Murder on the Toy Town Express

by Barbara Early

  She gave me a surprised look but didn’t press for any more information. She just grabbed her purse and headed out before I could change my mind.

  “So much for our day off,” Ken said.

  But Miles asked, “Are you letting all the staff go?”

  “Not on your life,” I said.

  Miles gestured over to the comic booth. “A bit more action over there, huh?”

  “Just a little,” Ken said. “But it should all be over now.” Only he didn’t sound convinced.

  The idea that somehow this outcome had been just a little too easy, a little too pat, had stuck in my mind. “Are you still worried that not reporting finding those comics will backfire?”

  Ken shrugged and picked up the Kirk, Spock, and McCoy action figures sitting on our table. He batted his long eyelashes at me and asked, “Which Star Trek action figure do I remind you of?”

  “Let’s see . . .” I gave him a squinty-eyed inspection, rubbing my chin. “McCoy.”

  “What?” He clasped a hand to his heart, as if wounded. “Not hot enough to be Kirk?”

  I sidled up next to him. “Plenty hot enough to be Kirk.”

  “Not smart enough to be Spock, then?” He gave me an exaggerated pouty lip.

  “Plenty smart.” I laughed. “But today I saw your compassionate side in what you did for Jack and Terry. That reminded me of the good doctor.”

  He winced. “True confession then. I didn’t do it for Terry. And I didn’t do it for Jack.” His Adam’s apple bobbed and his gaze was intense. “I did it for you.”

  I took the action figures and set them carefully down on our table—mint in box, remember—then took him by the hand and led him toward the curtained-off comic booth.

  “I’m not seeing this,” Miles said.

  “What are you doing?” Ken asked. “Where are we going?”

  But once the drapes were shut to the rest of the show, I kissed him.

  And believe you me, he knew he’d been kissed.

  # # #

  I dragged myself up the steps that night. All our unsold merchandise was still in boxes stacked haphazardly in the back room. There’d be plenty of time to put it all on the shelves later.

  Dad arrived shortly after me, wearing his civvies. “Didn’t take long to put that place to rights,” he said.

  “Give your two-week notice, did you?” I pulled out a can of cat food for Othello, who was circling my ankles.

  Dad collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. “I’m done. Tomorrow I’ll turn in my keys and uniform—and get those comic books out of the safe for you—and then they have to find another guy. They don’t have any scheduled events until next weekend, and that’s just a bridal show.”

  “Just a bridal show?” I asked. “They’d better put out a call for Chuck Norris. I heard those things can be dangerous.”

  “Well, I don’t plan on being there.” He squinted at me. “Unless you wanted to go.”

  “Why would I want to go to a bridal show?”

  “A little bird told me that things might’ve heated up between you and a certain dashing police chief.”

  “Does that little bird have a name? Miles, maybe?”

  “I never reveal my sources. I am the model of discretion.”

  “Not very discreet of you to practically throw me in his direction, though, was it?”

  “Did it work?”

  It was hard to be mad at him when he had that impish twinkle in his eye. “I know you have your preferences, and if it makes you happy, yes, things did heat up between Ken and me. But”—I paused to drive my point home—“we’re miles away from talking about bridal shows. And furthermore, any future interference in my love life, real or imagined, will be met with severe sanctions.”

  “Is that ‘real or imagined’ love life? Or ‘real or imagined’ interference?”

  I gave him my sternest warning look.

  “What kind of sanctions are we talking about?” he asked.

  I tapped my fingertips together in my best mad-scientist-plotting-world-domination way. “You want grandchildren privileges someday, right?”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “No more interference.”

  # # #

  As I lay awake in bed that night, Othello played tetherball with the pull strings of my blinds, and I stared up at the ceiling. When someone had configured these apartments over the store, popcorn ceilings were all the rage. This particular ceiling had been done when someone had come up with the great idea of adding a touch of glitter to that mix. While the good folks at HGTV would be aghast, I’d grown kind of fond of it. The little slivers of light that slipped into the room hit the ceiling at odd angles, occasionally bouncing around in a twinkling glimmer. I had constellations to myself that nobody else ever saw.

  Stars were great for quiet contemplation. And I had a lot to think about.

  Jack. In the morning, I’d get the comic books, pick up Jack and Terry, and go to the police station. Jack had walked out on me. Yes, he’d walked out on me because of my questions about his brother’s whereabouts. And it turned out those questions had some merit. But he’d always remember that I questioned his brother’s integrity. And I’d always remember that he’d walked out. Again. As much as I cared for Jack, and as long lasting as our friendship had been, the sad truth about an on-again-off-again relationship is that, while there’s enough magnetism to keep drawing us back together, there’s not enough to keep other forces from pulling us apart.

  Ken. There was a definite advancement there. If I wanted it. Did I? Did he? That was the complicated part.

  But complications. This whole murder investigation: I had thought it was going to be a complex brainteaser. But this was like opening a jigsaw puzzle, dumping a thousand pieces on the table, then finding the first twelve pieces you picked up completed a perfect rectangle. Mission accomplished. But very unsatisfying, as far as puzzles go. Although more unsatisfying for Craig, I imagined.

  But what of Jenna Duncan, the woman who sold Craig the comics? What was she doing at the train and toy show? Why did someone steal the computer from the comic book store? What about Craig’s comic book series? Did that work into any of this? And what about his son, the heir, whom nobody knew anything about? Were they all extraneous pieces fate just threw into the box to have a little fun?

  And if the mob was after those comic books, why?

  I’d started dozing when that question popped into my head with a shot of adrenaline.

  Why was the mob after those comic books? Where did they learn about them? What connection did they have to them? How did those books end up outside where Terry found them?

  There were still a boatload of questions to be answered. Maybe this puzzle wasn’t finished after all.

  Chapter 15

  I bit a frayed cuticle as I sat in the driver’s seat of my Civic, now parked out in front of Jack’s house. It had taken me months to stop calling it Sy DuPont’s place. Once Jack’s family had managed to persuade, bribe, or intimidate Kimmie Kaminski into relinquishing the property into the family’s hands, Jack had bought out the remaining heirs and moved into the spooky old place. He’d been planning a complete renovation but had yet to finalize his plans or raise a hammer. Meanwhile, he was living in a place that caused visitors to spontaneously start humming the Addams Family theme song. I snapped my fingers twice.

  “Just take the comic books back,” Dad had said. When I’d asked why I had to go, he explained that someone needed to make sure they actually got there. I’d be the most innocuous candidate.

  “Innocuous?” I’d even looked up the definition. Not likely to bother or offend anyone.

  In other words, nobody would notice I was there. Invisible.

  Dad couldn’t do it, and Ken certainly couldn’t. Especially since Ken’s story, should his name even come up, was that he never got a good look at the books in question. The books now sitting in my trunk, a pile of comic books worth more than five times the value of my car.

>   I’d gotten a good look. They were still sealed in plastic, of course, but I took careful cell phone shots of all of them before we’d packed them up to surrender them to the police as evidence.

  Breakfast churned in my stomach as I took another sip of coffee from my travel mug. Then a sharp rap on my car window made me bobble my cup. I managed to salvage most of it, but not before a dribble of very hot coffee made its way through my pant legs.

  I sucked air through my teeth and put the dripping cup into my car holder before climbing out of the car and shaking a few stray drops of coffee from my fingers.

  “Sorry, dear,” Lenora said. “We didn’t mean to startle you.” Behind her, Irene nodded.

  The two eightysomething sisters, who’d lived next door to the DuPont house all of their lives, were dressed in their fall finery, including bulky oversized sweaters with leaves and pumpkins appliquéd to them.

  “You ladies are up and out of the house early,” I said, giving each a gentle hug.

  “We were just saying the same about you,” Irene said. “Coming to see our neighbor this morning?” A mischievous look crossed her face. “Or are you just leaving?”

  “Irene!” Lenora said. “I’m sure that’s none of our business!” But she tilted her head and waited for me to respond.

  I laughed. “Sorry. Nothing juicy to report. Just picking Jack and Terry up for an errand.”

  Was it my imagination, or did Lenora avoid my eyes when I mentioned Terry?

  “Is something wrong with Terry?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, dear,” Lenora said. “He’s been a very cordial neighbor.”

  “It’s more the change in Jack since Terry moved in,” Irene said. “We both noticed it, didn’t we, Lenora?”

  Lenora nodded. “Like he’s aged and all the fun’s been zapped out of him.”

  “Well, we all do get older,” I said. “And I know he’s got a lot on his mind.”

  Irene crossed her arms in front of her. “But that’s a poor excuse for growing up into a grump.”

  Before I could think of an answer, the creaky front door of the house swung open, and Jack headed down the long sidewalk. Maybe it was power of suggestion, but he did look at least ten years older as he forced a tight smile. “Good morning, ladies.” Then he opened the passenger door and climbed in without saying another word.

  Irene took my hand. “Don’t you grow up too.”

  I squeezed it and winked at her. “Don’t worry about me. Second star to the left and straight on until morning.”

  “That a girl,” said Lenora. We said our good-byes, and I made a promise to come visit them soon and climbed into the car.

  “Where’s Terry?” I asked.

  “Terry won’t be coming today,” he said tersely.

  “Is he sick?”

  Jack’s face drew into a tight grimace. “Terry bolted last night.”

  About half an hour later, Jack and I—and the comic books—entered the police station. I’d stopped to call Dad, updated him about the situation, and sought his advice.

  I could hear the disappointment in his voice. “It would’ve been so much better for Terry to have taken them in himself. Now, depending where he is and how long he stays gone, he could be in danger of forfeiting his parole.”

  I didn’t tell Jack that part. I think he already knew.

  I forced a smile to the clerk at the desk.

  “Hi, Liz.” She cast a confused look at Jack, then at me. “If you’re here to see the chief, he’s still off today.”

  “Oh, I know. That’s not why we’re here. Is . . . uh . . . Detective Reynolds around?”

  “Yes and no,” she said. “He’s just logging some new evidence. He’s been out all night, in fact. Is there anyone else who can help you?”

  I tightened my grip on the box containing the comic books. “It’s actually pertinent to one of his investigations,” I said. “If it’s all right, we can wait.”

  She directed us to some molded plastic seats. Jack shuffled his way through several magazines, paying no attention to the covers or contents. Unless he was speed-reading through American Angler and Teen Vogue. When he picked up Arthritis Today, I said, “Yes, read that one. I hear the centerfold is oo-la-la.”

  “What?” He did a double-take on the smiling dentured woman on the cover. He tossed the magazine down on the table. “What is taking so long?” Jack looked every bit the naughty middle schooler waiting for the principal. “I just want to get this over with.” He closed his eyes. “What was he thinking? What was I thinking?” When I didn’t answer, he drummed a rhythm on his thigh. “What am I going to tell Mom?”

  I certainly had no answer. Jack’s mother was a riddle wrapped in a lemon inside a porcupine. At the same time the clerk finally called my name, the outside door opened and Terry entered. The brothers looked at each other but said nothing. Out on the sidewalk, Dad waved at me without coming in.

  The clerk called my name again, and we all walked to the desk in the bullpen where I’d first met Detective Reynolds.

  The good detective, now looking haggard and, truth-be-told, smelling a bit ripe, gave our group a once-over. “Let’s use the conference room.”

  What he’d called the conference room was also an interrogation room, but I followed them in and took an empty seat. “Are you having a good morning?” I asked innocently.

  “That depends.” He eyed the box in my hand.

  I smiled my sweetest Candy Land smile. “We found something. Or rather, Terry did. It’s kind of funny, really.”

  I laughed. Nobody else did.

  I opened the flaps of the box. “It seems that Terry here found . . . well, maybe you should tell him, Terry.”

  Terry, who’d been slumped in his chair, sat bolt upright. I think Jack had kicked him under the table.

  “Yeah,” Terry said. “I found these comic books.” He nodded to the box that I nudged toward Detective Reynolds.

  Reynolds pushed himself out of the chair to look into the box. He shut his eyes. “Are these what I think they are?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I believe so. I checked them with the list of missing comics, and from the titles and condition, they appear to be the ones reported stolen.”

  Reynolds squinted at me, and I sent him my most innocuous smile. Maybe Dad was right.

  “Terrence Wallace,” Reynolds said, turning his attention in that direction, “you claim to have found these books?”

  “Yeah.”

  More motion under the table.

  “Yes, sir,” Terry said, glaring at his brother.

  “Can you tell me a little more about that?” Reynolds said.

  “Nothing to tell,” Terry said. “I stepped out for a smoke and there they were, on the ground by the door.”

  “In the box?”

  “No, they were just lying there on the ground. Well, they were kind of stuck behind a planter, a little bit.”

  “So you picked them up,” Reynolds said.

  “If I didn’t, someone else sure would have.”

  “And what were you planning on doing with the books?”

  Jack clenched the arms of his chair. “Should we call a lawyer? Are you arresting him?”

  “You can if you think you need to. But no, I wasn’t arresting him.”

  “I can answer the question.” Terry licked his lower lip. “I was going to read them. But I couldn’t figure out how to get those plastic cases off. How’s anybody supposed to check out to see if they like the books if they can’t flip open a few pages?”

  “Be glad you didn’t remove those covers,” I said. “Any damage would have devalued them.”

  “Look, I just told you I found them. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “The big deal,” I said, “is that you walked off with ninety grand in comic books.”

  Terry paled. “Ninety?” It was only with great effort that he managed to close his jaw. “I had no idea they were worth that much.”

  “So you were just g
oing to read them?” Reynolds asked.

  Terry nodded. “I always liked Spider-Man. When I found them, there was an old Spider-Man on top. Only I got freaked out when I heard they were looking for stolen comics, so I just shoved them under my bed when I got home.”

  “What an original hiding place,” Reynolds said.

  “But it’s the truth,” Terry insisted.

  “And I believe you,” Reynolds said. “It’s plausible that the thief or thieves worried about being discovered and hid the comics outside, thinking they’d be safe until he or they had a chance to retrieve them. Maybe if we can replay the security footage from Saturday, we can figure out who that was.”

  “So we’re good?” Terry said.

  “We’re good,” Reynolds said. “But don’t leave town.”

  “Got it.” Terry smiled at him, then at Jack. “I guess we can go then. Back to the restaurant? Make the sauce?”

  Jack clapped him on the shoulder, and they turned to leave.

  “Need a ride?” I called after them.

  “No, only a couple of blocks to the restaurant,” Jack said, and the brothers headed out, side by side.

  I whispered to Reynolds, “I thought you couldn’t tell people not to leave town.”

  “Parolees are the exception.” Reynolds let his gaze trail down the aisle where the two men had just left. “It must’ve taken a lot of courage to come in here voluntarily like that.”

  “He may have had a little persuasion.”

  “Uh-huh. And Miss McCall, when exactly did you find out Terrence Wallace had taken the comic books?”

  “Yesterday, I think. Yes, yesterday.”

  Reynolds rolled his eyes. “Do I want to know when?”

  “I don’t exactly remember,” I said. “Not the exact time, anyway.”

  “Please tell me it was after we arrested those other two guys for the same thing.”

  “Yes, it was after that.” I refrained from telling him it was only moments after that. “But I overheard that you found something.”

  “Which is why I’m not reaming you out right now,” Reynolds said.