Murder on the Toy Town Express

by Barbara Early

I resummoned that innocuous smile. “A comic book?”

  “Just the one we see the guy roll up and stuff in his pocket. Worth about two bucks—less since he rolled it up. But before we found that, we hit pay dirt.”

  I just tilted my head and smiled. “The missing computer, perhaps?”

  He shook his head. “No sign of the computer, in either the hotel or their rental car. They might have ditched it somewhere. But we found this white powdery substance. Had to keep our hands off and get a whole separate search warrant for it. Looks like cocaine. Don’t think it is.”

  “Did you taste it?”

  He winced. “Someone’s been watching too much television. No. I’m not quite that stupid. We’ll have to get it analyzed, but it has the same physical description as scopolamine, the drug they found in Craig’s system.” I wondered why he was telling me all this. It occurred to me that he wasn’t gossiping. He was boasting—to someone apparently people thought of as the “chief’s girl.”

  “Nice work!” I said, at the same time feeling conflicted for taking advantage of that . . . misconception? Fact? Either way, I wanted the flow of information to continue. “You got them for the murder.”

  “Not quite yet, but enough that we should be able to hold them if we’re smart about what charges are pressed and when. It’s a game of beat the clock. The law gives us just so much time before arraignment. Before bail. For each part of the process. And we need to play it by the book, so they don’t walk. But if we do our job just right, I think we might have them for the murder.” His voice was electric. This was a major feather in his cap.

  “Do you have any idea why those two guys wanted those comic books?”

  “You said yourself they were worth over ninety grand.”

  “Yes, but how did they know that? How did they know Craig had them? And there’s plenty of other valuable items around. Why take them from Craig, much less kill him, and in such an unusual way?”

  Reynolds’s lip curled ever so slightly. “I can see your dad in you all right. Right about the eyes, a little in the nose, but especially that spot right between the ears.” He pointed to the door. “Get out of here. Apparently I have more detecting to do.”

  When I stepped out of the police station, Dad was sitting in the passenger seat of my car waiting to be filled in on everything that’d happened.

  “Sounds like he’s doing a good job building a case,” Dad said. “Is that enough to put your mind at ease that they weren’t after me?”

  “Maybe. I only wish we knew a little more of what the mob was doing here. And why they’d drug Craig and steal a computer. Seems kind of penny ante, don’t you think?”

  “So we’re missing one computer and a motive for murder,” he said as I waited for traffic to clear on Main.

  “And a motive for theft,” I said.

  “You don’t need a motive for theft,” Dad said. “The motive is to take whatever you’re stealing. Ninety grand is good motive.”

  “No,” I said, “for why they were after those particular comic books. How did they know—”

  “Relax,” Dad said. “I know what you meant. I’ve been wondering that myself.” He rubbed his knees. “Maybe the answer to that is in finding out why those books are so special. Besides the monetary value, that is.”

  “The original owner might know. This Jenna Duncan,” I said. “But if she did know what made those comics so important they were worth killing over, then why would she sell them to Craig in the first place?”

  “A very good question,” Dad said. “But there’s only one person who can answer it.” He rubbed his hands together. “That address. Isn’t that near where the mayor lives?”

  “Nice neighborhood,” I said.

  “So the mayor’s wife probably knows Mrs. Duncan, if they’re neighbors.”

  “Probably.”

  “And does Lori Briggs still have all those home parties selling stuff?”

  I flashed him my least innocuous smile. “I think she does.”

  # # #

  I stared at the shop phone for several minutes, trying to figure out how I was going to best approach Lori and ask about her neighbor. And our shop phone stared back. The phone, custom painted and with wiggly eyes, was one of Dad’s extravagances. Since the pull toy that it was modeled after was made right here in town, it often got residents talking and reminiscing. And getting folks reminiscing was the key ingredient to our business plan.

  Finally, I picked it up and dialed.

  “Morning, Liz,” she said when she answered.

  “Hi, Lori. I had a couple of questions I wanted to run by you. Is this a good time?”

  “Well, as long as it’s not too long. I’m having a Clean Queen party tonight, and I’m on the way to the store for dip.”

  “Oh, that sounds fun! And I’ve been wanting to get more of that good . . .” I removed the phone from my face and feigned a coughing spell. “Sorry about that,” I said, then cleared my throat. “I don’t suppose you have room for one more guest?” A little impolite to invite myself, but I doubted she’d mind as long as I bought my quota.

  “Oh, sure! Cathy would probably appreciate your company.”

  “Cathy’s going?”

  Cathy heard her name and started walking toward the desk.

  “Yes, Clean Queen is so good for babies and expectant mothers. Totally organic and all natural. None of those harsh chemicals. See you at seven!” And then she disconnected, on her way to acquire dip probably full of more chemicals than her cleaners.

  “I’m going where?” Cathy asked.

  “Lori Briggs’s Clean Queen party,” I said.

  “Sure. She invited both of us the other day at game night. You might have been a little distracted. You were playing Power Grid with Ken and Jack. And the electricity was flying.”

  “Shut it, Chatty Cathy,” I said, then regretted it. “Sorry, I’m a little sensitive to teasing at the moment.” I filled her in on what was happening with Jack and Ken.

  “Well, I’m glad you seem to be closer to a decision,” she said.

  “And I’m glad I don’t have to keep your secret anymore.”

  Her eyes got big. “What do you mean?”

  “Lori just told me that you were going to her Clean Queen party because the products are good for pregnant mothers and babies. So I take it the secret’s out of the bag.”

  Cathy sucked her next breath through clenched teeth. “I guess it depends on which bag you’re talking about.”

  “You still haven’t told Parker?”

  “He was tired from working all day, and then he went to pay the bills. Always a sore subject. You know I love working at the toyshop, but it’s not the highest-paying job around. And neither is the wildlife center.”

  “I can try to see if I can eke out a little bit more,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Parker’s convinced it’s my spending. And maybe he’s right. But when he went on about how we could cut down here and there, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we had diapers and car seats and baby clothes and outfitting a nursery in our future.”

  “But how did Lori find out? If she knows, it’s going to get around town.”

  “I’ll call her before the party and ask if she can keep it under wraps.”

  “You have met Lori, right? Why not just tell Parker?”

  “I don’t want to rush it. And the party is at seven. What made you want to come all of a sudden? I thought you hated the home parties.”

  “I do. If you’re going to have a social event, have a party. If you want to sell people things, call it something else. I don’t like mixing patronage and friendship.”

  “So what about your game nights? Are they parties? Or opportunities to sell games, toys, or at least candy to our friends?”

  I opened my mouth to respond and realized I didn’t have an answer. “You got me. I’m a hypocrite.”

  “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Lori has a neighbo
r I’m hoping to meet. I’d like to ask her a few questions about some of the things that happened this weekend.”

  “This neighbor have a name?”

  “Jenna Duncan,” I said. “Sound familiar?”

  “I might have met a Jenna there. Lori’s parties are very popular.”

  “If she’s not there, maybe I could accidentally knock on her door or something. ‘Excuse me, I was looking for Lori Briggs’s house, and I seem to have gotten turned around. Wait! Didn’t I see you at the train and toy show?’”

  Cathy rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope she’s at the party.”

  Chapter 16

  I had to call Cathy to help me figure out what to wear. “Casual” had different definitions depending on who says it. Jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers are how I usually defined it.

  “Heavens no!” Cathy had said. Then she dictated my entire outfit from memory. When I arrived at her house, she made more adjustments, exchanging my necklace for one of hers and bemoaning the fact that there wasn’t enough time to apply nail polish.

  While she took a last trip to the powder room, Parker pulled me aside.

  “Do you, uh, notice anything different about Cathy lately?” he asked.

  “Different?” I blinked at him.

  He eyed me curiously. He’d always been able to tell when I was hiding something or stretching the truth. “It’s not someone else, is it?”

  “What? No! What would make you think that?”

  “Every time we talk, it seems like she’s holding something back.” He squinted at me. “You know what it is, don’t you.” That was not a question. “There’s something she’s not telling me.”

  “Parker,” I whispered, “just ask her. Cathy loves you. If she’s keeping anything back from you, I’m sure it’s not that.”

  Our conversation ended as Cathy bustled in. “Ready to go?” She didn’t wait for an answer, so I followed her outside.

  I was thankful for her fashion intervention the moment we pulled up in front of Lori Briggs’s house. Other women were walking down the sidewalk or emerging from their cars looking like they were about to go yachting with the Kennedys. Casual, my foot.

  Lori lived in a perfectly restored, grandiose Victorian with landscaping that must’ve kept a crew of twenty busy. I couldn’t fault her choice in homes. Why settle for a McMansion somewhere when you can buy an “authentic” historic home that had genuine charm? Many of these had been modernized at some point along the way, losing much of their period character. Now, of course, all those modern trappings were dated, and homeowners paid top dollar to rip out all those features and replace them with modern reproductions—or even more for the real deal from wily and enterprising junk dealers who’d had the foresight to pull all that stuff out of the trash.

  “Liz, Cathy, so happy to see you.” Lori leaned in for an air hug. “Come in and meet everybody.” And then she deserted us, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

  Lori’s large house was wall-to-wall women. Tall ones, short ones, fat ones, skinny ones, young ones, old ones. All impeccably dressed, flawlessly made up, and balancing drinks and small plates of appetizers with the skill of Chinese acrobats.

  Lori swept in with a spray bottle and started spritzing her drapes. When a circle gathered around her, she started her pitch. “No matter how clean our house, it doesn’t feel clean unless it smells clean. Am I right?”

  If she’d been standing in the pulpit of any church, she would have gotten a hearty amen. But the women standing around her bobbed their heads, and a couple voiced their assent.

  A familiar scent tickled my nostrils, but I couldn’t quite place it.

  “Doesn’t it smell clean?” Lori asked.

  More nodding followed.

  “Like all Clean Queen products, it’s plant-based and completely nontoxic.” She removed the top and lifted the bottle to her mouth.

  When a few women gasped, she raised her hand and added, “Not that the company recommends doing this. But when I demanded proof of its safety—you know I’d only sell you the best—the regional distributor opened up a bottle and took a big swig. That’s all I needed to know. But I want you to know how much I believe in this product.” She took a careful sip, then winked. “It’s”—she cleared her throat—“actually not bad.”

  We meandered through the living room to the dining room, with Cathy stopping to introduce me to members of her various writing groups and literary societies. I kept looking at faces, hoping to recognize Jenna Duncan among the guests. Meanwhile, Lori started repeating her spiel to those in the dining room, airing out the drapes on the French doors. This time, she took a less hesitant sip—“Now, remember. Don’t do this at home!”—and the crowd applauded.

  When the demonstration concluded, conversations resumed. After what felt like three hours but was probably less than ten minutes, I excused myself from an extended conversation on rhyme schemes and left Cathy to her own devices.

  I wandered into the kitchen where a somewhat flushed Lori was again demonstrating the power of Clean Queen, this time used as a degreaser. When she was done, she tossed her rag next to her now half-clean stove. “Don’t clean the rest of it,” she said to a nearby woman hard at work loading hot appetizers from a baking tray onto a serving plate. “I want to run that demo again later.”

  The woman, who I’d assumed was paid help, nodded, and I was surprised to see it was Jenna Duncan clad in an apron and stationed at the working end of the long granite-topped kitchen island. She concentrated on her work, but when she did look up, she did a double-take when she saw me.

  “Jenna Duncan?” I asked.

  “Yes. If you’ll excuse me just a second,” she said, and then she walked out with the tray.

  While she was gone, I helped myself to one of the hot appetizers. I only wish I knew what it was. Some spicy filling wrapped in something. Whatever happened to minipizzas and nachos? When I finished that one, I helped myself to another.

  Jenna certainly took her time. I thought of poking my head out of the kitchen, but that would risk being drawn into another inane conversation or worse: being forced to take in yet another Clean Queen demo, which I could hear even from the kitchen.

  “. . . not that they recommend you drink it.”

  By the time I finished nibbling my third appetizer, I was beginning to think Jenna was on the lam, and I couldn’t blame her.

  She returned a moment later with two empty serving plates and looking a little harried.

  “Would you like a hand?” I asked.

  “You’re a guest here. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “Aren’t you? A guest here, I mean.”

  “Sort of,” she said. “Lori and I are hosting the party together. Which means she provides the venue . . .”

  “And you end up doing all the work?”

  “That’s about right.” She replaced the paper doily on one of the serving plates and began loading it with premade minicheesecakes.

  I took the other tray and started doing the same. “Didn’t I see you at the train and toy show the other day?”

  Jenna bobbled one of the cheesecakes but managed to catch it before it hit the floor. When she set it on the counter, she took a deep breath and faced me.

  “You and I both know you did.” She wiped her hands on her white apron. “And based on where I saw you and who I saw you with, I’m going to wager that you know that I was also there to try to talk Craig into selling back some comics he practically stole from me.”

  “Stole?”

  She forcibly crushed the empty cheesecake box and set it next to the trash for recycling. “He knew what they were worth. Well, maybe not exactly. But he took a look through the box at my garage sale and offered me fifty dollars, then acted like he was being nice when he met me halfway at seventy-five.”

  “You priced them at a hundred bucks?”

  She winced. “I know. It’s partly my fault. I had no idea they were worth anything at all. How could I? They were just sittin
g in a box in the attic.”

  “Your husband was a collector?”

  “Not that I ever knew about. But he wasn’t exactly here to help . . . and since I saw you with Hank McCall, I’m going to wager you know that too. And why. But I was trying to clean out the house so I could put it on the market, you see, and selling those books meant one less box to move.”

  “When did you find out their worth?”

  “I’m still not sure of the exact amount. Only that Josh had a hissy fit when I told him I’d sold them. He went on a rampage telling me not to sell any more of his stuff and said I’d sold them to spite him. Who knows? Maybe I did. Anyway, I thought I’d be the sweet and dutiful wife and try to get the books back. Maybe offer double what Craig paid for them. But that woman at the shop said they’d mailed them somewhere. And Craig just laughed at me when I finally saw him.”

  “When was that?” I asked.

  “At the train show,” she said. “He’d never returned my calls, and I saw in the paper that his shop was going to be at the show, so I figured he’d be there too. With all those potential customers milling about, I’d hoped he’d be reasonable and make things right. If he didn’t cooperate, I thought of a few ways I could make life difficult for him.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Nothing illegal. But the place would be swarming with buyers. And with a few well-timed words, I could let people know what a creep he is. Was.” She let out a noise I’d qualify as a growl. “I hate being mad at dead people. No matter what they did to you, people don’t want to hear anything but how wonderful they were.”

  “Trust me, I grew up with Craig. I know what a jerk he could be.”

  Lori burst into the kitchen and made a beeline for one of her tall pantry cupboards. “Mop. Mop. Mop. Where’d the maid put the mop?” She opened several before finally pulling out a mop and bucket. While she filled the bucket with hot water from the sink, she fanned her face with her hand. “Is it hot in here?” She undid the top button of her blouse. “I must’ve worked up a sweat with all this cleaning!” She winked at me. “Clean Queen is wonderful. So wonderful. Make sure you buy a case of it!”