Malicious Mischief

by Marianne Harden

  Solo came up beside me. “You’re not going to believe this, but Gilad is wearing the Kupper family watch. I saw it on his wrist. Just as Farley described.”

  “Nooooo.” Just as I started to look over at Gilad, my cell rang. I blinked twice at the Caller ID: Leland Rosenberg.

  “Rylie, you there?” Leland’s voice was hushed.

  I hit speaker so Solo could hear. “Leland, why are you whispering?”

  “Shhh,” he said.

  “I’m not exactly yelling. What’s wrong?”

  “You’re on speaker. I don’t want to be seen on a cell phone.”

  “Thanks for clearing that up,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “What part of speak softly don’t you get?” he said.

  “All right. All right,” I whispered. “Why are you calling?”

  “Are you still at Crossroads Park? Is Uncle Gilad there with you?”

  “Yes to both, and he’s wearing the watch Alric Mueller stole from your great grandmother.” My eyes popped wide as he said a string of muffled words. “Okay, once again in English.”

  “Uncle Gilad is wearing the watch?” he said. “Is he out of his freaking mind?”

  “How come you’re not surprised I know about the watch?” I asked.

  “Talon told me,” he said.

  Sheesh, what a Chatty Cathy. “Leland, what do you want me to do—?”

  “Us to do,” Solo put in. “I’m here, too, boss.”

  “Good, that’s good. I want you both to do anything and everything,” he said, “But get that watch here right away before Detective Talon leaves.”

  “He’s still there?” I asked.

  “Rylie, all of Bellevue is stuck in your driveway. Hurry. My freedom depends on it!” he cried and disconnected.

  After a quick discussion, we decided I would talk to Gilad. Solo grabbed Baxter as she sniffed a passing dog and rushed to get the Pinto, while I explained the situation to Tita.

  “Don’t worry. We can handle it here. Vamanos,” she said.

  I looked around, finding Gilad alone near the restrooms.

  “Get going—” Tita began. “Crap!”

  I whirled to see Elsa shove Jane, to see Jane push her back, and then turn away.

  “Not so fast, sister.” Elsa’s lips thinned. “You can’t say that and just leave.”

  Jane reeled, the mega rubies at her neck dazzling. “What’s your problem?”

  “For Christ’s sake.” Elsa’s fury almost choked her. “You slept with Gilad last night.”

  “Who slept?” she said with frosty sarcasm. “You’re just mad because I said he’s impotent. Imagine the great Gilad Kupper out performed by a feeble old man who turns into a tiger when you rub his bald spot.”

  Elsa gulped, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’ll never forgive you.”

  Jane’s smug smile wobbled before she lifted her chin and marched away.

  I stepped forward, but Tita waved me off.

  “I’ll look after her,” she said and lead Elsa away.

  Wally—hemorrhoid donut in hand—rocked on his heels. “Doesn’t that just beat all? Not once have I ever thought to ask a gal to rub my bald spot. And here I’ve dropped a wad on Viagra, too,” he said. “Funny thing, the news said Otto was found without his kippah.”

  “Lost me, Wally,” the Colonel said over a brownie. Then his brows shot up. “You don’t mean Otto had sex with Jane before he died last night?”

  Wally smacked him with his donut. “Haven’t you been listening? Jane was boinking Gilad,” he said. “I always wondered why Otto carried toupee glue. Sure was full of himself, expecting to get lucky all the time.”

  Good God, had Otto been with a woman last night?

  “So Otto glued on his kippah?” The Colonel downed the last bite of brownie.

  Wally nodded. “Seemed he had a slippery bald spot. Time was, I wore a toupee.”

  “Is that right,” the Colonel said. “What changed?”

  “Damn glue. It stays sticky. Gets on everything,” he said.

  I ran toward Gilad with a puzzling question in my mind: What was it that I’d seen today? What was it that had been sticky? I simply couldn’t remember. Of importance non. Frustrating oui.

  Gilad’s face was blank as he watched Elsa and Tita round the footpath in the distance.

  “Elsa loves you,” I told him. “She went looking for the bats nest under my house earlier. She wanted to believe you found it, to prove you didn’t—” To clear him of all suspicion in Otto’s death I needed verification he was with Jane. “Jane told Elsa about last night.”

  “Elsa knows I was with Jane?” Pause. “What does it matter? Elsa and I are through.”

  I had my answer, sadly. “You can argue that it’s yours, but that isn’t the point now. I need you to give me the watch.”

  “I’d rather pull my stomach out through my nose,” he said.

  “Leland’s in trouble,” I said softly. “Stealing the watch has only made things worse. I don’t know the details. You need to think of Leland now. He needs you.”

  “Why did he not tell me Otto was that bastard Alric Mueller? Why did I have to find out by seeing the watch on Booth?” At a door slamming inside the restroom, he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were a dark, stormy blue when he turned back. “Leland betrayed me.”

  “He was wrong,” I agreed.

  His shoulders slumped. “Have you any idea how humiliating it is to live alongside the one man you’ve hunted for nearly fifty years and not have the slightest inkling it was him?”

  I touched his arm, understanding. “Leland needs you. Nothing changes that. Not hurt pride, not ego. Family comes first.” My cell phone was ringing again. I clicked speaker. “Leland,” I said. “I’m coming.”

  “This is bad, really bad,” he whimpered. “Happy Hye just called. She has some crazy idea that Uncle Gilad killed Booth for the watch. He wasn’t even here when Booth collapsed. Oh, God, Rylie, what have I done? If she hurts him…” He broke down, sobbing.

  Gilad’s gasp was soft, yet poignant. He unclasped the watch and pushed it into my hand.

  “I’m on my way,” I told Leland and hung up. “Come with me.”

  Gilad shook his head, staring at Elsa as she walked with Tita. “I’ve been a fool. Help Leland. Help my nephew.”

  Just then, Sunny breezed from the restroom. “There you are my big, bad Nazi hunter.”

  “I prefer the name Gilad,” he said and strode toward Elsa.

  Did I eat a bowl of smarts for lunch?

  I yanked on the Pinto’s door handle, but it didn’t budge. I pocketed the watch, tried again, and snapped a nail low on the bed. I raised my finger to my mouth to avoid seeing any possible blood just as Happy Hye bolted from a row of shrubs, exploding this way.

  I stood my ground. “Gilad Kupper did not kill Booth.”

  She fart laughed, not unlike Queenie’s snort this morning. “Like I believe you. Which one is he?” She thrust a finger at the distant group of FoY seniors. “Which one?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not saying.”

  “You dumb bitch. He killed my Booth. Tell me now,” she said, her hands up, and her one-inch nails locked and loaded. “Maybe I won’t scratch out your eyes.”

  Solo climbed from the Pinto, came around the car. Happy Hye seemed too busy preparing to claw me to notice. He caught her from behind in a bear hug and lifted her off her feet. She launched into a screaming fit, legs flailing about, thrashing as a plainclothes squad car skidded to a stop next to us. Alistair Barclay jumped out from behind the wheel.

  “I’ll take over from here,” he said. “Go ahead and put her down.”

  Solo obeyed, but held her arms locked to her sides. Alistair linked a plastic tie around her wrists, reciting Miranda rights.

  “I’m not pressing charges,” I said to Alistair.

  He frowned. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.” I shifted to Happy Hye. “I’m sorry about Booth.”

  Her g
aze sharpened, but there were tears in her eyes. “What you want from me?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Why you doing this—this no charge thing?” she asked, eyes suspicious.

  “You’re grieving,” I said. “And not thinking straight.”

  She looked away. Another tear fell. “He was my Booth.”

  Alistair lowered her into the squad car. “I’ll take her downtown, to cool off.”

  “How did you know we were in trouble?” I expected to hear, “Talon told me.”

  He straightened, his lips curved. “I’ve had you in my sights all day. I promised your grandfather.”

  So that’s how he knew I was standing in the rain. “All day as in all day?”

  He laughed, a rich, throaty chuckle. “I’ve alerted Animal Control as to what’s going on at the Hye household,” he said with a frown, then switched to a grin. “But entertaining doesn’t begin to describe you two. What a hoot.”

  “What? That pitchfork was really sharp,” Solo said.

  Alistair climbed into the squad car. He was still laughing as he drove away.

  Ten minutes later, we drove up to my driveway, but didn’t turn in. Talon was at the top. I stared at him, my anger over the missing sister-city star bubbling back as he gestured for us to park in the private lane across the street. He crossed over, opened my door, and helped me out of the car.

  “Big fat liar.” I shook him off. I was being childish, of course. But it was how I shut out the hurt, the hunger. “I’ve got news for you, mister. The sister-city mosaic at Crossroads Park doesn’t have a star anywhere in Scotland.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And that troubles you, why?”

  I sighed, disappointed, frustrated—outraged with myself for wanting more than a half-day relationship warranted. I moved to leave.

  He grabbed my hand, held it. “Don’t condemn me, Rylie, not about this.”

  I listened to the wind rustle in the trees, caught the rosy hint of nearing twilight through the leaves as day gave way slowly to evening.

  “I know we’ve just met—” Closing my eyes, I leaned my forehead against his shoulder. Behind me, I heard Solo pick up Baxter and cross the street. “But when I have nothing left but memories, I don’t want to wonder where the truth stopped and the lies began.” I felt my heart squeeze at those crushing eyes when I looked up. “It’s better to end this now.”

  “’Tis it not better to live in hope than die in despair.”

  “I don’t think so—no.” You’re running away again, Rylie. “I want to have faith in you.”

  “But can’t,” he said dully, almost sadly. “I’m inclined to believe the granddaughter of a police detective must understand the need for discretion?”

  “I do understand,” I said. There wasn’t any point in explaining the ruthless ache for trust inside me. “My mother and father abandoned me.”

  “Aye.”

  “All my life I’ve run from repeating their mistake.”

  He skimmed a thumb across my cheekbone. “A mistake not of your doing.”

  “But it shaped me.” I knew I had mistakenly wanted one dependable man for years, and wasn’t quite sure how to learn to trust another who seemed so uncertain, so risky, but—God help me—I wanted to try. “If only you would meet me halfway.”

  “With the truth?”

  The birds hushed in the trees.

  “Trust me,” I said.

  “Must we speak of this now, on a public street?”

  I hadn’t meant to be so demanding. This was another flaw, wanting what I could not have.

  “We don’t need to speak of it at all,” I said, sighing. “I was wrong to ask. My grandfather refused to tell me about his work, lied about his duties, and the dangers he faced each day.. He said it was to protect me from harsh realities. Growing up I found the lies and silence terrifying.”

  Though still raw to remember, I couldn’t fault my grandfather, not when he had sacrificed so much to raise me. But I could learn from it, from the sleepless nights, the endless after-school hours waiting for him to come home safe—alive. “I want more, Talon. I need more. I know we’ve just met, and that up until a few hours ago, I thought I wanted Zach. I guess he was—”

  “Safe,” Talon finished. “But that’s not enough, Rylie.”

  “I know that now. But trust and honesty, those are a good way for us to begin.” I swallowed my fear, and my need to know everything about him, gulping it down before it could resurface. “Tell me two things, only two things, and I won’t ask for more.”

  He smiled at me and said, “All right.”

  “Are you working undercover? Does it have something to do with Lipschitz?”

  He bent down, his crystal eyes searching mine. “Yes,” he whispered against my hair.

  I shifted, looked up at his face, into his eyes. One mountain climbed. The relief was almost touchable. Cars passed by and I took no notice. For this moment, I was somewhere else, somewhere unguarded, tender, and hopeful. I cupped his face with my hands, kissing him as I had never kissed before, without reserve, without suspicion—almost fearless.

  “You baffle me, Rylie.”

  Solo came into view, walking Baxter toward us on the opposite side of the street, and the night birds began to sing in the twilight. A low seaplane flew overhead.

  I brushed my mouth to Talon’s, teasing, tempting. “I’ll drive you crazy, too.”

  “Aye,” he said.

  It was another minute before we broke apart and crossed the street. I hadn’t wanted the moment to end. Daringly, I’d taken some and given some. That step forward would have to do for now. Insecurity was a dogged master. I definitely wasn’t there yet. Baby steps. I preferred baby steps, and the lasting confidence I hoped would come with each milestone.

  “Uh-oh, incoming.” Solo said on our approach. “Nosy neighbor alert.”

  Stooped and ancient Mrs. Bebitch stomped down her hill, brandishing her trusty trowel, and shouting, “Get that car off my private lane!”

  She had a flushed glow to her weather-beaten face as she bore down on us. “What’s with the shorter hair, Rylie? It makes your face look fat.”

  Talon flashed his badge under her bulbous nose. “Go away or I’ll arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

  Outrage jumped into her creased eyes. “Well, I never—”

  “Go,” Talon ordered, his eyes dark and hard.

  She stopped on her way uphill and looked back. “Your superiors will hear from me.”

  For the first time in what seemed like hours, I laughed. It felt good. “Here’s the watch,” I said, handing it to Talon.

  His eyes sparkled. “That’s all sorted, then. Now to find an attempted murderer.”

  A twitch of shock creased my brow. “Otto isn’t dead? But how?”

  “Nay, Otto Weiner couldn’t be deader.” Frowning, he draped the watch around his wrist and held it tight. “‘Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.’” He met my curious gaze. “Mark Twain.”

  “Oh, I love Mark Twain.” Solo petted Baxter as she snuggled contentedly in his big arms. “Interesting fact: he predicted his own death correctly.”

  “Interesting,” Talon said.

  “Isn’t it? He was born when Haley’s Comet was able to be seen in the sky and said he would die when it showed up next. And he did, seventy-five years later.”

  “You don’t say,” Talon said.

  “Gospel truth,” Solo said.

  I cleared my throat. “Guys, Otto Weiner, remember?”

  “It was a heart attack,” Talon said simply. Then he chuckled. “You’re adorable when you frown like that. Though utterly fantastic, Otto died after a romping round of coitus.”

  “Sex?” I said, and he nodded. “Then that explains the discarded kippah.”

  “Oh, how so?” he asked, and I passed on Jane’s revelation. “Any reason why Jane—”

  “Gettelfinger.”

  “Would want to make Ot
to’s death look like a homicide? I dare say the fall from the balcony appears to be for that reason.”

  “Jane wasn’t with Otto last night,” Solo said matter-of-factly. “She was sexing it up with Gilad Kupper under Rylie’s house. It’s true, Rylie told me on the drive over.”

  Talon burst out laughing. “Are you having me on?”

  “Nope,” Solo said. “Did you know Mark Twain also had nineteen cats as a boy?”

  “That’s mad,” Talon said. “Did he also predict their deaths?”

  I sighed, looking around, spying a fire truck parked at the hairpin bend in my driveway with what looked to be the coroners van behind it.

  “I don’t think so,” Solo said. “But Hemmingway had over thirty cats.”

  “Don’t be daft, thirty?” Talon said.

  “Hello. The case,” I said, frustrated. “And why is there a fire engine down the driveway?”

  Talon’s laughing eyes met mine, and my knees almost buckled like a marionette. “Bloody inconvenient this traffic jam,” he said. “As well as the spot of bother Lilith Desmont is having over her repossessed Mercedes and the fire engine keeping it from rolling downhill.”

  “What about my house?” I asked, worried.

  “No structures were harmed, but the devil thrives on challenges, so it’s going to be a while until everything is cleared, which brings me back to Otto. Someone gave him CPR last night,” he said. “Not that you were ever in my mind as a suspect, but that clears you of any wrongdoing.” He curved a gentle hand over my cheek. “Whoever worked on Otto knew what they were doing.”

  “Meaning?” Solo said.

  “When Rylie gave Doris Oley CPR, her hands were wrong. They left impressions.”

  “Like fingerprints?” I asked.

  “Had Doris not been wearing a shirt, yes. But in this case the imprint was indistinct, yet enough for the coroner to spot your hands had been too high and too far apart.”

  Imagine, judged innocent by reason of ignorance.

  Then a happy realization struck. “If Otto wasn’t murdered, then Leland is in the clear.”