But then I reasoned, maybe one was for the shelter and the rest were his? I’m not sure why the number of places he banked at troubled me so, but it just wasn’t sitting right.
The wind began to blow warm and dry into the car again as we headed to the motel, and I was lost in my thoughts about Jay and where to look next for Gilligan and Solomon. I wasn’t so sure this was going to work out the way Coop hoped it would.
“Trixie?” Coop interrupted my thoughts. “Lunch with Knuckles? He says he has a proposition for us.”
I wondered what that was about, but I smiled in gratitude for the friendship we were building with such a kind man. “You tell Knuckles lunch is on us this time. How does pizza delivered to the motel sound? We can’t leave the car without a windshield, but we can watch it from the picnic tables out in the courtyard.”
“Almost as good as meatballs. Not your meatballs. Spaghetti meatballs,” Coop emphasized, making me laugh out loud.
“Then pizza it is.”
As we pulled into the parking lot of the motel and Knuckles waved to us from his motorcycle, he immediately frowned as he approached the car, a picnic basket in one hand and a colorful quilt in the other.
He pulled open my door and stuck his head inside, his lined face full of concern. “What the hay-hay happened here, young lady? And what happened to your face? Are you okay?” he asked, eyeing my fat lip and the dried blood on my knuckles.
This was the part that got tricky. The explaining. “Long story. I’ll tell you over some pizza. Our treat.”
He held up the basket and shook it with a smile, his round face beaming and red from the heat. “Made some fried chicken and potato salad last night. Thought we could do leftovers and talk about where you gals are going to stay while the store gets a makeover.”
I slid out while Coop covered Livingston and pulled his cage from the car. “Stay? We’re staying here, and then we’ll stay upstairs in the loft when the store’s open.”
He balked at that in a very fatherly sort of way, endearing himself to me more and more. I got the impression Knuckles missed his daughter and granddaughter very much. Taking us under his wing gave him the chance to nurture, which he was robbed of living so far away from his family.
With a cluck of his tongue, he said, “You two can’t live there, Trixie. It’s not only unsafe, but it’s no way to live. Who lives with just a single burner and a compact camping fridge?”
I flapped a hand at him as he handed me the bamboo basket with a colorful red gingham-checked napkin draped inside, then pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and texted someone.
“We’ve lived in far worse, my friend. This is like a palace compared to some places we’ve been. Besides, it’s just us, and we’re not exactly gourmet chefs. Also, it won’t be unsafe for long. We’ll clean it up and it’ll be like brand-new. We’re going to be just fine, Knuckles.”
I didn’t want him worrying about us. It was sweet, but unnecessary. We’d learned to stand on our own two feet, and we’d keep doing that no matter what.
Knuckles looked up from his glossy phone to take a picture of our windshield, ignoring every word I spoke like all good potential surrogate fathers do.
I planted my hands on my hips, ignoring the stabbing pain in my fingers. “What are you doing?”
“Showing my guy your windshield. Said he’d be right over.”
Of course, Knuckles knew “a guy.” I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re so awesome. Thank you. Let me get my insurance card and I’ll give them a call.”
He tucked his phone back into his jeans. “No need. Fifty dollars and some of my chicken and we’re square.”
His need to take care of us would border encroaching on our independence if we didn’t like him so much. But worse, we didn’t want to appear as thought we were taking advantage. Something I’d never allow.
“Knuckles, I can’t let you do that! We’re happy to pay.”
“I’m not doing it. My guy is. Now, let’s go sit under that tree where we can see the car and we’ll have some lunch and talk about what’s fit for living in and what’s not.”
He didn’t wait for my answer, instead, he plodded over to a big maple in the small square between the motel and the store and spread out a blanket, setting the basket on it.
Coop and I trudged behind him with Livingston and we dropped down, sitting cross-legged. I leaned back and let the warm breeze waft over me. It was a lovely afternoon in the seventies and as exhausted as I was, I just wanted to sit a moment and reflect. I wanted to watch the cars drive by, listen to the sounds of children playing in the park across the way, see people walking their dogs.
But Knuckles wasn’t having that. He set a red paper plate in front of me filled with lusciously cold, golden fried chicken and a heaping spoonful of creamy potato salad. “Eat. While you eat, listen to me, please?”
I chuckled, pulling a napkin to my lap. “No, no, Knuckles! Please don’t make me eat homemade fried chicken! I can’t bear the torture!”
Now he laughed as he set a plate in front of Coop while she fiddled with Livingston’s cage, pulling the garbage bag off and drawing curious stares from people passing by.
Settling down, Knuckles handed us each a bottle of water then leaned back on the palms of his hands. “So let’s talk about living at the store and how it’s not a good idea for two young women such as yourselves.”
I cocked my head at him as I took a bite of the chicken, my eyes widening. Even cold, it was delicious, still a bit crisp around the edges and tender. “This is amazing, Knuckles. Who taught you to cook?”
“My mother and my nana Nettie, and don’t change the subject. Hear me out.”
I had no choice but to hear him out because my mouth was full of delicious food. So I nodded, as did Coop, who also clearly enjoyed the mouthful of potato salad she was chewing because her eyes were closed and her face was serene.
He smiled, obviously pleased at how much we were enjoying his cooking. “The guesthouse out back at my place. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a decent enough kitchen if not all that big, still all brand-new. I was going to rent it out anyway. Why not rent it out to you two girls? It’s five minutes from the store and it’s a heck of a lot nicer than that upstairs deathtrap. Whaddya say?”
I stopped gnawing on my succulent chicken and wiped my mouth, reluctant to stop eating. But I had to protest. We couldn’t afford a place as nice as Knuckles’s house—not even his guesthouse. We hadn’t made a dime yet either, and we didn’t even know if we’d make anything at all. To lock ourselves into another lease would be foolish.
I regretted not being able to take the offer. Who wouldn’t want to live in a house so beautiful? But right now, that wasn’t an option.
So I smiled to soften the blow and said, “Oh, Knuckles, you’re so sweet. But we can’t afford rent on top of the rent for the store. That was part of the beauty of leasing a space with living quarters upstairs. Though, I’m sure it’s a beautiful guesthouse if your house is any indication. Your place is amazing.”
But he shook his head, his piercings glinting in the patchy sunlight, poking through the leaves on the tree. “I’m not talking rent-rent, Trixie girl. I’m talking you give me the space for free at the store, I bring in my clientele, you stay at the guesthouse rent-free. It really benefits me more than it does you girls. I need a place to bring my clients, and you need clients.”
Setting my plate aside, I couldn’t find the words to speak my appreciation, but I tried. “I feel like we’re getting the better end of the deal here, Knuckles. You’re moving into a dump and in return, handing over the keys to paradise. How’s that a fair trade?”
But he only winked, that Santa Claus-ish twinkle in his eyes. “Trust me when I tell you, I’ll be doing a lot of tattooing, and some of my clients are going to want Coop’s brand of magic on their skin once they get a load of her talent. We’re helping each other, Trixie. What’s the world if we can’t at least do that?”
A br
eath shuddered out of my lungs and tears stung my eyes. Cobbler Cove was looking more and more like the best decision we’d made so far.
“I don’t know what to say, so I’ll just say this. I’m not sure what I believe in anymore since leaving the convent. I don’t know if there’s a higher power or something else at work here, and I’ll leave it at that. But I do believe there are people placed in our lives at exactly the time they’re supposed to show up. You’re one of those people, Knuckles, and I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”
He reached out and chucked me under the chin. “Don’t go getting all sappy now, young lady. You just work on getting things moving, and I’ll put the word out on social media we’ll be opening soon.”
“You have a Facebook page?”
“And an Instagram, and Twitter, and even Snapchat. It’s what all the hip grandpas who never really grew up do.”
That made me laugh and laugh. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Then you, Mr. Donald P. Ledbetter, have a deal.”
Now he laughed, a deep rumble from way down in his belly. “Now that we’ve handled that, where are you on this investigation thing? Any more leads?”
“Yeah, Trixie. Where are you on this investigation thing?”
I looked upward at the tall, looming figure standing over me.
Looks like somebody made bail.
Chapter 13
“They call Portland the City of Roses. A thorn disguised in a deceptively pretty package, if you ask me. Wander the rain-soaked streets and you’ll find a hundred stories just like the one I’m about to tell you. A story of betrayal and greed mingled with the scent of desperation, and thick with despair—”
“Trixie?”
I turned to look at Higgs from the passenger side of his very nice car, an older BMW, I think he said—a classic, according to him. One he’s had for fifteen years.
I unrolled the piece of sketch pad paper I’d been using as my microphone. “Yes, Higgs.”
He peered at me, his eyes narrowed but amused. “What are you doing over there?”
I rolled my eyes. “A voiceover, silly. You know, like Kolchak on The Night Stalker? All good detective shows from the ’70s had them.”
He pursed his lips. “Kolchak?”
I gasped, outraged he didn’t know who I was talking about. “You don’t know Kolchak? I watched every episode on YouTube. As a former police officer, I’d think you’d know who he is. A brilliant, if not unconventional detective.”
He shrugged, looking back into the binoculars he’d brought to watch the homeless under the Hawthorne in order to locate Gilligan, our only true lead in this mess so far aside from Solomon.
“I guess I was more an NYPD Blue kind of kid.”
He kept looking through the binoculars without missing a beat. I think he was still a little perturbed with us for sticking our noses in where they didn’t belong—or at least he said something to that effect, sugar-coated with the fact that we could get hurt if we weren’t careful.
Really what he meant was, stay out of it. But I was in too deep—I was in for Coop. So here we were, on an official not-so-official stakeout, looking for Solomon or Gilligan.
I rearranged myself in my seat, enjoying the comfort of the cushiony passenger side and the excitement of a stakeout. “Oh, I didn’t watch it as a kid. That was long before my time. How old do you think I am, anyway?”
“Thirty?” he answered, his hard jaw nothing more than a sharply angled shadow in the dark car.
“Close enough. Thirty-two. How old are you?”
“Thirty-six.”
“And how long did you do undercover work with the gang?”
His hands tightened on the binoculars, enough that I saw the veins in them pop out, but his answer was easy. “Long enough.”
I wondered his reasoning behind keeping the tic-tac-toe tattoo. Jay had said it was forced on him. Why would you want to keep something like that? Something symbolic of the pain you’d suffered.
So I asked, “And the tattoo? Why didn’t you have it removed, Higgs? You have a bunch. It could very easily be blended into one of your other tats.”
His jaw went hard. “Because it meant something to me. It was a reminder of what happened that night.”
I wanted to delve deeper, but his body language said Do Not Pass Go.
So I sighed, tucking a leg beneath me. “Listen, I came here to help you find this Gilligan guy. I’m not asking questions to pry. I’m only making conversation. If I wanted to know any other way, I’d just google you.”
He scoffed. “You wouldn’t have much luck. The Minneapolis PD removed all traces of me and my work with them when I left the force after the bust.”
His words were quick and efficient, but underneath them, darkness lurked in his tone. Sorrow over Diego Santino’s death, I’d wager. And it confirmed why he wasn’t mentioned in any of the articles I read.
“But you kept your real name?” That was either brave or crazy. I’m not sure which.
“They wanted me to change it. I didn’t want to change it. I’m not hiding. No way was I going to lose the last bit I have left of my family by changing my name for WITSEC.”
Oooo. More acronyms. “WITSEC?”
“Witness protection. I knew I was taking a chance someone would come after me because of my undercover work, but they’d taken enough of my life. Not a chance I was going to give them everything else.”
Okay. I guess the word brave fit his scenario. “You don’t have any family?”
“Both of my parents are gone. Cancer and a massive heart attack. No siblings. Just me. Which is why keeping my last name means so much. I was really close to my father. I want his name to live on.”
My heart ached. I knew that kind of loss. I missed my mom and dad every day. “I’m so sorry. Mine are gone, too.” Tucking my chin under my hand, I tried to find a way to relate to someone who didn’t appear to want to relate to me at all. “So here we are, two parentless, sibling-less people, trying to solve a murder you were wrongly accused of. What’s next?”
Higgs set the binoculars on the dashboard and turned to look at me, a half smile on his face. “You seem pretty certain I didn’t kill Fergus, but I distinctly remember a woman who called me a murderer a mere two days ago.”
Was it only two days? It felt like a lifetime. Yet, how was I going to explain Coop’s gut to him? I’d sound nuttier than a can of macadamias. Or the fact that she wanted to help him because she’d been where he was before. Definitely something he could find out on his own, but if he knew Coop, the demon Coop, he’d understand how important this was to her, and by proxy, to me.
“Things can change…” I mumbled vaguely.
Now he chuckled, stretching his arms, the muscles flexing. “Obviously. So tell me again what you think you’ve found?”
Said the ex-undercover cop to the detective-show-binge-watching ex-nun. I squirmed a little in my seat. “Well, like I told you, it might not be a lot, but I think someone from one of the two gangs, either Young Money or the Blood Squad, killed Fergus and framed you.”
He nodded his dark head slowly, the light from the fire in a barrel off in the distance dancing in his eyes. “And you think that why, Sister Trixie?”
I’d already explained this twice, for Pete’s sake. But what was one more time? “Because of that dang mark on Fergus’s neck. It’s just like your tattoo from Young Money. You already know that, I’m sure, Higgs. Your lawyer probably already told you all this. But I’ve known about it since day one because Fergus was found in my store. I saw everything. Well, except the hair or whatever. I didn’t see a strand of hair. Er…and the voice mail…”
I didn’t tell him I’d taken pictures of Fergus’s body, or that we’d scoured them endlessly for clues, and if I’d seen his tattoo before Coop had had all these gut instincts, there’s no way I’d have stored my things at the shelter. I’d have gone directly to Tansy Primrose and reported it.
&n
bsp; “They have some pretty compelling evidence against me, Trixie.”
“Whose side are you on, Higgs?”
“I’m just stating a fact. That I managed to get bail is a miracle.”
And after the story he told us about how hard his lawyer, Mr. Pensky, had fought for him, and the exorbitant amount of money to do it, I couldn’t agree more. He was lucky in that he was an ex-cop and had no criminal record, but that would only go so far.
“Did jail suck?”
“Does sleeping with thirty other inmates who don’t have any problem with nudity and gen-pop potty time sound like a party?”
I winced and jammed my knuckle in my mouth. There was nothing tactful about me today. “Okay, so it sucked. I’m sorry. But you’re out now, and that means we can look for the killer together.”
“No, Trixie. It means you’re going to identify this Gilligan guy from a safe distance and go home to your safe motel room—”
“Guesthouse. We’re renting Knuckles’s guesthouse, and it’s gorgeous,” I replied on a sigh.
After Higgs had shown up and we’d parted ways while he handled some things, and our windshield was fixed, we’d followed Knuckles to his house and he’d shown us our new home.
I cried, it was so beautiful. I’d have my own room, a room I still can’t quite define in words, it’s so amazing. I’d have my own bathroom and even a small patio off my bedroom. It was paradise, and Coop was there right now, unloading the boxes of inventory we’d gathered from Higgs. And I was grateful. Gosh, was I ever.
“Guesthouse, cabana, townhouse, whatever you want to call it, you’re not looking for anything with me, Trixie. This isn’t one of your detective shows. This is my life. This right here,” he spread his arm in an arc to encompass the car, “is as far as it goes.”
I made a duck’s bill with my fingers and stuck them under his nose. “Quack, quack, quack. I can’t hear you.”
He chuckled, despite his obvious irritation. “Don’t sass me, Trixie, and get that twinkle right out of your eyes. You’re not getting involved. I only agreed to let you come with me tonight because you’re the one who got the best look at this guy and Solomon seems to like you. This is dangerous, and on top of worrying about whether I’m going to be able to prove my innocence, I don’t want to have to look out for your welfare, too.”
Then There Were Nun Page 17