by Lisa Bork
Four hours later everything was either back in its place or swept up and tossed in the garbage. The only good news was the untouched mousetraps. Maybe this time Mickey had been the lone marauder bent on cheesy mac.
Cory ran out to buy us submarines for a late lunch, and I gingerly lowered my backside onto my desk chair to call and retrieve the messages of the shop answering machine.
Beep. “Jolene, this is Bernie. We need to talk about your claim. Call me. Bye.”
Beep. “Jolene, this is Bernie again. We need … What? What are you flapping your arms at me for? … No, I didn’t see the news … Oh, geez, Jolene, I’m real sorry. Sally says you were kidnapped and dragged behind a car last night by a hawk or somethin’. I’ll—” Beep.
I rolled my eyes.
“Hey, this here’s Matt Travis. I’m looking for a 1978 candy apple red Jaguar XJ6L with a camel interior for my wife, Estelle. I’d like to have it in time to put it under the Christmas tree. Any chance you all could find one for me? She used to have one when we got married, and I’m trying to rekindle the romance, if ya know what I mean? My number is …”
I grabbed a pen and scribbled Matt’s down number.
Beep. “This is Cindy in Accounts Receivable at Vernon’s Auto Parts. You have a bill for four hundred sixty-seven dollars and eighty-two cents that is over ninety days past due. If you pay it now, we won’t have to send you to our collections agency. Please call me.” Cindy reeled off her number.
The other five collections calls went on my list, too. December was a bad month for auto sales, and my cash flow had dwindled to the point where each bill I received almost brought me to tears.
I was surprised Brennan Rowe hadn’t left me a message. He’d been quite a pest until now. I said as much to Cory when he returned with the food.
“Oh, he knew you were in the hospital. He’s called me every day to make sure you’d be up and around by Monday.”
How chivalrous of him to be concerned for my health.
I filled Cory in on the rest of the messages. “So, the Jag is worth about four thousand. If we broker the deal, we make a few hundred at best. What am I going to tell all these bloodsuckers?” I gestured to the list.
Cory replied around a mouthful of submarine. “Too bad we don’t know the whereabouts of the three hundred thousand dollars missing from the town coffers.”
“Where’d you hear about that?”
“The gym.”
“That figure is bigger than Ray’s.”
A smug expression settled on Cory’s face. “I got a lot of things bigger than Ray’s, Jo.”
I wasn’t going there.
After we finished eating, Cory picked up the garbage and carried it into the kitchen.
I gave him his marching orders when he reappeared. “We’re going to have to start calling our customers about their overdue bills. I want to be clear of debt by year end.”
“Okay, you rest. I’ll go into the office and start calling.”
I stretched out on my couch. “Ask them to pay by credit card. We’ll get the money faster.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, I struggled to my feet. I couldn’t rest. I had to find my sister and a killer before Ray asked me how my fingerprints got on the baggie holding the knife sheath. Was he deliberately not mentioning it and waiting for me to trip up? He’d been so free with information yesterday, except for that. Was that part of his good cop routine, waiting for me to confess?
I thought about the fifteen thousand dollars sitting under the Christmas tree in the park. If it wasn’t Erica’s, could it be Tim’s? When and why would Tim have snuck into my house to store it there? Or had the killer placed it in my home to frame me? If so, he’d done a good job. Even Ray suspected me.
But why frame me? Did Mr. Hughes want my property that badly? Ray said Mr. Hughes liked to get his own way. Just how far would he go to get it? By eliminating Tim, he could get the property for his grocery store and a better shot at turning my sports car boutique into his daughter’s florist shop. But I couldn’t think of any other wrong I’d ever done Mr. Hughes that would provoke such wrath against me. I’d sold him only the best cars, just like all my other customers.
My phone rang. It was Isabelle, full of questions about the events of the last few days. When she satisfied her curiosity, I got to ask a few questions, too. “How is everyone?”
“Cassidy is dancing The Nutcracker and Jack is still whining. Why are men such wimps when it comes to illness?”
“They’re just big babies. You know that. I have a question for you.”
“Shoot. CASSIDY, GET OFF THE COFFEE TABLE. YOU’RE GOING TO FALL. Sorry, go ahead.”
With the blast from Isabelle’s built-in fog horn, I almost forgot what I wanted to ask. “Oh, yeah. The jewelry set you wore to lunch the other day, the one with the pearls?”
“Yes?”
“Celeste has a set like it. Did she buy it at your store?”
“Jolene, it wasn’t an exclusive. A lot of jewelry stores sold it.”
“What’s it worth?”
“Wholesale or retail?”
“Retail.”
“Hold on.” Isabelle dropped the phone and I heard footsteps then nothing. Minutes later I heard footsteps again. She must have climbed the stairs to ask Jack. “Around seventy-five hundred. Jack says we did have two sets and the second one sold a few years ago. He’ll look up who bought it when he gets back to work. It might not be until the day after tomorrow, though. He’s feeling so poorly, you know.”
I knew sarcasm when I heard it. “Okay. Give me a call then.”
Seventy-five hundred. A lot of money for a retail store manager. Knowing Celeste, she got the jewelry from a man with money. Could that man have been Tim Lapham? Could the money not have been his to spend?
My doorbell rang.
Ray stood in the doorway, in uniform and angry. Very angry. I could tell from the red flush on his neck and the way he clenched and unclenched his fingers. He pushed past me and I closed the door.
“I’m going to ask you one last time, Jolene. Where’s Erica?”
“I don’t know, Ray. Really, I don’t.”
“The convenience store on Hogan was robbed this evening at five o’clock. Two men in camouflage entered the store and pulled a gun on the owner. The owner tried to get his gun from under the counter and the gunman fired on him.” Ray leaned down so we were eye to eye. His hands cupped my uninjured shoulder and squeezed. “He’s in critical condition, Jolene. I want to know everything you know abut Erica’s whereabouts and I want to know right now.”
I made a feeble attempt to protest his conclusions, since he’d cleared the long jump to reach them. “You can’t be sure it was Erica. You can’t even be sure it was the same men. They haven’t struck before in the daylight.”
Ray released me, straightened and folded his arms. “It’s dark at five, Jolene. But it may not have been the same men. A witness said they peeled out of the parking lot in a funny-looking silver car.”
“Funny peculiar or funny ha ha?”
“What? Wait a minute …” I saw the realization dawn in Ray’s eyes. “Gumby told me about the DeLorean stolen from your garage. Are you telling me Erica is robbing convenience stores disguised as Marty McFly?”
“I’m telling you she came to your house yesterday to see me. She left in the DeLorean.”
“Is that why you sent me on the wild goose chase?” Ray spat out the words. I had to brush a fleck of spittle from my check before answering.
“This is what I know. Erica claims she heard a man outside her room say ‘God damn Jolene Asdale. She’ll pay for this.’ She left the psych center with Sam and went to my house to warn me. Sam’s cousin picked them up. I wasn’t home so they went to the casino. She came back yesterday to see me and took off again. She said they were at the casino the whole time and didn’t rob any stores.”
“Does she know the identity of the man she claims to have heard?”
“No
. She didn’t even see him.”
The dismissive expression on Ray’s face told me he filed her claim under more lunacy. I took offense. It was one thing for me to doubt or criticize Erica but a whole different thing when he did.
Ray continued his interrogation. “Did she name Sam’s cousin?”
“No.”
“Why are you letting her run around without a leash?”
“She swore she hadn’t robbed any stores, and she had an alibi. Besides, I wasn’t in any condition to tackle her, Ray. I tried to get her to stay with me and go back to the psych center with you. She said she needed to get me a Christmas present first. Something Mom told her to get.” As I finished my sentence, I realized I was the one who ought to be locked up.
“She doesn’t have any money. Maybe you gave her the idea for robbing this store. Great. Just great, Jolene.” He yanked my front door open and stepped onto the porch. “Stay here. If she shows up again or calls you, you get a grip on her and keep hold until I get back.”
I wished I had a direct line to Mom like Erica. Maybe she’d fill me in on whatever the hell was going on. Since I didn’t, I tried the next best thing. I phoned Tommye
Tommye answered the phone at the nurse’s desk, and she didn’t know the name of Sam Green’s cousin. She didn’t even seem sure of her own, making me wonder what the current crisis at the psych center was. She wasn’t too keen on telling me how to reach my darling sister’s new boyfriend’s parents, either.
“Now, Wheels, you know I can’t give out personal information about the patients or medical information.”
Ray could get the nephew’s name quickly enough by himself, but I felt the need to redeem myself in his eyes. If I could give it to him first, maybe he’d think less harshly of me. “I think they may have shot someone dead last night.”
“It’s that boy. Your sister would never harm anyone except herself.”
I heard papers rustling.
“Wheels, I can’t tell you Sam’s parents’ home phone number is—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. She read off the number to me. “Get our baby girl back in here. She’s not fit to be wandering the streets alone.”
If only Erica were alone. I thanked Tommye and tried the number she gave me. On the seventh ring, a man snarled something into the receiver.
“Mr. Green?”
“Yes. What do you want?”
I didn’t even bother to explain who I was. He didn’t sound interested. “I need the name of your nephew. Apparently he’s the one who picked your son up from the psych center.”
“Little shit. It’s my wife’s nephew. When I get my hands on him, I’m going to kick his ass.”
“Yes sir. I need his name.”
“Theo Tibble, Theodore Tibble. Who’s asking anyway? Are you from the sheriff’s department?”
I set the receiver in its cradle without a sound and waited a minute for Mr. Green to realize I’d hung up on him. Then I picked up the phone again and dialed Ray’s cell.
“I don’t suppose Green told you what this kid looks like?”
“No.” And I didn’t plan on calling him back to find out.
“All right. I’ll see if he has a record and put an APB out on him, too. If we find him, maybe we’ll find Erica too.” Ray’s radio squawked. I couldn’t make out the words. He disconnected.
I just hoped if and when they found Erica, they wouldn’t have grounds for her arrest.
___
After a near sleepless night, I awoke and took inventory of my body. My shoulder still hurt if I tried to raise my elbow, my rib ached with every breath, my road rash felt itchy, but my headache was gone. Progress.
I wanted to go to the shop and process all the credit card payments to clear up my accounts receivable. The sooner the money hit my bank account the better. Cory didn’t answer his home phone or his cell phone, which meant I would have to drive myself.
I put on my old gray sweats, the only loose pants I had, along with my old ski jacket with the grease stain on the front. The whole ensemble made me look like a poster child for the homeless. I hoped my neighbors wouldn’t spot me.
It was snowing again. I had to place each foot carefully. I was sick to death of this stuff already, and winter hadn’t even officially begun. I slipped twice, but almost made it to my car without being seen.
“Jolene Asdale, is that you?”
I lifted my head to see my neighbor, Mr. Murphy, approaching at full steam. He was a sprightly old guy with two tufts of hair sticking out just above his ears, which have the biggest lobes I’ve ever seen. His mother must have dragged him around by them as a child because they hung clear down to his jaw, which was always flapping, usually to complain about where I placed my trash cans.
“Jolene, I heard you were on the news. Some pelican fellow tried to abduct you at gunpoint? Is that right?”
Close enough. You’d think people would get the story right, but they never do. If I corrected him, he’d flub it some other way the next time he repeated it. Like all gossips, his interest lay in the titillation, not the truth.
“Yes, but I’m okay now. I have some work to do at the office.” I tried to get around him to my car. He blocked me with ease.
“I heard you were leaving Tim Lapham’s funeral at the time. Strange happenings with that boy. Did you hear about the four hundred thousand missing from the town treasury? It’s got his name written all over it.” Mr. Murphy shook his head as if this news saddened him. The truth was it probably made his day. Not too much excitement in our town most of the time. This last week was the equivalent of an oil strike.
“Yes, I heard about that, too.”
He bobbed his head in agreement. “And leaving two young ones behind. So sad. Sally Winslow over to the church said Tim left them well-off though. A million-dollar life insurance policy. That sum ought to tide them over.”
I stopped with my hand on the door handle. “You don’t say.”
“Sally Winslow said so. She works over to Bernie’s insurance office. She ought to know.”
“Yes, she ought to.” I yanked the car door open and gently lowered myself inside. Sally also ought to keep those kinds of things confidential instead of blabbing the information all over town.
Mr. Murphy leaned into the open door. “I hear you misplaced a car. Someone stole it right out of your garage, ain’t that right? No one’s going to want to trust you with their vehicle no more, if you can’t guarantee its safe return, now are they?” He rapped the palm of his hand on the roof of my car and closed the door in my face.
I backed out and childishly refused to return his wave.
So Tim had a million-dollar life insurance policy. I wondered if Becky was the beneficiary or if the children were. Becky didn’t seem like a cold-blooded killer, but Tim had left her. Maybe a desire for vengeance and the allure of the cash pushed her over the edge. Somehow I doubted it. Still, it bore closer examination. Ray had probably already looked into it, not that he was in any mood to share more information with me. I could always ask Bernie about the insurance policy when I returned his phone call.
Walter was writing a ticket for an expired meter in front of my shop as I approached. Good old Walter was like the post office: neither sleet nor snow nor rain would deter him from his appointed rounds. He tucked the ticket under the Dodge’s windshield and moved to the next car. His shoulder slumped inward, giving him a dejected look. He didn’t appear to notice me as I pulled into a spot behind where he stood.
“Hi, Walter!”
He looked up, clearly startled. “Hi, Jolene. I heard about the abduction. How are you? You look … different.”
“I’m stiff and sore. I look like a bag lady. Don’t sugarcoat it.” I walked over next to him.
He took a step away, tilting his ticket book so I couldn’t see it.
Excuse me. I hadn’t realized tickets were so confidential. “How are things at your house?”
“Hectic as always. You know how it is with teenagers.”
Two members of the Dickens cast greeted me as I unlocked the front door to the showroom. After returning their cheerful good mornings and admiring their costumes, I locked the door tight behind me and scouted the entire building.
The Ferrari still occupied the showroom—without any passengers, live or dead. The garage remained empty. I’d half hoped to see the sheen of the DeLorean’s stainless steel bodywork waiting for me. Guess Erica still needed it. For what, only God and Mom knew.
I found the results of Cory’s collection calls on my desk and ran the twenty-eight credit card payments through the authorization machine. They would add a little more than nine thousand to my business checking account. My creditors would get their payments in the mail this week. One less thing to worry about.
I decided to call Brennan Rowe. He’d certainly called me enough, and I might be able to learn more about the Rowe and Hughes feud. I flipped through my Rolodex and dialed.
“Brennan Rowe.”
“Mr. Rowe, this is Jolene Asdale. I wanted to let you know that the auction is scheduled for Monday. Bidding begins at ten a.m. Are you still willing to bid as high as seven hundred and fifty thousand?”
“Yes, but not one penny more.”
“I feel obligated to inform you that I’ve been advised of another serious bidder who may be willing to go higher.”
“Hughes.” It was a statement, not a question. “He’s mad I’m going to get zoning board approval to build on his lot.”
“So I’ve heard. He’s also mad Tim Lapham voted against him.”