Trouble in a Big Box (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery)

by Alter, Judy

  We drank a toast to what we had accomplished, and I almost felt guilty that Mom and Otto weren’t with us. But I think that was Mom’s choice, and maybe Otto didn’t know he had a choice.

  “Are we good or aren’t we?” Mike asked, raising his beer in the air, to a chorus of cheers. I hadn’t seen him this happy in a long time.

  As we sorted out the food orders, I thought we should have said turkey burgers for everyone all around—but then each one would have wanted his or hers a little differently. We settled to eat off paper plates, everyone content except Em who complained she got “regular” fries instead of curly. Maggie offered to share, but I gave her all mine—I didn’t need fries, curly or straight.

  The group decided collectively that all of us taking Otto to his shop would be overwhelming, and Mike and I were elected which meant, of course, that the girls would go with us. I called Mom about eight on Saturday night and asked what was for Sunday dinner.

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  Taken a bit aback, I said, “We thought we’d invite ourselves for Sunday dinner. I know you want to go with us to show Otto his shop. And I just thought….” I was blathering.

  Mom’s reply? “Actually I thought I’d take him to brunch at Sapristi’s.”

  “Oh, well, sure. We’ll just meet you afterward. How about two o’clock at Otto’s shop?”

  She hesitated. “I’m sure that will be fine. Let me just check with Otto,” and she turned away from the phone. I heard her in the distance saying something. Otto’s reply came back more clearly, “I have to get back to my store, Cynthia.” Mom came back on the phone and said almost crisply, “We’ll be there at two.”

  Hanging up the phone, I looked at Mike and said, “I think Mom is reluctant to give up taking care of Otto.”

  He laughed. “Kelly, stop imagining romance everywhere.” Then he shot me what was supposed to be a dark, romantic look, and said, “Keep the romance for us.”

  This time I laughed.

  ****

  Otto was overwhelmed. He kept saying, “You did this for me?”

  “Us and a small army,” I said, naming all the others who had helped.

  “I have not had real friends for years,” he said. “Mr. Lattimore’s greed may be the best thing that ever happened to me.” He was thoughtful. “Of course, I may still have to kill him.”

  I wanted to clasp my hands over the girls’ ears, but they just looked puzzled. I knew there would be questions later.

  Mike, bless him, changed the subject. “How did we do, Otto? If any parts are mislabeled, I take full credit. I did all the sorting and labeling.”

  “I’m sure there will be some out of order, but nothing compared with what I saw Thursday night. I can fix it. And I never could have gotten all this cleaning done. You are miracle workers. I can go to work first thing tomorrow, maybe even tonight.”

  Mom had been inspecting the living quarters, which Otto hadn’t even looked at. “I don’t know how you can live here,” she said almost petulantly.

  Otto went into the two back rooms for the first time and said, “This is not my furniture.”

  “Yours was ruined,” I said. “This is garage sale furniture, but Claire thought it was a bit of an improvement.”

  “I will live like a king,” he said, sticking his head into the sleeping/kitchen area. He turned to Mom, “Cynthia, you have spoiled me, but we both know that couldn’t go on. I have to come back to the store. I will miss your comfortable home and your good cooking, but this is where I belong. And now it’s so much nicer than it ever has been.”

  Mom managed a smile, and said, “Of course, Otto. I’m pleased you’re happy.”

  “You will come visit and I will make for you,” he looked in the cupboard, “spaghetti dinner.”

  We all laughed, and Mom said she’d enjoy it. They’d brought Otto’s things from Mom’s house, so after she asked him ten times if he was sure he’d be all right, we left him to get settled in. Mom actually did invite us back to her house for supper.

  “I pulled a pork roast out to defrost this morning, and I have potatoes. Kelly, do you have salad makings?”

  “No, but I’ll get them.” I thought it was a good thing she didn’t mention including anyone else, especially Otto, for dinner. She needed some time with her granddaughters.

  Later that night I reported to all those involved about Otto’s reaction and told them I knew they’d be hearing from him directly. Weeks later he would present each of us with a carefully chosen clock. For Anthony, there was a clock with figures from Greek mythology on the face; for Keisha and José, a clock from Spain; for Claire, a lovely early nineteenth century chiming clock; and for Mike and me, a clock designed in the Craftsman period which fit our house perfectly. I never knew if Mom got a clock but I bet she got a special one.

  ****

  All weekend, while we cleaned and worked, I’d hidden my anger, turning it into energy for the job at hand. I thought I’d fooled everyone, though I should have known that Mike wasn’t blind to my motives.

  As we lay in bed reading—me with the new Deborah Crombie mystery and he with David McCullough’s new book about Americans in Paris, he put his book down and looked at me. “So what are you going to do, Kelly?”

  “What do you mean?” I was honestly puzzled.

  “I know you’re not content to just clean up the mess at Otto’s store and let the vandalism and beating go, even though they’re police matters.”

  “Have the police got any leads?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’m a desk employee, remember, and off for the weekend. But I know you won’t let this go.”

  Caught! He knew me too well. I decided it was best to be honest with him. “I intend to march into Tom Lattimore’s office tomorrow morning, unannounced, and ask him exactly what he thought he was doing and what he thought scaring Otto would accomplish.”

  “It doesn’t seem to have accomplished a lot, except for ruining a lot of valuable old clocks. Otto isn’t scared.”

  “No, but Tom Lattimore won’t know that.”

  “I can’t talk you out of this?”

  “Of course not. The police can’t confront Tom, because they don’t have enough evidence. I don’t have evidence, but I have my instinct, which you will remember is usually on target.” I said the latter rather loftily.

  “Kelly, one promise, please?”

  I looked at him, and I knew my tone was a bit belligerent as I said, “What?”

  “Take your gun in your jacket pocket and wear the damn jacket. The gun is not heavy enough to pull the pocket down and make it evident.”

  “Is my pants pocket okay?”

  “If they’re front-pleated pants with a roomy pocket. And be sure not to shoot yourself. Could be painful.” He was playing with me now, and I slammed my book shut. And then his, causing him to howl that I’d lost his place.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Truth be told, I was scared about confronting Tom Lattimore. When I took the girls to class, I chattered so much that Em said, “Mom, why are you talking about all this stuff? You’re usually so quiet in the morning. I need quiet to get ready for school.”

  “What’s to get ready for second grade?” Maggie scoffed. “Now fifth grade is really hard.”

  “So is second,” Em said, “and that wasn’t nice of you Maggie.”

  I decided to shut up and drove the few blocks in silence.

  At the school, I hugged each girl so fiercely they looked at me with questions in their eyes, but I just said, “Run along. Have a good day.”

  It was too early to go to Tom’s office, so I went to my own. Keisha wasn’t in yet, and I rattled around in the quiet, empty office, rehearsing what I’d say to Tom Lattimore. I wouldn’t call ahead. I’d just count on catching him before he took off for the day.

  Keisha came in, hung up her jacket and purse, looked at the pot of coffee I’d made and then at me with a quizzical look—I never made coffee. Finally she set
tled herself at her desk and asked, “Something I should know? Something happen between Saturday and this morning?”

  I shook my head. “No, Otto was pleased as could be with his office and his new living quarters. I don’t think Mom was so pleased to give him up, but we left Otto to settle in and all went back to Mom’s for supper.”

  She waited, knowing I’d go on.

  “I’m going to go talk to Tom Lattimore this morning.”

  Keisha sighed. “I knew you were bottling it up inside you all weekend. You’re sure he was behind the attack on Otto?”

  “Of course I’m sure. It never occurred to me to doubt it. He wants Otto out of there. I talked to the other shop owners, and they’d all had visits, but no one was as stubborn as Otto. Tanya wants to stay but she won’t put herself and her child at risk. The sushi owner wasn’t around and his manager didn’t seem interested. The taqueria guy will move easily. I guess they don’t have much emotion invested in their businesses or our neighborhood.”

  “You blame them, with what happened to Otto as an example? What if Lattimore says he didn’t do it?”

  I crumpled. I hadn’t expected that, even thought of it. Of course he did it.

  But that’s just what he did. He denied it.

  I walked to his office, since it was only three blocks or so. It was a lovely fall day, crisp and cool but with the sun promising heat later in the day. People greeted me on the street, and I had no thought for much except how lovely our neighborhood is. Such thoughts vanished when I approached Tom’s office. Bella Garza was just leaving. She had the nerve—gall?—to look my way and wave. Then she climbed into the old green car and peeled off. In an instant, she took all my self-confidence with her.

  My hand was shaking as I pushed open the door to Tom’s office. His receptionist looked up, but Tom had glanced out the window of his private office, a space where he could keep watch on the street, and had seen me coming. He rushed into the reception area, both hands extended.

  “Kelly, this is a pleasant surprise. Or did we have a meeting I forgot to write down?”

  With a gesture, he showed me into his office then to a cushy leather chair facing his desk. He sat opposite me and picked up a pencil to fiddle with and keep his hands busy.

  I wondered if that was a sign of nervousness. “No, Tom, no appointment. I just walked down and took a chance on finding you in.”

  “I’m glad you did. I have to leave in, oh, thirty minutes or so, but what can I do for you now?”

  “Why did you do it, Tom? Why send goons to beat up Otto Martin and trash his store and all those valuable antique clocks?”

  “Kelly, back up. What are you talking about?”

  “You know very well,” I said, my voice rising.

  Tom got up and closed his office door, then with a measured walk returned to his desk and picked up the pencil. “No, I honestly don’t. Start from the beginning please. No, wait.” He picked up his phone, punched a button, and said, “Carolyn, no calls. And cancel my nine-thirty appointment. I’ll reschedule.” Then he looked at me.

  “Thanksgiving night,” I said, “a holiday when we are all grateful. Otto got home and found his store vandalized. Clocks thrown everywhere, many of them I’m sure beyond repair, some of them probably pretty valuable. Thoughtless, mean vandalism. Then later that night, they came and beat Otto badly. He went to the ER at JPS—well, the police took him.”

  “The police?” He looked a little alarmed at that. “Is he all right now?”

  “Yes, a bunch of us spent the weekend cleaning his store, and my mom fed him chicken soup and gave him TLC. He’s not moving, Tom.”

  He put his hand to his forehead and stared at me. “Kelly, I had nothing to do with this, believe me.”

  I was stubborn. I knew he had something to do with it. “Why should I believe you? You threatened me. You as much as told me you’d do anything to get this deal to go through. Just how much is it worth to you, Tom?”

  “Not that much,” he said. “I didn’t know about it, I didn’t have anything to do with it. But I don’t expect you to believe me.”

  I tried another approach. “I saw Bella Garza leaving here. What business do you have with her?”

  “Who? Oh, that Mexican girl? She just came to deliver a message.”

  “Weak, Tom. Did you know she’s been stalking me? Threatening me and my family? She says it’s because of her sister’s death, in the accident that involved my husband, but I think there’s more to it. Bella hated her sister.”

  He began to pace. “Kelly, this is all too complicated for me. I don’t know this Bella Garza, didn’t even ask her name. She just brought me a message.” He went to his desk and picked up a sealed envelope. “See? I haven’t even read it yet. I saw you coming and put it aside.”

  “Why don’t you read it, Tom?”

  “No, I want to convince you first that I had nothing to do with beating that old man. Of course, he did say he’d kill me, but I didn’t take that seriously.”

  Some instinct inside me pushed. “Read the message, Tom.”

  He looked startled, then sat down and slit open the envelope—with a sterling letter opener, of course. He read, and his eyes widened. Then he crumpled the letter, threw it on his desk, and said, “Kelly, I can’t talk now, but you have to believe me. I didn’t ask anyone to target Otto Martin. Now I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.” He stood, clearly indicating that this little talk was over.

  On the way back to the office, I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to see Bella’s car. I didn’t, but I did see Tom jump in his Mercedes convertible and roar away from his office, before I was half a block away. Puzzled, I hurried back to the office. I couldn’t wait to tell Mike about this, but I knew Keisha would pry the story out of me first.

  She did, and I repeated it almost word for word, the way I remembered it. I expected wisdom from Keisha, but all she said was, “Don’t that beat all? I suspect he didn’t do it, Kelly. What now?”

  I had no idea what now, but Bella solved that problem for me. She called the office within an hour. “Stay away from Tom Lattimore, Ms. O’Connell.” Her voice dripped sarcasm when she called me by name. “There are people bigger than him who want this store on Magnolia, and they’ll get it. I advise you to get out of the way now. Especially if you care about Maggie and Em.”

  That she knew my daughters’ names chilled me to the bone. I hung up the phone, afraid to hear more.

  Keisha was on her feet in a flash and by my side. “Kelly, what is it? You turned dead white.” She always knew when to put the joking aside and take me seriously.

  “Bella just threatened the girls,” I stammered. “She says Tom Lattimore is a small player in this whole thing. Keisha, why would anyone want a grocery store on Magnolia that badly?”

  “Beats me. To my thinking, grocery stores need to be near people, but location isn’t that critical. They shouldn’t need that particular spot.”

  “No, but if you think about it, there’s not really any space on Magnolia for what Tom is proposing. I guess he’s fixed on this place—or those bigger people have—as a sort of 'Do or die' thing.” Little did I know I would come to regret those words.

  “Kelly, you got to talk to Mike and Buck. Buck’s been taking you serious these days. He’ll listen.”

  “But what’s to tell? The girls have been threatened. How does that change things? My sense is that Buck can’t act until something happens—he can’t anticipate a crime. And by the time he can, it’s too late.”

  “So you got it all figured out and you’re gonna to take care of it yourself?” Now she was scornful and not at all amused.

  ****

  Before we could argue further, the office door opened and John Henry Jackson heaved his bulk inside and, after a nod at Keisha, sank into my visitor’s chair, which creaked with his weight.

  Looking straight at me, he said, “We got a problem, little lady.”

  I did not like being addressed as “little lady,” but
I kept my peace. “The Magnolia development,” I responded.

  “Why I like you. You’re sharp. Yeah, the Magnolia Development. I’m getting some pressure from pretty heavy sources to approve it.”

  “But you won’t,” I replied, “because you’re impartial, and your nine-member commission votes independently. How many votes can you count on?”

  He let me assume he was on my side. “Don’t know. We got at least a couple of ringers. From the far west side district, a Westover Hills society lady who don’t give a whit about Fairmount. And there’s the mayor’s new appointee, developer named Jake Southerland.”

  Jake Southerland. My once-client who had switched to Tom Lattimore. The developer who thought preserving old buildings was sheer folly. What in heaven’s name was he doing on the Landmark Commission? I refrained from asking that. “But with the other seven of you, you should have a clear majority.”

  “Should have and do have are different critters,” John Henry said, wiping his brow with a huge handkerchief. “I’ll keep working on it. Hear you got a little problem of your own. Someone stalking you?”

  “Now where’d you hear that?”

  “Word gets around that courthouse.”

  “I bet it does. Well, it’s okay, John Henry. I can take care of myself. When is the commission going to announce its decision on this development?”

  “Christmas week. I’ll keep doing what I can.”

  Christmas week wasn’t all that far away. But there was nothing I could do, as far as I knew, to influence the commission. They made their decisions independently.

  He heaved himself out of the chair and held out a pudgy hand. “Good to see you, little lady. You keep in touch and let me know if you need anything.”

  I rose. “Thanks, John Henry. You take care.”

  The minute he was gone, Keisha said, “Something about that man gives me the willies.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Keisha, he’s on our side. He just talks like a politician.”

  She shook her head, stood up and grabbed her purse. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going? It’s almost time to pick up Mike for lunch.”