Wait.
Where was the original officer Vince had talked about? The one who discovered Pat’s body. Jack or Jerry. Jerry? Jerry, that was his name.
Mac looked around at the street. No cars were parked close enough. Jerry was probably gone, too, right?
Whatever. No time to waste.
Mac worked the bolt lock first. The cold air didn’t make the use of his fine motor skills easy. The blood rushed away from his fingertips. Mac gritted his teeth and soldiered on. The sound of a car pushing through the winter air on the street caused him to stop then drop one of his picks.
“Shit.” Mac looked to the street.
The Cadillac SUV drove past the house.
“Jesus. Mac. Get it together.” He bent down, grabbed the pick, and continued his work.
The time off had made him rusty. The surgery, recovery, and PT did little to sharpen his law enforcement skills. Not that lock-picking was a cop skill but Mac sometimes had very different ideas of what the duties of a cop should be. He was supposed to have been patrolling the marathon route not stepping on the FBI’s toes and doing the bomb squad’s job. Mac loved being a cop and did whatever it took to get the bad guys. Hence, freezing his ass off trying to break into a new friend’s house whom he suspected had been murdered.
The pop sound of the bolt moving into an open position could be heard through the door. Mac tried the handle, and the door opened right up. The security system hadn’t been armed. If there even was one. Patricia did say she was reluctant to even put systems like that in the Tiny Wanderer. She was old-school like that.
Mac pulled out his phone. The plan: take as many pictures as possible. See if he could find anything out of the ordinary. Get out quickly. Well, as quickly as possible, given his slower gait.
Mac started snapping as soon as he closed the door behind him. He walked to the kitchen and kept pressing the shutter icon on his touchscreen. Over and over again. The fridge had an elaborate Advent calendar secured to it with magnets that looked like the Tiny Wanderer.
On the calendar, Patricia had a meeting scheduled for today. No other details, just the words ‘meeting at noon.’ Not very thorough but still good to know. There were other appointments scheduled in November too. Similar in start time. The weekly meeting for the retail workers at the Wanderer? Could be. Mac would be sure to ask around upon his return to the café in a few minutes.
The pills were no longer spread over the wood floor. The rest of the cherry wood cabinets and stainless steel kitchen appliances were spotless. As if nothing had happened. Still, Mac snapped as many pics as possible. He could see no signs of a struggle or even where Patricia kept her pills. Everything was tidy. Mac felt a slight tinge of doubt. Maybe Vince was right. He was trying to make something out of nothing. Too eager to do the police work he so sorely missed at times.
With enough pictures logged into his phone storage, Mac called it quits and walked out of the kitchen and back to the main room. Through the bay window above the vast Christmas village, Mac spotted a minivan pull into the driveway. Probably the daughter. He’d left his old badge in his bag at the Tiny Wanderer. Not good. He couldn’t prove he was a cop or an ex-cop masquerading as an actual cop. He had to hide.
A middle-aged couple emerged from the van and walked to the door. The daughter had short brown hair and looked like Patricia. The presumed husband was very well put together. He looked like he’d just walked out a trendy men’s retail store.
Mac had to hide. And fast.
He hobbled over to the Christmas village and ducked under the long card table the village was set on. Patricia had placed a decorative tablecloth on the table that hung low to the carpet. He threw his cane under and rolled under the table.
Hopefully they wouldn’t be here long. Mac’s leg hurt like hell.
Chapter Six
The daughter sniffled upon entering her mother’s house. “I can’t believe this. Today of all days. Her favorite weekend. Favorite time of the year.”
“Why don’t we just come back tomorrow night? We can sort everything out then.” A male voice employed a sensitive yet slightly irritated tone.
“Gordon, we have to get the will and see what she wanted as soon as possible for the funeral arrangements, and I just…just want to be here right now. Besides, it will only take a minute. She said she kept it in her top dresser drawer.”
Her voice began to fade as she made her way farther into the house.
Mac considered the quick roll out and exit. He started to roll. Mind over handicapped matter. Just do it. Go quick. The daylight’s overcast lighting painted the ceiling he looked up at.
The doorbell rang. Twice in rapid succession.
Crap.
Mac rolled back under the table.
“I got it!” Gordon ran to the door.
The door opened.
“Mayor Erikson, how can we help you?”
“I am so sorry for your loss. Is Suzanne here. Can I speak to her?”
“Yes, yes, come on in. Hey, Suzy! The mayor is here!”
Mac rolled his eyes. What an ass. He knew where this was going.
“Coming!” Suzy responded from far away.
“Come on in and sit down.” Gordon’s voice became louder as he walked into the living room and very close to Mac’s location.
Mac didn’t know if he should hold his breath. He wanted to bite the handle of his cane. His leg hurt more and more with each passing second.
“I don’t want to intrude. I will only be a few minutes. Very busy. Oh, there she is. Suzy, I am so terribly sorry, and you have Mrs. Erikson and I’s deepest condolences,” Stieg said.
“Thank you. What can we do for you, Mayor?” Suzy asked.
“You see, I am in quite an unprecedented situation. This is one of Geneva’s biggest nights of the year, if not the biggest single night of the year. And you and your mother have done such a wonderful job of decorating the house for this year’s Walk. I just wanted to ask if we can keep the house open tonight as it is a pillar for our community. We are expecting huge crowds this evening, and even movie and TV studios are sending location scouts for possible filming projects, and I don’t want to risk disappointing anyone. I already boasted about your mother’s home and business as being the premiere attractions. I understand if you can’t grant me this request as everything is very fresh and shocking, but I beg of you, please, keep the house open. The GPD will be here as always to make sure everything goes smoothly,” the mayor pleaded.
Mac wanted to puke. He couldn’t believe his ears.
“I don’t see why not. Right, Suzy?” the husband said. “We have enough on our plate with the kids. The kids don’t even know yet. Let’s just go ho—”
“Gordon! It is not your decision to make…” Suzy’s voice started strong then trembled.
“She would have wanted what the mayor want—”
“Gordon! Stop. Fine. Fine. You can keep the house open for the walk, Mayor. Only because Mom loved her community and wouldn’t want the focus to be on her death. Fine. Thank you, Mayor. You can leave now,” Suzy said.
Gordon was also a big jerk. Mac took note.
“Thank you so much, Suzanne.” The mayor left immediately. The door shut behind him.
“I am sorry, Suzy,” Gordon said, but Mac wondered how genuine he was. Why was he so eager to keep the house open for Mayor Meathead?
“I found the will. Let’s get back to the funeral home before the kids are done with school.” Suzy opened the door.
Their footsteps faded. The door closed again.
Mac rolled out from under the table and let out a big sigh of relief.
Chapter Seven
Mac made his way out of Patricia’s house. He didn’t want to have to hide or explain his way out of some ridiculous problem he’d created for himself. He’d snapped a lot of pictures and would sync the pictures to his new Mac he’d left at the atrium café. The big high resolution screen would help him mine the pictures for foul play.
The town car had parked itself right by Mac’s favorite entrance. There was no end to the mayor’s annoying tendencies. What was he doing? Trying to keep a lid on things? No shame. No respect for the dead at all.
Mac frowned. His intense eyes and furrowed brow looked just like Ebenezer Scrooge as he leaned on his cane rather aggressively and walked swiftly to the doors.
He opened the door and walked into the greeting card department, through lighting, to the bathroom section, and turned right to the atrium café. Sometimes Mac felt walking with his cane made him feel more powerful than the presumptive weakened state one could and probably did assume came with a cane.
Upon reaching the café, he realized he should probably calm down. Patricia wouldn’t want him punching the mayor in the face in her beloved Tiny Wanderer.
He found his backpack right where he’d left it. The crabby man must have left, as two dimes were left on the table with his check. Twenty-cent tip. Mac shook his head. What was wrong with people today?
“Edith, Edith. We will make sure she is honored and respected. Trust me. You made the right choice.” Stieg Erikson’s voiced raked Mac’s ears once more as he watched the portly mayor emerge from the kitchen.
Edith walked out next clearly upset but holding it together. Her mascara was still dry and no longer running down her face like earlier with Vince. She shook her head and watched Stieg walk between a row of tables toward Mac.
Mac took his seat. The mayor approached. The moment neared. Mac smirked with adolescent glee as he opened the lid to his Mac laptop.
Stieg wiped his bald head and kept a steady pace.
Three feet away.
Mac slipped out his cane ever so slightly into the walking lane.
So close.
“AH!” The mayor of Geneva tumbled to the ground with a loud smack.
“Oh dear, you okay?!” Edith ran over.
“I am fine. I am fine. Jesus Christ, Edith. The Wanderer will have a lawsuit on their hands if you don’t create bigger walking lanes in here.” The mayor pulled himself up rather quickly much to Mac’s minor disappointment.
The tumble was so worth it. Mac had his back to the fall. He ignored Stieg and smiled into his beautiful computer screen.
“I have much to do.” Stieg exited the café.
“Officer Rickman, I saw what you did.” Edith sat down across from him.
“What do you mean?” Mac’s bottom lip jutted. He held his arms out to his side, palms up.
“I saw what you did, and thank you.” Edith laughed, a much-needed catharsis for a terrible start to the day.
Mac joined in. “He fell pretty hard too!”
They laughed hysterically.
Edith rubbed her right temple then took a deep breath. “Pat always thought he was a buffoon.”
“He is an ass. Speaking of Patricia, Edith, I noticed on her calendar she had a meeting scheduled for noon today. What was that for?”
“I run all the meetings here so she wouldn’t have written that down. Those meetings are always in the morning. She must have had a meeting with Lacy’s again.”
“Lacy’s? You mean the retail giant? Thanksgiving Day Parade Lacy’s?” Mac grabbed a pen and his moleskin notebook he’d used to plan his memoir.
“Yes. The Lacy’s. She wanted it hush hush. She was considering selling the Wanderer to them,” Edith said.
“Wonderful. Wonderful! Something to go on. Anyone else know about Patricia’s intent to sell?” Mac scribbled into his notebook.
“Just her daughter, and I assume her son-in-law. Why do you ask? Did you see something Vince didn’t see?” Edith’s eyes widened.
“I just want to check things out. Make sure no foul play was involved. I owe it to Patricia. She was the first person to welcome me here—”
“You think she may have been murdered?” Edith leaned over with a whisper.
“Don’t be alarmed. I just have a hunch. I am just doing my job…well, former job, but still. Do you know where she was to meet with Lacy’s people?” Mac shifted in his seat, his leg aching.
“I think they usually met at the Hennington Inn next to the Fox River. They met in the restaurant lounge there once before. The rep came from New York and stays there, of course.”
“Edith. Thank you for your help.”
Chapter Eight
Millie rubbed the back of her neck. Sitting at a desk, not fun. A far cry from her days as a college athlete. Her cell phone buzzed in the desk drawer. She pulled it open. The typical ‘call me when u get a chance’ message displayed on her home screen from none other than her mother, Becca.
Millie sighed. The last appointment took too long, and she just didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Still, she picked up the phone and called Mom.
“Hello. I’m at the store. Do you think Mac likes vegetables? Yes. No. Maybe I shouldn’t get them. I mean, maybe just baked beans?” Becca said.
“Mom. Slow down. Mac isn’t into vegetables. Don’t even worry about it.”
“I will just get everything. Just make everything. I mean, it can’t hurt. One thing our family likes to do is eat.” Becca continued to talk without any acknowledgement that her daughter had responded.
Millie rubbed the side of her face. Why was everyone so hyped today?
“Mom! Why did you call?”
“Well, sorry. Just wanted to make sure we had what Mac likes.”
“Whatever you make, I am sure will be fine.”
“I’ll just get all of this. That’s fine.”
“All of what? Mom, I have to go. Have an appointment.”
“Oh, okay. Talk to you later. Byeeee.”
“See you later.” Millie ended the call, confused as to what had just happened.
Her phone buzzed again. Mac.
“Hello.”
“Hello.” Mac’s welcome voice comforted.
“Hey. How are you?” Millie asked.
“I’m good. Great actually. You ready for this? I think Patricia may have been murdered.”
“Wait, what? Who is Patricia?” Millie looked around and decided to stand up, get out of the bank lobby, and up the stairs to an empty office space.
“Patricia Flaherty, the owner of the Tiny Wanderer. She was found dead in her kitchen this morning. My brother thinks it may have been a heart attack, but she was found on the floor and was trying to take her thyroid pills, not blood pressure pills. Vince said a patrolman named Jerry assigned to do security for her house on the Christmas Walk tonight found her. I don’t know, something just doesn’t feel right. She was usually in such good spirits and never once talked about a heart condition.”
“Oh no. That is terrible, Mac. She seemed like such a nice lady. Maybe your brother is right. We bank with—or banked with—her. She was in her eighties, right? I mean, these things happen. The thyroid pills instead of heart medication doesn’t mean she was murdered.” Millie paced the empty office space.
“I know. I know. But she was worth a lot of money, and Edith said she was in talks with Lacy’s to sell the Tiny Wanderer. When big money is involved, you just never know. I want to do my due diligence and do what my brother is not doing which is investigate. Which is why I am calling you…” Mac said.
“I mean, I really don’t think this is necessary. What do you want me to do?”
“You said Patricia Flaherty and the Tiny Wanderer have accounts with Salem Bank?” Mac asked.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. But yes. Yes, she does. And yes, a personal account and business. One of our bigger accounts. Not the biggest. But big enough. You want me to see if anything strange has been going on in her accounts.” Millie sighed and shook her head, worried that Mac’s behavior was indicative of his injury and retirement from the force.
“I mean, it can’t hurt to look. Maybe some in
sight as to why she was looking into selling. Thank you, Mills!” Mac’s voice abruptly stopped. He’d ended the call.
Millie walked back down the stairs, audibly blowing air from her mouth in apparent exhaustion of having to talk to two of the most hyper people she knew in a very short amount of time.
Chapter Nine
Mac stared at the mesmerizing screen of his laptop at all the pictures he’d taken of Patricia’s kitchen and house. Nothing seemed to stand out. He looked closely at all the pics of the kitchen. The cherry cabinets, new appliances. Everything was spick-and-span. Super clean. No breakfast mess. Nothing. Did Patricia even cook?
He didn’t notice any glasses on or around the sink. If Patricia was going to take a pill, where was her glass of water? Unless of course she’d suffered the cardiac event before she could even procure a glass. Mac wondered where she kept her pills. In a kitchen cabinet? Upstairs in the bathroom? Her bedroom? He needed to get back into the house. Trusty lock picks to the rescue again. Too many things to check out.
Yet again, he couldn’t risk being caught in the house, although now he had his badge. He grabbed his backpack and unzipped the front pocket, and there it was. Yes, it said “retired” at the bottom, but he could cover it with his hand if he needed to flash the badge.
Wouldn’t be the worst idea to head back there and hope that the daughter came back. He could ask her a few questions. He had time before the noon meeting at the Hennington. Mac looked at his watch. Eleven ten a.m.
Mac sometimes struggled with focus. If there was much to do or if he thought he had much to do, sometimes his propensity to juggle too many thoughts, plans, ideas in his head caused him some mental lapses in logic. Now he realized he should have stayed in the house after the daughter and husband left, but for fear of getting caught or being forced to hide again, he’d exited the house. Of course, his scatterbrained ways did eventually lead him to a place of careful and deliberate moves. Moves that saved lives.
The Christmas Walk Caper Page 2