Malicious Mischief (A Rylie Keyes Mystery) (Entangled Select)

by Harden, Marianne

  Moments later, Engine #16 pulled out of the stall, blasted its siren twice to clear the protestors, and turned left onto Northeast 8th Street toward Lake Sammamish. Curtis Hobbs was again at shotgun, leaning forward and looking at me as they passed. I took out my phone and called him again, getting his voicemail for a second time. I was upset enough to demand he tell me about the Bintliff note immediately. I didn’t, of course. Maybe my voice was a little strained as I asked him to return my call when convenient. He was just busy, just putting out fires and buying extra crispy chicken. Then my cell phone rang again. It was Tita.

  “We just heard about Booth,” I said. “Are you at the Desmonts’?”

  “You mean the madhouse. Si,” she said. “I’m actually at the top of your driveway. The coroner is here. You should stay away. Lipschitz is also here, he’s said your name three times.”

  “Who’s he talking to?”

  “Right now he’s with Leland,” she said.

  “Why do they suspect him?”

  “He and Booth were arguing, but I have no idea about what. All I know is Booth was eating when Leland arrived and immediately asked to see him privately. They walked into the Desmonts’ garage. But Leland never touched him. Booth just grabbed his heart and keeled over.”

  “What, are you blind?” A woman’s muffled voice said through the line. “I saw Leland poke Booth in the chest, which begs the question. Did he have something in his hand, a knife or syringe, maybe? Writers wonder about these things.”

  “Is that Lilith?” I asked Tita.

  “Yeah, hold on. Look, Mrs. Desmont, let’s dial back on the loco. Leland said he brushed a seed off Booth’s lapel,” she said. “Rylie, Leland is not doing so bueno. Gilad is with him now.”

  “Gilad’s there?”

  “With that pink-poodle chica. She is so obnoxious. Nazi hunter this, Nazi hunter that. If Booth hadn’t eaten the last muffin, I’d have wacked her with it.”

  Lots of muffins in this deadly adventure. “What kind of muffin?” I asked.

  “Dunno,” she said.

  I had an idea.

  “Elsa,” Tita said away from the phone. “Don’t just stand there watching Gilad. Get in the van.”

  “Elsa is there, too?” I asked.

  “She came by taxi, said she wanted to help, but helping she is not. I found her looking for something under your house.”

  “Bats.” I remembered what Elsa had said about Gilad leaving the bonfire. “She was looking for a bat’s nest.”

  Tita blew out a breath. “Why would she care about that? Elsa, were you looking for a bat’s nest? Huh? She just told me to take a hike,” Tita said with a half irritated, half impressed titter. “I must be losing my touch.”

  “Tita, I need you to think,” I said “Do you remember what other senior or staff left the bonfire last night? Beside Booth and Gilad.”

  “Leland—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “Anyone else?”

  Brief silence. “Jane Gettelfinger, I think. Hey, Elsa, was Jane at the bonfire last night? Huh? Elsa said yes and flipped me off. Rylie, are you sure I don’t come off as soft?”

  “No, I’m serious. You really do scare the hell out of me. Okay, I gotta go—”

  “Wait—Lipschitz has given me the go ahead to leave. But I have a van full of excellent Tita Iglesias cuisine, and with the power now off at FoY, I have nowhere to store it. And the seniors are hungry, you know.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said.

  “No!” she said. “Ivy is bringing the seniors in the rental. We’ll feed them at the park.”

  “How do you know I’m at Crossroads Park?”

  “Talon told me,” she said and hung up.

  I figured Talon had tracked me via GPS, but I wanted to hear from him why, so I called, but got his voicemail. “A wee bird told me you’re tracking my phone.” I disconnected.

  My curiosity over this came and went as I thought about Leland. I refused to believe he had anything to do with Booth’s death. I decided a muffin similar to the poppy-seed variety found in both the Oleys’ van and in the mouth of their deceased son was the guilty party. When I mentioned my hypothesis to Solo, he agreed, yet we were both lost for a perpetrator or motive. Nevertheless, I thought the information warranted further exploration, so I dialed Alistair.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  For better reception, I handed Solo the dachshund and climbed from the Pinto. “Well—”

  “Rylie, like our forty-third president I don’t like bad news, so break it to me quickly.”

  “Okay, but it flies in the face of those health food ads. Muffins aren’t so wholesome today.”

  “Muffins? How so?”

  “We’ve had another deadly sighting.”

  “No kidding?”

  I scanned the darkening sky as mist fell around me. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Hawthorne said you quit Girl Scouts.”

  I rolled my eyes and told him about Booth.

  He sighed. “I can’t go into too much detail, but it was muffins that killed the Oley’s. They were poisoned.”

  My mouth fell open. “Was Cokey Bill poisoned, too?”

  “Looks that way,” he said. “Now get out of the rain.”

  “How do you know I’m in the rain?”

  “Rylie, its Western Washington. Everyone is in the rain.” He disconnected.

  The news of the poisoning hadn’t surprised Solo. In truth, it hadn’t surprised me either. But what to make of it I had no idea—yet. But I’d find out.

  “Gilad showing up early for tonight’s party bothers me,” Solo said. “Didn’t you say he wasn’t planning on making it at all?”

  “Yep, and he brought his new girlfriend. I’m sure to flaunt her to Elsa.” The rat.

  “I guess Booth dying clears him of Otto’s murder, which leaves only Leland,” Solo said.

  “Not necessarily,” I argued. “Jane Gettelfinger also left the bonfire.”

  “Ahhh.” He did a seated happy dance. “Thank you, blessed mandala.”

  At the sudden activity, the sleeping dachshund woke up. She—for closer inspection had revealed she was indeed a she—vigorously wagged her tiny tail. Yet truthfully, she looked bedraggled, as though she had been living on the streets: ribs showing, dull coat, stinky smell.

  “Come on, lil’ girl,” Solo said. “Time for a potty break.”

  We climbed from the Pinto and headed for the grass.

  “Don’t run away.” He put her down. “Baxter, that’s what I’m calling her.”

  “A boy’s name?”

  He shrugged. “I have a girl’s name and it hasn’t hurt me any.” He referred to how his mother had desperately wanted a girl by the time he came along, so she named him as one. “Baxter was sure something else with Ma Hye, wasn’t she?”

  I nodded, wondering what motive Jane Gettelfinger would have to murder Otto.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll clear Leland,” he said, misinterpreting my silence.

  “First we need to find a motive for Jane. You know she was intimate with Otto.”

  “Plaeezzze, I just ate pie.” He looked over my shoulder. “Do you think that’s Happy Hye’s?”

  I turned to see an elaborate motor coach parked in the corner of the lot, red tassels hanging from an awning, several frilly fans around the side door, a flag hanging over the windshield. “Is that the Korean flag?”

  “Think so,” he said.

  Something Queenie had said surfaced in my mind. “Do you think Leland is Booth’s cash cow? I mean, it sounds like Booth. Set up a guy with a prostitute, and then blackmail him. Leland sounded angry when Queenie mentioned it.”

  “Wouldn’t Booth know Leland was broke?”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “Did you?”

  “Nope,” he said. “But Jane’s loaded. She’d make a good cash cow.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Best cash cow ever. Maybe Booth saw her kill Otto and planned to blackmail her.”

 
; The dachshund ran after some crows poking in a trashcan under a nearby covered shelter. We followed, doing high fives at this promising new development. The shelter was a recent city addition, so it was a minute before I noticed the intricate mosaic on the floor. It was a map of the world with gold stars inlaid to represent Bellevue’s sister cities: Hualien, Taiwan, Kladno, Czech Republic, Liepaja, Latvia, and Yao, Japan.

  “Solo.” I stared down at it in shock. “There is no sister city in Scotland. There isn’t one in the entire country, nothing nearby, either. The entire UK is blank.”

  He bent. “Let’s have a look. Uh-oh,” he said, after a moment.

  “Talon isn’t who he says he is. There, I’ve said it.” I sighed. “Omigod, I knew something was wrong. Who the hell is this man?”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It could be an oversight.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I am so done with men.”

  “Plaeezzze, you haven’t even gotten started yet.”

  “Stop it.” I was swamped by the sudden urge to cry, kick something, or do both. I was overreacting, of course. I barely knew Talon. But he had lied, damn it, right to my face.

  “But—”

  “I’m sorry, Solo. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

  Behind me came the sound of crows clashing. I turned to see a slew of them attacking the trashcan. The dachshund dashed toward them, but when they took flight into the parking lot, the dog followed, stumbling once on her three legs before she ran into the path of an oncoming car.

  I wheeled after her.

  Solo was at my heels. But as where I stopped at the curb to call her back, he kept going, jumping into the path of the approaching car, forcing the driver to come to a squealing stop, its bumper inches from his legs.

  The dachshund yapped at his feet, oblivious.

  I rushed to get her, but she bolted. I was too busy chasing her around the car to notice anything else, but once I finally had her, I turned right into the driver as he climbed from his car.

  “Oh.” I hardly recognized Paul Desmont without his sunglasses. “Sorry we made you stop so suddenly.”

  Kindly Paul Desmont’s lips were oddly pursed. “I could have killed you, Solo. And what about my car?” He rushed to check the older Volkswagen Beetle’s hood. “These classics are expensive to fix. Hope you didn’t ding it.”

  I thought Paul was overreacting. Solo clearly had not dented his car, yet Paul was opening and closing the hood as if a dent would miraculously appear.

  “You understand how much it costs to work on these older cars,” Paul said as a bright beam of sunlight speared through the twisty clouds. “A king’s ransom.”

  “I never touched it,” Solo said. “Sweet ride, though. Are you giving the Ferrari a day off?”

  “Sold it. I’m in the market for something else.” He tapped a tissue to his sun sensitive eyes. “I seem to have left my sunglasses at—” He looked around. “At—”

  “The golf course,” Solo said helpfully. “Did you just play a round?”

  “Yes—yes, I did. I must have left them in the clubhouse.”

  I found it surprising that Paul Desmont golfed at a public course, as Lilith often claimed he played only the finest courses. “You played here at Crossroads?” I asked.

  His uneasy look lasted only a second, but I saw it. “It’s a wonderful par three,” he said, his eyes following mine as they traveled from the empty trunk to the empty backseat.

  “No golf clubs today?” I said, recalling the empty racks in his garage.

  “I’m renting, while I look into better equipment,” he said. “I sold my collection as I’m sure you noticed this morning.”

  I nodded. “I also noticed Lilith’s hands were bruised. She should wear punching gloves.”

  “She’s thin-skinned about her books. Try as I might, I cannot convince her to ignore the critics. Gloves would be good, though. Luckily, she gets liquid codeine from Canada for the pain. She keeps several bottles on hand. Which reminds me, Mackenzie just called. Terrible news about your co-worker. Heart attack?”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, I’m sorry for your loss. And before I leave, I want to apologize for last night. Lilith tells me I was a little drunk.”

  “You were fine,” I said honestly.

  He smiled sweetly and climbed in behind the wheel. “At least I slept like the dead. I can’t even remember my head hitting the pillow.”

  I tried to look as though I did not find this revelation interesting. “You missed a nice bonfire,” I said.

  “No argument there, but at least we snagged two of your wonderful s’mores before Lilith insisted we leave.” He put the key in the ignition.

  “That’s right,” I said. “She planned to write last night.”

  “I wish,” he said. “It’s not like I hound her word count, but I am watchful. Lilith has not written in weeks. I checked just this morning.” He gripped the steering wheel in a move that seemed more frustrated than concerned. “Rylie, do you think you could talk to her?”

  I stared into his watery eyes, an intense green identical to mine, and was utterly humbled by his faith that I could give anyone career advice. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll do what I can.”

  He pulled closed the car door, met my gaze through the open window. “It runs in your family, kindness. You, your grandfather. I’m happy to know you, Rylie Tabitha Keyes.”

  It wasn’t the matching eye color so much as the paternal look in his gaze that had me sucking in a deep breath. “Did you know my mother?” I said, mortified by my own boldness and gnawing on my bottom lip. “I mean, I know you didn’t live next door in the ‘80’s, but you were just down the lake in Redmond.”

  He kept his vibrant eyes on mine. “No, I’m sorry. I never had the pleasure to meet her.”

  I felt even more embarrassed. He looked at me as if I were the hatchling in that famous book for children, but instead of mother, I was asking everyone, “Are you my father?”

  It wasn’t until Solo stepped closer that his eyes left mine. “No hard feelings,” Solo said to Paul. “We just didn’t want you to hit the dog.”

  All eyes but mine shifted to the sleeping dachshund in my arms. My gaze was fixed on the employment application for Crossroads Golf Course on the Beetle’s passenger seat.

  Paul noticed my interest. “I guess I’m hardwired to believe Mackenzie will always be looking for work. I pick up applications everywhere I go.”

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  “More necessary than nice. I love my daughter. I would do anything for her.”

  I waved as he drove off. No matter how much I wanted to believe the farfetched notion of him as my father, I couldn’t get beyond the reasoning voice in my head. If Paul had had another child, even a bastard baby like me, he would never have abandoned it. “My loss,” I said as the Beetle disappeared around the corner.

  “I have a bad feeling,” Solo said at my side.

  I blinked back silly tears. “About the Desmonts’ being broke.”

  “Roger, that,” he said, nodding.

  “And by the way Lilith throws around money, she doesn’t know,” I said. “And more to the point, with Paul asleep, perhaps even drugged—”

  “Hang on,” he said. “Drugged by who, by what?”

  “By Lilith with codeine,” I said. “Think about it. Paul was her alibi. With him asleep, she has none. And with their money issues a secret, Booth might have considered her a cash cow.”

  “Not just Lilith,” Solo said, “but Mackenzie, too.”

  “And Paul.” Though I found it unlikely. “We’ve got only his word that he fell asleep.”

  “But what reason would any of them have to kill Otto?” he asked.

  “I dunno,” Solo said, watching Tita drive the rented van into the parking lot. “But I always think better after food. Let’s eat.”

  With Baxter happily trotting at our heels, we unloaded the food from the van to the picnic area. Once we finished, I aske
d Tita why the police had allowed any of it to leave the crime scene.

  “I never made it down your driveway. Some tow-truck stalled in front of your house, blocking the whole driveway as it tried to tow away Mrs. Desmont’s Mercedes. Repossessed,” she whispered with a hand to her mouth, but added when I didn’t act surprised, “You knew?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “But I suspected that they had money problems.”

  “Please tell me Mrs. Desmont’s check isn’t going to bounce?”

  I shrugged, told her I hoped not. “Where did Booth get the muffin?”

  She paused, balancing a box of iced-packed chicken on her hip. “I dunno, maybe Lilith Desmont. I went in search of a dolly in their garage to carry the food downhill. I saw a Starbucks bag on the hood of her car, and beside it was the muffin.”

  “You never saw Booth eat it?”

  She thought a minute, then shook her head. “I guess I just assumed since a little later it was gone, but he was nearby chewing. So you think the muffin had something to do with his death? Like he was poisoned?”

  “Let me break this down,” I said and explained the multiple muffin sightings.

  “You know, when I was with my gang, we laughed about poison being a chica’s murder weapon of choice. Whoa. Chill. When your face goes pale like that, your freckles are super scary,” she said and strode away to serve the chicken.

  I stared ahead, thinking how Mackenzie had worked up until today at Starbucks. Problem was, though nasty enough to poison someone, I couldn’t see a reason why she would be involved.

  Tita stepped back. “Look on the bright side,” she said. “That Lipschitz guy might have it out for you, but Talon is on your side. I heard him say he liked your freckles.”

  “No one likes freckles,” I said, absently serving sliced fruit to the seniors.

  The rain had ushered away most of the earlier park-goers. Yet those who defied the wet were wandering the walkways or huddled under the covered cabanas, watching their children play, and gathered in conversation.

  A few minutes later, Gilad and Sunny drove up and climbed out of a black Jaguar. They strode toward the group. Gilad greeted everyone with a lazy wave before helping himself to food. He made a point of warning Sunny about the high fat content in Tita’s fried chicken, but promised her they would burn off the calories later. Sunny’s high-pitched titter earned Gilad a piercing glare from Elsa.