Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 01 - The Legitimate Way

by Rohn Federbush

  “Yes, we are. We’ve impounded all the computers used on the research. David and Harry’s home computers are missing; but the university gave us access to the rest. We even confiscated St. Claire’s home computer. The FBI agreed to provide us with any relevant information from China.”

  “How are you going to find the safety-deposit box?” John asked.

  “I could use some help. You both own detective licenses right?”

  John shook his head no; but Sally produced both of their valid cards. “I just wanted to keep in the game,” Sally told John.

  “Good deal,” Walker said. “I have a search warrant you can produce for the bank managers. Take this key and find us some concrete information.” Sally and John got up to leave. “One more thing. Harry says he’ll wear a wire and try to trap St. Claire into disclosing the truth about David’s research.”

  Sally shook her head no. “Harry shouldn’t be put through more traumas.”

  “He won’t be able to lie,” John said.

  Walker agreed. “We’ll just take our time and crucify the guy with facts.”

  “Could you charge St. Claire, somehow, for contributing to David’s suicide,” Sally asked.

  “That would be a stretch, but we’re certainly going to use every angle to prejudice the jury, if the judge allows it.”

  “Who’s the judge,” Sally asked.

  “Joe Wilcox.”

  “He’ll allow more than that!” Sally laughed. St. Claire was going to get his comeuppance sooner rather than later.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Second Wednesday in December

  Zelda went to the one place she was sure St. Claire would not look for her. Harry Terkle opened the door and just stood there when he got a good look at Zelda. She pushed past him and shut the door behind her. “St. Claire did it. This isn’t the first time.”

  “Shouldn’t I drive you to the hospital?” Harry took Zelda’s hand and led her to the couch. “I don’t own any pain killers. Would a glass of brandy help?”

  “Only if you serve it with a straw.” Zelda wanted to laugh, but her face hurt way too much. “I have an appointment with my plastic surgeon on Monday. He phoned in a pain prescription at the Village Apothecary. Could you pick it up for me? Is there any way I could stay here? St. Claire won’t think of you as someone I would run to.”

  “Absolutely. How could he have hurt you?”

  “Oh, he’s got enough meanness in him. Plenty to go around.” But Zelda felt really good, face torn to pieces and all. She felt freed. “You live quite comfortably here, don’t you?” Zelda surveyed the walls lined with bookcases.

  “I need a housekeeper.” Harry blushed. “Norman Leonard was dallying with my last helper.”

  “Did you know he’s in prison? St. Claire set him up for rape charges.”

  Harry sat down in a padded rocking chair. “Did Norman rape you?”

  “No,” Zelda waved her hand at the ridiculous premise. “St. Claire wanted him to be blamed for everything. He did burn down Donna and Sally Bianco’s houses.”

  “St. Claire!” Harry was clearly shocked.

  “No. Norman did it, because he thinks Donna is pregnant with David’s child.”

  “Well she is,” Harry said.

  Zelda wondered if this arrangement with Harry, which he wasn’t yet aware of, was going to be a match made in heaven or a life-long teaching job. “Donna lost the baby.”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Harry slid to his knees, hands clasped in prayer. “When will the evil subside?”

  Zelda thought that was a good question for the universe to answer. Maybe Harry wasn’t as unschooled as he seemed.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Paul St. Claire was one-step ahead of Zelda. He inquired at the Village Apothecary if Zelda’s pain prescription was ready. The pharmacist knew the professor by name and face. St. Claire signed for drugs for his next door neighbor, with her permission, more than once.

  “They’ve been picked up already.” The druggist told St. Claire, after he checked his records.

  “That’s right. Zelda told me she’d be visiting a friend; but I’ve forgotten the name.” St. Claire was proud of his ability to think on his feet. “Who signed for the pills?”

  Without hesitation, the pharmacist relayed the innocent information, “Harry Terkle. He works for you too, doesn’t he?”

  “Certainly has for ten years.” St. Claire smiled a good-bye.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Harry Terkle rushed back to his house to give Zelda her prescription. After she was asleep, he drove back to the hospital to give his condolences to Donna. The poor kid, after losing her husband to a freakish accident and the resulting suicide, her house was robbed and then vandalized. Now, her hopes of having David’s baby were dashed by a miscarriage. On top of all that, her house was burnt to the ground. Harry felt Donna needed support more than Zelda, who surprised him with her levity about her injuries. Zelda didn’t seem quite sane.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Zelda was shaken awake by St. Claire. She didn’t ask him how he got into Harry’s house, or how he found her. Nothing surprised her as far as St. Claire’s intellectual capabilities were concerned. What shocked her was he was carrying a gun, pointing it at her. “Why didn’t you just shoot me in my sleep?” Her despair of being free of this fiend arrived with complete calm. She breathed in his familiar cologne. She picked out the blue silk tie he was wearing. She realized he would have a problem finding a maid as devoted as she. The reason for her initial attraction was lost somewhere in her memory. Maui. That was it. The weather on the island was seductive all by itself. She wondered for a moment why fate led her to this bank account of evil.

  “I did not want to miss all your sweet pleadings?” St. Claire ran his finger across her broken nose.

  Even with the painkillers, Zelda winced. “Well, I’m awake now.” She felt happy again. This was going to end, badly for her; but the stretch of harsh days into the future was gone. “Let me see the means of my destruction.” Zelda was surprised to hear herself actually coo. St. Claire held the gun in the palm of his hand for her to see. Zelda bent over it, stroking it with her perfectly manicured nail. “Is it heavy?” Somewhere in Zelda’s brain a bright light was growing in size. At first, she thought the light was the portal dead people are supposed to look at to find the way to heaven, which didn’t make sense with her list of sins. Then, Zelda slowly realized the brightness of the idea forming in her head. St. Claire looked into her eyes, gauging her. She wondered if he could read her thoughts. “Do you want to have a final go at me?”

  “That would be too sad to contemplate,” St. Claire said, but his voice was husky with thoughts of lust.

  “Oh, come on, Paul.” Zelda lifted her nightgown. “Give it a go.”

  The savage instinct in St. Claire ruled and he laid the grey gun on Harry Terkle’s blue bedspread to unbuckle his belt. That was all Zelda needed. He was dead before he hit the ground with a bullet hole right above his prominent nose, right between the eyes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Third Friday in December

  The Nelson table was set for six. Sam was picking Sylvester up at the airport to serve as his best man on Saturday. Donna was sleeping soundly in the guest bedroom, where her bridal gown hung within easy reach of her fingertips. John was experimenting with pecan waffles in the kitchen, sending delicious odors throughout the condo.

  Sally was on the telephone with her AA sponsor. “The Fourth Step has been rolling around in my head, but this case was a priority.”

  “Your program is more important than work,” Grace said. “You’ve done one before, so it shouldn’t be complicated for you. What addiction are you working on?”

  “Spending. The framework of the house we were planning was arsoned.”

  “Are you using the arson as an excuse to overspend?”

  “We were thinking of selling my condo and moving to Illinois. John’s home is empty.”

 
; “You plan to live in Ann Arbor eventually?”

  Sally smoothed the pages of her empty journal. “Yes. But, I’m thinking of how best to help with the wedding expenses of a friend.”

  “Another excuse for your addiction with money? Why don’t you list all of them. There are more.”

  Sally smiled to herself. “Smart cookie aren’t you.”

  “The program is the program. Let’s start by you writing down a ‘Lady Bountiful’ list.”

  “The needs of the step-children of…”

  “Make sure your husband sees the list before you call me.” Grace laughed. “I expect a few items about redecorating his home in Illinois will be added.”

  “How is this going to help?” Sally closed her empty journal.

  “Your life is going to become manageable with the help of your Higher Power.”

  “But the fourth step is supposed to list my faults.”

  “By the time you address all your excuses to outspend any amount of income, we will find out why you find it necessary to let a natural generosity turn into a destructive obsession. Next to each item, I expect you to write down how this will improve your conscious contact with God.”

  “You think I give money to buy affection?”

  “This is your inventory, not mine.” Grace coughed. “Sorry, I need to run. Are you on course?”

  “I am,” Sally said. “Thank you.” Somewhat humbled by the discussion, Sally stared at the closed journal. She was going to need a great deal of honesty to thoroughly look at her motivations for largesse.”

  John called for her to join him in the kitchen. “This is the best waffle machine. It beeps when they’re done!”

  “Shouldn’t we wait until we see the whites of their eyes, before you make anymore?”

  “Take a bite.” John pulled her close to his side as he offered her a fork full.

  Leaning into his warmth, Sally opened her mouth like an obedient child. “Oh, they’re great.”

  John squared his shoulders. “Told you.”

  “Turn the oven on warm and we’ll keep these hot. I think you should stop for a while.”

  “I’ll finish this batch and make more when the boys arrive.” John hugged her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “Usually your sponsor cheers you.”

  “She’s given me a horrendous task.”

  “Is she supposed to do that?”

  Sally laughed. “Oh yes. Sponsors lead us where God’s will points.”

  “Well all right then.” John turned her around and wacked her bottom. “Get to it, before the boys arrive.”

  “Not that simple.” Sally stood in the kitchen’s doorway to the entrance hall. Thankfully, the doorbell rang. “They’re here.”

  Instead Harry Terkle arrived. Sally nearly pulled him to the table. “Sit, sit. I’ll hang up your coat. John, here’s one customer.” After John delivered the waffles and Harry raised his fork, Sally waved at John. “I’ll just run upstairs and check on Donna.”

  John frowned as he sat down at the table. “Stay down here and let her sleep. Harry, tell us what Jimmy Walker needs from us.”

  Harry swallowed half a glass of milk. “These are superb. You should start a restaurant. Thank you for finding David’s notes. Jimmy said he doesn’t need any more from us until the trial of poor Norman. Unfortunately, my colleagues don’t believe David came up with the answer for Parkinson’s. Sometimes a drug can be applied to other uses.”

  “Like glaucoma medicine for Sjogren’s?”

  “I’m not familiar with Sjogren’s disease.”

  “Rheumatoid Arthritis.” Sally pointed to her eyes. “Dry eyes, no saliva, and joint pain.”

  “You met Sam and Sylvester Tedler,” John said.

  “In the hoosegow.” Harry smiled first at Sally and then at John. “I need to thank all of you.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  When Sam and Sylvester arrived, Donna was still sleeping. “You both remember Harry Terkle? I’m thinking of a thousand questions about Mary Jo and the children. How do they like Kansas City?”

  “They’re coming tomorrow, with Harriett,” Sylvester dug into a stack of waffles, before patting some added weight around his middle. “See what being married does for a guy?”

  “You’re beautiful.” Sam looked toward the stairway. “She’s not awake?”

  “Plenty of time,” Sally said.

  Sylvester encouraged John to refill his plate. “Kansas City is a lot bigger than Ann Arbor. I expect to be promoted by this time next year.”

  Sam nodded. Sally knew Sylvester pushed himself. His career ascension in law enforcement seemed to be his top goal in life. Sam, on the other hand, let things happen. He was more interested in trying to make a life for Donna, worthy of the girl.

  “More criminals per capita down there?” Sally asked just to be polite.

  “I don’t know what you’re asking.” Sylvester said, as he sized up Sam. “But there are plenty of cases to go around.” Sam ate in silence. Sally could tell being a younger brother to a competitive older brother could be a pain. “John said your bachelor party is being held in the police department basement.” Sylvester’s tone implied a stodgy gathering.

  “Cake and coffee. Is that all right with you?” Sam asked.

  “Sure, sure. I came a day early because I thought you might want to go out on the town.”

  “Had enough of that business to last a lifetime,” Sam said.

  “I guess.” Sylvester was clearly disappointed.

  “How’s that big family of yours?” John asked.

  After devouring more than his share of the waffles, Sylvester said, “Don’t tell Mary Jo, but I never thought I would want children.”

  “Why not?” Sam asked.

  “I didn’t think Mother did a very good job teaching us how to parent kids. Especially with Dad gone since I was seven.”

  “I think your mother did you both a favor,” Sally said. She knew their cold father only from stories their mother shared.

  “At least,” Sam said, “we didn’t live with bickering parents.”

  “I don’t think I would have minded. I missed Dad.”

  “When I visit him out in Wyoming, I don’t feel he’s a warm and fuzzy kind of guy.” Sam attention waivered to the empty staircase. “Of course, Mother wasn’t perfect.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Ancient history.” Sally wished for a moment that Sylvester was too busy on some fantastic murder case to come to Sam’s wedding.

  “How do you get along with the kids?” Harry asked.

  “They’re so timid. I guess their father, Ricco, scarred them for life.”

  “How is Mary Jo with them?” Sally wondered how people changed the perceptions of young children who knew so much personal violence.

  “She’s great. I wish, sometimes, she spent more time with me. But you can’t find fault with the woman for her treatment of those kids.”

  “What are their ages again?” John asked.

  “I’ve got a picture with me.” Sylvester made no attempt to retrieve a photo.

  Sam got up from the table without finishing his plate. He strolled over to the stairs as if to listen for Donna’s movements. “We’re staying at Weber’s. You are, too. We’ll look for a place after the honeymoon.”

  “Ann Arbor really experienced a crime wave this year.” Sylvester said.

  “At least an arson wave.” Sally admitted. “We’re only providing state housing for one criminal.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The real villain was shot and killed by his mistress,” Harry said. “Then she turned around and overdosed on painkillers.”

  John ushered the group into the front room. “For some reason Zelda, the mistress, took shelter with Harry. Your house was really messed up with a bleeding corpse in the bedroom and a stiff, suicide in his front room.”

  “Donna’s kind of adopted me.” Harry smiled as Donna joined them.

  “Bring her pla
te in here.” Sally directed John as she watched Donna sit next to a cheered up Sam.

  Sam slid his arm around Donna waist. “Sally and John are moving back to Illinois, where John has a house. The dead guy burnt down their dream house, the same week Donna’s stepson torched hers.”

  Harry seemed to take comfort by telling, “The prosecutor assures me Norman will be in jail for thirty years.”

  “Mary Jo’s really looking forward to her trip out here with the kids,” Sylvester said.

  Donna swept her long hair away from Sam’s embrace. “I’m excited to meet them. Is there any chance you would move back to Ann Arbor?”

  “I like Kansas City,” Sylvester said.

  Sally could tell Sam was judging Sylvester to be more like their dad, not one of those warm and fuzzy kind of guys.

  The End

  Other Books by Rohn Federbush

  Salome’s Conversion, 2011

  North Parish, 2014

  Floating Home, 2014

  Sally Bianco Mystery Series, 2014

  About Rohn Federbush

  Rohn Federbush retired as an administrator from the University of Michigan in 1999. She received a Masters of Arts in Creative Writing in 1995 from Eastern Michigan University, where she studied under Janet Kauffman and Larry Smith. In 1998, Vermont College awarded her a summer conference scholarship to work on her novel under Ellen Lesser and Brett Lott. Frederick Busch of Colgate granted a 1997 summer stipend for her ghost-story collection. Michael Joyce of Vassar encouraged earlier writing at Jackson Community College, Jackson, Michigan in 1981. Rohn has completed fourteen novels, with an additional mystery nearly finished, 120 short stories and 150 poems to date.

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