t close enough to make us jump. A man approached from around the side of the barn, a big guy, probably my height or even an inch taller, with wavy, light brown hair that reached to his collar bone and a bushy beard of the same color. He wore a heavy shirt with a tartan pattern, the sleeves of which he’d rolled to his elbows, and though the shirt certainly hadn’t been designed to be form-fitting, it played the role on him well enough. The man’s biceps pulled the sleeves tight, and there wasn’t much room for his chest, either. As for his face, it bore a faint resemblance to a certain crab mangled one I’d recently seen.

  “Joey Nicchi,” he said, putting his hand out. “Welcome to Sea Ridge Hunting Tours. Are you all…looking to schedule an expedition?”

  He cocked a flint-gray eye at us as he asked the question, clearly expecting a certain answer but knowing he had to ask anyway.

  I shook his hand, taking note of the strength in his grip. “Jake Daggers. This is Shay Steele, and that’s Folton Quinto. And no, we’re not here to schedule a hunting trip, although I’m sure that would be fun.”

  He didn’t bother shaking anyone else’s hand when he finished with mine. “You’re cops.”

  “What gave it away?” said Shay.

  “Not much,” he said. “Just the way you stand, talk, look, and smell.”

  I thought about cracking a joke about my hotel room’s limited amenities, but Joey didn’t look the type to appreciate that. “Do you know why we’re here, Joey?”

  “Something to do with Johnny, obviously. You don’t look like run of the mill flatfoots, so…it can’t be anything good. Where are you from?”

  For all my admonishment of Bronmuth, apparently the rumors from town hadn’t reached all the way here yet. “We’re detectives, from New Welwic. You want to head inside, maybe?”

  The man’s jaw bulged, his eyes glinting. “I’m a big boy. Just tell me.”

  “We found your brother,” said Steele. “Dead, I’m afraid. Washed ashore in New Welwic. But it’s worse than that, I’m afraid. He was murdered.”

  Joey spun, turning his back on us, and took a few steps away. His head hung as he ran his hand through his beard, and I heard him sigh.

  We gave him his time.

  When he turned back, it was with wet eyes. He
nodded. “Alright, then. Okay.”

  The grief I understood, but I’d expected a different reaction. “You’re not surprised?”

  He turned his eyes on me, which despite the nascent tears were still hard as rocks. “Johnny was my family. My blood. We may not have been as close as we’d once been, but I grew up with him. Laughed with him. Cried with him. I know how he thought, and I know what he was capable of. He wouldn’t have left his wife. He wouldn’t have disappeared without telling a soul. He wouldn’t have given up on all of us, on his life, for no apparent reason. So am I surprised to find out he’s dead? No. Not at all. That he was murdered? Yeah, maybe. But I knew, in here—” He pounded his chest. “—that he was dead. But that doesn’t make it any easier to hear it.”

  “I understand.”

  We gave him another moment of silence before Shay tried again. “We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Nicchi. You said you weren’t as close to your brother as you once were. Do you mind if we ask you about that?”

  “It’s Joey. Just Joey. You’re homicide detectives?”

  We nodded.

  He sighed. “Sure. Though I’m not sure how much there is to tell. We were close…once. Like any other siblings, I guess. Better, really. We had the kind of relationship most brothers dream of. We did everything growing up. Hunting. Fishing. Fighting. Screwing around, almost killing ourselves doing stupid stuff. Going after the same girls and failing at the same time. It’s only natural we went into business together when we got older. Nicchi Fishing and Crabbing. Johnny owned it. He signed the loans for the ship and the equipment. Told me we’d be like partners, but he didn’t want me liable for it all if things went south. I guess it was a fair trade. He got the house, after all.”

  “What house?” asked Shay.

  “The family house, where he lived with Bianca,” said Joey. “That was our parent’s place before our old man died. With him gone, it was too big for mom, and she was starting to suffer from mental issues anyway. She let Johnny have it, what with him marrying Bianca, and she moved out to live with our sis. She’s in New Welwic. Better medical care there than here.”

  “Bianca suggested the fishing business wasn’t doing too well,” I said. “Is that why Johnny pushed you out?”

  Joey shrugged, gazing into the distance. “Maybe. I don’t know. He tried to keep the financial stuff to himself, keep me protected from it if it soured, just like with the loans. But if I had to guess? Yeah, sure. We weren’t pulling in the hauls everyone else was. We might’ve grown up here, grown up around ships, but we don’t come from a line of crabbers. Just seemed like all we could really do, you know? It was either that or work on the boardwalk, and I’ve never much cared for juggling or breathing fire.”

  “So Johnny fired you?” I asked.

  “Pretty much,” said Joey. “Pulled me aside one day and told me he couldn’t afford to keep paying me. Told me I’d have to find something else. I told him that was crazy. He couldn’t do everything aboard his ship by himself, and I’d stay by his side even if I had to work for free. I didn’t care about money. We were family, bonded by blood! But he told me I couldn’t. That he couldn’t ask that of me, couldn’t do that to me. Swore he’d keep me protected, just like he’d said he would. It got heated. It…wasn’t a good encounter. And actually…” Joey turned his head away. “It was the last real conversation I had with him.”

  “And that was a year ago?” asked Shay.

  “More or less.”

  “But Johnny kept operating his business throughout the year, right?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “So he couldn’t have defaulted on his loans for the ship and equipment,” said Shay. “It would have been repossessed, wouldn’t it?”

  “That would make sense, but I really couldn’t tell you. As I said, we’d…grown apart.”

  “You have any idea who gave him the initial loan to start the business?” asked Shay.

  Joey shook his head. “Some bank in New Welwic. As you might’ve noticed, there’s not a thriving financial services industry here in Aragosto. You’d have to check Johnny’s records to find out who. He never told me.”

  I nodded toward the ranch house. “So after you left the fishing biz, you went into hunting?”

  “The job was available, and I’d always been sharper with knives and bows than Johnny.”

  “Business okay?”

  “Not really,” said Joey, “but I’m not too bent out of shape about it. I just work here. The Abano brothers own the place, and they make enough money from their fishing and crabbing enterprise that I don’t think they’re too concerned about this venture. They pay me whether people come by for tours or not. Not well, mind you, but they let me catch as much deer and water fowl as I can eat, and I get to live at the house, which is a huge bonus.”

  “Not surprising,” I said, looking around. “This place doesn’t look too touristy.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Joey. “I do what I can to keep the place welcoming and tidy. I’m the only guy who works here, you know.”

  “I didn’t mean any offense,” I said. “I simply meant it’s off the beaten path. And that dilapidated farm house can’t be doing you any favors. My advice, I’d move one of the signs for this place a little further up the road so people see it before they notice that rotted old husk.”

  “Oh. That place,” said Joey. “It belonged to an old guy. The head of a naturalist group. He passed away some five or six years ago. He was a real pain in the ass to hunters and fishermen around these parts, but I guess I shouldn’t badmouth the dead. Never did anything to me, anyway, but his old place sure is an eyesore. I’m surprised the Abanos haven’t bought it and torn it down, but again, I don’t think they’re too invested in this business.”

  Joey’s eyes had finally dried. Though I could still notice the tension in his shoulders, he’d uncrossed his arms and his jaw had loosened.

  Shay took his state as an invitation. “Joey, I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but other than his possible financial problems, can you think of anything else your brother might’ve been involved in. Anything unsavory?”

  Joey gritted his jaw again. “Not that I know of. Like I said, I hadn’t talked to him in a long time. Too long…”

  His stare got distant again.

  “Please, Joey. Anything could be helpful. Surely you—”

  “I told you, I don’t know,” he barked, his eyes suddenly fierce. “Ask Bianca. Maybe she’ll know.”

  “We already did,” I said.

  “Then I guess you’re out of luck. All of us. You. Me. And especially Johnny.”

  Joey turned and stormed into the barn, in the general direction of the hand tools. Quinto gave me a look, but I shook my head. I didn’t think he’d hurt himself, but the man clearly needed to be alone.

  19

  The bees, butterflies, and rabbits ignored us as we skirted the edge of the dilapidated estate and headed back into the woods. I thought at least the latter might be more skittish given the whole ‘Hunting Tours’ thing, but apparently their size kept them from getting targets put on their backs. Strapping young Joey probably would’ve needed to catch a whole family just to make himself a decent breakfast.

  “Well, that wasn’t as helpful as I’d thought it would be,” said Steele.

  “Really?” I said. “You don’t find it interesting that Johnny kicked his brother out of their family business due to money problems and yet showed no outward signs of financial distress for the next year?”

  My partner glared at me. “Of course I do, but I’d already considered the possibility that Johnny’s death was related to his money woes, and there’s a few issues with that line of thought. For one thing, it’s extremely difficult to collect on a debt when the person who owes you money is dead. You also realize the law is already on the side of the party owed money. If Johnny was behind on payments, the bank could’ve repossessed his boat. Why would a bank from New Welwic send a hitman after him instea
d?”

  “Perhaps Joey’s wrong,” I said. “What if Johnny didn’t use a reputable New Welwic bank like he thought? What if Johnny secured his loan a different way?”

  “That still doesn’t explain why his creditor would want him dead.”

  “Either way,” said Quinto. “It’s probably worth going through Johnny’s ledgers in more detail. Hopefully he has them going back to incorporation. Not that I’d expect him to write down the source of his loan if it was from a suspicious source, but still. There’d be clues as to what happened, I have to think.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “And you want to be the one to sweet talk your way back into Bianca’s good graces?”

  Quinto shrugged. “She might be willing to part with them freely. We may not have a warrant, and Mines would have to be the ones to procure one if we needed it, but I don’t see why Bianca wouldn’t be amenable to that. Other than her being an unpleasant individual overall, that is.”

  “That’s more of what I was getting at.”

  “Speaking of Bianca,” said Steele. “What’s everyone’s read on her? Beyond her personality, I mean.”

  “She’s colder than an ice wine snow cone.”

  Quinto snorted.

  “I said besides her personality, Daggers.”

  “I know,” I said. “But in all seriousness, I’m not sure we can separate her personality from the case. Bianca readily admitted her relationship with Johnny was on the rocks. There’s no way her grating persona didn’t affect Johnny’s mental state.”

  “I get that,” said Steele, “but again, it’s not what I was asking about. Her story about last night is of more immediate concern.”

  “Well, as angry as she was, I didn’t get the feeling she was hung over,” said Quinto. “Which isn’t to say I doubt her story about going out for drinks. She’d have to be dumber than a sack of rocks to think she could get away with a lie like that, but…well, it doesn’t seem as if she’s telling the whole truth, does it?”