by Неизвестный
The employee called out to let me know she’d found something. I met her at the counter, where she showed me a tray with four small items. There was a pair of cufflinks, a jeweled money clip, a man’s gold wedding band, and a panther broach.
“You’re amazing,” I told her. “I really appreciate your help. I only need the cufflinks. How much?”
She pointed to the check on the counter between us. “I might be able to do a straight exchange for the check since it’s been less than four weeks.”
I guiltily took back the check. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pay for the cufflinks with my credit card. I need these checks for evidence.”
“Evidence, huh?” She whistled. “Your kid is in some serious, deep trouble.” A phone rang loudly, and she excused herself to answer the call.
While she had her back turned, I used my phone to snap pictures of the other three items. According to the dollar amount of the check, none of these objects seemed valuable enough to murder someone over, but I would pass the information along to Tony, or, better yet, Officer Wiggles, who’d probably be more appreciative of my help. The panther resembled the charm I’d seen Ruby wearing.
While I was paying for the cufflinks, another customer came in, the door movement setting off a trio of bells and alarms. The employee finished her phone call, shot me an apologetic look, and went to greet the other customer. It was a female who asked if the shop’s owner was in that day.
“Never this early,” the girl answered. “He’s more of a night owl.”
“Can I leave a note?”
The employee sighed but fetched a pad of paper and pen over to the other customer. I was busy trying to take some decent photos, which was difficult given the low light, and only paying attention to the other interaction peripherally. As the customer was saying goodbye, I glanced over.
I was surprised to see a familiar face. The other customer was Harper, the blonde who worked with Jessica.
“Harper,” I said in a friendly tone.
She didn’t look over, even though I was only a dozen feet away. Had she not heard me over the ’80s-era rock ballad playing on the shop’s dusty speakers?
I tried again. “Hi there, Harper.”
She handed the paper to the employee, turned, and walked out of the shop without acknowledging me.
The employee rubbed her shaved head and gave me a sheepish look as she came over to finish ringing up the cufflinks. “I guess your friend didn’t want to talk to you,” she said.
“We’ve only met once,” I said. “Maybe it wasn’t who I thought it was.” I looked at the folded sheet of paper in the employee’s hand. “What name did she give you?”
The girl looked even more uncomfortable. “Ma’am, this is a pawn shop. It’s not the public library.”
“I understand. Could you maybe blink once if she left her name as Harper?”
The girl stared at me. She had beautiful eyes, one green and one blue. Neither one blinked.
After a moment, she clicked some keys, an old printer spat out a receipt, and she handed it over with a plain paper bag containing the cufflinks.
I thanked her and hurried out of the store, scanning the parking lot for the girl. People were coming and going, visiting other shops in the strip mall, but none of them looked like the blonde I could have sworn was Harper.
Then I spotted a flash of golden hair as a girl stepped into the driver’s side of an older-model green Ford Torino. I whipped out my phone and took a photo of the license plate as she drove away.
Chapter 28
Traffic was bad, and the trip back to the hospital took twice as long as the reverse direction. I got stuck behind a truck advertising soy sauce, the bottle photographed next to delicious Chinese food. By the time I got to the hospital, I was hungry enough to eat a whole order of the Golden Wok’s sweet and sour chicken balls.
I took the elevator up to my father’s floor and walked down to his room. He was awake, but he wasn’t alone.
Sitting next to the bed was Officer Tony Milano, who looked as thrilled to see me now as he had been several hours earlier, outside the police station.
I asked, “What’s going on?”
My father was sitting up in bed, awake and alert. He almost looked like his usual self, except for the hospital gown and a scruffy jawline in need of a shave.
“Business as usual,” my father said calmly. “The Misty Falls police department is trying to pin a case on me.”
“Not again,” I said.
He shrugged. “It’s been a few years. I suppose this is their way of letting me know that just because I’ve been put out to pasture, I haven’t been forgotten.”
I walked around the bed, to the opposite side of where Tony sat. The other bed was still empty, so it was only the three of us in the room. The sun had pierced the Portland Mist and was brightening the pale lavender wall across from the beds.
I glared at Tony. “You’re not actually going after my father for this one, are you? Don’t you have more important things to do?”
“More important than catching a murderer?” Tony’s dark eyebrows raised. “I’m doing my job.”
“It’s okay,” my father said to me. “In a small town, you can’t skip investigating the people you know, or you’ll have to skip everyone. I’d come after me too, if I were him. After all, I’m the dummy who uttered death threats, on multiple occasions.”
I crossed my arms. “No, you didn’t.”
“Old Murray knew I was joking,” he said. “Everyone did. But threats are threats. He was a notorious kleptomaniac, did you know that?”
I glanced over at Tony, who nodded. “We’re getting a clearer picture of the situation every day.”
“He took an extension cord,” my father said. “It was brand new, perfect condition. I told him I’d be happy to loan him anything he wanted, and he didn’t have to take things and lie about it. He swore he hadn’t seen my extension cord, so I told him if I found it inside his house, I was going to wrap it around his neck.” He shifted to arrange the pillow behind his back. “In hindsight, that wasn’t a very gentlemanly way to deal with a situation, but the pain made me cranky some days.”
“Did he return the cord?” Tony asked.
“It appeared one day on my porch, as if by magic.”
“Good,” Tony said. “That’s good to hear.”
While Tony jotted notes on his notepad, I asked, “Dad, did things ever get physical? Did Murray ever push you?”
His gray-flecked eyebrows raised. “What have you heard?”
“Your orthopedic nurse told me you hurt your hip because of a tumble. Why didn’t you tell me you fell?”
He dismissed the notion with a wave of one hand. “This hip’s been bothering me for years. I did give it a bump recently, when I slipped on the wet floor, but it was nothing.”
Watching him very closely, I said, “I heard you slipped in the tub. Now you’re saying it was the floor. Which one is it?”
“Same thing,” he said. “One foot on each.” He turned to Tony. “Murray was nowhere near the bathroom.”
Tony said, “I believe you.”
“What about Pam?” I asked. “Was she there when you fell?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, young lady, but no,” he said vehemently. His Irish accent became more pronounced, as it always did when he was either being charming or getting agitated. “Pam was not there when I stepped out of the tub and slipped on some water and fell.”
Tony said, “At your age, you need to be careful. I can get you some stick-ons to put inside the tub. We have them for the kids. Little yellow ducks.”
My father sat up straighter in the bed and told Tony what he could do with his little yellow ducks.
Tony patiently flipped through the pages of his small notepad. Once my father’s rant was over, he said, “You were heard promising to ‘choke some sense’ into Mr. Michaels. Was that in reference to the electrical cord incident?”
“Co
uld have been anything. The man was in need of some sense.”
I patted my father’s hand. “Dad, you don’t have to answer these questions now. We can talk to a lawyer.”
Consulting his notepad, Tony asked, “How long ago did your relationship become contentious?”
My father scratched the gray scruff on his chin. “We started off on the wrong foot, right from the beginning, when he moved in over twenty years ago. He kept asking me what the girls’ real names were.”
I interrupted, “Did he really?”
He chuckled. “He thought I called you two Sunny and Stormy just to irritate him.”
“I never knew about that.”
“He suggested the whole family see a psychiatrist.”
I smirked. “Now that’s funny.”
My father grinned. “It was right after the Halloween that your imaginary friend, Johnny Green, or whatever his name was, egged Murray’s house. In hindsight, I probably should have taken you somewhere to get your brain fixed.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, Dad. I couldn’t have actually believed in imaginary friends.”
Tony cleared his throat. “As much fun as this is, catching up on old times, can Finn and I have a few minutes of privacy?”
I patted my father’s arm. “I’ll wait outside of the room. I still need to talk to Tony about something.”
Tony said, “Don’t lurk around the hallway. I’ll meet you down in the cafeteria when I’m done here. I’ll even buy you lunch.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lied.
“Yes, you are,” my father said. “I can hear your stomach rumbling. I’ve already had my lunch. You go have yours, and we’ll talk after.”
I hesitated by his side. “Dad, just give Tony straight yes and no answers. Your pupils look awfully dilated right now. If you feel confused at all, it’s probably because of the pain meds. Promise you’ll call for me if you need me.”
He pointed to the door and gave me his I’m-Your-Father look, which hadn’t lost any of its power.
Chapter 29
The hospital cafeteria had closed the hot lunch buffet and didn’t have dinner ready yet, so I chose a sandwich from the cooler, paired with a bowl of vegetable soup. I ate quickly, pausing only to set the four yellow envelopes on the table and write down the blonde’s license plate number on the back of my receipt. Minimizing my time with Tony would save us both aggravation.
He arrived in the cafeteria as I was finishing. When he spotted me, he gave me an unexpectedly warm smile that was the exact opposite of the expression he’d given me twice that day. I actually glanced over my shoulder to see if someone better was sitting behind me.
He got his lunch and joined me without saying a word. He used a cafeteria butter knife to methodically cut his ham and cheese sandwich into quarters and then eighths.
“That’s cute,” I commented.
He frowned at his sandwich as though confounded. “Did I just cut this sandwich into quarters?”
“Technically, those are eighths.”
He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Tony Junior will only eat sandwiches cut like this. I must have been on autopilot. This is what kids and lack of sleep will do to you.” He gestured to my empty dishes. “Good job cleaning your plate. I’ll buy you dessert. They just put out a fresh tray of Jell-O.” He handed me a twenty. “Get me one, too.”
I left him to his sandwich and returned with two bowls of colorful gelatin cubes.
Between mouthfuls, I said, “I haven’t had Jell-O in years.”
“If you don’t like the red cubes, I’ll eat them for you.”
I curled my arm around my bowl protectively. “Nice try. Those are the best ones.”
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, I asked, “Do you guys still have the quote board?”
He looked surprised and then amused. The board was a running gag at the police station. They’d use it to whenever, during the course of their work, one officer said something that would get a person fired from a corporate job. Taken out of context, the quotes were even more shocking and thus funny. They didn’t keep the board to disrespect their work or the victims of crime but to break the darkest moments with a laugh, to keep their sanity.
“Officially, there’s no quote board,” he said with a wink.
“Your new rookie seems sharp,” I said. “How are things going with Officer Peggy Wiggles?”
His mouth kept smiling, but the crinkles left his eyes. “Super. She’s great.”
“Except?”
His brown eyes seemed to grow darker. “Never mind about Wiggles.”
“How about the case? Did you get anything useful from my father?”
He turned to the cafeteria window. “Yes. Plenty.”
“You’re wasting your time,” I said. “He’s just messing with you because he’s bored.”
“In a small town, you can’t skip investigating the people you know, or you’ll have to skip everyone.”
“How about strangers?” I asked. “Have you tried rounding up all the new residents and checking their records?”
“I know you’re joking, but it’s not a bad idea. What do you know about this Logan Sanderson guy? I should show his picture to Pam, to see if she recognizes him from skulking around the neighborhood.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s a lawyer, not some itinerant thrill-killer.”
He clenched his jaw, flexing his cheek muscles several times. “Stormy, you’ve got to be careful. Go to work, go home, and don’t go poking around. Let me handle this.”
“Too late.” I pushed the envelopes and license plate number over to him. “The mailman dropped these on my porch, and the moisture from the snow made the flaps accidentally come open.”
He let out a long sigh as he dug into the envelopes. “Save us both the hassle and tell me everything.”
“Do I have immunity for the mail tampering?”
“Full immunity,” he said. “Spill it.”
I explained how I’d stopped into the pawn shop to look for Leo Jenkins’ cufflinks as a good deed, but then Harper had shown up and not responded to her name. I gave him the license plate number and suggested he look into the girl. As I gave my instructions to the uniformed man, I was keenly aware of how flimsy my logic was. My suspicion of Harper was little more than a gut feeling.
To my surprise, he got his phone and called in the license plate number without protest.
“Thanks for humoring me,” I said after he was done.
“What’s your theory?” he asked. “And don’t tell me you don’t have a theory. I know you, Stormy. You always have a theory or two.”
I explained how I’d heard gossip about Michaels at the veterinary clinic, about him reuniting with family, and then how Harper had been defensive about his activities as a regular at the Olive Grove. I concluded, “She might be a long-lost relative, either a niece or a daughter. Maybe she killed him, or had him killed, to get at his money. If she’s lying about her name, that’s got to be a sign she’s up to something.”
He tilted his head to the side. “That’s an interesting theory. It would make sense if Michaels actually had any money. We’ve looked into his financials, among other things. He had multiple mortgages on his residence and had partnered in a number of investments, none of them profitable. There’s no will, but it won’t matter. After his debts are cleared, there won’t be enough to pay for his final bachelor pad.” Tony paused dramatically. “By which I mean his pine box.”
“The girl might not have known about all the debt,” I said.
The cafeteria darkened. We both turned to the window as dark clouds overtook the low-hanging sun.
“So much for his legacy,” Tony said ominously. “A man lives and works and dies and nothing changes.”
Chapter 30
I bumped into my father’s orthopedic nurse in the elevator. Dora kept catching my eye, as though she wanted to chat, but we were accompanied the whole way up by visitors and hospital staff.
When
we got to my father’s room, he groggily called out, “Sunny?”
Dora bustled past me, first into the room and to his side.
“Finn, it’s your other daughter,” Dora said, fluffing his pillow.
“The one who brings the storm clouds,” he said, pointing to the gray window. His voice sounded thick, sleepy. “This weather is no coincidence. Soon there’ll be thunder and lightning. Don’t make my Stormy mad, whatever you do. The sky listens to her.”
“Good grief, Dad. What sort of drugs are you on?”
He bobbed his head from side to side as though he was five champagne toasts into a wedding reception. “This and that. Dora here takes care of me. Pink pills and blue pills.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Blue pills?”
Dora looked mortified. “Not any blue pills,” she said hurriedly. “I swear, Stormy. Not the blue pills. Your father and I are just friends.”
“Good friends,” my father said.
I collapsed into a visitor chair next to his bed and dropped my face into my palms. “Dad, what have you done now?”
Dora said, “I’ll leave you two some privacy.”
Through gritted teeth, I said, “That would be great, Dora.”
Once we were alone, my father said, “It’s not what you think.”
“So, you’re not chasing after your physical therapist?”
“She’s an orthopedic nurse,” he said. “And I can’t exactly chase her until the new hip’s working, can I?”
I gave him a behave-yourself look, not that it ever did any good.
“What are your thoughts on swords?” he asked. “Specifically, I’m thinking of getting a cane-sword, since I’ll need a cane for walking anyway.”
“What about Pam?” I asked.
He snorted. “She’s the last person who should be walking around with a sword. That’s why we have laws against concealed weapons.”