“That’s unbelievable,” Charli said to her friend. “But isn’t it easy to tell that the stuff isn’t real?”
“To experts and serious collectors, sure,” Ginger replied. “But most of the dealers who do this sort of thing can tell if a customer is knowledgeable or not. They pawn the stuff off on people who’re new to the game or who don’t do their homework.”
Ginger answered a few more questions for us and walked us to the door after we thanked her for the wonderful lunch.
“It was my pleasure,” she said. “If you have any more questions, just call. I can get you some more in-depth info, too, if you’re interested.”
“That would be great,” I said.
Ginger hugged us each again. “I’ll e-mail Charli a couple of articles I’ve downloaded tomorrow. I’d do it this afternoon, but I’m going to an auction over in Charlottesville tonight and I have to leave in about thirty minutes.”
On the way home Charli and I discussed what Ginger had said. “I’ll bet Sam is one of the people Ginger heard rumors about,” I said. “She had such a look on her face when you asked her about him.”
“I know. Plus, it sure explains all those boxes you saw in his back room.”
I pulled the truck into the garage just as the trouble lights all came on. “Uh oh,” I said. “Looks like the truck isn’t feeling well.”
“Good thing I’m getting the Mercedes back after while.”
That reminded me. “Did I tell you that Tim’s going with me to buy tires for the Mustang tomorrow morning? I decided that I’m going to cash in those bonds Gramma gave me for high school graduation. I’d completely forgotten about them. So I won’t need that loan you offered. At least right now, anyway. Thanks, though.”
“No, hon, don’t cash in your bonds. Gramma wanted you to use the money for college or for when you got married.”
I had a sudden vision of Ricky Ray and Paula Dombroski laying on a sugary white beach in St. Maarten. “Who wants to go to crappy old St. Maarten anyway? Besides, by the time I get married, the bonds will probably be worthless.”
Charli looked at me quizzically. “What does St. Maarten have to do with…Oh, that’s right. Never mind. I guess now that I think about it, you might as well use the money for tires as for anything else.”
Dicey picked me up a few minutes later, drove me to the police station for my interview, which was basically no fun, and then drove me home. Tim had already left for work and Charli didn’t answer her phone, so I sat on the sofa, petting Delbert, and feeling very, very sorry for myself.
At seven, I stuck my empty wallet in my back pocket, and trudged the half-mile down to Pilazzo’s, hoping Dave would take pity on me and let me wait a few tables, or in the event he didn’t need me to do that, at least let me put a sandwich and a root beer on a tab.
As I got closer I heard music. It turned out to be a band playing out on the back patio. They sounded pretty good, playing a cover of Robert Cray’s ‘I Was Warned’, and it certainly explained why the place was so packed on a Monday night, usually the slowest. I slipped through the door and made my way to the bar.
“Hey, Dave,” I said when he finally had a free second. “Great tunes out there. Y’all need any help?”
“Hey, Marty. You must have read my mind. I thought we’d try something new; see if we could pull in a bigger crowd. Didn’t count on it going over this big. These guys really bring a horde. Bette’s about ready to walk out, she’s so overwhelmed. You mind waiting tables?”
I quickly got into the swing of things, delivering pitchers of beer and baskets of food to the overcrowded patio. I’d been at it for about two hours when the band quit playing and there was a lull in the action. Bette told me to take five. I slipped into the kitchen, nabbed a corned beef on rye and a root beer, and went into the office to eat.
I scarfed down my food and headed back out to the bar. Kyle Zagle was sitting at a table in the rear of the front room nursing a beer and a meatball sub and studying some papers. Most of the other patrons were either out on the patio or crammed into the poolroom.
I walked up behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. “Hey, you. How’s it going?”
He looked up and around at me and smiled warily, his body tensing under my fingers. Something clenched at my heart and I thought I was going to fall right through the floor. I jerked my hands away and backed up a couple of steps. Obviously the man hated me. I’d really blown it.
He jammed his papers inside a canvas and leather brief case and snapped it shut. “Hey, yourself. Have a seat.”
I shook my head. “Wish I could, but I’m working. Helping Dave and Bette out since there are so many customers.”
He appeared relieved. I swiped my bar cloth across his table and straightened the salt and pepper shakers, trying to think of something else to say. Nothing came to mind. “Well, I better scoot. Bette’s not had a break yet,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He picked up his brief case and stood up. “Sure. Later.” He plunked down a five and two ones. “Tell Bette thanks for the great service. I’ll see you.”
I watched him walk out the door, wishing I could make him like me again, but knowing that the chances of that happening were slim and none. Oh well, chalk another one up to the Mavens of Misfortune.
The band cranked up for another set and I went back to work, rushing around like a crazed person until my feet were killing me. I stayed at it until about twelve-thirty, thankful that I was too busy to think about Kyle Zagle or murder or much of anything. By the time the place started clearing out I felt like I’d been run over by a freight train. Not that I’m complaining or anything. After all, I racked up sixty-eight dollars in tips, not too shabby for six hours work. Bette and I helped Dave clean up and then she gave me a lift home.
Tim was sitting on the steps of my building when we pulled up. “Hey. Where you been?”
“Pilazzo’s.” I waved my tip money. “Dave had an awesome new blues band playing. The place was hopping so I waited tables. What are you up to?”
“Nothing. Just checking to see if you’d managed to get yourself into any more trouble.”
I grinned at him and gave him a chin chuck. “Nope. Not yet, anyway. Of course, the night’s still young, so you never know.”
Tim didn’t seem to think it was funny. He followed me up to my apartment, yapping that he sure hoped I was kidding because he was dog-tired and wasn’t about to bail me out, not tonight, that’s for dad gummed sure. When I opened the door, I heard what sounded like running water coming from the kitchen. Surely I hadn’t left the tap on, had I?
I dashed through the living room and as soon as my feet hit the beige linoleum, I went down with a thud, dropping my money into the inch of water that covered the floor. Tim was right behind me, but he didn’t fall.
I just looked up at him and shook my head. “Why me? Why is it always me?”
Tim shrugged and stuck his head under the sink. “Busted pipe,” he said. “I’ll go get a wrench and turn the water off.”
It took us almost an hour to mop up the floor. Some of the water, a bunch of it actually, had made its way out of the kitchen and the carpeting was totally soaked. Tim stayed until the last towel was wrung out. After he left, I called and left a message on the complex manager’s voice mail, took a quick shower to wash the second hand smoke out of my hair and then fell into the bed, dreaming about floods, bad luck, and Kyle Zagle’s heartache of a smile.
14
The next day after we cashed in my bonds, bought the tires, and had them mounted, I was pleased to find out that I still had four hundred dollars and change left. As soon as my car was back in business I went to Kroger and stocked up on food. I even bought Delbert some Deluxe Gourmet cat food instead of the cheap-o Kitty Glop. For once, he actually seemed glad to see me. As a special treat, I went ahead and gave him two cans of the Deluxe Gourmet. He couldn’t lap it up fast enough.
While I was putting away the groceries, the plumber arriv
ed and fixed the broken water pipe. The hallway carpet was almost dry, I had a car again, and a fridge full of food. Things were finally picking up. I almost felt like breaking out into song, but I didn’t. I’d been burned once too often by you-know-who. I wasn’t about to thumb my nose at them. But, of course, that didn’t stop them now, did it?
Delbert slurped up the rest of the cat-food and promptly threw up all over the carpet, my bed, and my laptop. I scrubbed everything, took my bedspread down to the laundry room, and stuffed it into the washing machine. When I came back, my laptop was on the floor, and Delbert was throwing up on it and making weird noises. In a near panic, I scooped him up, loaded him into his kitty carrier, and hauled him off to the vet.
Dr. Parnell (Sue’s husband) told me that the change in diet was most likely the reason that Delbert was sick. He decided to keep him at the clinic overnight and run some tests, though, to rule out anything more serious. I felt about as bad as a mother can feel. I’d really been neglecting my poor baby and resolved to do better. It was hard to leave the big guy at the vet’s office, but I knew it was best for him.
After I left Delbert at Dr. Parnell’s, I went home, sopped up the rest of the mess, and realized that my laptop was completely fried. I had planned on calling Charli to see if she’d found out anything from the articles Ginger had e-mailed her, but decided to just run over to her place instead so I could use her computer to do a search on Sam’s name. Unfortunately, she wasn’t home and her house was locked. Mom and Dad were both working, so I couldn’t use their computer either. Tim’s was in the shop because he’d dropped it and broken the screen, which left me only two options. Since I couldn’t spare the money to buy a new computer of my very own, I stopped off at the public library.
Our library is on Main Street, across from an art gallery and a coffee shop, and directly in front of the police station. It’s a beautiful white brick, modernistic building and seems totally out of place among all of the old colonial style architecture that dresses up the rest of the downtown area of Main Street.
There was a forty-five minute wait to use the Internet, so I went down to the drugstore for a glass of fresh squeezed limeade (It’s made with real limes, itty-bitty ice, and sugar syrup. Yum!) then sat outside in the prettiest place in town, the library courtyard, soaking up the sun, admiring the Blue Ridge Mountains, and watching the people go by.
Here’s the thing about living in Glenvar: within thirty minutes I saw fourteen people I knew, most of them also friends of my mom. All of these people knew that a) I was unemployed; b) my love life was non-existent; and c) I’d been accused of murder. Yet not one of them failed to mention that I wasn’t my ‘usual cheery self’ and felt compelled to tell me to ‘smile, things can’t be that bad’. It was like listening to a bunch of mom-bots.
Just after mom-bot number fourteen left me alone to my thoughts, an eerie feeling that someone was watching me skipped down my spine. I looked all around and even though I didn’t see anyone, I couldn’t shake the feeling. I was so totally weirded out that I tossed the rest of my ice and went inside to browse the stacks while I waited for the computer to free up. Just after I found a book about horrible things happening to wonderful folks, which I snagged, figuring my finding it was one of those moments Charli calls synchronicity, I saw the kid who’d been surfing the net on the machine I’d signed up for gather his stuff. Finally, it was my turn.
I immediately typed Sam’s name into the search engine and waited, giddy with anticipation. To my disappointment, all that turned up were a couple of articles from the Roanoke Times quoting him about the garden club committee he’d spearheaded, the one where they unsuccessfully tried to persuade city council to let them build a miniature replica of Tara and other scenes from Gone With the Wind on a lot next to the duck pond.
(Sam got the idea after seeing how successful Mini- Graceland over in Roanoke is at attracting tourists. Mini-Graceland is one of those things that you just can’t replicate. Or explain adequately. A local woman and big-time Elvis fan built a replica of Graceland in her front yard. She added some other Elvis vignettes - Elvis singing at the Roanoke Civic Center, Elvis’s church, stuff like that - and the whole thing became a local icon. It went real well with the city’s giant neon star that dresses up the top of Mill Mountain.)
I tried putting in Samuel English, but still got just the two articles. Just for fun I typed in my own name. Six entries, all from the Roanoke Times, and all about Ricky Ray dumping me. Ricky Ray’s name turned up the expected eight zillion hits. I went to the ‘official’ Ricky Ray Riley web site where I found out that for a mere fifteen smackaroos I could become an ‘official’ Ricky Ray Riley fan club member after which I’d be subject to all sorts of special and ‘official’ fan club benefits including an ‘official’ fan club membership card, an ‘official’ fan club newsletter, and a genuine, signed by his very own hand, eight by ten glossy of Ricky Ray himself.
I could sign up for a Ricky Ray Riley credit card, buy Ricky Ray Riley checks or t-shirts, visit the photo gallery and admire shots of Ricky Ray Riley looking handsome and hanging out with other no-one-can-really-be-that-gorgeous famous people. I was tempted to enter the contest to win a dream date with his Rickyness himself. But, having, as they say, been there and done that, I respectfully declined.
Charli’s name turned up one hit, Mom’s more than three dozen, and Dad’s sixteen. As I waited for Tim’s name to be searched, I had the idea to try the name I’d read about in Sam’s file: Joe Redmond.
There were several articles on Mr. Redmond’s exploits and I selected the first one. It took a really long time for the article to load. The library definitely needed some faster computers.
“Well, if it isn’t the lovely Martina. So delightful to see you,” Sam said.
I’m sure I must have had that deer caught in the headlights look. Sam stood behind the computer screen so he couldn’t see what I was working on, but he was rapidly cruising around to the screen side. I hastily moved the mouse to the ‘close’ button of the screen and clicked back to the Library Homepage.
“Um, uh, um, uh, hello,” I finally managed to sputter out. Had he seen that I was looking up Redmond? I studied his face, but it was like a mask, blank and unreadable.
“Doing research?” he asked.
“Um, uh, yes! That’s it. Research. Surfing for a job. You know. Since I’m, uh, unemployed. My laptop’s dead. Cat threw up on it.” I nervously fingered the keyboard and tried not to meet Sam’s eyes.
“Well, best of luck to you, my dear, you’ve such a deliciously unique voice. Even though I rarely listen to the radio except for the classical music on the public station, I have on occasion heard your Saturday night show since Kay Cee is such a huge fan of that dreadful country music. I simply couldn’t bear to listen to it. It is such a travesty.”
Since I wasn’t sure if he meant my getting fired, country music, or my announcing being the travesty, I stuttered out a half-hearted thank you and tried to figure out how to get rid of him. Apparently, he had nothing better to do, because he kept chattering away. I reluctantly began to gather up my stuff and acted as if I had to run, saying something about an important appointment.
Sam checked his fancy European watch. “Well, my dear, I’m afraid that I simply must dash also as I’m meeting a dear friend for lunch. Do take care, dear Martina.” There was a strange smile on his face and the eerie feeling I’d had outside returned. Was Sam on to me?
“It was nice to see you, Sam. Enjoy your lunch,” I stammered.
He gave me an airy-fairy little wave, the sort that the queen does. “Ta-ta. I must return this book on the history of Sotheby’s. It was simply marvelous; I can’t recommend it enough. You simply must come to my shop more often. It was so delightful to have you and Charlene visit yesterday.”
“Maybe I’ll do that,” I said. “I really enjoyed my visit.” I couldn’t help but twirl my hair, a nervous tic I’ve had since childhood. Mom swears that I only do it when I’m lying
and that’s how she always finds me out.
Sam was gone for about fifteen minutes before my heart stopped pounding and my legs stopped shaking. I was too nervous to try searching again and there were some kids waiting to use the net anyway, so I checked out my book and headed over to Charli’s. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about someone sneaking up on me. I couldn’t wait to log on and check out the web-site articles about Joe Redmond. I had a feeling that they were going to prove to be important, somehow.
Although her car was in the garage, there was still no Charli. I tried the door on the off chance she’d left it open, but it was locked up tight as a drum. Maybe she’d gone to a friend’s house or for a walk. The walk seemed more likely since Charli is such an exercise nut, so I drove around to the back end of the neighborhood.
The last row of houses in ‘The Oaks’ butts up against a two-mile walking trail. Charli walks on the trail pretty much every day. There was no sign of her, but, then, the trail wanders back through the woods for about half of its length, so the odds of me seeing her from the parking lot weren’t very high. Call me lazy, but I wasn’t about to traipse around the woods scouting for her.
I sat on a swing set in one of the rare yards that didn’t have a privacy fence surrounding it, but the chains made my knees turn in and the belt seats scrunched my bottom too tight. I was on my way back to my car when I saw Charli jogging down the hill toward the trail.
“Hey, sis, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“Looking for you. Where’ve you been?”
“I went to lunch with Sue. We just got back and I thought I’d walk off some of the calories. Hey, did you hear the news about Giselle?” Charli had one of those ‘I know a secret and it’s a big, fat, juicy one’ smiles.
“No, nothing. What’s she done now?”
“Walk with me and I’ll tell you.” There was a twinkle and a bounce in Charli’s step so I knew that it was going to be more than just good.
The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1 Page 33