Union Jacked

by Diane Vallere

  I left the stall and washed my hands anyway, and then went back to Nick and Madden at the bar. Nick stood, and I put my hand on his sleeve. I turned to Madden. “It seems the favor you did by talking to me at this bar may have backfired. Bridget has set her sights on you, and she’s under the impression that I’m in her way.”

  Madden’s eyebrows knitted together. “Bridget isn’t interested in me,” he said.

  “She just confronted me in the bathroom and made it clear she thinks I’m her competition. I haven’t spoken to anybody else here with any regularity.”

  Madden looked past me, into the far reaches of Whiskey Mick’s and then back at me. “Bridget is interested in one cop. All those questions about badge bunnies . . . you really don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Bridget does like cops.” He held up his index finger. “One cop. When I first moved to Ribbon, I was told to steer clear of her, and I did. But it’s common knowledge that she was sleeping with Detective Loncar. She’s the reason he’s getting divorced.”

  23

  An Affair to Remember

  Detective Loncar had an affair with Bridget? The woman who posed as his daughter to get into his hospital room? The woman who the other cops called a badge bunny? The woman who flushed all the toilet paper so I’d be forced to hold it or drip dry?

  Speaking of which, I wasn’t going to be able to hold it forever. I shifted from foot to foot. “Are you sure about that?” I asked Detective Madden.

  “As I’ve said, Ms. Kidd, I don’t pay attention to gossip around the precinct. Loncar’s wife had divorce papers served to him at work. It seemed in poor taste to me, but I don’t know their history. If he cheated on her with Bridget, then I understand her choice of making a point in front of the division.”

  The bathroom situation was growing increasingly urgent, so I thanked Madden and pulled Nick out of the bar. “Drive home as fast as you can,” I said. “I really have to pee.”

  Once I was minus two gallons of liquid, I was able to think. Nick was upstairs in the shower, and I’d turned down his invitation to join him to sit in the kitchen and stare at the whiteboards. I’d learned something significant tonight. Something I never expected. Something that connected back, not to the strike, or the store, but to Loncar himself.

  If it was true.

  A crazy coworker once led me to hide out at a motel near the police station. That’s when I found out Loncar’s wife kicked him out of the house. Their daughter was pregnant, and neither she nor her mother had allowed him to visit with her. The story had gone a long way in making me rethink what I knew about the crotchety man in the marine buzz cut and ill-fitting suits, and through a couple of our conversations, I started to see how hard his job was (which you think would strengthen the argument for citizens like me who wanted to “help.”)

  Several months later, Loncar had taken a vacation in Tahiti. I’d hoped that he and his wife had worked things out, but his wife hadn’t joined him. He’d confided in me that when he got back, she wanted to talk reconciliation.

  But what if he’d had a fling while they were separated? What were the rules in a situation like that? Would she understand? Or was it like Ross and Rachel being on a break?

  A new picture emerged, one I wouldn’t have considered in a million years. What if Detective Loncar had cheated on his wife while they were married? What if she found out after she told him to move back in? What if the other woman had been a cop? It would stand to reason that she’d be mad at the entire precinct. It explained why no members of the police force were on the approved visitor list and why she would have his divorce papers served in front of his colleagues, either to humiliate him or to let everybody know she knew the truth.

  Was Peggy Loncar that sort of woman? And if she hadn’t been before, was she now?

  I knew one person I could ask. Well, technically I knew two, but asking Loncar about his sex life definitely crossed a line.

  The time change between China and Ribbon kept Nick from sleeping through the night, a fact I discovered in the morning when I went downstairs and found him staring at the whiteboards in the kitchen. “I made crepes,” he said. “They’re good with blueberry butter.”

  I paused. “I don’t have blueberry butter.”

  “You had blueberries.” He paused. “Why do you have blueberries?”

  “I was going to bake you a pie.”

  Nick eyed the blueberry pie in the middle of the table. “What’s that?”

  “A pie.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “The bakery.”

  “Isn’t that your pie dish?”

  I averted my eyes. “I’m better at presentation.”

  “Lucky for you, I work well with refrigerator items that are on their way out, so I made the butter too.” He spooned a blob of blueberry butter onto a crepe and then flipped the crepe closed and handed the plate to me.

  I swallowed a forkful. Nick cooking for me was an indulgence I could get used to, but it also aimed a spotlight on my cooking inadequacies. According to a recent podcast of Get PoPT!, learning to do something we felt ill-equipped to do was merely a matter of applying the principles of positive thinking.

  Did ordering take-out count as manifesting dinner?

  “Kidd,” Nick said. “They’re crepes. They’re not supposed to make you feel bad about your culinary skills.”

  “Who said I felt bad about my culinary skills?” That didn’t sound defensive at all. “I mean, I feel a little bad about my culinary skills.”

  “Come here,” he said. He scooted his chair away from the table. I got up and sat on his lap, and he wrapped his arms around me from behind and nuzzled my neck. “Talk to me about this investigation,” he said. “Let me help.”

  “I talked you through it last night before we went to Whiskey Mick’s.”

  “And then you talked to Madden, and you found out new facts, and when I came home and showered and went to bed, you stayed down here and stared at the walls.”

  I turned sideways and draped my arm around his neck. “How do you know that? How’d you know what I was thinking about the crepes? Do you know me that well already?” I leaned away from him as a new fear struck me. “Are you going to get bored with me?”

  “I doubt you’ll ever be boring.” He pulled me close, brushed my hair to the side past my shoulder, and kissed my neck. “Now, tell me what all this means.”

  I stared at the whiteboards. I’d covered Piccadilly Group, Harvey, Victoria, the union, and the possibilities of a whacko who had chosen his victims at random. The only thing I hadn’t covered was Loncar’s original suspicion that the shooting was about him. For the first time since the shooting, I had information that made me think maybe Loncar was right.

  “Loncar’s wife sent divorce papers to the precinct. That tells me she wanted to humiliate him. The most obvious reason for her to act that way was if he cheated on her.”

  “I thought he said she wanted him to retire?”

  “That’s how I remember it. He made it sound like Peggy didn’t like being married to a cop.”

  “So she kicks him out. Seven months later he takes a vacation in Tahiti, and when he gets back, she wants to reconcile.”

  “Aaaaaand, sometime after that she served him with divorce papers.” I jumped up, and Nick winced. “What?”

  “Bony butt.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I grabbed the marker and used the side of my hand to wipe off the notes on the whacko whiteboard.

  “Hey!” Nick said.

  I whirled around. “You do not seriously believe this was a random whacko. If you did, you wouldn’t have been staring at these whiteboards for the past four hours.”

  “How do you know how long I’ve been down here?”

  “You’re not the quietest crepe maker.” I turned back to the whiteboard and wrote Peggy Loncar.

  “You don’t believe his wife would hire a shooter, do you? It makes no sense. She’s d
ivorcing him. He signed the papers. Their marriage is over.”

  “That’s just it, don’t you see? She wanted him to retire. Now he’s retiring, and she won’t speak to him. Why? This is what she wanted. Unless there’s some reason it’s not.”

  Loncar had wanted me to get into his house. He hadn’t said why, but he’d had a reason. And now, thinking about the inconsistencies in Peggy Loncar’s behavior toward him, I had my reasons for wanting to go there too.

  I couldn’t just show up. Even with Loncar’s permission, it was too suspicious. I needed a person on the inside, someone to invite me over and make my presence seem like the most normal thing in the world.

  Before Nick could respond, I grabbed the phone and called Ginger. “It’s Samantha Kidd.”

  “Samantha,” she said slowly. “It’s eight o’clock.”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No, I’ve been up for most of the night. What’s up?”

  “I was hoping we could get together today to talk about some last-minute details for the party. I have the box of your dad’s things that you loaned me, but maybe I could borrow some of his personal items to set up a display?”

  “You’re still working on the party? I heard it was canceled.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “My mother.” Ginger got quiet. “She hated the idea from the beginning. I guess she’s getting what she wanted all along.”

  24

  Cover Story

  There was no reason in the world Peggy Loncar should know if her ex-husband’s party was on or not, and I had a feeling learning who told her would be a very good idea. “Ginger, can we meet up for coffee? I want to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “The baby was up all night, and I’m whipped. I just dropped her off at my mom’s house, and I am desperate to get some sleep. Do you understand?”

  Of course, I understood. I understood that thanks to a crying baby, I had an opportunity to cut out the middleman and find out what I needed to know while Ginger slept. Who was going to tell on me? The baby?

  “Get some sleep. We’ll chat later.” I hung up and headed for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Nick asked.

  “I’m getting dressed.” I stopped by the bottom of the steps. “What’s the appropriate outfit for stealing files while confronting an angry ex-wife with questionable motives?”

  Arriving at the house once occupied by the Loncar family unit was a joint effort. In the box of items that Ginger had loaned me, I found an old Christmas card still in the envelope. The address matched the one in the yellow pages in my kitchen drawer (thanks, Mom and Dad, for not throwing things out before I bought the house!). Siri gave me directions. Nick drove.

  We parked in front of a red brick Colonial with black shutters and cream-colored trim. An attached garage sat off to the left of the house, leaving the driveway clear for Nick’s truck. “Wow,” I said.

  “Wow,” Nick echoed. “This is where Loncar lives?”

  “Not anymore.”

  We got out of the truck. I’d gone for classy and upscale and avoided any clothes with the word "London." A red cotton blazer over an ivory jewel-neck sweater with a navy intarsia crown, ivory skirt, ivory crocheted tights, and gray over-the-knee boots. I draped a red scarf with an ivory windowpane pattern loosely around my neck and carried a navy-blue handbag.

  “You know the cover story, right?” I asked Nick. “We’re here on behalf of Tradava. We need a few more details for the party. We tried to call but probably have a wrong number or an incorrect email address. Showing up in person was our last resort.”

  “What’s your name?” Nick asked.

  I stared at him while trying to compute. “Samantha,” I said slowly.

  “Don’t you think Peggy has heard of you? Don’t you think maybe she’ll put two and two together and slam the door in your face?” He had a point.

  “What’s my name?” I asked.

  “Follow my lead,” he said.

  We reached the front door, and I rang the bell. The door opened quickly enough to let me know we’d been spotted from the driveway. A woman with short, fluffy gray and blond highlighted hair faced us. She had a baby on her hip and an apron that said “I Wine A Lot” on top of a stretchy scoop-neck T-shirt and mom jeans.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Are you Mrs. Loncar?” Before she could answer, Nick proceeded. “We’re Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. We’re helping coordinate the retirement party for your husband, and our contact at Tradava asked us to stop by to pick up a few of his items. Someone should have called ahead about it. You did get the message, didn’t you?”

  She turned and looked at the staircase and then back at us. “The phone rang earlier, but my daughter was here, so I let the answering service get it. I haven’t had a chance to check the messages. What did you need?”

  What did we need? I had no idea. I turned to Nick, who raised both eyebrows. I widened my eyes. He pressed his lips together and turned back to Peggy.

  “I’m afraid we don’t know what we’re supposed to pick up,” Nick admitted. “We were told to get some items from his office. Personal things. Collectibles, awards, you know, the sort of things we could use to set up a display showcasing his achievements?”

  Hey, that was good! I turned back to Nick to show my appreciation and realized I was about to blow the lid off classy and upscale with my enthusiasm.

  Peggy turned to look at the stairs again, appearing to think, and then turned back. “This isn’t a great time—”

  “We don’t mean to intrude,” I interrupted. “Does he have an office or a study? If you haven’t had a chance to pull anything for us, we could take a look. It might be easier since we’ll get what we need now and won’t have to interrupt you again.”

  She shifted the baby to the other hip and started a slow bounce. The baby grabbed for her dangly earring, and Peggy tipped her head just in time to keep the wriggly girl from making contact. “Could you hold her for a minute?” she asked me. “She’s been trying to grab my earrings all morning, and if she gets one, I’m pretty sure I’ll never wear pierced earrings again.” She held out the baby toward me.

  I froze.

  “I’ll take her,” Nick said. He took the baby and held her up in the air. “Hello there,” he said. She giggled. He tossed her in the air a few inches and then caught her and cradled her in his arm. “You’re a cutie,” he said. He touched her nose, and she produced a bubble of spit.

  “Thank you,” Peggy said. She was earringless. I’d been so mesmerized by the sight of Nick with that baby girl that I’d lost track of Peggy. She could have disposed of evidence right under my nose.

  The baby was a wild card I hadn’t properly factored into the equation. This could get tricky.

  Peggy took the baby from Nick. “The office is down the hall, second door on the left. Take whatever you want.” In the background, a toilet flushed. Peggy turned and looked over her shoulder and then back at us. “I’m going to put the princess to bed. You’ll be quick, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” Nick said.

  Neither one of us spoke until we were in Loncar’s office. I shut the door behind me, and Nick opened it back up. “She’ll think it’s suspicious if the door is closed,” he said.

  “She’s supposed to be overjoyed that the party was canceled, but she didn’t think it was suspicious that we showed up and asked if we could take her ex-husband’s stuff. Isn’t that suspicious? She didn’t mention they were getting divorced or that he doesn’t live here. She just went along with what we asked. You probably could have asked to leave with the baby and she would have said okay.”

  “I think she may have drawn the line at the baby.”

  We didn’t have a lot of time to find whatever it was we were hoping to find, so I glanced about the room and made a quick assessment. “We have to leave here with something,” I whispered. “Grab his football trophies and his framed detective certifica
te. What’s that black thing over there—a Kevlar vest? Take that. Look for a scrapbook.” I turned toward the door and raised my voice. “I don’t feel so well.”

  “You’re sick?” Nick asked.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I whispered.

  “From the crepes?”

  I lowered my voice to a whisper again. “The bathroom is upstairs, and somebody flushed the toilet while we were talking to Peggy. There’s somebody else in the house, and I want to know who.” Nick nodded. “Peggy?” I called out softly.

  She appeared at the top of the stairs. She’d taken off her I Wine A Lot apron and fluffed her highlighted hair. “Are you done already?” she asked.

  I stood in the doorway so Nick could hear. “I’m not feeling very well. Could I use your restroom?”

  “Of course. Right here,” she said. She knocked on an open door. I ascended the stairs and passed her while she stood in the hallway. “Did you find anything?”

  “My husband is making a few selections. You wouldn’t happen to have a box we could use to carry them out to the car?”

  “I’ll see what I have in the garage.”

  I went into the bathroom, and the door, which had warped, didn’t close properly. I pulled the door open and tried to shut it again. No luck. The third time I opened it, Peggy stood on the other side. “You have to slam it to get it closed. You go in. I’ll get it.” I stepped back, and she grabbed the doorknob and gave it a strong push. The door clicked into place with a bam!

  There was no way I could sneak out and snoop. There was no way for me to get out, period. And even if I did, how would I know which way to go? What did I expect to find? A teething ring and empty jars of baby food in the recycling bin?