“But surely you could . . .” I started.
Ken stopped me. “It’s Reynolds’s case. I’m not sure it’d even be good form for me to put in a word for your brother. But if he finds any connection between Terry and those two guys we have in custody—”
“He won’t,” Jack said.
“I sure hope not,” Ken said. “Because if he finds anything to link them, it won’t be hard to pull Terry into the whole conspiracy. Someone might find it awfully convenient that, at just the moment Craig was open to suggestion, your brother suggested that Craig could fly.”
“But that didn’t kill Craig,” I said. “Why would Terry then sneak into a hospital to finish him off? What motive would he have?”
Ken clammed up. It was Jack who answered. “To cover up what he’d done.” He closed his eyes. “Like he’s done all his life.”
I laid what I hoped was a comforting hand on Jack’s arm. Howard Reynolds had been looking for one last piece of evidence to tie up his case with a bow. I hoped Terry’s admission wouldn’t unravel the case . . . or the new life Jack was so hoping Terry was ready to build.
Chapter 24
Friday morning brought another day of blue skies and warm temperatures. It was Cathy’s day off, so Dad and I were glued to the shop for a little while, even though he kept looking out the front windows as if waiting for something to happen.
A woman who cleans up after local estate sales brought in a couple of boxes of toys and games. It’d been a while, she reminded me, since I’d come to one of her sales instead of waiting for her to bring the leftovers to us. I apologized briefly before taking a halfhearted look into the first box.
There was a bunch of Fisher-Price, but they were common models and the condition was poor. The wood and paper showed signs of mold, and some of the paper had peeled off. I could see why any serious collector had passed them by. Still, after a good cleaning, some child might want to play with them.
The one saving grace was a pull toy featuring a bear dressed up as a drum major. An old Gong Bell model, if I had that right. And I was pretty sure I did. Even without the box, I could probably get eighty or so bucks for it, especially after Dad worked his magic. And it might look nice in the shop window next to the parade poster. “Fifty for all of it?” I said.
“They’re not in good shape, are they?”
“These all need work. The Fisher-Price collectors probably got the best stuff.” I held up the bear. “They probably didn’t recognize this one.”
“Not Fisher-Price?”
“Predates it, actually. Older, but harder to find the right buyer. Not as many collectors.”
She agreed to my price, and I handed the toys to Dad.
“Just a few years ago, these would’ve fetched more,” Dad said.
“Can’t control the market. You can only wait it out.”
“If it recovers. Old collectors are dying off faster than new ones are taking their place. That’s why I’d like to diversify.”
“Comic books?” I could see his logic. I pulled back my hair and glanced around the shop. “What would you cut out? You take out the doll room and Cathy will never let you see your grandchildren.”
“I’m not sure we have to take out anything. You know, the interesting thing about this building is that the whole thing is zoned for retail space. Including the second floor.”
“The old shop had a loft,” I said. “But that’s our apartment. Where are we going to go?”
“That, I’m still working on. Maybe I could stay with Parker and Cathy for a bit and help take care of the baby. And I’d kind of figured that eventually you might get married and move out.”
“The key words in that statement are might and eventually.”
“Don’t worry. I still have a few aces up my sleeve. And we don’t even know yet if Amanda would be willing to part with that stock.”
“Is that who you keep looking for?” I asked.
“When she and Maxine finish that inventory, I figured one of them would show up.”
But Howard Reynolds was the next person to walk through the door.
I forced a smile, even though my stomach did a few flips. “Good morning, Detective. How can I help you?”
“I wish I was looking for toys,” he said. “I just had a long talk with Terry Wallace.”
Dad stepped out of the back room. “And?”
“And it muddies the whole investigation. Thanks”—and he pointed at both of us—“for sending him my way, though.”
“Trying to help,” I said. “I feel bad for Terry. Well, more for Jack. I’d like to think Terry had no idea that Craig would take him up on his suggestion.”
Reynolds bobbed his head. “Ninety-nine point nine times out of a hundred, when you tell someone they can fly, they don’t believe you and everything turns out fine. Unless we can connect him to Millroy and Eicher, I think he’s going to be in the clear. And maybe a bit less mouthy next time.”
“That’s got to be a hard thing to live with,” Dad said.
“Nothing about this case is easy,” Reynolds said.
“More problems?” Dad asked, his voice just a little too innocent. As if he wasn’t dying for more info.
Reynolds rested a hand on the counter, then saw the candy display. “Mallo Cups. I haven’t had one in ages. May I?”
“My treat,” Dad said.
Better him than me. Mallo Cups always seemed to me like a cruel joke played on unsuspecting peanut butter cup lovers.
But Reynolds seemed to enjoy it and was soon licking his fingers and crumpling up the wrapper. “Here’s the thing,” he said, pausing to slam dunk the wrapper into our trash can. “The story Millroy and Eicher are telling is amazingly consistent. We think we’re getting at the truth. Only there’s a few things they both insist they didn’t do.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“They admit to breaking into the comic book shop, but they swear up and down that they didn’t take anything, including that computer.”
“They’re obviously just trying to avoid another charge,” I said.
Dad looked uncomfortable. Like the time I switched detergents and he got a bad case of contact dermatitis from his tighty-whities. He’d gone on for weeks about my “rash” decision. “Then why admit to breaking in at all?”
Reynolds shrugged. “They could be telling the truth about that part. We didn’t find the computer during the search.”
“They could’ve dumped it anywhere,” I said.
“But then why would they even bother to take it?” Dad said. “To get some information he had on it?”
“Or to suppress it,” Reynolds said. “Our forensics guy is finding a few interesting things on that laptop. Someone had tried to delete a bunch of files.”
“What kind of files?” Dad asked.
“E-mails,” Reynolds said. “Spreadsheets.”
Dad looked grim.
“I take it that means there was something compromising,” I said.
“Not sure. The tech people recovered some, so they’re going over the e-mails. I thought we could get that FBI forensic accountant to look over the spreadsheets.” He scratched his head. “But someone wanted to get rid of those files on that laptop. And in a hurry. And now that other computer is missing.”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “Something’s not adding up.”
“And those two we got now don’t admit to breaking into McFadden’s house at all, even though whoever did it left the same kind of mess as those two knuckleheads did at the comic book shop.”
Dad’s jaw tightened. “Could there be another player?”
“Thinking it might be Terry?” I asked.
“Stealing a computer and breaking into McFadden’s place?” Reynolds said. “That’s just the kind of thing that got him sent up the first time. Wiping a computer? Smothering Craig McFadden with a pillow?” He shrugged and walked out.
Dad looked after him. “That was a cry for help.”
“He didn
’t ask.”
“Exactly,” Dad said. “But it was far from idle gossip.”
“What do we do?”
Dad pulled out his stash of scratch paper we used for scoring game tournaments and chose a pen from the jar. “Here’s the question. Who would want the computer? Before that, why?”
“It looked old. I doubt anyone wanted it for resale value. If they did, they didn’t know what they were doing.”
“Good. Let’s rule that out.”
“They, whoever they are, wanted access to something on it.”
“What do we know was on it?”
“Financial records. Inventory. Craig’s new comic series. And apparently e-mails and spreadsheets.”
Dad scribbled all that down and stared at the paper. “If they were after the financial records or the inventory, it might be to hide any record of the comics Craig purchased from Jenna Duncan.”
“I thought they were untraceable,” I said.
“Virtually. Especially if those comics were sold one at a time. In a group like that, they might be more conspicuous. Raise a few red flags. That’s probably why those guys were here. To prevent a high-profile sale and expose the connection between their bosses and Josh Duncan.”
“That’s another thing that’s been bothering me,” I said. “Maxine knew those comics were pricy but had no idea they were worth over ninety grand. And since nobody impulse buys books like that, Craig must’ve had a buyer already lined up. Otherwise, why risk bringing them to the show where they might be lost, stolen, or damaged? I think he was planning on meeting the buyer there. Maybe the prospective buyer is our third player.”
“He might have been trying to sell them back to the mob,” Dad said. “Or Jenna Duncan.”
I shook my head. “Jenna Duncan had no idea what they were worth. And Millroy and Eicher had already put a different plan in place to get them back using the scopolamine.”
“A missing piece,” Dad said. “Very nice! Not that I like that there’s another piece missing. That’s frustrating as all get out. But it’s a very nice catch.”
I felt my face flush. “You know, there was another man at the show asking about graded comics. He came when I was working with Maxine.”
“You think he might have been Craig’s prospective buyer?”
“He’d be on the security footage. He wore a big bulky jacket and came right up to me.”
“That possibility’s probably worth taking to Reynolds.” He circled it on his paper and then darkened the circle. “We don’t know how desperately our mystery man wanted those comics or why. Not sure why he’d want the computer either.”
“To hide his e-mails?” I said. “Or maybe he thought he could use it to track the comics?”
Dad squinted. “He might’ve been the one to break into Craig’s house, though, if he was still looking for those books.”
“So it might have been a stranger all along.”
“But what motive would he have to kill Craig? Not if he wanted those books and he thought Craig knew where they were.”
“So it doesn’t fit,” I said.
“Raises some interesting possibilities, and we should probably try to figure out who he is. I can ask Reynolds if his tech guys came across any purchase agreements from Craig’s laptop or cell phone.”
I nodded, then looked over Dad’s shoulder at his notes. “Then there’s Craig’s new comic book series. It could be valuable.”
“I wonder if that first book’s gotten many presales yet,” Dad said.
“Let me check.” I pulled out my cell and searched for “Craig McFadden” on the major online booksellers. “Whoa.”
“High?” Dad asked.
“The sales rank is near the top of its category.”
“Word of his murder must’ve gotten out. Buyers love a sensational story.”
I glanced again and tapped my phone. “Someone put it right in his bio!”
“I’m going to guess that someone was Tippi Hillman.”
“It’s motive,” I said, already grieving over my growing disenchantment with my one-time hero. “Taking the computer gives her all Craig’s comics, and the murder gives her complete control of them.”
“I somehow doubt that clause would stand up in court,” Dad said. “And if she took advantage of those clowns leaving the comic book shop unsecured and took the computer, why would she then break into Craig’s house?”
“There’d be no need. She’d already have everything.” I found myself completely immersed in the mental puzzle of detection. My dad had drawn me in, once again. Last time, it had been kicking and screaming, this time by mere suggestion.
Dad looked at his paper. “How about we split up after Miles gets here? I can go to the station, see if they’ll let me look at those recovered files, and maybe I can figure out what Craig was up to. While I’m there, I’ll try to talk them into letting me look at the security footage to find your mysterious comic book customer.”
“And I stay here?”
“I was thinking you could have another talk with that Wolf woman. She knows you’re a fan, so maybe you could get a few things out of her. At least look around a bit. Make her a little nervous, but not so paranoid that she bolts. And if you can sweet-talk her into giving over a copy of Craig’s book, that’d be even better.”
“And if she’s the killer?”
“Dang. That’s right. You shouldn’t go by yourself.”
We debated it for a couple of minutes. Ken would probably spook her. Parker was working. We’d both put Cathy off the table, although she probably would’ve enjoyed it more than anybody. And it didn’t seem like a good idea to invite Jack.
Then Maxine walked in. “Hi, everybody. All done and ready to work!”
I looked at Dad, who quirked an eyebrow.
“Maxine,” I said, “how about running a little errand with me?”
She folded her arms in front of her. “Only if I can drive.”
# # #
“I feel like Alfred in the Batcave!” Maxine squealed as we headed toward Buffalo Chips.
“I’m not sure we need to get there quite so fast,” I said.
Maxine checked her speed and slowed down more than a tad. “You really don’t think those two hooligans killed Craig?”
“Haven’t ruled them out completely, but I just don’t get their motive.”
“And you think Lexi Wolf might be involved?”
“Possibly. Not likely, though, since Dad suggested I go,” I said just as I realized he’d probably suggested we split up so that he could go to the station, solve the case, and then gloat about it for the rest of the year. “She benefited from Craig’s death, though, so she had motive. Apparently Craig’s comic series is taking off, at least in presales. Was it that good?”
“I never actually saw it,” she said.
“I remember you telling me he could draw.”
“Yes, but he never showed me any of his new stuff. He powered down his monitor whenever I even got close to the computer. I tried to take a peek once when he was out of the shop, but he had the whole program password protected. I think he was worried I’d leak it to someone. He never did fully trust anyone.”
“It must’ve been hard for him, being bumped from foster home to foster home like that.” I winced. I was trying to relieve some of Maxine’s guilt, and I inadvertently brought up yet another way she could blame herself. “Not your fault, I’m sure.”
“I wish I’d been in a position to take care of him myself,” she said. “When they took him away from me, I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy thinking what it must have been like for Craig being uprooted all the time and never making any meaningful human connections. If he was just an infant when Maxine gave him up, I would’ve thought someone might have adopted him. Yet somehow he ended up in the system again and again. I made a mental note to ask Dad if there might be some connection there—a member of one of his foster families who bore a gru
dge. Maybe the timing was just coincidental and had nothing to do with comic books at all. Dad didn’t like coincidences, but sometimes they did happen.
There were a couple of cars in the parking lot when we pulled up, and when Maxine and I slipped in the door, Lexi squinted at me suspiciously but continued her conversation with a man at a desk.
Since there was nobody else working at the place at the moment, I took a seat in a chair in the waiting area, and Maxine did the same. There, on the scarred coffee table, were several editions of Mr. Inferno: Feel the Fire, all stamped “Advance Review Copy, Not for Resale.” I snatched one up quicker than I would a pancake at one of the fire department’s fundraising breakfasts. And believe me, that’s pretty quick. When Lexi wasn’t looking, I shoved it into my purse. I wasn’t sure if these copies were free to take or not, but I wasn’t leaving without one.
As my ears adjusted to the quiet, I realized I could make out bits of Lexi’s conversation. Or rather Tippi’s. I had to stop fangirling and start remembering that she was only an actress playing a part. Especially if it turned out that she’d played a part in Craig’s demise.
The man’s voice carried more easily. Or maybe Tippi was trying not to be overheard. It seemed to be some kind of press interview.
“So, with the author gone, will there be more to this series?”
“I think it’s safe to say that Mr. Inferno will live on as long as there are readers interested in hearing his story.”
“You have more books ready to go then? How many by the original author?”
Tippi paused for a moment and seemed to choose her next words with upmost care.
“Some of those details need to wait while we confer with his immediate heirs. Much will depend on the provisions made in McFadden’s will. It’d be premature to comment.”
“What can you say about the artist’s unusual style? Was it a nod to Japanese anime? Or some kind of statement against the exaggerated sexual characteristics we see in many superhero comics?”
I didn’t catch her full answer. Something about artistic license and expression. “Hard to say if he was on the cutting edge of something brilliant. It will be up to the readers to decide.”
Murder on the Toy Town Express Page 21