by Meg Macy
“I bought a silver teddy bear for a baby shower on Labor Day.”
Maddie glanced at me. “Yeah, I remember.”
“You didn’t tell me there was a sale. I never got the discount.”
“People usually bring in the coupon from the newspaper—”
Vivian cut her off. “You’re kidding, right? I’m a fellow business owner in Silver Hollow and you require a coupon?”
“Of course not,” I said, hoping to defuse the situation. “We’ll refund twenty percent of the purchase price.”
“Sasha, it was only a ten-dollar bear.” Maddie faced Vivian. “If you want two bucks, then we’ll give it to you. But this week’s been pretty tough on us. We’ve taken a hit due to Will Taylor’s death. Surely you understand that.”
“You think my business hasn’t suffered? I haven’t sold more than a dozen items since last weekend. And why is it you’re always ordering baked goods from Fresh Grounds?” Her dark eyes narrowed. “Fresh Grounds is killing my business. Mary Kate Thompson stole Wendy Clark away from me, all because of those silly teddy bear cookies!”
So that was what really fueled this diva moment. I debated repeating what Wendy had said about Vivian’s bad moods, but held up a hand.
“We’re hosting a Cran-beary Tea Party next month, and I planned on ordering cupcakes from Pretty in Pink.”
“Just cupcakes? What about pastries?”
I stood my ground against Vivian’s demanding tone. “I want to divide the work between your bakery and Fresh Grounds. They’ll be doing scones.”
“So that’s supposed to make me feel better? When—”
The bells jangled this time over the door when Detective Mason lumbered in, his coat rumpled, his tie askew. He straightened it and tugged his coat down, although it didn’t help neaten his appearance much. Vivian tried dodging around him, but he blocked her access to the door.
“Morning—er, afternoon. Mrs. Grant, I’ve been looking for you.”
“I was just leaving,” she said, her tone sour. “I have to get back to my bakery, so if you’ll excuse me. Unless you have news of my son. Who’s still missing.”
“I have a few questions.” Mason ignored us, flipped open his notebook, and then looked at Vivian, who stiffened in anger. “I know you said Alan isn’t a drug user, but we have proof otherwise. Are you sure you didn’t know Alan was selling drugs? Marijuana and narcotics?”
“That’s a lie!” She stabbed a finger in my direction. “Pete Fox bought them in Detroit for Deon Walsh, who’s selling all the drugs in this town.”
“No, he is not,” Maddie said. Vivian sniffed in disdain.
“Your son was seen smoking joints with Pete Fox, on several occasions, by several witnesses,” Mason said calmly. “We also have his fingerprints on plastic bags of pot for sale.”
“I never saw Alan smoking pot. And why would he need to sell drugs? I give him whatever money he needs. Deon Walsh scrambles all the time for money to pay off his college loans, even though his parents own that diner! Apparently they aren’t as generous with their children.”
“I checked Deon’s record. He’s clean, and we found no sign of drug use. His girlfriend claims he was with her Thursday night, too. Alan’s car showed damage to the front end, which matched the damage to the Silver Bear Shop’s mailbox.”
Vivian huffed, her tasseled pink purse swinging. “I’ve heard from plenty of people—Ross Silverman swore he’d gut Will like a fish.”
“A threat is no proof of a crime. Witnesses also saw Pete and Alan together at the junior high school, holding backpacks or gym bags similar to the one that was found at the park. It held teddy bears with marijuana stashed inside, along with a bottle of narcotics.”
“Maybe, but my son’s not a killer! You’ve got to find him—”
“We did. That’s why I’m here.”
She blanched. “Then where is he? In jail?”
“I think we’d better find somewhere private to talk. Come with me,” Mason said, and reached for her elbow.
“Tell me where you found him!” Vivian twisted away. “Alan texted me Thursday night. I called him, and he sounded scared to death. But he wouldn’t tell me why.”
“What time was that?”
“Let me check.” She retrieved her phone from her purse. “Here, I’m not lying. This is the text Alan sent me, at 11:20 p.m. I left the movie and called him, calmed him down, but he refused to tell me where he was. Then he said Pete needed to borrow his car. Alan had to go pick him up, and then said he’d be home late. You can see all that on my phone.”
Mason scrolled through the messages. “Yes, it all checks out. But Alan never came home that night.”
“No. I never heard another thing from him. Pete promised to return the car, but he never did,” Vivian added. “I got the call about the police impounding his car. I’m worried sick about Alan. Where is he? He must have his phone.”
“We did find one, yes.” Mason looked wooden, in fact, grim and forbidding. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, ma’am, but your son is dead.”
Chapter 26
“No!”
“I’m sorry—”
Vivian staggered sideways as if from a blow to the head. The detective gripped her by the waist and steadied her. “It can’t be true. He can’t be dead. I would know! Where did you find him, tell me!”
“Please, come with me,” Mason said in a low voice.
“Where has Alan been all this time?”
He glanced at me and Maddie. “Your son drowned in the river. We believe it was an accident, since he had barbiturates in his system.”
Mason drew Vivian outside the shop. The door clicked shut. My vision blurred and I groped for tissue to wipe my tears. That was Alan’s body in the river? Maddie sat behind the counter, wiping her wet cheeks and blowing her nose.
“Alan wasn’t that bad of a kid,” she said.
“I can’t bear to think that was him in the water during the picnic.”
“I had classes with him in high school.” My sister buried her face in her arms, crying harder. “He’s only twenty-four. Was. Alan was a champion swimmer, too. How could he have fallen into the river?”
“I don’t know—”
“What if he was murdered, Sasha? He must have been at the factory—what if Alan saw whoever killed Will?” Maddie cried out. “What if they caught up to him and murdered him, too?”
She rushed to her office. The door slammed behind her, but I didn’t follow. What could I say to comfort her? All this sadness and bad news had multiplied. It had to end. I knew Detective Mason must have found out from the autopsy report how Alan died, and whether he’d questioned Teddy Hartman, but I didn’t feel right tracking him down in the village.
I didn’t want to sit here, either, in an empty shop. I could picture Alan finding Will’s dead body and then panicking. Maybe Alan had been the one to drop the teddy bear on the floor. Maybe he’d gone there to pick up another gym bag or get money for the drugs he and Pete were supposed to buy in Detroit—and discovered Will’s body. Alan had definitely left in a hurry, destroying our mailbox in the process. He must have texted his mother afterward.
And then what happened? Had he picked up Pete Fox, who wanted to use the car? Did Pete drop him off somewhere? Where would Alan go besides home? And how did he end up at the park? Why there and not the cinema, or anywhere else in the village?
I retrieved my phone and texted my sister. Appointment for Rosie. Closing shop early.
That was a bold-faced lie, of course, but a handy excuse to cover my absence. I rushed to collect Rosie’s leash and harness. She jumped up, eager and ready for a walk. I didn’t bother changing out of my silver T-shirt and black pants. Lying turns into a bad habit, so I decided to make an appointment at Mark Fox’s vet clinic and assuage my guilt. Maybe he would know where his younger brother had dropped Alan after midnight a week ago.
The vet tech informed me that Dr. Fox had an opening in half an hour. Lucky me. Not s
o lucky for Rosie, who remained oblivious when I bundled her into my car. Glen and Jenny Woodley waved as they walked down the street. I waved back and rolled the window down halfway so Rosie could sniff the fresh air and bark at a few squirrels. Together we drove down Theodore Lane and past Kermit Street.
Mark Fox had graduated a few years before me, and all those years in college and vet school paid off for him. While his office was small, the nearest competition was all the way in Ann Arbor; he definitely kept busy most of the time. In fact, I was shocked they had an opening today. I had no doubt that Mark heard plenty from his dad about Pete’s drug use and arrest. And Dave Fox had bailed his son out of jail. Perhaps Mark could update me on that, too.
I turned right on Alice Street and parked in front of the vet’s cement block building. Rosie cowered in the seat—she’d recognized the longer drive and the turn and now sat shaking on the passenger’s side.
“Poor baby. We’re only here to visit.”
I still had to drag her out of the car and into the office. Cold air blasted my face from a vent above the door. Clearly they loved cranking up the AC, even though today’s temperature hadn’t reached the mid 80s. A strong scent of antiseptic tingled in my nose. Two other clients waited, one holding a cat carrier, the other standing near the reception desk with a pit bull mix. The tech called the cat’s name for their appointment while I signed in. That reminded me to give an excuse for our visit.
Rosie seemed frisky, exchanging happy sniffs with the pit bull and wagging her tail. The other dog’s haunches landed with a thump on the tile floor after the owner dragged him away. Rosie whined a little, now that she wasn’t having fun. The pit bull struggled to his feet and coughed hard.
“Swallowed a toy,” the man said, and leaned down to pet his dog.
“Poor thing! I hope they won’t have to operate.” I scratched under the pit bull’s chin. “Aw, I hope you feel better soon.”
“I’m hoping it’s just a Lego or something small enough to pass.”
I glanced down at Rosie. “Yep, been there with her. She was lucky.”
“Roger Dodger—you poor thing! Come on, let’s go straight to X-ray,” the tech said. The pit bull and owner followed down the hallway.
Rosie started whining louder, so I rubbed her ears. She didn’t like being poked and prodded, but she was up-to-date on her shots. Framed pet photos hung on the near wall behind a single row of white plastic chairs. Shelves of dog and cat food, plus an oblong fish aquarium stood opposite the reception desk. At last the tech returned, her sunburn nearly as red as her hair.
“Rosie, what’s wrong? You look so sad right now.”
“She hasn’t been eating. Threw up a few times. Maybe it’s a stomach bug?” I hated the deception, but at least the young woman showed us to a back room. “Thanks so much.”
“No problem. Dr. Fox will be in shortly.”
I kept the door open and peered out every now and then. I thought I’d heard Pete Fox’s voice in the back hallway. I hadn’t expected to see him here. Great, I could get the information from him instead of secondhand. My patience was rewarded when I glimpsed Pete from behind, heaving a mop back and forth on the floor where the pit bull must have left a puddle. He slouched, as usual. I’d always considered him shy. Perhaps it was a defense to hide his drug habit.
Keeping Rosie close, I tiptoed down the hallway and cleared my throat. Pete whirled, his shock evident. “Damn! Scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to do that, Pete. But I have a few questions,” I said. “You never called me back. I heard you were arrested Thursday night.”
He looked shamefaced. “My dad and brother are really mad. They both said I’ve ruined my life. I needed the money, more than I can make working for you. But Dad bailed me out. Only he said it would be the last time.”
“If you cooperate with the police about what happened, the judge might take that into consideration.” I kept my voice low. “Were you using our teddy bears to hide pot, and then selling them to kids who wanted to buy drugs?”
“Yeah.” Pete leaned against the wall, avoiding my gaze. “The cops got me with about fifty pounds of hash. A few pills, a little heroin. That was for Alan. Now I’m lookin’ at a felony charge.”
“Please, tell me everything. Who all was involved with you in buying and selling? Just Alan Grant, or was Will Taylor as well? And what about Jack Cullen?”
“That old coot?” Pete snorted. “He saw us stashing the bags at the park. Damned snoop. Decided to blackmail us, and promised he’d keep his mouth shut. Me and Alan, we told him no way, so he swore he’d tell Will Taylor. That didn’t bother us, though. He was in on it.”
“Weren’t you afraid he’d rat you out to the police?” I asked.
“Nah, Taylor said he’d take care of old Jack.”
That puzzled me. Did Pete mean Will and Jack had gotten into a spat? Or more than a spat, given the wrench Carolyn Taylor and Jenny Woodley had seen in Jack’s hand? But Will didn’t have any head or body wounds from a weapon.
“So Will gave you and Alan the teddy bears to use?”
“Yeah, ever since spring. He and Alan’s mom were dating, so Alan thought it would help if people thought they didn’t get along. Like a feud, you know? So we cut Will a share of the profits. Things worked out great. Even with summer, the kids still wanted the stuff.”
“What about the heroin?”
“That was just for Alan. Told him to quit the big H. Bad stuff, man. But he wouldn’t listen.” Pete rubbed his jaw. I didn’t say anything, figuring he’d continue without prompting. He did seem relieved to tell the story in full. “So Thursday night, Alan called me around eleven thirty. Said he was at the factory to pick up the bears but found Will on the floor. Dead. He totally freaked. Didn’t know what to do.”
“Why didn’t you tell him to call the police?”
“Hell, no. Taylor was dead and gone. Nothin’ he could do. Alan had to get out or else the cops might think he did it.”
I heard Mark Fox down the hall and lowered my voice. “Did Alan see anyone else there at the factory?”
“Nope. Said he ran like his tail was on fire.” Pete smirked. “Told me he smashed the car against your mailbox out front. After he picked me up, he wouldn’t go with me to get the drugs that night. I could tell Alan needed his fix. So I dropped him off at the park and told him I’d be back with his stash.”
“Did you know the police found his body in the river?”
His jaw dropped. “No way! Like, he was half out of his mind. Couldn’t walk straight, couldn’t hardly open the car door. Damn.”
“Why didn’t you take him home instead?”
“He didn’t wanna go. Said he’d wait by the spot where we hid the bags. But he didn’t have a flashlight. Bet he couldn’t see a damned thing, it was so dark. Must have slid down the bank into the river.” Pete shook his head. “I gave him a little codeine, to take the edge off. I doubt it worked.”
I’d heard enough. Alan may have fallen into the river and been so out of it he couldn’t save himself. How tragic. I fished out the business card Mason had given me from my purse and pressed it into Pete’s hand.
“Please, call this number. Explain exactly what you told me to Detective Mason. Cooperating might help your case.”
Pete didn’t look happy, but he nodded. A minor victory. I rushed back to the waiting room with Rosie. The tech waved me down, but I flashed a big smile.
“She’s fine now. Look at her,” I said, and lifted Rosie into my arms. “She threw up before I brought her in, so that might have solved the problem. Thanks!”
I headed out the door. Rosie was ecstatic in the car. I slowed near the apartment complex where Jack Cullen lived. Had he met Will Taylor Thursday night—and then what? Gotten ridiculed? Possibly, knowing Will’s ego. Perhaps Jack had grown angry. But Will could have easily overpowered the older man, even after a few beers or a joint, if that’s what he’d used to relax after the stressful s
taff meeting.
I parked a block from the complex. Rosie nearly escaped; I caught her leash at the last second. Whew. Especially since a woman with two large dogs was walking sedately across the street, headed to the village green. Lovely dogs, a black mountain cur and a beige mix of Labrador and bulldog. Rosie strained at the leather tight in my fist. She considered all breeds and sizes fair game for playing.
I scanned the mailboxes located to the left of the front door. J. Cullen, 205. Although I pressed the bell several times, no one answered. Where was Jack if not at home? Anywhere, from Fresh Grounds or the diner, or walking around the village. The ultimate snoop, as my dad and uncle called him. Rightly so, given what people witnessed lately.
I pressed the neighboring buttons—203, 207, 204, 206—until a woman replied in a quavering voice, “Yes? Who is it?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jack Cullen? Is he at home?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t hear him at all this morning.”
“Would you mind buzzing me in? I’m Sasha Silverman, of the Silver Bear Shop and Factory,” I added. “I’m worried about Mr. Cullen. Perhaps he’s ill.”
“Oh, do you think so? I bought a bear from you earlier this spring. I’ll let you in, but we’re not supposed to do that.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Once I heard the buzz, I raced up the steps with Rosie in tow. An inkling of unease had prompted me. My instincts had never failed before. The frail elderly woman, Mrs. Irwin, met me at the top, one spotted and trembling hand leaning on a cane. She wore a faded housedress, and her white hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Rosie whined and scratched at Jack Cullen’s door. I twisted the knob—locked.
“I think we better call the police.” I ignored her gasp. “Something is wrong. Rosie can tell. Look at the way she’s acting.”
“What do you think happened?”
“It’s possible he passed out, either from the heat or from not eating.”
I refrained from adding or something worse. I didn’t want to voice that aloud. And if Jack Cullen was lying dead inside, God forbid, the moniker “dead body magnet” would be written on my forehead with invisible ink but readable by everyone in Silver Hollow.