by Hannah Reed
Patti thought that we finally had a break in the case after finding out that her very own water bottle was at the scene of the crime. She’d seemed excited but I just couldn’t see the upside. Was she a viable murder suspect? What if she’d lied about the reason for her divorce? What if Nova had actually stolen Harry from Patti, and wife number one had retaliated?
Holly hadn’t killed anyone. That was totally out of the question. But how well did I really know my sister’s husband? Not enough to rule Max out, but I had to trust Holly’s choice. If nothing else, she was discerning when it came to men.
On the way back to The Wild Clover, I called my sister. She picked up on the first ring. “They’re leaving!” she said, all excited. “Our houseguests have been cleared to go A.W.A.Y. Only they couldn’t get a flight out until tomorrow. The limo is picking them up in the morning at 9:00 a.m.”
“Wonderful,” I said sarcastically. Even if they were innocent of murder, I hated unleashing Camilla and Gil before we had a killer in jail. Letting go was hard to do.
“When was the last time Patti was over at your house?” I asked, wanting to shout out about Holly’s truck and who was driving it, but needing to ask a few questions first. Once I informed her of the truck’s status, she’d be in no shape to answer anything.
“When she was here with you, for dinner.” Oh right, Holly didn’t know about Patti’s sneaking in the other day. Which was just as well.
“I meant before that?”
Holly paused again on the other end. “A week or so ago,” she finally said.
I thought back. When had the water bottle been delivered? Around then, I was pretty sure.
“Did she have a water bottle with her?”
“I don’t remember? Why?”
“That was her water bottle in Nova’s room. The one with poison in it.”
Holly squealed. “OMG!” she said. “How did it get there?”
“That’s what I want to know! And there’s more. Your truck just went down Main Street.”
“So?”
“So, Patti’s ex-husband, Harry Bruno, the mobster from Chicago, was driving it.”
Holly screeched.
“You need to report it stolen.”
“I better check with Chance first. There has to be an explanation. Are you sure? You’ve been wrong about things before.”
“I’m absolutely, positively, 100 percent sure.”
“Okay, then, I’ll do something right now . . .” Holly sounded rattled.
“Let me know what happens with your truck the minute you hear.”
“I will.”
“And don’t let Patti find out Harry has it,” I told her. “Or you can kiss your truck good-bye.”
While I waited for Holly to report back on the whereabouts of her truck, I called Jackson Davis to check on the results of his testing on the gloves I’d delivered. I’d forgotten to ask him how long before we’d have those results—an hour, a day, longer? Jackson’s answering machine kicked in, so I left a message for him to call me as soon as he had something.
Then I made an attempt to locate Hunter to update him on the whereabouts of Harry Bruno and other developing news, but he was in K-9 training today, shaping up canine partners for more crime busting, so I didn’t expect him to pick up. Later, if he gave me grief, I could always say I tried to include him but he hadn’t been available.
I surprised myself by the enormous relief I felt when he didn’t answer his phone. The last thing I needed was a lecture from him about how I should mind my own business and cooperate with the local authorities and blah, blah, blah. I love the man, but sometimes . . .
Next Grams called.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said. “I’m calling about that mobster in town?”
“So you know.”
“I’d have to be in my coffin not to. Is that girl safe?”
By now Patti might be in custody, so I said, “You don’t have to worry about her.”
“Such a sweet person to get mixed up with a character like that. He must have good qualities along with the bad or she never would have given him a second look.” Grams, even with all that age and experience, still believes everybody is basically good. Even the rats.
“What are the seniors saying about the murder?” I wanted to know. Grams is like the queen bee of the senior citizen crowd. While most of my customers blab about anything and everything they hear, the older set tend to watch and listen, and then instinctively wade through the BS and come away with more of the actual truth than the rest of us.
“They all agree that you are like a trouble magnet.”
“Besides that.”
“We’re sticking up for our own and going with an outsider did it.” Which was the usual stance in our town. If a local is involved in any sort of crime, we analyze him up, down, and sideways and come up with a unified plausible temporary insanity reason why it could have happened to this particular person on our watch.
“The only suspicious outsiders have been released,” I told her. “They’re leaving tomorrow.”
“They aren’t the only outsiders hanging around, you know. Mabel down the road spotted you-know-who driving your sister’s truck.”
“Harry Bruno? I saw that, too, but I was on foot and couldn’t tail him.”
“Don’t worry. Mabel flipped around and went after him.”
“Good for her.” Mabel was one of Grams’s oldest and dearest friends, a real pistol just like my grandmother. “But isn’t she legally blind? What’s she doing driving?”
“Oh that old rumor! She has perfect vision. She picked out the mobster, didn’t she?”
“Where did he go?”
“Had the nerve to drive right up your sister’s driveway. Mabel is there right now,” Grams said. “We sicced the cops on him in case he’s up to no good. I’m driving over, too, and making sure my granddaughter is all right.”
“I’m not positive he’s committed a crime, though. We don’t have proof that he took the truck without permission from Holly’s hired help. Otherwise, wouldn’t he be in hiding someplace other than Holly’s house?”
“Some crooks return to the scene of the crime. I saw that on television.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I said, hanging up and racing out the back door.
The first thing I saw when I pulled into Holly’s driveway was Mabel’s car’s rear end. The front end of it had crumpled directly into a mature maple tree. The airbag had deployed. I stopped and ran up to the car. No one was inside.
I drove a little farther and parked next to Johnny Jay’s squad car, which had the lights flashing but at least he wasn’t polluting the air with noise from the siren. I didn’t hear any sirens in the distance, either. A good sign that Grams’s friend Mabel wasn’t seriously hurt.
Patti was in the backseat of Johnny’s squad car, pounding on the window to get my attention. Which was momentarily diverted by Grams’s Fleetwood crawling toward me up the driveway. She missed my truck by less than a hair and had to scoot over to the passenger side to get out, that’s how close she parked.
Patti was shouting from the inside, “Open the door. Let me out!”
Grams said, “Where is Mabel? Is she okay? What happened to her car?”
“I told you she was blind.”
My grandmother’s head swung to the noise blasting from Johnny’s backseat. “What is that nice young woman doing inside a police car?”
“I’m not sure,” I fudged.
“Let me out!” Patti yelled.
“We better not,” I told Grams. “She might be dangerous.”
“She looks a bit agitated,” Grams agreed.
Ignoring Patti was a hard thing to do, but we left her where she was and headed for the backside of the house, since nobody ever uses the formal front door. Sure enough, a group had assembled on the grass. I pushed through and there was my sister, practicing one of her wrestling moves on Harry Bruno. I noted Max, Camilla, and Gil all staring bug-eyed at the two on the grou
nd. Effie held back from the group. I looked around but didn’t see Chance.
Holly is a perfect example of “Eye of the Tiger,” which is what she used to chant to herself during high school wrestling events. According to her, everybody has what it takes to win as long as they believe in themselves and stay ultra-focused on the task at hand. That’s where “Eye of the Tiger” comes in. When one of those big cats is on the hunt, it has eyes only for its prey.
Holly liked to take the offensive with her game face in place, and if she hadn’t met and married Max Paine, she would have made a great professional wrestler. Although Mom would have put the kibosh on that fast enough.
Anyway, right this minute, she had Harry in some kind of paralyzing chokehold.
“Let him up,” Johnny Jay ordered her.
“Let me go,” Harry said as best he could with Holly’s arm pressing down across his throat. He was pinned but good.
“You stole my truck,” Holly said.
“Let him up,” the police chief said again. “I can’t book him on the ground.”
Grams said proudly, “That’s my granddaughter. She’s a spitfire!”
“Let him go, beautiful,” Max said, clearly bewildered by his wife’s prowess.
Holly kept the pressure on, ignoring the calls to release Harry.
“Handcuffs,” I suggested. “Restrain him first, then Holly will let go.”
The chief was flustered, or he never would have done what I suggested. But he did, and soon he had Harry on his feet. Over at the patio table, Mabel had an ice pack on her knee. “Lock him up and throw away the key,” she yelled. “He deserves life!”
“What happened?” Grams asked Mabel.
“Something zipped right in front of my car. I had to do an evasive maneuver, or I would have hit it.”
“So you slammed into the tree instead?” I said, checking out her wound and finding no gushing blood or protruding bones at weird angles. “You should be checked out by a doctor.”
“Cheap airbag,” Mabel complained.
“I’ll drive her to the hospital,” Grams offered, and off they went. The blind leading the blind.
So pretty much everybody was accounted for. Max, Camilla, and Gil on one side of what had recently been Holly’s grassy mat. Me, Harry, and Johnny Jay on the other. “Somebody should have brought Patti over,” I said. “She’d have loved to see this.”
“Dwyre is in police custody. She stays where she is,” Johnny said to me.
“Where did you find her?” I asked him, hoping he hadn’t hauled her out of my house. Although if he had, he would have instantly arrested me, too, on some trumped up charge like harboring a fugitive.
“Coming out of her house.” Then to Holly, he said, “Did this guy steal your truck?”
Holly nodded. “I want him charged.”
I glanced over at Effie, who remained silent.
“What’s with this town?” Harry said. “It’s like walking into Dodge without a weapon!”
Johnny Jay marched Harry over to his squad car with the rest of us tagging along. Patti’s face came into view, plastered against the window, wide-eyed when she spotted Harry.
Harry’s head swung toward the window. “Patti!” he said, spotting Patti before she had a chance to duck out of sight. Then to Johnny, “What did she do?”
Johnny Jay gave him one of his more popular answers. “Just shut up,” he said.
“Do I get to sit in back with her?”
Johnny Jay squinted at Harry and read his mind. Actually all of us could read his expression of love and affection. Either Harry was a magnificent theatrical performer or he really had feelings for Patti, however Neanderthal they might be. Maybe he just had trouble displaying them like a normal person. Johnny Jay made a call to headquarters and requested another transport. “Does that answer your question?” he said to Harry.
But Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Patti. “Maybe you can book us together,” he suggested to the chief.
After that, he glanced toward Effie. I caught a meaningful look passing between them, then a quick shake of the head from Harry.
Soon after, Johnny Jay was gone with his two trophy fish.
Thirty-four
So I had that connection I thought I needed, one between Effie and Harry, which was a total surprise. He’d been the one in the passenger’s seat when she was driving, I was sure of it. How did Effie know him? How did the pieces fit together? And where had Chance disappeared to?
Hunter called while I was on my way back to the store. “What’s for dinner?” he wanted to know.
“One guess,” I said.
“You?” Ever hopeful, that’s my man.
“Guess again.”
“Okay then, next guess: whatever I bring home?”
That’s the beauty of a man who’s used to being on his own. He’s had to take care of himself, and doesn’t expect all of that from his lady. “Correct answer,” I told him. “You win the prize.”
“And the prize is . . . you?”
“Right again. Just let me check in at the store then I’ll meet you at home. I have all kinds of things to tell you.”
At The Wild Clover, Mom was ruling the roost, perched behind the cash register in front of a long line of customers, talking with Stanley. Or rather, bossing him around. When he spotted me, he broke free and pulled me to the back of the store.
“What about the customers?” I said. “Mom needs help.”
“I have a complaint,” Stanley said to me in a low voice. “Your mother is a nice person and all . . .”
Did I hear a “but” coming?
“. . . but I can’t work with her. She’s like some kind of dictator, watching me every second, and if I stop to take a breather, she’s all over me about wasting money. You have to change the schedule around!”
“That’s Carrie Ann’s job,” I told him. “Talk to her. Right now, you have to help at the checkout. You’re needed.”
“I’ve already discussed it with Carrie Ann. She said I’m low man on the totem pole and nobody else will work with Helen, either, so I’m stuck.”
“Where is Carrie Ann?”
“She took off as soon as your mother showed up.”
“Where are Brent and Trent?” I glanced at the time. Five-ish. Between four and seven o’clock The Wild Clover was one of the town’s hottest spots, with residents’ attentions turning to that age-old question, the same one Hunter had asked: “What’s for dinner?”
Tonight was no exception.
“The twins have classes, same night every week, remember?” Stanley said. “Originally I offered to help out here as a favor to you, but I’m telling you, I might lose control and shoot your mom.”
Just then Mom yelled out, “Where’s my bagger? Stop lollygagging and get over here!”
Stanley’s head swung to the front, then back at me, and his eyes went wild. “I quit,” he said. “Right this minute. I’m done. Welcome to the wonderful world of bagging for your mother.”
And he stomped out the door, leaving me holding . . . well . . . the bag.
As soon as we had a lull, I called Hunter and told him my plans had changed, that I would be closing up the store tonight, and he was on his own until eight o’clock.
Usually when my mother appears on the scene, I take off for the back room or out the door to work in my beeyard. Speaking of honeybees and the queen in particular, each hive has only one queen. And that’s for a very good reason. Because if more than one hatches out, they instinctively fight to the death. There can be only one queen bee.
Instead of escaping, I had to endure “Story this” and “Story that” and “when are you going to listen to my advice on placement.” When business really wound down, Mom had time to take potshots at the rest of the staff. Carrie Ann didn’t handle a particular situation quite right. The twins used their phones to surf online nonstop, and Stanley Peck was a slacker. . . then back to me . . . and those sexual appliances on my desk in full view of our custom
ers! What was I thinking?
By seven, I was ready to call Stanley and borrow his gun.
But I made it through that last hour with only a slight, but steady twitch above my left eye. I hoped it wasn’t permanent.
“Are you and Tom getting along?” I asked out on the sidewalk after we locked up.
“Why would you think we aren’t?”
I could have said because my mother was reverting back to the lemon-sucking, snake-tongued, head-swirling control freak from my past, the one who disappeared in a puff of smoke when she started dating Tom. Instead I said, “Well, is everything okay?”
“We have some things to work through,” she said stiffly.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Can I help?”
“No.”
Okay then. But they better work things out pronto so my new mother can return.
Before I walked home, I called the limo company that Max always used for airport runs. I pretended to be Max’s secretary and cancelled tomorrow’s trip to the airport. With so many loose ends, I just couldn’t let Camilla and Gil get away. Besides, really, what was another day or two in the scheme of things?
Hunter and Ben were waiting for me on the front porch. I was starving but Hunter had prepared for that with sub sandwiches. We dug in. Between bites, I related the latest happenings—meeting Harry at Stu’s, his unwise decision to flaunt his presence at Holly’s house, Johnny Jay arresting both Harry and Patti. I left out only one irrelevant item regarding my own involvement in Patti’s roundup.
When I was through, Hunter gazed into my eyes, making me semi-uncomfortable. “The rest, please.”
“What rest?”
“I can tell you’re holding something back.” Was I becoming that transparent? Maybe. Or maybe Hunter was using his cop instincts on me. So I blurted out the rest—how I had realized that the water bottle belonged to Patti, and how I’d squealed on her. Guilty feelings were starting to eat at my soul.
Hunter made it all better. “You did the right thing,” he said. “You don’t want to be an accessory, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Withholding information in a police investigation would get you in all kinds of trouble. Don’t feel bad. If Patti’s innocent, she’ll be okay.”