The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery)

by Abbott, Victoria

  She must have read my mind. “I have friends. Connections in bigger places. I called around.”

  “But unauthorized searches of personal information are illegal, aren’t they?”

  “Absolutely. But you gave me a good reason when you were so worried about your friend Randolph. The word on the street is that a mob accountant named Randall Abrams was skimming from some high-level mobsters and the wise guys got wise. About three years ago he disappeared along with his wife, Dawna, and the young guy who was his assistant. The money went with Randall. These mob guys are not the kind of people who let things go. They want their money back and they want Randall Abrams and everyone with him dead. Doesn’t matter if he’s a sick old man. They can’t be reasoned with. Hey, you don’t seem all that happy about it.”

  “Of course I’m not happy to learn that he was a fraud too. I’m not surprised about Delilah and especially Mason. But I really believed Randolph was in danger.”

  She picked up her latest piece of cake. “Cheer up. Maybe he is.”

  I shot her a dirty look. “Not funny.”

  “Sorry.” She couldn’t resist a grin.

  “It isn’t a game.”

  “Somehow it feels a bit like a game.” I swear she twinkled at me. “I feel there’s something about you and those Adamses that I’m not getting.”

  “Tell you what I’m getting: a headache. Maybe that’s what you’re hoping for?”

  She laughed out loud. She sure was a good laugher. “I’m just hoping for something interesting to happen in Burton.”

  “I guess you got it, what with a couple of murders and all.”

  “Yes. But they don’t let the new kid do anything but the most boring footwork on those cases. The detectives are little kings. Tyrannical too. But the question remains, what does this thing with the disappearing Adams family mean?”

  I shrugged, feeling suddenly deflated. “You got me.”

  Nothing could deflate Officer Candy. “This is the most fun I’ve had since I got here.”

  I said, “What brought you here in the first place?”

  “I wanted to get some good experience. I thought with a small force I’d get closer to the action. When I grow up, I want to be one of those little kings.”

  “And is that working?”

  “Not even a little bit. I’ll have to make my own opportunities.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  I didn’t like the idea of being part of Candy’s opportunities, but anyway, I turned the discussion back to the missing Adams family and added some of my own speculations. “Could that money have come from Randolph himself? Could he have been convinced to leave his former life and go underground in Burton? Maybe he liquefied all his assets and faked his death or something. Could Delilah have tricked him? Or coerced him?”

  “Anything is possible for people who don’t exist. But you do have to ask yourself, if you had enough money to buy that house and to live for years without anyone apparently working and to collect books and art and nice wines, would you pick Burton? Wouldn’t you go somewhere glamorous?”

  I shrugged. “I really like it around here, but I take your point. Burton is hardly Paris or Rio.”

  Candy said, “And now that they’ve vanished and we don’t know where or how, it will be almost impossible to find where they’ve gone. Especially if they get themselves new names and melt into another small town where they have no connections.”

  “We don’t even know if Randolph is still alive,” I said. “Sorry to introduce a serious element into the funfest.”

  She managed to look a bit chastened, although I wasn’t entirely convinced it was sincere. She said, “Oh, right. This is serious and we already have a body, don’t we?”

  “Yes. We do. Do you know who that is?”

  “No.”

  “Not an idea?”

  “So far none.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  She smiled again. “Now that’s interesting too.”

  I waited.

  She kept smiling.

  “Come on,” I said. “You’re dying to tell me.”

  “I am actually.”

  “And . . .”

  “He didn’t have any.”

  “No fingerprints?”

  Her grin was back. So much for being chastened. “Who would imagine such a thing?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t know that was possible.” Not entirely true, because I did remember my uncles speaking about people with no prints in hushed voices tinged with respect and envy.

  Candy tilted her head and dusted the crumbs off her sweater. “Leave the fingerprint issue aside for the moment and tell me, what do you do for fun around here?”

  What was this about? The missing fingerprints were the only thing that mattered to me at that second. Fun? What did that have to do with anything?

  “For fun? I read classic mysteries. I spend time with my friend Lance who’s a local librarian. I go to flea markets and bazaars and garage sales, and I hang out with my family and the family dog.” Okay, not entirely true, but that was my Kelly side coming out.

  “Wow. You have got to get a life.”

  “I like my life. In fact, I love it.” The strangest part of that statement was that it was true. A year ago, I wouldn’t have imagined saying it. A lot had happened in that year.

  “Yeah right you do.”

  “I do. I’m saving to get back to grad school. I can’t swing it just yet, but I’m sure hoping for next year.”

  “I’ll watch for you on TMZ.”

  “Maybe you’ll make it first.”

  “I’m not nearly as interesting as you are.”

  I felt a flutter of nerves. I had just explained how totally devoid of interest my life was, leaving aside recent encounters with theft and murder. As they say, that was a story for another time. I did not want this police officer to find anything about me or my life interesting.

  She continued, “That’s why I followed up. I thought you might be a possible friend.”

  A possible friend? Was she kidding? Did she routinely interview for friends? “But you’re a cop. Are you permitted to socialize with witnesses?”

  Now I had all her attention. “Witnesses. Are you a witness? Witness to what?”

  Oops. Think fast. “To Randolph’s situation.”

  I reminded myself to remember to think first, speak second.

  “Right. I thought you meant the murder.”

  I choked back a nervous giggle. “Hardly. But I am wondering who that guy was. No ID at all, you said. And no fingerprints. That sounds like someone who might be known to the police, as they say.”

  “Sure, it’s a giveaway, especially no fingerprints. No idea is too bizarre to consider, especially as he had a wallet and cash on him. But his picture is circulating.”

  “Did he have a driver’s license?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well then—?” The rest of my comment was drowned out by her hoot of laughter.

  “Fake! Pretty good job. But it turned out to belong to some dead guy.”

  “You mean he killed someone else?”

  “Nah. We followed up. Looks like he just ripped off the identity to get new ID. No way to know who he was until the DNA gets analyzed, and that takes forever and a day. It’s not like on TV.”

  It would have been pushing my luck to ask to see the photo of the dead man. I said, “I suppose you’ll be showing a picture to people in the neighborhood to see if they recognize his face.”

  “Yup. We cops do that kind of thing even before our friends suggest it.”

  I was not thrilled at the idea of being her friend.

  “Sorry. I’m getting a bit too into it. Of course, we can’t ask the Adamses, as they’re missing, but their next-door neighbor, Harry Yerxa, is pretty nosy. I’d go so far as to say he doesn’t miss a trick.”

  She raised a cop-like eyebrow. “How do you know him?”

  “He struck up a conversation every time we tried to get in to see
Randolph.”

  “Every time?”

  “Ah yes, well, um, they wouldn’t answer the door.”

  “Uh-huh. And who is we?”

  I made a strategic decision not to mention Uncle Kev. “Karen Smith, the dealer who sold the books to him.”

  She leaned forward and held my gaze. “And when was the last time you talked to him?”

  “To Harry? Why are you asking?”

  She made a little cop-like face, thought a bit and then said, “Because Harry Yerxa seems to be missing too.”

  My jaw dropped so fast I might have been a cartoon character. “Missing?” I squeaked. “Why would Harry be missing?”

  “You tell me.”

  “But I have no idea. Are you sure he’s missing?” I felt a surge of sadness tinged with panic. I had come to like Harry Yerxa, nosiness, bizarre wardrobe and all. He had spirit. And he hadn’t been home when I’d tried his door.

  “We’re sure.”

  “I mean did you check everywhere in the house? Again, he’s an older man. Maybe he slipped on the stairs. Maybe he fell in the bathtub. Maybe—”

  She put a hand on my arm. “Just like you thought about Randolph? Everyone past the age of fifty doesn’t fall over at the drop of a hat, you know. We did check the house.”

  “Oh. No. Could he have witnessed something?” Then an even more horrifying idea came to me. I gasped. “He wasn’t the body, was he?”

  I hated this idea.

  “Definitely not. For one thing, he’s too old, and for another, he is who he says he is. I imagine he has fingerprints too, although we won’t know for sure until we find him.”

  “Wait a minute! Why did you check his house?”

  “We got a call that something was happening on that street. An older person was injured.”

  “A call?”

  “Yes.”

  “From?”

  “Anonymous.”

  “But none of that makes any sense.”

  “Exactly. None of it makes any sense. Yet.”

  I blinked at her.

  “You seem—how can I put it?—excessively concerned.”

  “I hardly knew him, but he was sweet, in a grandfatherly way. And full of energy. He did need someone to help him with his wardrobe.”

  “Back to making sense. Are you sure you can’t add anything to help, Jordan?”

  I was telling the absolute truth for once when I said that I couldn’t.

  “Why are you so pale?” she demanded.

  I couldn’t tell her that I was pale because I was worried the body would turn out to be Uncle Kev. It was entirely possible he wouldn’t have fingerprints and almost 100 percent certain he’d have fake ID. Tyler Dekker had been creeping around with a fake dog, and he wouldn’t have been carrying his ID either, as he was obviously up to something. But I doubted that a working cop would lack fingerprints. That was the only thing I could feel good about.

  “I guess I am worried about Harry. I don’t know him well but I liked him right off the bat. Are you 100 percent sure that Harry Yerxa is not the, um, corpse? You sure we’re talking about the same guy? The older man with the passion for plaid. He lives to the left of the Adamses in that white Victorian-style house.”

  “I know who Harry Yerxa is. And trust me, he’s not the victim. This guy was much younger. I already told you that.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to judge how old a person is.” I was indeed stretching the truth when I said, “Well, Harry Yerxa had a young-looking face. Maybe . . . No that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? And he didn’t have a young face. He was obviously a senior.”

  She squinted at me and then sighed deeply. “Fine. I suppose it couldn’t do any harm. Come out to the car with me and I’ll show you the ID photo that we got at the station. I think it’s a real long shot that you’ll recognize this guy.”

  She stood up and tugged at the waistband of her pants. Her clothes were all wrong for her body type and obviously the wrong size. Candy’s hair was so damaged and frizzled, it hardly looked real. I actually heard it cry out for a hot oil treatment. She’d obviously tried to tame it with at least a dozen ill-placed bobby pins. Even if my relatives hadn’t taken the opposite career path, I could never have been a police officer if they allowed themselves to be seen in public like this off duty. She should have been an attractive woman.

  I had to resist the urge to drag her upstairs and give her a makeover.

  Chapter Ten

  I FELT MY throat tighten as we got near Candy’s navy-blue Tahoe. Especially as I was very, very worried that I would soon be gazing at the dead face of Uncle Kev.

  “Something wrong?” Candy said, stopping and turning back to me in concern.

  “Maybe I’m allergic to all the leaf mold in the air,” I croaked.

  She shrugged, walked over to the driver’s side and unlocked the door of the Tahoe. “Get in,” she ordered.

  I climbed into the passenger seat, although it’s very hard for anyone with my genes to sit in a car with a cop for any reason. I reminded myself she was just a junior officer in a small jurisdiction and she was off duty on my territory. Plus it was her own car. Nothing official. Still.

  “I’m breaking a dozen rules here,” Candy said. She flicked on the interior light and handed me the image the police were circulating of the victim.

  I must have exhaled in relief to see that it was no one that I’d been worrying about.

  Again with the cop eyebrow.

  “Expecting someone?” she said.

  “Just relieved it isn’t Harry,” I said, failing to mention Kev. “I am so glad. I hate the idea of really liking a corpse.”

  Candy rolled her eyes. I wished she wouldn’t do that quite so often. She said, “I told you more than once it wasn’t him. You’ll have to learn to listen to me. I do know my job, even if I’m new here.”

  I barely heard her, as I’d leaned forward to get a better look at the victim. The face on the sheet of paper—once I got used to the idea that he was dead—was very familiar.

  No question about it. This was the man in the car that had been parked outside the Adams house last night when I’d been walking Walter.

  I must have gasped because Candy said, “What? You know this guy?”

  I hesitated, which, of course, stimulated her cop senses.

  She watched me very closely as I sat silently. “And?”

  I decided to go with the truth. “You know what? I’m pretty sure this guy was parked near the Adams house the other night.”

  “What?”

  “He was parked near—”

  “I heard you, but I can’t believe what you’re saying. You saw the vic?”

  Had the truth been a bad idea? My uncles would have said so.

  “I did see him. What’s the problem?”

  “How come you didn’t mention it before? When was this?”

  This was awkward. I would have regretted telling her, but she’d known right away that I recognized him. Note to self: learn not to react dramatically when surprised. Of course, she was going to interrogate me. She was a cop. I hadn’t told my new best friend that I’d been fake dog-walking Walter the previous night, so I needed to leave out that bit.

  “Whoa, whoa! What’s with the interrogation? I see a lot of people every day. How was I supposed to know this guy would turn out to be important? ‘Important’ is not the right word, I guess. The fact is, I made several attempts to see Randolph Adams, as you know. And on one of the occasions this man, the victim, was parked there.”

  “And?”

  My turn to shrug. “And what?”

  “And what happened?”

  I stared at her. “Nothing happened. He was just parked on the street.”

  “In front of the Adams house?”

  “Well, no. In front of the next house down. Not Harry’s. Number 89. The one to the right of the Adamses. I figured he was waiting to pick someone up. He didn’t do anything to draw attention to himself.”

  I left out how I
knew he was in the car and how he could have used some better training in being invisible.

  “Then what?”

  “Nothing. He drove off.”

  “But you noticed him.”

  “He was in an older model Impala. I noticed it as I walked by. I guess I glanced inside to see the driver. That’s the person I saw.”

  “You thought it was suspicious at the time?”

  “I really didn’t. Just a guy in a parked car who drove away. Of course, it was before the Adamses disappeared. And before there was a murder.”

  “You notice anything else?”

  My uncles had long ago taught me how to move my eyes if I want a lie to look truthful. I looked to the right, as I always do when I’m telling the truth. I let myself appear to try to recall for a minute, then shrugged.

  “He sped off right after I glanced at him, for what that’s worth.”

  “Well, well. I guess you really are a witness.” Candy gave me a penetrating look.

  “Instead of . . . ?”

  “To tell the truth, I thought you were just plain nosy. But I decided to show you this photo. What are friends for?”

  “You knew I was really afraid it was Harry.” Or Kev or Tyler.

  “Yes, and I could see how relieved you were, so you’re welcome. So he was outside the Adams residence?”

  “Right. Not the best looking guy, was he?”

  “Ugly as sin,” she said.

  “But I didn’t really give him any thought at all. And I certainly didn’t worry about him.”

  “No reason to.”

  “In retrospect, I suppose I should have worried about him.”

  She nodded. “Or worried about whoever killed him. There’s something smelly for sure. We’ll find out who he was. Fingerprints or not.”

  I hesitated. “Good. Will you let me know? I guess I am nosy. But I feel involved.”

  I was kicking myself by this point. As much as I had wanted to know who the victim was, I had made myself vulnerable to Candy. For a bit of reassurance. Candy was not only almost a stranger; she was a police officer with instincts.

  She said, “Sure, why not. Unless I have a good reason not to.”

  In addition to all the worry about Uncle Kev and Tyler and the missing books, the stress of being around an edgy police officer who wanted to make a name for herself on the Burton police force was starting to wear on my nerves.