“A good lawyer could get you off, maybe with a plan for repayment.”
“I’m afraid it’s gotten well past that.”
“I don’t see why . . .” Why it had led to murder. I didn’t want to voice it.
“Don’t you? Repayment plans, probation, and community service. Even if I’d gotten off with a slap on the wrist, can’t you see how that would have ended my life right there? What would he have thought?”
“He?”
“Your father, of course.” Her forehead pinched with emotion.
“I don’t understand. How did Dad get involved in this?”
She shivered. “That disagreeable man.”
“Dad?”
“No, whatever his name was. Sullivan O’Grady. I followed him here. Why couldn’t he stay out of it?”
“O’Grady had been to the museum in the past. His wife said he took their kids there often.”
“I thought he was coming to the museum so often because he liked to show his kids the toys. I had no idea at the time that he was looking for specific toys.”
“Toys he knew had been donated to the museum.”
She nodded, then stopped to dry a tear. “He was so proud. Like he wanted a plaque or something. Said he’d been instrumental in encouraging his employers to donate to us. I was on red alert right away. I had been so careful. Almost all the donors I’d drawn from were ignored by family and had outlived their friends. I didn’t think anyone would question what had happened to the donations. No one cared.”
“But Sully cared.”
“Do-gooder. I explained to him that we only had room for the best of the collections. That seemed to satisfy him. At least I thought it had. Then that whole business with Sy DuPont came up.”
“Sy was going to donate his toys to the museum.”
“He didn’t even know what he had until Sullivan O’Grady found them while cleaning out the attic. I guess Sully suggested that he donate them. For that I should be grateful.” The last part was clearly sarcastic.
“Only Sully got suspicious.”
“Right about that time, Sy called me. Said that he’d rather give his toys to the museum while he was still alive. Something about making sure nobody took what wasn’t theirs.”
“Like his family or Kimmie Kaminski.”
“Exactly. I went to the house to pick them up. Only Sy was livid. He told me the toys were missing. That someone who worked for him had absconded with them. He didn’t mince words. Sullivan O’Grady was right there in the room. But Sy said he was going to have them back or certain people would be charged with theft in addition to being let go.”
“Sy thought the toys were stolen.”
“They were missing. He drew his own conclusions.”
“That must have been when Sully brought the toys here for Dad to evaluate.” I bit my lower lip. “He was testing you. He wanted an independent evaluation of them before they were donated.”
“I didn’t know where the toys were at the time. I figured O’Grady had a lot of nerve to practically accuse me of theft when he did the same thing. So I stayed parked in front of the house until he left. I started following him.”
“He must have made plans to meet with Dad.” Secretive plans that didn’t include me.
“I couldn’t have your father finding out.”
“You might have gone to jail.”
“Jail?” More tears streamed down her face. “You still don’t get it. Jail wasn’t what I was afraid of.” She slowly shook her head and then looked up. “I couldn’t have him knowing. Thinking that of me. It’s important to me that you understand the reason.”
“But to kill a man . . .”
“It wasn’t like that!” She stepped toward me with the knife, and I took another step back.
She obviously wanted to explain this to me. Could I talk my way out of this situation by pretending to understand her? “Why don’t you tell me what it was like. I want to understand.”
She froze in place, nothing moving but her shaking arm. I couldn’t tell if it was from emotion or the stress of holding the knife.
“You followed Sully here . . .” I began.
“Your father must have been expecting him. The lights were on, and when Sully knocked on the windowpane, your father answered and waved him to the back alley. Then all the lights went off. I got out of my car and followed on foot. I just wanted to hear what they were saying. I waited for a few minutes after Sully had gone inside, then I tried the back door. It was unlocked.”
“What did you hear?”
“Footsteps at the top of the stairs. I looked up just in time to see your father go back into the apartment. Alone. So I sneaked into the shop.”
Dad must have gone back to the apartment to gather the box of toys. “What were you planning?”
“I wasn’t planning anything!” Her voice betrayed a growing agitation. “If only I had time to think it through, things might have been different. I just wanted to listen. I crept around the back aisle, by the lunchboxes, thinking I could stay out of sight. But it was so dark and I was going mostly by memory. I hit a spot on the floor that creaked and gave me away.”
“I know the spot.” It was right by the lawn darts.
“I stumbled and my elbow went through some kind of cabinet. I grabbed the first thing I could find, then O’Grady attacked me.”
“He attacked you?”
“He grabbed me. Started to shout. To call your father. Instinct took over from that point.”
Instinct and a lawn dart.
“I didn’t even know where I’d hit him, but he fell to the ground, and I could feel the blood on my hands. When I realized what I had done, I knew I couldn’t be found there. Not by Hank. I heard his footsteps coming back down the stairs, so I hid.” She pointed to the doll room.
“You hit him on the head.” I backed up another step. “You hit my father on the head?”
“Stop!” she said.
I froze.
She gestured with the knife. “Over to the counter. This is going to have to pass for an attempted robbery. Open the cash register.”
Only my feet were made of lead. “You stupid woman!” For some reason, the knife was failing to register. “You hit him so hard you gave him a concussion. Don’t you know you could have killed him?”
“I wasn’t thinking at that point. I grabbed a croquet mallet and just swung. What would you rather I had done? Stab him with another lawn dart? I couldn’t do that to a man I loved.”
“You have no idea what that word means. And what do you expect to do now? Kill me and then be there to offer him comfort? And a casserole?”
She said nothing.
“You’re delusional.”
“Over to the counter.” She gestured with the knife.
I started walking but took my time. She’d been monologuing like a Scooby-Doo villain, but she wouldn’t keep it up forever. I suspected the knife would come into play as soon as she staged her robbery. So I made a grab for the nearest object, whirled around, and hurled it at her.
The monkey with the cymbals went flying right at her face. I don’t know if it hit the knife and knocked it out of her hand or if she’d let go of everything she was holding (she still had the plate of cookies in her left hand) to catch the monkey, but the knife and colorfully iced Christmas cookies went flying everywhere.
That gave me a few seconds to play with. When she bent over to pick up the knife, I upended the barrel of marbles and sent them rolling in her direction, then I rushed her. My force, combined with the slippery icing, cookie crumbs, and marbles, was enough to knock her to the floor. I’d like to say I landed on top of her on purpose, but credit for that should go to the marbles, inertia, and gravity. Once down, however, I managed to keep her there with a knee to her back.
The spring on the monkey toy must have slipped, because it sprang to life, lying on the floor surrounded by cookies and still-rolling marbles, and started to beat its cymbals together in an unearthly round o
f applause.
Now what?
“Dad?” I yelled. “Dad!”
He came rushing down the stairs into the shop, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long. I’m going to have trouble . . .” He stopped and gaped at the sight: Peggy trying to squirm out from underneath me like an earthworm, frosting covering her face and hair. “What in the world?”
“She killed Sullivan O’Grady.”
He tiptoed over. “Peggy Trent, you’re under arrest.” Then he froze, his gaze darting from her to the cookies and the marbles. I guessed his training had never prepared him for this scenario.
“Maybe you should call Chief Young,” I said. “For backup?”
“Right.” He made a couple of careful steps toward the phone, tiptoeing around the marbles, and picked up the smashed landline connector. “I guess I’ll call it in from upstairs.”
###
Fewer than five minutes passed before the police chief arrived, but it took much longer to fill Ken in on Peggy’s confession, especially since she clammed up and stopped talking. He was wide-eyed through the entire process. I couldn’t blame him. Both Peggy and I were smeared with icing and sprinkles. As were the knife and the flying monkey. The floor was still a sea of marbles: aggies, cat’s eyes, swirlies, and steelies. They started rolling whenever any of the officers inadvertently hit one with their shoe. It probably would prove to be the most memorable arrest of the young chief’s career.
Somewhere in the process, I had begun to shake. I wasn’t sure if it was all the cold air let in as officers came and went through the front door, or some delayed form of shock. Either way, Ken had noticed and I ended up huddled under a blanket someone had retrieved from my bed upstairs.
After Peggy had been taken away and just Dad, Ken, and I remained, Ken raked a hand through his hair and stopped to stare at me. “You could have been killed. You know that, right?”
I shivered again and tugged the blanket closer. “For a few moments, the thought crossed my mind.”
Dad came up behind me and squeezed my shoulder. “Is there anything that can’t wait until tomorrow? My daughter has had a long day.”
Ken looked around. “I should make sure to get photos and prints from the shop, to process it as a crime scene. Again.” He put his hand on his hip. “Mrs. Trent didn’t go upstairs?”
“Never,” Dad said. I patted his hand.
“My guys should be out of here in an hour, tops. I don’t see any reason you can’t stay in your own place tonight.”
“Sounds good,” Dad said.
“Let us know when you’re ready to leave so we can lock up and set the alarm,” I said.
Dad hovered over me the rest of the evening, propping me up on the sofa with pillows and tempting me with warm drinks and light snacks like I was a sick child. I can’t say I didn’t find it comforting. “Sit down and rest,” I told him.
“I would,” he said. “But it seems I’ve been sleeping all afternoon. I should have been downstairs to help you.”
“And put us both in danger?”
“From what you said, I doubt she would have hurt me.” He blushed a little.
“She conked you over the head,” I reminded him.
“Goes to show your mother was right. She always said I was hardheaded.” He tapped his head. “I guess that proves it.”
The corners of my mouth turned up into a smile, only because it was more work to frown.
He kept pushing on his head. “I can’t feel it! I guess it’s official. I’m a numskull.”
I didn’t stifle the groan.
“Come on, child. Your turn. I’m getting too far ahead in this game.”
My brain swam, but no puns came to mind. I didn’t care. I stood up and hugged him tight, burying my face into his shoulder and taking in his warmth and every scent, every sound.
And I didn’t let go.
Chapter 22
I wasn’t sure when Ken finished downstairs. Dad had apparently let the officers out and locked the doors. After an early breakfast the next morning, Cathy and Parker met us downstairs to clean up the shop and prepare to open. As the news spread that the killer had been caught—and it wasn’t one of us—I expected the regulars to return in droves. I even sent out an e-mail about a special potluck game night for that evening, in hopes of drawing them back. Maybe we could channel some of their guilt about doubting us into profits, to make up for the recent lack of business.
The shop was a disaster: wet, salty footprints from all the cops, frosting, cookie crumbs, and more than a thousand marbles covered the floor. They would all have to be picked up, cleaned off, and safely enclosed in the barrel before we could open the shop.
Parker, Cathy, and I got down on our hands and knees, while Dad was stationed at the table with paper towels and a spray bottle, cleaning and drying any marbles that had gotten dirty.
“I should have stayed last night,” Cathy said.
“You would have had to be psychic,” I said, dropping another frosting-encrusted marble into a clean plastic tub that still bore the Bison Dip label. “None of us knew what was going to happen.”
“Who would have thought Peggy Trent could be a killer?” Parker said. “Remember those little potatoes she sent over that time?”
“With the rosemary?” I asked.
Parker scrunched his nose. “Rosemary is like eating twigs. No, the other ones.”
“Basil, oregano, olive oil, and parmesan cheese?”
Parker wiped his mouth. “I think I’m drooling. I don’t suppose she’d send us the recipe from prison.”
“She might if Dad asked,” I said.
“She couldn’t have loved him all that much if she hit him over the head,” Cathy said.
“I guess in her mind, she was just trying to keep him from discovering the truth about her,” I said. “In the process, she escalated from embezzling and theft to murder.”
“Which I find as a real turnoff in potential girlfriends,” Dad said.
I pushed myself up off the floor and took my full container of marbles to the table, almost tipping it over when I set it down.
Dad grabbed for it. “Careful. Don’t want to lose your marbles.”
I swooped down and kissed him on the cheek.
“You know, there are several nice older women in my writing group,” Cathy said to Dad. “Maybe I could fix you up.”
“Can they cook?” Parker asked.
“I think Althena can. You’ve met her,” Cathy said.
Dad held his hand up. “Not interested.”
“You think she’s a fake?” Parker said.
Dad didn’t respond, but I found myself shaking my head. “I’d say she’s sincere in what she believes.”
Dad pointed at me. “I’ll give you that.”
Cathy crab-walked to a spot where she could better reach more marbles. “I’ve married into a family of skeptics. You don’t trust what you can’t see.”
“I don’t trust half of what I do see,” Dad said. “People aren’t always what they seem.”
I sat back on my heels. “What about Kimmie Kaminski? And that house?”
Dad got up to dump a container of shiny, clean marbles into the barrel. “Something was going on in that house.”
“Half of that was you and those tiddlywinks,” I said.
“Now who’s a faker?” Parker said, but his voice held admiration, not accusation.
“I did it so we’d have more time to look around, that’s all,” Dad said. “But I wasn’t responsible for all the noises. That disembodied voice at the end was weird.”
“So it’s legitimately haunted,” Cathy said.
“That’s one possibility.” Dad stopped to stretch his neck.
I squinted at him. “You working on another theory there, Chief?”
He smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Maybe, Lizzie, but I might need your help to prove it.”
###
Potluck game night was a huge success,
even if a few of our regulars mistook my meaning. By “potluck,” I’d intended to imply that players could pick whatever game they wanted to play. Instead, some brought their favorite casseroles. We gave in, even ordering a few pizzas to augment the offerings. Dad and I set up a special table for the food, as far from the vintage games as we could find space. We piped in Christmas music. Dad banished Othello to the apartment and even ran the electric trains. A light snow fell outside, and holiday spirit filled the place.
Peggy’s normal spot remained empty, and I imagined it would for some time.
Jack looked over the pile of available games. He picked up a box. “Want to play Risk?” he asked me. “I could fancy a little game of world domination.”
After feeling like so much of my life was spinning out of control, it sounded good to me. “You’re on. See if you can find a couple more people to play.”
While Jack went in search of players to complete our game board, the bell sounded and Ken walked in. Carrying flowers. At least I think they were flowers. They were wrapped up to protect them from their brief exposure to the weather, but they were in the general shape of a bouquet. As soon as he spotted me, he came right over.
“Peace offering?” He handed the parcel to me. “I’ve been told there are actually flowers under all that insulation.”
“I’m sure they’re lovely. But why did you feel the need to bring a peace offering?”
“I can’t imagine I’m your favorite person right now. I wanted you to know that nothing I said during the investigation was personal. I had to follow up on every lead. In fact, I like your father.” His voice softened. “I like you.”
I hugged the flowers closer. “You were doing your job.” I had to break away from the intensity of his gaze. “But you’re not working now,” I added playfully. “Come join the fun. Do you like Risk?”
“One of my favorites.”
“Jack!” I called across the room. “Got some fresh meat.”
Ken seemed to straighten up. “Aren’t you playing?”
“Yes, let me put these in water.”
Death of a Toy Soldier Page 22