by Gin Jones
"I told you I'd handle this," Helen said, except then she heard a vehicle coming up her gravel driveway and realized it was probably Tate. Too late to warn him off until her nieces left. If people were so intent on visiting her, was it too much to ask that they call ahead? "That's probably him now."
"Do you think he'd like a bagel?" Laura said.
Lily could learn a lot—too much, maybe—from a stranger's reaction to a bagel, especially if this was one of Laura's misses instead of one of the hits. "I think he'd like to be left alone."
"I'll take him a bagel," Lily said. "Everyone likes bagels."
Helen glanced out the window. Tate had backed a big black pick-up truck to the garage, and was getting out of the driver's side while Adam was getting out of the passenger side. "Better make it two. He brought a helper."
Helen snagged her ugly spare cane on the way out to the garage, resigned to the fact that there was no way she would be able to get to Tate and warn him off before the determined, more mobile, bagel-bearing Lily pounced on him. Helen had to trust that Tate would be as unencouraging with Lily as he was with everyone else who interfered with his woodworking.
When Helen reached the pick-up, Tate and Adam were already rolling a large, metal work table down a ramp from the truck bed and into the empty garage. Lily was waiting for them inside with two bagels wrapped in paper napkins.
"Hi. I'm Helen's niece, Lily," she said, handing Tate a bagel.
"Thanks." Tate placed his untasted bagel on the just-moved table before heading back up the ramp.
Lily, still clutching the second bagel, followed him to the truck, although she had enough sense to stay off the ramp and out of the way. At least for the moment.
"I hear you're an artist," Lily said.
Tate picked up a toolbox and carried it down the ramp. "Woodworker."
Lily stayed beside him. "Have you been doing that kind of thing for long?"
"Decades." Tate returned to the truck with Lily shadowing him.
"You must be really good, then. Where do you sell your products?"
Tate carried a milk crate full of assorted tools to the garage. "I can afford the rent here, if that's what you want to know."
"Did you give Aunt Helen your financial information?"
"Your aunt's satisfied with the deal. That's good enough for me." He tapped Adam on the shoulder. "This isn't a spectator sport. You're supposed to be helping, so you can be rid of me, at last."
"I don't want to be rid of you," Adam said as he joined his uncle on the truck's bed to help maneuver the tool cabinet onto a hand truck. "I keep asking you to stick around, in fact. Nobody wants you to leave, except for you, so I have to accept it."
"See?" Helen said to Lily. "Some people defer to their elders' wishes."
"Some people aren't me." Lily turned her sights on Adam, making Helen think she'd made a mistake in bringing him to her niece's attention. Despite Adam's legal training, he just didn't have the extensive experience that his uncle had with deflecting difficult questions.
Lily sauntered over to the hapless Adam. "This bagel's for you."
"Thanks," he said, and unlike his uncle, he immediately unwrapped the napkin to check it out. "What kind is it?"
"Home-made kind," Lily said. "Just eat it, and tell me what you think of it."
"You made it?" Adam broke off a bite-sized piece and studied it carefully.
"My sister did." Lily pointed at Laura, who was arranging five place settings on the table of the back deck. "She likes to cook."
Adam still hesitated. "Is she any good at it?"
"You'll find out as soon as you taste it," Lily said.
"Have you tried it yet?" Adam said.
"She's my sister," Lily said. "I eat her food all the time."
"But you haven't tried the bagels yet." He looked down at the bite-sized piece in his hand warily. Then he broke off a second piece. "Here. You go first."
Helen relaxed and leaned against the back of the truck. Adam might not have as much experience as his uncle, but he wasn't the soft touch he appeared to be.
Lily took the offered chunk of bagel and cream cheese, and popped it into her mouth. She chewed determinedly for several seconds and then swallowed, sticking her tongue out, as if she were a reality-show contestant who had to prove she'd really eaten some disgusting thing. "Good stuff. Sticks to your ribs."
Helen couldn't tell if the bagel had actually been good or not. Lily had a lot of practice eating and praising Laura's food, even when it was horrible.
Adam had automatically looked down at Lily's ribs, except that his gaze never got much farther down than her breasts before it darted back up to her face. He popped the bagel bite into his mouth and chewed. And chewed. And chewed.
It took him longer than it had taken Lily, but eventually he swallowed it. "Good flavor," he said, with obvious diplomacy.
Lily smiled and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "You don't have to eat the whole thing. Just put it next to Tate's, and I'll inadvertently knock them both into the trash bin when I go past the table."
"I wouldn't want to hurt your sister's feelings," Adam said, before popping another bite into his mouth and heading off to grab some of the wood stock from the piles in the truck.
If he believed that as long as his mouth was full, Lily couldn't interrogate him about Tate, he'd seriously underestimated her.
Lily shadowed him the way she'd done with his uncle. "What kind of work do you do?"
"I'm a lawyer." Adam laid the armful of wood onto a pallet in the far corner of the garage and returned to the truck with Lily at his heels. "I took over my uncle's practice when he retired."
Uh-oh. Dangerous territory there. No need for Lily to know that the woodworker and the lawyer uncle were the same person. Helen needed a distraction. She grabbed one of the lengths of wood stock from the truck, propped it up on her shoulder with her non-cane hand, and began carrying it over to the garage.
"Aunt Helen!" Lily said. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm making up for the nuisance you're being," Helen said. "This stuff won't move itself."
"You can't carry that and still use your cane properly," Lily said, taking the wood from her and carrying it into the garage.
"That reminds me." Adam paused halfway between the truck and the garage. "I've looked everywhere at the offices for your other cane. It's definitely not there."
"Thanks for looking," Helen said, watching Lily collect several pieces of wood stock from the truck.
Without Lily's interrogation efforts, it didn't take long for them to empty out the truck bed. The two-car garage still looked cavernous, with nothing but the worktable, lathe, tool boxes, and wood stock in it. Tate hadn't even brought the two directors' chairs, probably to discourage her from visiting him.
Lily brushed her hands against her jeans, and said, "So. When are you bringing the rest of your stuff?"
Tate gave Helen a questioning look, before answering. "I don't need a whole lot of equipment. Most of what I had in my old studio was junk, nothing to do with my current work. When I started wood turning, one of the things that appealed to me was how little equipment it required. Makes it easy to move too. Now that I have the space, I may invest in some other table tools, though."
"I'm not talking about your work stuff," Lily said. "I mean your other things."
"I live pretty simply." Tate tossed a set of keys to Adam. "Do me a favor, would you, and take the truck back to your cousin, and pick up my car? I'll be here, working out some details with my landlord."
Lily said, "I've got my laptop in the cottage, if you need to draw up a rental contract."
"That won't be necessary," Helen said. "Why don't you go see how Laura's doing? I need to talk to my new tenant for a minute."
Lily looked like she wanted to argue, but she'd always known when it was time to retreat until a better opportunity arose. For the moment, she was willing to leave Helen and Tate alone in the garage. Lily joined Laura on
the back deck, far enough away that she couldn't hear the conversation inside the garage.
"Lily hasn't given up interrogating you," Helen said. "She can be a bit stubborn."
"Like aunt, like niece," Tate said. "Why does she think I need to move more things over here?"
"She doesn't want me to be alone," Helen said. "No one does. It's very annoying."
"You're easily annoyed." He wandered over to the tool cabinet, unlocked it, and began checking the contents.
"What did you want to talk to me about in private?"
"I figured you wouldn't want your nieces to hear that there's been another remote control burglary," he said. "Maybe it will give the cops some more information to go on, now that they've got a reason to pay attention."
Helen leaned against the work table. "Tell me about it."
"It probably happened a few days ago, before the murder, but no one noticed anything was missing until yesterday."
"Are they sure it's the same guy?" Helen said. "Most of the other burglaries happened in the spring and fall, not in the summer."
"Definitely the same guy," Tate said. "The only thing that was stolen was fourteen remote controls."
"Not likely to be anyone else, then." Helen thought for a moment. "Who has fourteen remote controls lying around to be stolen, anyway? According to the newspaper accounts, the average for these burglaries has been around three."
"The average number of things operated by remote in each household is probably escalating too," Tate said. "In this case, several were for advanced equipment, like HVAC controls and security cameras that the homeowner could adjust from anywhere in the house. The cops weren't saying if they'd gotten any useful images. I'm guessing they didn't, or they'd have been crowing about it. All they said was that there were actually fifteen remotes in the victim's house, and the burglar missed one."
"Still, fourteen is a lot," Helen said. "And the homeowner didn't notice the minute they were stolen, which suggests they weren't actually used much."
"Some guys like to have the latest tech, even if they don't actually use it."
Helen's ex-husband had been like that, replacing his cell phone with the newest technology every few months, without having learned to use even a small percentage of the features in the older cell phone. She suspected Tate either had a simple phone or at least knew how to use every single feature it had. He would have noticed if one of his remotes was stolen, within a few hours.
"I suppose knowing the exact number of remotes taken isn't very helpful," Helen said. "After all, the burglar must have a couple hundred of them by now, far more than he could possibly use, and yet he keeps on stealing them."
"It may not be a clue that could be used to narrow down the suspects," Tate said, "but if he's ever arrested, the specialized ones for the security system is solid evidence connecting him with the most recent theft. The generic remotes that you could buy anywhere would be easy to explain away if I were defending the burglar, but I'd have a hard time coming up with an innocent explanation for having the remote for an expensive security system."
"What else did you hear about the latest incident?" Helen said. "Do they have any idea what time the theft happened?"
"Not really."
"What about a time it could not have happened?" Helen said. "I was reading up on the previous burglaries, and it looks like the burglar isn't much of a morning person."
"I didn't get many details."
"Never mind," Helen said. "I'll ask Geoff Loring about it. I was planning to talk to him today, anyway."
"Just promise me you won't tell him that you're the most likely suspect for having killed Melissa," he said. "He might believe you, and he'd be able to testify against you at trial. I wouldn't be able to exclude it as hearsay, because a confession is admissible as a statement against interest."
"I'll let him do all the talking," Helen promised. "I just want to see if he knows anything else about the burglaries. If we can figure out who the burglar is, the police can arrest him, and if we're lucky, he'll have an airtight alibi for when Melissa was killed. Then they'll have to take me seriously."
"And I'll have to defend you against murder charges." Tate glanced at his piles and piles of wood stock. "I suppose it would be worth my time. I could use some more wood, and it's not cheap. A murder-defense retainer would just about cover the additional stock I've been considering."
"Before you start spending that imaginary retainer, you'll have to help me identify the burglar."
"Oh, no," Tate said. "I just get people out of trouble, not into it. Better that I not know you're planning to meddle in a police investigation."
"Just tell me something," Helen said. "Is there always a pattern to crimes? An MO, like they say in the movies and on TV?"
"I suppose. But most of the time, it's not some master plan. It's not a purple feather left at the crime scene or some special method of entry into the building. Usually it's just that the person is a thief or an addict. He happens to see something he wants and he takes it. He doesn't stop to work out all the details. The pattern has more to do with geography than anything else. At least, that was always the case with my clients."
"The difference is," Helen said, "your clients got caught, and the Remote Control Burglar didn't. I'm guessing he's smarter than your clients, and maybe smart criminals have real MO's."
"How smart can he be when he's risking a jail sentence over a pile of worthless hunks of plastic?"
"You're the one who's supposed to understand the criminal mind," Helen said. "It's your job. It's why I'm allowing you to use my garage, after all—so I have access to your insights."
"The way you see it, then, the use of the garage covers the cost of the legal advice you're asking for?" he said. "Maybe your niece is right, and we should have a lease written up."
"I don't expect you to answer my questions forever," she said. "Just until I figure out who the burglar is, and he's arrested, so my nieces will leave me alone."
"I see," Tate said. "Does that mean that if I help you identify the burglar, you won't need me any longer, and you'll kick me out of the garage, firing me and evicting me, all in one? Somehow, that doesn't seem like much of an incentive for me to help you."
"I really hate a man who knows the rules of formal logic and isn't afraid to use them."
"You hate everyone."
"I try," Helen said. "But I won't kick you out of your new studio when we find the burglar. You can stay as long as you'd like. I'm not worried about you pestering me the way everyone else does."
Tate nodded. "We'd better get out to the deck before Lily gets suspicious."
"She's always suspicious," Helen said as she reached for her cane. "It's when she starts getting helpful that you need to worry."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tate deflected Lily's questions and managed to eat an entire bagel, to Laura's delight, before Adam returned with Tate's car, and then the two men left. Helen convinced the nieces to leave shortly afterwards, telling them she'd promised to visit some friends at the nursing home. It wasn't a lie, as such. She had promised Betty and Josie she'd come back sometime, and the common room of the nursing home would be a good, neutral place to meet Geoff Loring. She sent him an email, asking him to meet her there at 2:00, and received a confirmation a few minutes later. If she got there early, before the reporter arrived, she might be able to ask Betty and Josie about the story they'd hinted at before, the one that Geoff was missing. It probably had nothing to do with Melissa's murder, but it wasn't much more of a long shot than expecting to get any more information from the reporter.
Jack delivered Helen to the nursing home at 1:30. She signed the guest ledger and headed for the common room. Betty and Josie weren't in their usual seats near the unlit fireplace, and one of the nursing staff explained that the women had been signed out of the nursing home for a few hours with Betty's daughter.
As it turned out, Helen wouldn't have been able to have a private moment with them, anyway. Geo
ff was already there, his youthful blond hair a contrast to the white and silver heads around him. He was wandering from patient to patient, seemingly at random, pumping them for information on his elusive big story.
Helen settled in what she thought of as Betty's chair near the fireplace and waited for Geoff to notice her. He had stopped his wanderings to lean over a frail, old man who was almost completely deaf. Despite the old man's attempt at conversation, Geoff was looking around the room. Helen could tell when he noticed her. He stood up, tugged on the tails of his faded, moss-green polo shirt, without actually removing any of the wrinkles, and abandoned the old man to race over to perch on the edge of Josie's chair.
"What's this all about?" he said. "Do you have a story for me?"
"If I do, you'll be the first reporter I'll call," Helen said. "But first I need some information."
"From me?"
"You're the best investigative reporter in the area." The only investigative reporter, actually. "If you don't have the answers, no one does."
He settled deeper into the upholstered chair, adjusting the pillows behind him before leaning back. "What do you want to know?"
"Melissa's killer," Helen said. "What are you doing to find him?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "That story isn't worth pursuing. Not for someone of my caliber. Everyone knows who killed her. It was the Remote Control Burglar."
"But what if it's not?" Helen said. "And why does everyone assume it's him?"
"Who else could it be?"
"That's what you're supposed to be investigating."
"I've got a bigger story to pursue." He peered around the room before leaning forward and lowering his voice, which only served to catch the attention of the nearest residents, some of whom had much better hearing than the old man Geoff had abandoned so readily. "I'm working on something that's going to shock the whole town. Starting with all the town officials who have relatives here at the nursing home."
The two women and one man who'd been blatantly eavesdropping, all shook their heads dismissively and went back to chatting with each other.