I went back to Sight Ministries and reread Charles Smit’s electronic correspondence for the past three months. The man was hard-core. He’d recently kicked one long-time female member out of the church after she questioned certain church precepts related to higher education for women—or lack thereof. Apparently college was a no-no for young women, although it looked to me like disagreeing with Charles was the real faux pas. After another half hour, I couldn’t take anymore. I shut down my computer and leaned back.
“I’m going to hit the shower,” I said to Milo.
“Nothing good?”
“Nothing as good as that Zeke connection you found.”
I shuffled up the stairs. None of my leads were leading anywhere; Robin was starting to outshine BatGirl. And he still had perfect hair. I sighed. At least there was wine on the horizon.
Chapter 15
The Wine Cellar was, appropriately, located in the basement of a newer building on Route 3A. I jogged past it on those days when I actually did the things on my To-Do list. Dim, romantic lighting reflected off the stone walls; racks of wine bottles stood between the dining tables. A stone archway and wooden barrels completed the feeling of a French wine cellar. The menu was comprised of tapas and fancy desserts; at seven o’clock on a Friday, the trendy spot was filling up. Milo and I took a seat at the bar.
We’d brought along photos of both Anna Fuller and Reggie Cummins. Reggie’s note hadn’t specified a location for her meeting, but we were hoping Zeke was a creature of habit or that someone would at least recognize Anna’s photo and remember her companion. I’d already searched the phone companies and DMV for Zekes or Ezekiels living in and around Plymouth, but came up empty.
I ordered a glass of Malbec and Milo had an imported beer. The bartender wasn’t that busy, but he seemed to have only one gear: slow. The restaurant owner, on the other hand, was flitting about, taking orders, making drinks, running credit cards and helping the chef, who also worked behind the bar, with the food orders. This guy wasn’t just hands on; he was full-body on.
“Maybe we should come back when it isn’t so busy,” I said, taking a sip of my wine.
“Or maybe we could just enjoy ourselves, eat some nice food, and see if something develops,” said Milo.
With the case or with us? My face grew warm.
“Relax, Sam. It’s Friday night. We worked all day, and we’re here to work too. No reason we can’t have a meal and a drink while we’re at it.”
“Milo, this glass of wine costs more than I have in my checking account right now. I really can’t afford this.” It was humiliating to admit it.
“I’ve got money.”
“Your dad pays you that well on the boat?”
Milo snorted. “Hardly. I made some money when I was at school. I have savings and some investments. I’ll buy.”
Milo has savings? Investments? When did he become a grownup? We were only thirty for God’s sake.
“I…uh. Okay.” The wine was divine. The last time I bought wine it came in a box. If he wanted to buy it, I could force myself to drink it. “And anyway,” I added, “we’re going to earn that ten thousand dollar reward. I’ll pay you back.”
“If you insist.”
Milo waited for the bartender to glance our way. A couple of minutes passed. I looked at Milo, who was politely watching the bartender watch TV. Finally, I couldn’t take it.
I turned to the owner who was right in front of us putting a scrumptious looking dessert together. “Excuse me,” I smiled. “Could we see some menus?”
Five seconds later, we had the menus.
“It’s all about who you know,” I said.
“You know him?”
“No, but I know types.” I swiveled my stool sideways and leaned toward Milo and spoke in a low voice. “As a private investigator, I am a student of human nature. And he—” I pointed my chin toward the owner, who was now on the floor taking an order. “He cares. He wants us to come back and tell all our friends about how great this place is.
“That guy—” I nodded back toward the bartender. “He’s standing there drying the same glass for the last five minutes wishing he’d gone to college or won last week’s Powerball or had a terminally-ill rich aunt.” I took another swig of my wine.
“He knows we’ll tip him fifteen percent on the tab whether he hustles or not. Probably twenty percent; it’s just bad form to tip any less than that in a place like this. And since we wouldn’t want to look like cheapskates, he figures we’ll tip him well even if we pass out from hunger and fall off our bar stools before he takes our order.” I emptied my wine glass and set it on the bar. “And you know what? He’s right.” I leaned back, smiled and raised my hands palms up. “Human nature.”
Milo threw his head back and laughed loudly. His laugh was like Laura’s, only deeper. I felt all warm inside, although that might have been the wine. The bartender turned around and looked at us for a second, then went back to drying his glass and staring at the tube. We exploded with more laughter.
While we were still giggling, the owner came over and asked, “Do you know what you’d like to have?” We both cracked up again and he gave us a funny look, but waited patiently while we sputtered out our order. I got another glass of wine. I wished Mrs. Trimble could see me now. It seemed the two-year date hiatus was over. Or maybe I was just getting buzzed. Whatever it was, it was fun.
We enjoyed our tapas and dessert and I enjoyed a third glass of wine. All thoughts of serial killers and Pilgrims and hanged women were forgotten. We listened to the live music and when the singer said that this would be his last song, I couldn’t figure out where the time had gone. I looked around. The bar was nearly empty and there were only a couple of tables still occupied in the dining room.
Milo stood. “I’ll show these pictures to the owner now. Seems like he basically lives here. Maybe he’ll remember something.”
I smiled and nodded. I was all fuzzy inside and not anxious to think about the case. Milo wanted to work, let him work. And anyways, I wasn’t sure I could balance on my heels anymore.
Milo approached the owner at the computer terminal at the other end of the bar. They talked for a few minutes and Milo took out the pictures and showed him. They talked for a few more minutes. I thought about throwing spitballs at the bartender until he offered me another drink, but decided that would be unwise considering my lips were numb. Finally, Milo came back over. He shook his head. Shit.
He pulled his jacket off the back of his stool and slid his arm into a sleeve. The bartender, sensing it was tip time, was right there in front of us with the tab. He laid it down and picked up the printouts Milo had laid on the bar.
“Hey, I know her,” he said.
We both looked at him.
“Reggie Cummins. We went to high school together in Duxbury. She was in just a couple of weeks ago.”
We grilled him for the next ten minutes. When we left, Milo tipped him twenty percent.
See?
When we got to my house—Milo drove the Mini after I mentioned my numb lips—I flopped into my chair and pulled off the high heels. I was on the down side of my buzz. Not as much fun as the ride up.
“I just wish one of them recognized Anna Fuller, but how many Zekes can there be that go to that little bar?” Milo said.
“I didn’t find any Zekes with phones or drivers licenses around here,” I reminded him.
“Well, we’ll just have to extend the search to Boston. Anna worked in Boston. The killer is obviously hung up on something related to Plymouth’s history. It doesn’t mean he lives here.” Milo was making notes on a legal pad and putting individual pages into his various piles.
“Mid-forties, maybe, salt and pepper hair. Couldn’t tell his height; they were sitting on the couch. Not fat, not thin. The guy paid in cash. That’s not helpful either. I shouldn’t have tipped so much.”
“Right,” I raised my finger. “but it might mean he’s the guy,” I mumbled. “Hiding his tracks
and all.”
“I paid in cash, Sam. Does that make me guilty of something?”
I looked at him. “I’m quite sure you’re guilty of something.” I closed my eyes.
Milo didn’t say anything for a second. I opened my eyes. He had a funny expression on his face, but then he smiled. “You’re guilty of intoxication. Let’s get you upstairs.”
He walked over to me and took my hand. “Come on, Batgirl. Bed time.” He pulled me up. I smiled at him. I reached up and put my hand on his cheek.
He shook his head. “No, no, no. Not like this, Sam. Not when you’re half in the bag. Come on, let’s go out on the deck for a few. You need fresh air and a big drink of water so you’re not hung over in the morning.”
He walked me out to the deck and propped me against the railing. The moon was nearly full and the reflections on the water rippled with the waves. I took in a deep breath of salty air through my nose and felt my head clear some.
I turned around, leaned my back against the railing and watched Milo in my kitchen. He looked good in there. He looked good everywhere. He filled a glass of water and then went to the freezer. I could have told him there weren’t any ice cubes, but when he opened the door, he dropped the glass. It shattered and then he yelled for me. He was reaching into the freezer as I rushed back inside. He pulled something long and black out of the freezer. Last time I looked, there was nothing in my freezer, not even ice cubes.
Then it hit me. Pepper!
Chapter 16
“OmigodOmigodOmigod!” I was sobbing as Milo laid Pepper in my lap. I folded myself over him and rocked back and forth. He wasn’t moving. Pepper was my family! “No, no, no, no…”
I pulled up my sweater and folded him against my skin. I could feel his ribs expand and contract, he was still breathing! I wrapped my arms around him under my sweater and stroked him.
“Pepper,” I said. “Pepper, wake up. Call the vet, Milo!”
He grabbed his phone and then looked at me. “What vet?”
“I don’t know, any vet! The phone book’s over there.”
“Oh, Pepper, what happened?” Tears were still streaming down my face. I rubbed his sides and head. “Pepper…”
He jerked. I felt his claws in my belly button and then he was out from under my sweater, shaking himself in the middle of the kitchen floor. I lunged for him.
“Pepper! Oh, Pepper, thank God. Are you okay?” I pulled him back up on my lap and he sat down. I rubbed my hands up and down his sides and back and stroked him under his chin. “Are you getting warmer?” He lay down and curled up in a ball with his nose tucked under his tail. I continued to rub his back and sides with both hands.
“You still want me to call the vet? I found an emergency number.” Milo was holding his phone and the phonebook.
“Um, I think he’s okay,” I said. I stroked him under his chin. He was purring.
“Milo, how could this happen? I locked the doors, right? I know I locked the doors. Who would do such a thing?”
He shook his head. “I watched you lock the doors, Sam. Where’s your gun? I want to check the rest of the house.”
I nodded toward my backpack on the breakfast bar. Milo dug around for a while.
“What the hell is all this shit? You sure there’s a gun in here?”
“It’s there!” I continued to stroke Pepper. His breathing seemed steady and strong.
Finally, Milo pulled my nine out of the backpack, checked the cartridge, and moved toward the stairs.
“Stay here, Sam.”
I wasn’t going anywhere as long as Pepper was curled up on my lap and breathing. I nodded.
Milo went up the stairs slowly, the gun down at his side. I heard the floor upstairs creak and the lights flicked on in the hallway. I heard him in the two bedrooms.
“It’s clear up here,” he called and then came down the stairs.
He moved back into the living room. I watched him over the breakfast bar. He checked the windows. One was open, but the screen was in place. Then he went and examined the slider.
“Whoever it was came in here. Now that I think about it, I didn’t have to unlock it when I took you outside. And I can see marks. Someone jimmied it open.” He looked at me.
The one time I needed Mrs. Trimble and I was sure she was asleep.
I stared back at Milo, still stroking Pepper. “What does this mean?”
“It means I’m staying here.”
At three in the morning, the swollen moon had moved toward the west, but the bright light still seeped into my bedroom. I tossed and turned. Pepper was sprawled out next to me, his paws twitching in his dreams. He seemed none the worse for his stint as a catcicle.
Somebody knew I was investigating the murders. The message was clear. Cool it. Cool it or someone might get dead. The only suspects we’d spoken with were the actors from Plimoth Plantation—everything else Milo and I had done was from the safety of the Ether. Unless the killer was as good at hacking as I was—highly unlikely—no one should be the wiser. Could Dennis’ phone be tapped? That was also pretty unlikely, though possible. Maybe someone had followed Dennis to my house and spied. But Dennis was no rookie; he’d have noticed a tail. Mrs. Trimble would have noticed someone lurking in the bushes.
Injun Bob? He’d struck me as a little different, but not menacing. Still, he might have followed me home Wednesday. I’d been so excited, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. And then there was the dark sedan I’d attempted to follow yesterday. Maybe the reason I never caught up with it was because he’d hidden and then got behind me.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. At this point, short of checking for fingerprints on the door, there was really no way of knowing who’d broken in. And if I mentioned this to Dennis he’d send me to Disney World for a week. Or a month. Or forever. I wasn’t going to tell Dennis.
Chapter 17
“You need to tell Dennis,” said Milo.
I was sitting at the breakfast bar wishing I could just mainline the caffeine. I’d slept for maybe an hour. Milo was doing something that involved flour and eggs. And a pan. There was a lot of rapid movement around the kitchen. I watched in a daze. Then he pulled a bottle of syrup out of the fridge. Ah ha! Pancakes. Sam Warren, Private Sleuth Extraordinaire.
“If I tell Dennis about the break-in, about Pepper in the freezer, he’ll put me on a slow boat to China. You won’t see me again for a year.”
“Sam.” Milo looked at me severely. “This was obviously a threat. Worse, whoever did it probably didn’t expect you to go in the freezer last night, since there’s nothing in your freezer. They really wanted to kill Pepper.” He set a stack of fluffy pancakes in front of me.
I pushed it back. “I can’t eat right now. You have these.” I stood and refilled my coffee and went to my desk.
“We have a lot of loose ends we haven’t explored,” I said. “One of them will tie this case up in a bow.” I sat down and fired up my laptop. Then I stood and looked at the white board. I went into the kitchen, grabbed some paper towels and window cleaner, and went back to the white board. I spritzed the cleaner all over and wiped it clean.
“Let’s start from the top,” I said.
Milo carried his pancakes and coffee into the living room and sat down on the couch.
“We have two young women hanged in historically relevant locations.”
I wrote Anna Fuller on the top left and Reggie Cummins on the top right. Under Anna Fuller I wrote Plimoth Plantation. Under Reggie Cummins I added Mayflower II. Then I wrote the two phrases from the Mayflower Compact under each. Below that I drew two little squares and filled in ‘AD’ in red in one and created the circle with the triangle inside the other.
“The only link we’ve found so far is some guy named Zeke.” I wrote that in the middle of the board and drew arrows to each name above.
“We think Anna Fuller had drinks with Zeke, though we can’t be one hundred percent sure since no one remembers seeing her. We know Re
ggie Cummins had some kind of meeting with a Zeke as well. And we know she was at the Wine Cellar two weeks ago with some average looking guy. Fuller was married, but Reggie was single, so maybe it was a date? Where does an introverted kindergarten teacher meet a date?”
I drew another arrow from the name Zeke back to the right hand column.
“She worked at the elementary school in Duxbury,” said Milo.
I wrote Chandler School.
“I’m going to read the walls of all of her Facebook friends and see if I can find anything. Maybe someone set her up with Zeke.”
“Online dating,” said Milo with a mouth full of pancake.
I looked at him.
“She didn’t go out a lot, seemed kind of nerdy…maybe she signed up for an online dating site.”
I pointed my marker at him. “Excellent thinking, Robin.”
I wrote ‘online dating?’ beneath Chandler School.
I drew another arrow from Zeke to the white space below Anna Fuller’s column.
After thinking for a minute, I drew a question mark. We didn’t know what the connection between Anna Fuller and Zeke might be. She wasn’t dating, and she didn’t work with any Zekes or Ezekiels. This was a question for her friends, her parents or her husband. I wrote Alan Perkins/parents/friends under the question mark. I looked at Milo.
“Maybe we should attend Anna Fuller’s funeral.”
“I don’t think Dennis would like that idea.”
“I don’t think we’ll tell Dennis about that idea.”
Milo shook his head and sighed. “You realize what all of this means?”
Did Milo just have an epiphany? Find the missing connection and figure out who the killer was?
“What?”
“You’re stuck with me. Twenty-four seven. Until somebody catches this guy.”
I could live with that.
Evidently, I wasn’t quite as pathetic as I thought. It may have taken two years, but at least I sort of had a date last night, without the assistance of an online dating service. But then, maybe if I had used a service, it wouldn’t have taken two years. I decided that if another year went by without a date, I would definitely try an online service. Every other single person in America, it seemed, was already signed up. I looked up at Milo, who was browsing the Chandler School web site on his laptop.
Saints & Strangers (A Sam Warren Mystery) Page 9