"Why didn't you tell me this when I was in here on Saturday?" I snapped. "That would've been good information to have."
"My bad, Alex. Take a chill. The ole melon ain't what it used to be," Tucker said, tapping his head with his finger.
"What did I tell you my name was?" John asked hurriedly.
"That's one far-out question, dude. It's messing with my mojo, bro." Tucker shook his head as if to clear it. His dreadlocks flew out around his thin shoulders.
"Tucker." I tried again to calm my voice. "We need you to focus. John"—I pointed to John—"is the man I found on the beach after the tourist was murdered. He has amnesia, and the police haven't found any leads on his background yet. So any information you can provide is really important."
Tucker nodded slowly. "Whoa, this is so cosmic. Okay, so everything I remember is this: You came in right after the tourist guy was in. Like maybe you were a secret agent man tailing him." Tucker snapped his fingers. "That's why I know your name isn't John, because you had this super-cool secret agent name. You asked about the store and made small talk. Then you asked about the tourist, what he'd bought, what he'd said. I told you it was privileged info. You handed me a fifty, and then it was a privilege to answer your questions." Tucker gave us a grin.
"Can you remember my name?" John asked with a pleading note in his voice.
"My memory isn't the best, man. But it was such an awesome secret agent name. It's on the tip of my tongue."
"Something like James Bond?" I suggested.
"Better," Tucker replied. "More like a gunslinger than a secret agent." Tucker's eyes started to glaze over.
I glanced over at John. He looked ready to strangle Tucker. "Why don't you think about it, and we'll look around?" I said.
"That's a plan, man," Tucker said. "Let it percolate awhile."
I grabbed John's arm and led him to the back where the reclaimed wood was kept.
"How does that guy stay in business?" he asked with a shake of his head. "All he had to do was tell me my damn name!" He ran his hand over his eyes.
"Calm down. Even if he can't remember, we've still learned a lot," I reminded him.
"Yeah, I was hot on the trail of the guy who was murdered. Great news." He glared off into the distance and then looked down at the box in his hands.
"Okay, let's just give him some time. I need to see if he has any flooring I could use to repair the attic." We wove in and out of the stacks of wood until I came across the mother lode. There were at least a dozen beams similar to the ones that were damaged in Marlton House. I took measurements and a couple of pictures and sent a text off to Big Ron. He came back with a thumbs-up sign and instructions to buy everything Tucker had.
"Score!" I said, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. The reclaimed beams were a third of the cost of new beams. I glanced over at John sitting dejectedly on a pile of scrap wood.
He looked up as I walked over. "Good job," he said with a small smile.
I nodded. "Let's go check in with Tucker."
We had to wait behind two little old ladies trying to find missing hardware for their vintage kitchen cabinets. Tucker was surprisingly good with them. Guess that's how he kept the doors open.
"All righty, what can I do for you today, Alex?" Tucker asked like it was the first time we were seeing each other.
John groaned. I patted his hand.
"Well, I want to buy all of your reclaimed beams in aisle twenty-four. Here are the tickets." I handed him the scraps of paper.
"Nice!" Tucker cried. "That's a lot of moola. Good thing you're saving twenty percent today."
I'd forgotten about that. "Yeah, I think this new marketing plan is going to work," I replied, handing him my business credit card.
Tucker rang up the sale and handed me a receipt. "I'll send Big Ron over tomorrow to get them," I said as I signed the receipt.
"Righto." Tucker turned to go in the back.
John and I continued to stand in front of the desk. "About that other thing," I said.
Tucker gave me a quizzical look then shook his head. "What else can I do you for?"
John growled and stalked off to the door. "This is pointless," he muttered.
I was turning back to Tucker to try one more time, when he called to John, "Hey, Luke, you forgot your box."
John came to a dead stop and spun on his heel. "Luke?" he said quietly, seeming to roll it around on his tongue.
Tucker slapped his forehead. "That's your name, man. Yeah, far out. Luke. Just like the Jedi."
"What about his last name?" I asked.
Tucker squinted his eyes at John. "It was something with an M. Like Mc, Mac." Tucker snapped his fingers. "McQueen, like the old movie star!"
I turned around. "So Luke McQueen it is."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"So I guess I should start calling you Luke now, huh?" I said with a smile as we got into my truck.
He looked lost in thought. It was going to take me a while to start thinking of him as Luke instead of as John.
He looked almost pained when he said, "Looks like it."
"Did hearing your name make any bells go off?" I asked, turning onto Main Street.
He thought about it for a minute. "Yes and no. When he first called me Luke, it seemed right, but not McQueen. It doesn't ring any bells."
"Maybe you gave him a fake last name," I suggested.
"Why would I do that unless I was up to no good?" he asked with a sigh. "This just keeps getting worse."
I patted his leg. "At least you're ninety-nine percent sure your first name is Luke," I pointed out. "Let's start there. And I think we should tell the police about all this." I remembered my conversation with George. Maybe I should bring him up to speed and then go to the police with Luke.
"I need time to think, Alex," Luke said, taking the problem out of my hands. "I'd like to sleep on it tonight. Think things through and then we can go talk to them tomorrow. I'm just afraid that if I go in there with all this circumstantial evidence, they'll slap cuffs on me and throw me in jail."
He had a point. The local news was constantly harping on the police and investigators for answers. And townspeople were not resting easy in their beds knowing a murderer was on the loose.
"But maybe I deserve to go to jail. I'm not looking like such a great guy right now. Can I take a rain check on dinner tonight?" he asked. "I'll still help out the rest of the afternoon at the house," he added quickly.
"Sure," I said, pulling up in front of Marlton House. "Are you sure you're up to working? You could take Gram's car home now."
He opened his door. "No," he replied firmly. "You and your grandmother have shown me so much kindness. I have to do something to help out. At least this little bit is something."
I nodded. "Well, I'm thankful for the help."
Big Ron was in the front room talking to the head CleanPro guy. "Looks like they've got a full load for their truck, so they're going to call it a day and start back first thing tomorrow."
The CleanPro guy shook his head, saying, "Ain't never seen nothin' like that before. This is going to take two truckloads to get all the feces outta there. Sure is funny that the bats just flew away. Wouldn't think a colony that big would just disperse."
Big Ron and I exchanged looks. "Yeah, that was really weird. So will you be finished tomorrow afternoon?"
The cleaner nodded and left to gather his crew. I asked Big Ron to schedule the crane for the beam repairs for Wednesday. I didn't see why he couldn't pick them up first thing tomorrow morning and get started right away.
"We still got a few hours on the clock. You want to check the upstairs bathroom? See how much work we got in there?" he asked.
"Well, we've got to do it sometime," I said with more bravado than I felt. I hadn't dared to enter the room since finding the tourist in the bathtub.
The three of us headed upstairs to the first bathroom on the left. Inside, the room was sparkling clean. No trace of the dead tourist.
&
nbsp; We all sighed with relief. I looked back at Luke to see his reaction. He stared at the room, but his face didn't show immediate recognition. "My thoughts are that we keep this as close to original condition as possible. There's nothing wrong with the tub, so that stays. Let's retile the walls and the floor. Replace the toilet, and I'll look for a vintage vanity. That one's just too big for the space. Definitely not original."
"I'll put two guys in here busting up the tile. And I'll take one up with me to the attic," said Big Ron. "I'll start measuring the areas that need repaired for Thursday."
I nodded and looked at Luke. "Let's spend some time outside making a punch list for landscaping and exterior repairs. You any good with a chain saw? I'd like to cut things down as we go so I can get a better look."
"I guess we'll find out," he said, looking like he was feeling a little better.
Big Ron said, "You can grab the chain saw off my truck, John. I sure appreciate the extra pair of hands."
As John went out the door to get the chain saw, I said to Ron, "We think his name's Luke now."
"So you want me to call him Luke?" he asked.
"If you wouldn't mind," I replied.
"You sure have some strange boyfriends. Between the amnesia guy and that florist," Big Ron observed.
"They're not my boyfriends," I said testily.
"Maybe not the florist. I still ain't figured him out. But this guy's got an eye for you. I can see it plain as day."
I flushed. "Don't you have some work to do?"
Big Ron laughed. "Yes, Boss Lady."
I watched him walk away. Then I grabbed my yellow to-do pad and met Luke on the front porch. The large windows were obscured by overgrown scrub bushes.
"Can you fire that thing up and raze those bushes to the ground? I need to check out the ivy damage on the window casings."
Luke gave me a thumbs-up, popped in some earplugs, and started the chain saw in one smooth pull.
Turns out Luke was handy with a chain saw. Within an hour he'd taken down six bushes and a tree that was growing into the foundation. I had to admit I enjoyed watching his strong shoulders hoist the chain saw and slice smoothly through the thick wood. I had a thing for lumberjacks.
As he finished the last bush, Big Ron came out with the rest of the crew. "You want me to lock up?" he asked.
I nodded and said good-bye to the guys.
Luke removed his earplugs and came over. "Buy you a beer?" I asked.
"I'm looking forward to a soak in that big claw-foot tub in my bedroom. I think I'll hold off on the beer." He walked over to Ron's truck and laid the chain saw in the back.
"Looks like a different place already," Big Ron said, admiring Luke's handiwork.
I nodded. "Yeah, and the trim looks to be in good shape. Just scraping and painting."
"Music to my ears," said Big Ron. He put out his hand to Luke. "Thanks for the help." And then to me he said, "Until tomorrow, Boss Lady."
"See you back at Rockgrove?" Luke asked.
I nodded. "I've got a couple of stops to make. Tell Gram not to hold dinner for me."
His eyes caught mine, and for a second I thought he was going to kiss me right in the middle of Main Street. But all he said was, "Thanks for everything."
I decided to head out to Condor's office on a hunch that he was a nine-to-five kind of guy. I was hoping to catch him just as he was leaving work and see what the old bird did after hours. I pulled up to a building across the street from Condor Development Group, with a perfect view of his black Caddy in my rearview mirror.
Then I sat. And sat. I fiddled with the radio. I put all the trash—food wrappers mostly—in a plastic grocery bag I found under the seat. I glanced at the clock. Only fifteen minutes had passed. Stakeouts were definitely not my thing. Maybe I could check the squeak in my brakes while I waited…
At 5:30, Condor and his bombshell secretary left the building. I knew there was no Mrs. Condor, but I was surprised when the blonde hopped into the car beside Condor. There had been quite a hoopla among the divorcées when Condor had first come to town. Every woman on the prowl had been quick to invite him to the latest soiree, garden party, and backyard barbeque. His picture had appeared beside one lovely lady after the other in the Around Town section of the paper. But once he'd established his development business and started ticking townspeople off, all that had stopped. I guess Mrs. Right Now was his consolation prize.
I figured my stakeout was over when I watched Condor pull into his winding, stone driveway that led to the monstrous McMansion he'd built a few years back. He'd managed to sell out the exclusive community with promises of a top-tier golf course, tennis courts, and an Olympic-size pool. It took a lawsuit and his house being egged a dozen times before the streetlights were put in. The timetable for amenities had to be pushed back due to the economic decline, Condor had explained in an interview last year. Eyeing the perfectly manicured lawn, it looked like his property hadn't felt the brunt of such a decline.
It was after six, and my stomach was rumbling. I'd give it a few more minutes to see if the happy couple was staying in for dinner, and then I'd go by George's. I was daydreaming about a thick slice of pizza and a cold beer when the black Caddy roared past me. I had to turn around to follow him and almost lost his taillights as he veered around a corner. I caught him at a light. Unfortunately, I was directly behind him. I crossed my fingers he wouldn't look back in the rearview mirror, but he seemed to be too busy screaming into the air. I cracked my window but didn't hear anything. He banged on the dashboard with his fist and then peeled out when the light turned green. Wow, he sure was mad about something.
I drew back until I could just see his taillights. We were heading farther and farther out of town toward the cliffs and Condor's development, when it dawned on me. I pulled my truck over with a giggle. Better let Condor meet his new tenants on his own.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was almost seven when I pulled up to Some Enchanted Florist. The lights were on, but the Closed sign was up. I was trying to figure out if I should call first or go up and try the door, when there was a knock at my window.
I pressed the down button. "On another stakeout?" George asked.
"Yes, and you won't believe where this one ended," I said with a grin and brought him up to speed on my Condor surveillance.
George gave a long whistle after I finished my story. "What I wouldn't give to see the look on his face when realizes those are your bats. He'll be out for blood."
I made a face. "Yeah, like he didn't already have it out for me. So anyway," I said, changing the subject, "I thought maybe I'd take you up on your dinner offer."
"Plans fall through with Mr. X?" he asked.
I shrugged. "He had a rough day. Major amnesia breakthrough and isn't feeling up to socializing right now. And his name is actually Luke," I said as I parked my truck behind his store.
"Guess we'd better go somewhere casual. Gino's Pizzeria okay?" He looked pointedly at my baseball cap and dirty work shirt as I climbed down from the cab. "Looks like you had a busy afternoon."
"You could say that," I said as we walked down the street toward the homey pizzeria. Gino's was a small strip-style pizza joint with red-and-white checkered plastic tablecloths and red stools around the square tables.
I opened the door, and George stepped in behind me with a shake of the head. "You know, one of these times I'd really like to play the male role in this relationship. You know, open a door for you, plan a date, that kind of thing."
I shifted my eyes over to him. "I don't think this qualifies as a relationship. And I'm not stopping you from playing the male role. But that's an interesting choice of words you used."
"Another swipe at my manhood?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Your manhood is safe from me." I laughed.
"It's Two-for Tuesday." George pointed to a sign at the front counter.
"What's with all this Tuesday stuff? Tucker was having a Tuesday sale too."
; It was standing room only in the front of the pizzeria. If it wasn't for the mouth-watering aromas wafting through the air and the fact that I wasn't dressed appropriately for anything else other than fast-food, I would have bolted. As it was, we only stood for a few minutes before a waitress led us to a table.
We both ordered draft beers. I gave George a sideways look after he ordered. "Trying to impress me?"
He leaned over so I could hear in the noisy room. "I drink beer on draft, and I actually pee standing up." He gave me a fake wide-eyed sarcastic look.
I laughed at him. "I guess there's a lot about you I don't know. Of course, you have made it clear you have no intention of sharing anything with me right now. I'm on a strictly need-to-know basis."
The waitress came back with our beers and told us she'd be back in a minute to take our order.
George looked uncomfortable by my reminder that he was still hiding a lot from me and I knew it. "I thought we were here to talk about Mr. X," he said.
"Sometimes I think you're the real Mr. X," I replied.
He looked over at me. "What makes you say that?"
I shrugged. "You show up mysteriously a year ago, buy a florist shop, and start living among the natives like you've been here all your life. Add in a bunch of uncut diamonds instead of a savings account, a background you're unable or unwilling to share that may or may not be illegal, and you're off the Mr. X scale. So tell me your story," I challenged.
He paused mid-swig. "I could do that," he said with a nod. "But then I'd have to kill you." He finished his beer and put his mug back on the table.
For just a moment, his words froze my veins to ice water. The way he'd said it was so strange.
Then he wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I pulled myself together. "You'd better watch what you say. We've got bodies, amnesia victims, missing diamonds, and a colony of bats on the loose. Wouldn't take much to get locked up around here."
Secret of the Painted Lady Page 13